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As someone of many talents who possess a will to always prevail, and also happens to work exceptionally hard, Lily Evans could boast about her accomplishments with a delight from a young age.
She was the first kid on the playground to ride a bike without training wheels or her dad's assistance for that matter; almost a four times winner of a grammar competition –better not to ask her about that infamous fourth time, all there is to know is that Maya Kinsley is still a little cheater no matter how cute everyone claims her to be – and consistently all of her magical achievements from Hogwarts the past six and a half years.
But still, it shouldn't come as a surprise that there are still numerous skills that she lacks which causes miss Evans more embarrassment than she's willing to admit. Parallel parking is a conundrum of a Muggle world she wishes would be halted for an eternity, plaiting her hair is impossible without Mary's help and much to her own dismay and those around her – cooking.
She’s not utterly dreadful at it. She never poisoned anyone, but she's far from Julia Child. Something that her sister relishes to rub in her face at every Christmas or any other family gathering because apparently, Petunia fancies herself a master chef of this family – she isn’t – but Lily can’t quarrel with her about such. Mum says feuds ruin Holiday spirit.
As far as Lily is concerned, Holiday spirit drowned in Tuney’s stewed fruit a long time ago.
Nevertheless, Lily is not a person who concedes easily. She wouldn’t be herself if she hadn’t tried to overcome her personal shortcomings, and being as obstinate as she can be, she concluded if cooking won’t do, then baking it is. After a few carelessly burned baking sheets, one unanticipated fire alarm and newly discovered citrus allergy, she contrived to master the unmistakably finer art of baking.
Biscuits, brownies, cakes and cupcakes, even bread like her grandmum used to make. No recipe will stand in her way to success.
All of this is precisely the reason why she can be found standing in the brisk morning of late March in her parent’s kitchen. Silence in the house is only disrupted by the soothing sounds of Too Much, Too Little, Too Late that are coming from the radio in the sitting room. Weather is way more chilled than usual this time of year, yet someone has left it was necessary to leave a window open last night. Although considering the amount of wine they've all drunk before bedtime, it might have been forgotten by an accident.
"Ready, Potter?”, she asks, placing ingredients in a large bowl because in Evans’s household Lily is not permitted to work with electric appliances after the unfortunate incident during last year's Christmas.
James, who has already traces of flour on his face, squints at her. "Shouldn't you be asking me this, like, before I preheated the oven?”
"Preheating oven is a child’s play, mate. From now on it's a serious business only,” she replies while scanning the countertop with hope to locate a spoon. "Which is why I need you focused.”
He snatches the wooden object before she can even properly reach for it. The git has the audacity to smirk at her like that little move proved that not only he is focused, but it is her that needs to get her head straight.
Although if she were to be perfectly candid, baking is the furthest thing from her mind right now. She can still feel the exhaustion of spending most of the last night bestowing James with an early preview of his birthday gift and those initial pleasant effects of alcohol that are starting to wear off within the hours of consumption, certainly don't help. On top of it all, her focus is wavering a little, just a little bit, each time she glimpses at him. There are these ridiculous reindeer antlers on top of his head because according to her boyfriend, 'nothing says Easter like reindeer, Lily' and he also has her dad’s slippers on his feet since Mum had insisted he wore to avoid catching a cold from the tiles. He's undoubtedly a sight to behold.
"I’m convinced that children shouldn't be let anywhere remotely near the oven,” he counters.
"Anyway,” she ignores him. „Can you check if the butter is softened?”
Without a second thought, he lowers his finger into the butter. „ Seems soft enough–"
"James!” Lily yelps. "I didn’t mean 'stick your whole finger into it', you dolt! Now look at your hand," she orders, pointing at it. "It’s all in butter, go wash it off.”
He stands there examining it like it's the most wonderous and fascinating thing in the world, then he slowly turns to look at her, his lips twitch. "Or you could, you know…Lick it off yourself. For me," he pouts, shoving his finger into her face.
"I’m not putting your dirty buttered finger in my mouth”, she sputters flustered.
"Now you’re picky about what you’re putting in your mouth,” he mutters, barely loud enough for her to hear.
She lets out a shocked, outraged gasp and swats his arm away with a flimsy wave.
James’s laughter reverberates through the house. "Sorry, sorry. I’m sorry,” he chuckles, raising his now washed hands in surrender. "It was improper of me. I’ll hold my tongue and my fingers to myself.”
"You better mister. I hope I don’t need to remind you that my parents are sleeping upstairs and as much as they adore you,” a wide grin splits his face, "you don’t want to test their limits. Trust me,” she adds with a pointed look.
"Speaking from experience I assume?”, he probes, watching her beat ingredients together. "Knowing what I know about you, your parents must have had it rough with you as a child.”
"Pardon me, I was lovely, which I still am, by the way, and will be for a while yet, so better get used to it,” Lily winks at him.
James snickers and leans in, nudging her nose with his. "The loveliest, but you are still a menace and you know it”, he mutters against her mouth before closing the distance between them.
There are days when quiet moments like this, when it's just the two of them, make Lily feel like no matter what follows after – after today, after school, after the war – they will remain together. Happy and in love. Unswerving.
With a smile on her lips, she leans back and takes a good look at him. His eyes are still closed, but she knows that light in them is nevertheless present, the laugh lines embedded in his face right next to the smattering of eight (she counted, she always counts) light freckles on the bridge of his nose. As she traces her fingertips on the semi-scruff on the side of his jaw, she thinks of all the times in the future when they will get to be like this.
"Well Mr Potter”, she speaks up after a while. "I believe, now is the time for us to complete the task. Grab that spoon of yours.”
He raises the spoon to his head in mock salute. "Yes, ma'am. Let’s put this baby in the tins.”
Lily rolls eyes at her boyfriend’s antics and proceeds to make sure the mixture lays evenly. Out of the corner of her eye, she notices him already stuffing his mouth with the spoon, licking the mixture off of it.
He turns, feeling her stare. "What? It’s a tradition. Otherwise, baking will get a lot of flak.”
Her eyebrows raise. "Is that what your Mum told you? Tsk, I’m afraid she’s been tricking you mate. And knowing her she gets a lot of fun out of it."
James shrugs. "As long as I get to lick the goodies, I can take any deceit.” He looks around the kitchen. There are things they haven’t even planned on using, lying scattered on the floor, every spoon, spatula and Merlin knows what has some markings of a cake mixture on them. "This place looks like a right mess, guess after we put this in the oven, we’ll have to clean all this up?”
She lifts her head, a glimmer of something that James recognizes instantly plays in her eyes. Mischief.
"You see, this is your what? Third time as a guest in my house?” She pauses, waiting for him to nod in confirmation. "Then you're most likely not aware that we Evanses have this rule – quite ridiculous if you'd ask me – that whoever comes last to a holiday dinner; whether it's me, dad, mum or Tuney, is responsible for cleaning the dishes for the rest of the holiday. When we were younger it was supposed to discourage us from any tardiness. Nowadays is more of a gimmick than anything, but mum and dad take it quite seriously. So, since yesterday Petunia needed to drive to train's station to pick up Vernon …”
"...she came late for dinner. That means, she will be the one who will have to clean all this up,” he finishes completely astounded by his girlfriend's cunningness. "Evans. That's ingenious. Evil, but utterly ingenious.”
She beams proudly at him.
"Thank you, I’ve been thinking about doing this all night.”
"That’s what was on your mind last night? I must have been doing a lousy job.”
"No, you did wonderfully. Your sexual prowess is always very appreciated,” she declares, coming closer to him.
He pulls her in and tucks her head under his chin. "Is that why you said no to my suggestion of playing strip poker? You did promise to teach me. It's almost my birthday after all,” he reminds her.
"Oh, don't you worry. I remember. But you see all of this," she points in the general direction of the kitchen, "is a part of an even larger plan."
He tilts his head in bewilderment and nods his head, silently coaxing her to continue.
"Later in the evening mum and dad go visit their friends. A lovely married couple, old family friends and all that. They will be gone at least until eight. However, they will prolong their visit because they know that if they will be back sooner Petunia will continue to exhaust them complaining about how horrible I am dumping all the washing on her on purpose. Meanwhile, my sister will most likely disappear somewhere with Vernon aching to be away from me. And you,” she drawls, grabbing his shirt, "And I will have the entire house to our naughty selves. I will teach you all I know and I'm even going to let you win once.”
He stares at her already breathless from the images running through his head. "I-I …y-you…," he clears his throat. "You are something else, you know that, right?"
"Of course, but keep reminding me every now and then,” she quickly pecks him on the lips. "Now, let’s put the tops in the oven and go snog on the couch for a while. We’ve got about half an hour before cake will be done. And another half until everyone will wake. No point in wasting time.”
–
The next Easter they spend in their own flat, with Sirius, Remus and Peter. Frank and Alice come to visit, dragging Marlene and few others with them. Together they make the biggest mess everyone has yet seen. Lily nearly loses her engagement ring, Peter breaks his nose and Frank gets too sloshed to visit his mother, so he and Alice stay on their sofa for the night.
Year after that Lily is no longer able to see her knees when she stands and she's longing for the same chocolate cake they made with James almost two years ago. She doesn't want to think about two years ago. When her and James's parents were still living, when the war was real, but still merely a concept to them. Now it's only Lily and James, hiding away from all that. Sirius occasionally stops by, bringing only news of death with him. Remus is constantly away, somewhere deep in the country, on a mission probably. Peter almost never comes and when he does it's like he's not even there.
Another year passes and it's again just them, but this time they've got Harry. Harry. The little lad who tries so hard to crawl, supporting himself on his tiny arms. They only bake together during his naptime, but this time they have to clean up the mess themselves. No one will come to aid them. They fill their time, signing and reading, and attending to Harry's every little need, listening to all his 'ga-gas' and 'ba-bas', and they wait.
Year after that they're already dead, but still together.
And there's no one left to make cakes for Harry.