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Professor Binns is explaining the intricacies of the Second Goblin Revolution for the third time when Lily begins to wonder if death by boredom is actually possible. It's not that she doesn't like History of Magic —she enjoys the lectures enough, and history was her favorite subject before she came to Hogwarts— but Binns has a way of making the most intense battles sound less riveting than Mum's shopping lists. She sighs and hastily scrawls a noughts-and-crosses grid on the margin of her notes. She elbows Mary, gesturing to the parchment when the other’s eyebrows knit together in a frown. Mary grins, grabs her quill, and scoots closer to Lily. You’re going down, Red, she scribbles near the grid. Lily tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and mouths back, we’ll see.

Ten rounds in, Lily’s almost ready to admit defeat. Mary is talented, and seriously, they've been sharing a dorm for six years, how has it never come up before? (It should be specified that "talented", in this case, means, "has fucking obliterated Lily for nine consecutive times and is currently destroying her.") Just as Mary’s about to trace the line to connect her three circles, Lily sees a crumpled piece of paper land on her desk. She thinks she knows who sent it, and there's a fond smile tugging at her lips. And sure enough, she recognizes the chicken scratch on the parchment.

Hey, Evans, it says in Potter's messy calligraphy, fancy a holiday?

Lily fiddles with a strand of her hair, pondering the question. Or, well, pretending to ponder the question. Deep down, she already knows the answer. Because the thing is, Last Year Lily wouldn't have thought twice before throwing the parchment back at Potter with missile accuracy and a scathing insult. She wouldn't have hesitated before hexing him the moment the lesson was over. She wouldn't have held back when he inevitably teased her afterward, and she would have let the flicker of annoyance in her turn into a fire, gladly, and she would have ended up with detention and a sour feeling on her tongue. But then again, Last Year Lily hadn't done rounds with Potter while he was filling in for Remus, and she hadn't heard him rant about how is it possible that someone is ostracized from society because of something they can't fucking help, Evans, and the ministry should work on a way to make the transformations less painful, not build fucking silver cages, a glint in his eye and his hands flinging wildly and nearly knocking the glasses off his face. Last Year Lily hadn't seen him tutor a bunch of third years in the Library on Sunday evenings, happily sacrificing his free time because he was good at Transfiguration and they'd asked him for help. Last Year Lily hadn't found out that the mugs of chamomile and the plates of cubed apples she kept finding when she lost track of time and stayed holed up in the common room to study were his doing. Last Year Lily hadn't witnessed James Potter stop in his tracks in the middle of the corridor because he'd heard crying from a nearby classroom and wanted to be sure they were okay. Last Year Lily hadn't realized that sometime in the midst of it all, he'd stopped being Potter and had started being James.

And so, Sixth Year Lily lovingly tells her past self to bugger off and writes, yes. Just then, something hits the back of her head. A bit annoyed, she reaches with her hand and pulls another piece of parchment out of her hair. This message is written by a different hand, all tilted Es and sharp Ts and long Os. It's elegant, noble. Must be Black's, Lily thinks.

Once again, she's right. Oi, Flower, what's taking you so long? You writing a bloody poem there?

Lily raises her middle finger under the desk. A loud, doglike cackle tells her Black saw it. Satisfied, she returns to the parchment.

Ask MacDonald too, it reads, and she complies. She slides both notes on Mary's desk, and the girl laughs before nodding her assent.

Lily takes the bigger note, James's, and writes, quickly: Mary says yes. Also, who's going to be there?

PS: if you try, and I mean try, to answer with "just us ;)" or any of the like, Potter, I'll drown you in the Great Lake.

PPS: tell Sirius to fuck off from me.

With that, she folds the parchment neatly in four —there's no need to crumple it like heathens—, turns, and makes it land squarely on the desk behind hers. She resumes her attempts to pay attention to what Binns is saying, half-heartedly jots down names and dates like the responsible prefect she's supposed to be. After a few minutes, she's actually gaining interest in the events, because someone has assassinated someone else to win the hand of their sibling, and that's something. Lily's hit by a sudden desire to possess a Timeturner just to meet the one who assassinated the other, because what is the thought process that brings someone to conclude that yes, the way to someone's heart is the murder of a close family member? Then she tries to imagine the situation with her and Petunia, and she has to admit that she finds the whole thing a tad easier to believe. Immediately after forming this thought, she feels her cheeks burn with shame, because that was cruel, even by Petunia's standards. Suffice to say, she doesn't mind when another piece of parchment lands on her desk, effectively pulling her from her musings.

Everyone. Wait after class and we'll provide more information.

PS: he says, and I quote, thank you, Flower, your kind words are always a balm for my wounded soul.

PPS: if you want me to write such things, Lily dear, there's no need for games. Just say the word.

Lily laughs, loud enough that Binns pauses to send a glare her way, because James Potter is ridiculous, but she's not about to let him have all the fun. She rips an angle of her parchment, all pretense of paying attention gone, dips the quill in the inkwell and writes:

"We'll provide information"? What are you, a 007 agent?

PS: tell him it's always a pleasure to spread kindness in the world<3

PPS: say one more thing like that and I'll choke you in your sleep. With your tie. And a pillow, if necessary.

And, because she can play at his game too, and play well, she adds, smirking: You'd like that, wouldn't you?

James's response comes seconds after she's thrown him the note: You cheeky little shit.

One month later, Lily melts on the pavement outside her house in Cokeworth, England, and is survived by beloved friends and family. Okay, she doesn't, but objectively, it's hot enough that she feels like she could at any moment. She's sitting on a bench, carefully avoiding the iron parts, which are scorched by the mid-afternoon sun. She's got her nose buried in Treasure Island, because it's July, and not reading Treasure Island in July is just wrong.

She turns the page and begins Chapter Ten, which, in her humble opinion, is the best. That's where the real action starts, after all. Suddenly, the sound of a twig breaking grabs her attention.

"Lily!" someone calls under their breath. Lily looks around, sets her eyes on the Lees' hedge. No matter how much she squints, she can't find anything except green in the leaves. Huffing, she returns to her book. She barely makes it to two more pages when she hears it again.

"Evans!" they hiss, urgent. Lily repeats her actions, but she doesn't see anything different. Feeling stupid and apprehensive in equal measures and still holding her book, she gets up and nears the hedge. She paces in front of it, looking, eagle-eyed, for any sign of life. Nothing, if you don't count the lone butterfly that's just landed on her finger. She stays there for a few more minutes, just in case, and feels like an old man watching construction sites. Still nothing. She frowns at the hedge one last time and, maintaining eye contact, walks backwards to the bench. Lily sits, brushes a few strands of hair out of her face and resumes reading. For from these dozen words I understood that the lives of all the honest men aboard depended upon me—

There's a tap on her left shoulder. Lily jumps up, and her mouth lets out a sound she didn't even know it was capable of making— something terribly high-pitched and short, like the yap a dog would make if it had inhaled helium.

"Blimey, Evans. Didn't peg you for a scaredy-cat." Lily knows this voice, she realizes, and oh, the boy truly does have a death wish.

She turns slowly, giving him the time to escape. He's either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave, because they're face to face now. Potter's eyes sparkle in amusement, and the corner of his mouth is slightly upturned.

"Potter," she seethes.

"Hallo, Lily," he answers, and he has the nerve to give a small wave.

She takes a step forward. "Hallo my arse, Potter. You gave me a bloody heart attack!" She punches him on his left bicep and he winces.

"Sorry," he says, not looking sorry at all. "Seemed funnier than just sitting next to you on the be—" he must see the murderous look in Lily's eyes, because he stops abruptly. "Anyway, it's good to see you."

Lily smiles openly. "Good to see you too, James." Then a thought occurs to her. "But what exactly are you doing here?"

"Oh, y'know. Was already in the neighborhood, figured I'd take a stroll around here."

Lily eyes him suspiciously.

"Alright, alright—don't punch me again. You're violent, woman— I came to pick you up."

"Pick me up?"

James looks at her like he's trying to see the bump of a concussion. "For our vacation? With me, the boys, Frank, Mary, Alice, Dorcas and Marlene? The one you agreed to in History of Magic?"

"I know which vacation you're talking about, Potter. I thought Alice was supposed to come get me."

She wrote to her two days ago, and she confirmed that she was coming after Frank showed her the place.

James waves a hand in the air. "There was a change of plans. Alice went to get the girls, Sirius got Remus and Pete. Frank went to the market to get food."

Lily nods and they lapse into silence— she can't, for the life of her, figure out why: they've spent a lot of time together this year, and maybe two hours of it were in complete silence. She doesn't quite know where to look. Embarrassment colours her cheeks and she gives another jerky nod.

"I'll, uh, go get my bag. You can— you can wait here."

James says, "yeah", looking distinctly like a fish out of water— at least, Lily thinks as she heads to her house, whatever she's feeling, James feels it too.

Once she's inside she grabs her duffel bag from the bottom of the stairs —Frank had been kind enough to go to a Muggle shop in the village and get them all sleeping bags and tents— and yells, "Bye Dad, bye Mum, I'll see you next week!" She doesn't have to wait for long: Mum comes barrelling down the stairs, a whirlwind of love and red hair. She envelops Lily in a hug, and she leans into her embrace. "Bye, love," Mum says, "have fun." When she reemerges, she sees Dad at the top of the staircase. "Bye, Lil," he says, waving. Lily turns, opens the door. "Mum?" she calls in a small voice, "will you say hi to Petunia from me if you see her?"

Mum sounds sad and hesitant when she answers, "Of course, love." Lily hears the unspoken loud and clear: I will, but she'll probably say nothing in return.

She returns to the bench, her bag slung on her shoulder and a stone of anger, disappointment, and sadness in her stomach.

"Let's go," she says curtly, looking at the ground. James hurries to his feet, and she doesn't need to see his face to know he knows something's wrong.

And sure enough, he asks, tentatively: "Everything okay, Evans?"

"Just peachy," Lily answers, still looking down.

They march in silence for a while. Lily finds the birds' singing incredibly grating, and she feels a sudden need to take out her wand from her dress's pockets and cast a Silencio. She bites her lip instead.

"Er, Lily? I think we're far enough to Apparate," James says, clearly hesitant to disturb her. Lily looks up and sees that they're in the far corner of a park. It's almost deserted, save for a few children playing in the distance and a woman watching them. She's got her back to James and Lily, so she figures now's a good time to Apparate as any.

"Oh, yeah, sure," she mutters.

James looks at her expectantly. She stares back. Neither of them does anything until James points out, "You have to take my hand and then we'll Apparate."

"Yes, shit, sorry," Lily says, feeling like the world's biggest idiot. She all but thrusts her hands in James's, and his eyes widen slightly.

"Lily," he starts patiently, "if you're fine or you don't want me to snoop, say the word and I'll drop it and shut up forever. But if there's something you do want to talk about, I'm all ears. And I promise I'll keep it to myself."

Lily's lips curl in a small smile. She considers telling him to shut up, but he didn't push her in the slightest and the prospect of venting to somebody is nice.

"Although the idea of you shutting your trap forever sounds incredibly enticing—"

"Hey!" James yelps, affronted.

Lily ignores him. "—I think telling somebody can help. It's no big deal, really," she laughs bitterly. "The way my sister manages to get on my nerves without us even being in the same house simply never ceases to amaze me."

James's hazel eyes soften and he squeezes her hand once. Despite the solemnity of his manners, his tone is light when he speaks. "You could always transfigure her into a snake."

"And break the Statute of Secrecy and risk being shunned from the wizarding world for eternity? Thanks but no thanks." Lily answers, and the stone in her stomach feels lighter already.

"And then you say that Sirius is the one with a flair for the dramatic. You wouldn't be shunned from the wizarding community forever, Lily. Anyway, you're right, she's probably not worth it. I'm willing to bet she'd make a wonderful snake, though."

"Oh, really? And you say this because…?"

"Well, from what you've told me, it seems like she already has a lot of its traits. Y'know, vicious, spiteful, willing to stab —or bite— you in the back, with venom on her tongue. Mash all these together and you've got an Order of Merlin, First Class snake, right there."

Lily lets out a low whistle. "You've given this a lot of thought," she says, not bothering to hide the note of pride in her voice.

James laughs, but his eyes burn with cold fury. "Had time to hone my skills with Padfoot's family, Evans. You start getting good after a while."

Lily mentally smacks her forehead with her hand. How could she forget about the Blacks? Everybody knew about them, one way or another, and she'd actually become Sirius's friend this year. Before she can formulate any sort of apology, though, James clears his throat, adjusts the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"We should go," he says. "They're all probably already there."

Lily nods. James grips her hand tighter, closes his eyes. And then he Apparates them.

When they Apparate —somewhere in Norfolk where Frank used to go on holiday, she thinks—, Lily notices that her friends are, indeed, all there already. Sirius, Peter, Marlene, and Dorcas are engaged in what looks like a convoluted, way more dangerous team version of Exploding Snap; Mary and Remus are playing cards and Alice and Frank are nestled together under a tree, reading. Having heard the telltale pop of Apparition, they look up in unison—it's quite creepy, really. She raises a hand in greeting and discovers that it's still very attached to James's, so they end up looking more like wrestlers who've just ended a match than anything else. Dorcas is smirking, and Lily wonders what she finds so amusing.

James's cheeks redden and he lets go of her hand as if it were electrified. Lily curls a strand of her hair around her finger, feeling knots in her stomach. Apparition evidently makes her dizzier than she remembered.

"Welcome, lovebirds," Dorcas says.

"We're not—" Lily starts.

Dorcas tuts dismissively. "We were just waiting for you to set up the tents," she continues, gesturing vaguely to a lump on the ground.

Lily reaches into her pocket, but a hand grabs her wrist.

"Nope, Evans," James says. "No wands allowed. These may be magic tents, but we're doing this the Muggle way."

Lily's mouth feels incredibly dry, and she tries to think about when she last drank some water. She gently wiggles out of James's grasp and walks toward Dorcas, who is struggling to figure out how to use a tent.

"If we're doing this the proper way, we need a game plan," Lily says.

"Yes, exactly," interjects Sirius, rising from the ground.

"There's five tents," Frank says.

"Okay, five tents. There's ten of us, so two for tent and we're all set."

"Cheers, Pads, you can do Maths," Remus mutters under his breath, "reckon you could take Arithmancy next year."

"Oh, fuck you, Lupin—"

"Just waiting for you, love," Remus replies to general laughter.

Sirius flushes scarlet and coughs. "Afterwards. Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, we should divide into pairs and do a tent each."

"I'm with Mary," Peter pipes up.

"Dorky," Marlene says, and promptly ignores her girlfriend when she grumbles, "don't call me that."

"Frank and I are gonna start," Alice says.

"I want Moony," Sirius says, smirking.

Lily looks at James. "So that leaves…"

"Me 'n you, Evans. We're gonna erect the best tent this place has ever seen."

Lily, embarrassingly, lets out a snort. "Of all the verbs in the English language, you just had to go with 'erect', didn't you?"

James laughs. "Too good of an opportunity to pass up. Besides, it's not my fault that you have a dirty mind. Now c'mon, we've got construction to do."

"As you wish, Captain Potter." Lily mock-salutes.

Building a tent with James Potter, Lily discovers, is no easy feat. He's incredibly strong-headed and has apparently decided that listening to her when she says that "the peg isn't deep enough, Potter, a gust of wind and it'll tumble down the hill" is a criminal offense. And then this arsehole has the nerve to look surprised when the wind comes and tears the tent from the peg and he has to sprint to catch it. This has not happened once, not twice, but three times.

Eventually, though, they reached a truce of sorts and traded the bickering for companionable silence. Lily gives her peg one last push for good measure. Then, deeming it stable enough, she gets up. And of course, like an idiot, she crashes into James. He catches her immediately— courtesy of his Chaser reflexes, Lily supposes.

"Careful, Lily," James says.

Lily nods, her heart hammering in her chest. It still hasn't got the memo that I'm not going to fall, she thinks.

She realizes that the sky’s darker now, and as if on cue, her stomach growls.

"Does anybody else wanna eat?" she asks.

Various noises of assent fill the air. The tents are all upright, arranged in a circle around where they first were deposited.

Frank starts rummaging in a sack on the ground. "I got sausages, eggs, potatoes, strawberries, peaches, bread and butter…" he trails off.

"Eggs. Get cracking, Longbottom," Alice says.

"Sure, darling. You have a pan?" Frank counters.

"You brought eggs and nothing to cook them in," she repeats, deadpan.

"Uhh—" Frank stammers.

"Guys!" Peter interjects, "I do. Have a pan, that is."

Two heads swivel to look at him. Sheepishly, he extracts a handle from his bag, and slowly, a pan comes out.

"Just thought it best to come prepared," he shrugs.

"You're a bloody genius, Wormy," Remus says.

"Peter Pettigrew: a man of many resources," Mary proclaims.

Peter beams at the praise.

Pan crisis averted, Lily watches as James transfigures a few sticks into cutlery and some rocks in plates. ("I thought you said no magic, Potter."

"Cut me some slack, Evans.")

Soon enough, dinner is ready. (Lily notes with pleasure that everyone gave up not using magic at some point: Marlene cast a spell on the knife halfway through cutting the fruit, claiming that it "goes much faster anyway", and Mary discreetly whispered an Incendio after witnessing Remus, Sirius and Peter's pathetic attempts at lighting a fire with two stones.) Food is abundant— and ridiculously good too: turns out, Dorcas and Alice are pros at cooking. Lily's a bit miffed that she's discovered it just now. Jokes are traded back and forth and laughter flows as easily as Firewhiskey. (That's not a metaphor— Sirius produced several bottles from his tent with a flourish. Among them there were a bottle of champagne and a jar of high-quality caviar. Lily didn't ask.)

They all wash the dishes together and, predictably, what started as simple clean-up rapidly turns into a fully-fledged water fight. Clothes soaked and hair dripping, Lily lays down on the grass. She suffocates a yawn. With a full stomach and the pleasant sleepiness that comes after drinking with friends, she's more than ready to go to bed.

Sitting up, she says, "I'm off to bed."

A chorus of night, Lilys and sleep well, Evans follows her into her and James's tent. She strips and quickly showers, relishing the hot water on her shoulders. She steps out and retrieves a towel from her bag to dry off. She's putting on her pajamas when she hears, muffled by the tent, the unmistakable voice of James Potter: "Shit, Evans'll kill me!"

Her curiosity piqued, Lily gets out of the tent. "I'll kill you for what, Potter?" she asks, a corner of her mouth upturned.

James, however, evidently feels none of her amusement. He's got a worried look in his eyes, and his hair is disheveled like he's spent the past few minutes running his hand through it. He jogs to her. "Evans!" he says, slightly frantic. "Don't get angry. Well, you can get angry— you probably will, just... don't murder me? Please?"

Okay, Lily's starting to get worried, but she stays silent.

"Fuck, I'll just say it. There's only one sleeping bag. I swear Frank bought two, I even double-checked when he came back, but...I can't find it. It must've got lost while we were gone or something. I haven't hidden it anywhere— it's not a prank, promise," he swallows, his eyes pleading. "I understand if you want to switch tents."

Lily isn't sure how to feel. Sure, she hadn't exactly planned on sleeping with James Potter when she agreed to come —not sleeping with as in sleeping with, let it be clear, sleeping with as in lying unconscious for a number of hours to rest and recuperate (Why did her brain feel the need to specify?)— but they're friends, and he was so earnest in his apology. Plus, she's pretty sure she saw Mary and Sirius high five out of the corner of her eye. There's a really good chance they've got something —if not everything— to do with this. All in all, she doesn't really mind.

And that's why she says, "I don't mind, James."

"I completely understand, and I'm truly, deeply sorry, Li— wait, what?" James asks, "you don't mind?"

"Nope," Lily answers, popping the p.

"Oh. Cool," he says.

"You're sure you don't want me to transfigure something into another sleeping bag."

"Nope, don't wanna sleep on stone."

"It wouldn't feel like stone. I'm good at this, Evans."

"Sure," she says dismissively, smirking at his shocked face.

"You wound me!"

"Someone's gotta keep that ego in check, Potter. And it's hard work, too."

"Oi! Enough!" He looks at the sleeping bag, currently resting on a thin, narrow air mattress that doesn't really look comfortable. "At least let me enlarge it."

Lily nods, still smiling. James performs the charm and steps away from the sleeping bag/air mattress construction he's put up. The bag is now spread open like a bedsheet.

He bows and says, "after you, Miss."

Lily lays on the makeshift bed, eyes open. She feels the mattress dip as James lays down next to her. They're close enough that their pinkies touch.

"Evans?" James asks.

She hums.

"Are you comfortable?"

"Yes," she says. "Night, James."

"Night, Lily," he answers, his voice impossibly soft.

Lily wakes up with hands wrapped around her torso. She doesn't think anything of it at first, and then the memories of last night come crashing onto her. The hands wrapped around her torso are James Potter's, she realizes. She tries to unclasp his hands, but he's got an iron grip and she doesn't quite manage to be as discreet as she would've liked.

James's eyes fly open. He blinks twice, taking stock of his surroundings, and pushes her away like there's a magnetic field between them. "Shit, Lily, I'm so sorry. Again," he chuckles nervously. "You were shivering and my sleep-drunk arse decided that the best course of action was to latch onto you like an octopus. I'm an idiot. But, uh…" he adds sheepishly, "it kinda worked?"

Lily laughs. It comes out strangled and forced, like the ones her mother makes when Petunia says something particularly nasty and she wants to diffuse the tension. They don't comment on it.

"So," Alice says a while later around a mouthful of toast, "what do you say we go to the beach?" Her cheerful tone is a bit off, perhaps dampened by the palpable tension between James and Lily.

The thing is, Lily knows it's her and James's fault —well, mostly James's, really, since the whole ordeal was started by him— but she can't bring herself to feel guilty about it. She tried not feeling embarrassed, but every time she so much as caught James's eye, he flushed scarlet, and then she flushed scarlet because he'd flushed scarlet, and it rapidly became a vicious cycle of reddened cheeks and averted eyes. Naturally, their incredibly perceptive friends caught on soon enough and started walking on eggshells around them. Conversations became stilted, silences heavy.

Now, Alice's question cuts through the quiet like a knife. Lily's never been more grateful for her, and given how quick everyone is to agree, the others feel the same.

Lily is starting to regret deciding to wear this particular swimsuit. It's her favourite bikini, she bought it in Diagon Alley last year with Alice and the other girls. It's also an objectively gorgeous deep forest green that brings out her eyes. Once she manages to put it on, it's surprisingly comfortable, too. It only has one little problem: it's impossible to tie without help. Lily should've thought things through, or maybe asked one of the girls for help. Bit late for that, she thinks as she twists her arm and torso in a move worthy of a Muggle contortionist.

Wait. She's a witch. Meaning, she has access to a wand. Meaning, she can figure out a way to tie her bikini top with said wand. Lily reaches to take her wand with the hand that isn't holding the straps. She supposes she must look like a cat, or a Kneazle.

"Uh, Evans, why are you all twisted like a Kneazle?" James's voice says from behind her. See? Great minds think alike. After half a second, her brain finally catches up. If she heard James's voice, that means that James is here. If James is here, James is in the tent. That tent is the tent where she also is. Where she is in the middle of putting on a swimsuit… Which means that, basically, James Potter's just seen her half-naked. Please let the ground open under her and swallow her whole.

He seems to come to the same conclusion, because he stammers, "Merlin's balls, Lily, I'm sorry, I hadn't realized."

Lily doesn't answer in the hopes that he uses the last brain cell that somehow managed to survive in that idiot brain of his and runs for his life, putting them both out of their misery.

He's more of an idiot than she thought, though. "Do you, er, need any help?

The nerve of this boy. The utter nerve. Lily has half a mind to turn and glare at him, and who bloody cares if he sees her tits. What she does, instead, is respond with a fierce "No". Or, at least, that’s her intention. Instead, her damned, traitorous mouth opens and says a single word: "Yes."

She hears a sharp intake of breath and then footsteps. James kneels behind her, and his hand covers hers. It's bigger, warmer, and calloused from hours and hours spent holding on to the broom— she never noticed how different it is from hers. Lily's hand feels strange under the pressure, and she quietly slips it always. James's fingers are quick, and Lily feels a faint tingling as they work.

"Done," he says.

"Thanks," Lily answers, and she doesn't know why she feels a blush creeping on her cheeks.

She squints, trying to understand who's winning the battle. Sirius is on top of James's shoulders, while Dorcas is on top of Marlene's, and they're trying to push the other in the water. Alice is refereeing, and Mary and Peter are yelling out encouragement to Dorcas and Sirius respectively. Frank splashes both teams without any distinction. James's laughter rings out, brash as always. Lily can't help but notice that his chest is broader, stronger.

"So… you like him?"

Lily jumps. Remus has an uncanny ability to be extremely silent when he wants to. He has also, apparently, acquired the ability to speak utter nonsense in a perfectly level tone.

"Uh... who?" She says, turning to look him in the eye.

Remus gives her a sly grin. "You do like him."

"Wha— who—" Lily sputters.

Remus's grin merely broadens. He swims away calmly, as if he hasn't just begun and ended the weirdest conversation of Lily's entire existence.

"Remus!" Lily shrieks, in equal parts frustrated and confused.

He pretends not to hear her, swimming faster.

As she waves away yet another mosquito, Lily thinks that she'll never trust hike trail signs as long as she's alive. This one was supposed to be medium difficulty— as far as she’s concerned, medium difficulty does not mean incredibly steep with a million mosquitoes flying around. But alas, they’d all been fooled by the sign and decided that they were more than capable of hiking it. And in the beginning, they’d been right. They'd got to the top easily enough, and they'd had a jolly good time eating their weight in Muggle chips and Chocolate Frogs Peter had brought with him. At around half-past two, with full stomachs and sun-kissed faces, they started the descent. Immediately, swarms of mosquitoes and other unidentified flying insects clouded their vision and bit them on every patch of exposed skin they could find; and thus, ten brave Hogwarts students were lost forever, killed by the fury of—

"Evans?" James's voice brusquely interrupts the glorious, gory, dramatic, and decidedly imaginary tale of their deaths.

Lily flicks a flying ant from her arm and turns to him, her eyes questioning.

He takes a swig from his water bottle and flashes her a cocky grin. "Race you to that tree over there!"

The tree in question is at least a hundred metres away, and the path that leads to it is steep and littered with rocks and fallen branches. Grass and ferns are tall at its edges. In short, everything about it screams "don't use as racing ground." Lily prides herself to be a sensible witch, and she's more than ready to adamantly refuse.

Then, James adds, his voice slightly taunting, "Loser sleeps on the grass tonight."

And Lily just can't let that go, sensibility be damned. She straightens her spine, sets down her backpack. Glancing at James, she smirks coolly. "Hope you find it comfortable enough, Potter."

He gives a short, full laugh. "Oh, it's on, Evans." Setting down his backpack just as Lily had moments ago, he says, "ready—"

Lily gets into a running stance. "Set," she replies.

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees James get into position.

"GO!" he bellows.

Lily runs. She runs and runs and runs and runs, her dark red hair flying behind her like a flaming cape. Her feet touch the ground lightly, narrowly avoiding rocks and branches. She's staring straight ahead, her eyes locked on the tree she's got to reach. At some point, James passes her and she tries to accelerate— she has to, because he'll never stop holding it over her head if he wins. Her legs burn; she ignores them, instead choosing to focus on the rhythmic in-out of her breaths.

Because she's looking at the tree, she doesn't notice that this part of the path also has a lot of holes, probably dug by moles. She doesn't notice one in particular —quite small, and not very deep either— in front of her left foot. That is, until she steps right into it. She lets out a tiny gasp and twists herself so that her left hand can stop the fall. Her hip hits the ground, hard, and she winces. Distantly, she hears something break: a branch, she thinks.

"Evans!" James sounds worried, and Lily looks at him with what she hopes resembles a smile. She must've failed miserably, because he gets to her in five seconds.

"Looks like you've won," she says, still twisted awkwardly. Her poor attempt at a joke falls flat: James sends her a deadpan look.

"Are you okay?" he asks, urgent.

Lily nods, sitting. She feels a flare of pain somewhere and fights back a grimace. James narrows his eyes, but Lily doesn't give him any time to speak. She flexes her wrist experimentally, and barely has time to think, 'that might've been stupid' before a wave of white-hot, mind-numbing pain washes over her. She bites on her lower lip to stop a scream and resists the urge to gag. Almost deliriously, she realizes that the branch she'd heard breaking wasn't a branch at all.

"Lily?" James asks, panic evident in his voice.

"I think," she croaks, fighting to keep her tone level, "I think my wrist's broken."

James's eyes widen and for one brief, terrible moment, he looks like he might pass out. He blinks, takes a deep breath. When he looks at her again, he's as steady as a mountain.

"Okay," he says, his voice cool and collected. "Can you stand?"

Lily nods. James takes her right hand and gently helps her to her feet. She takes one small step forward…

And immediately collapses to the ground. Her ankle throbs, and it feels like it's on fire. She hears an ear-splitting scream— it's her voice, she is the one screaming, but she can't bring herself to care.

"Evans? Evans!"

After an hour —or maybe a minute, Lily doesn't really know— she's able to blink back the pain. Her green eyes focus on James, who has crouched beside her and is eyeing her worriedly.

"Can you hear me?" he asks, and Lily nods.

She swallows, but when she opens her mouth to speak, only lunch's remains come up. When she's done, James casts a quick Scourgify over the pool of vomit and hands her the water bottle. She accepts it gratefully and takes a swig, letting the cool liquid soothe her irritated throat.

"You may want to add my ankle to the list, James," she says.

James looks, once again, on the verge of passing out. Or perhaps like he wants to scream at her for days. Instead of doing any of that, though, he swallows and says calmly, "I'll go get Alice." Lily makes a note to thank her for choosing to follow Madam Pomfrey's preparatory course for the students who wished to become Healers.

"Don't move," James adds somewhat harshly.

Lily wants to say something snarky in return, but she really doesn't have it in her at the moment. She settles for a nod and a glare.

He looks at her over his shoulder like he's terrified she'll die in the next ten seconds. Then he breaks into a run. Lily's eyes follow him until he's out of sight, and when he's gone, they focus on the ground in front of her. Lily counts the leaves she can see, swallowing frequently to avoid vomiting again.

"Lil?"

At the sound of Alice's voice, Lily raises her head.

"Can I…?" she says. Lily nods, and Alice kneels down next to her. She takes out her wand and waves it over her body, murmuring spells under her breath. Lily feels a faint tingle all over.

Finally, Alice is done. She looks at Lily and says, "Good news or bad news first?"

"Good news," she says.

"Your hip isn't broken," Alice says.

Lily's about to sigh in relief, but she stills, waiting for Alice to go on.

"...But your ankle and wrist most definitely are. The wrist's a clean break, but you have a compound fracture in your ankle. Did you put any weight on it when it was already broken?"

Lily's cheeks redden, and that's the only answer Alice needs. She tuts disapprovingly.

"I didn't know it was broken!" Lily says, and just like that, all the judgement in Alice's eyes melts away.

"I have some Skele-Gro in my tent. Can you get back? If you can't, I'll go get it and give it to you here."

"I can get there," Lily says. Alice nods briskly. She shoots a pink spell at her wrist and ankle ("for the pain," she says, anticipating Lily's question), kisses her cheek and walks away— there’s a spring in her step, like she knows something Lily doesn’t. It’s a bit unnerving, considering that Alice has just diagnosed her friend with two broken bones.

"I'll go ask Marlene and Dorcas to get our backpacks," James says, and Lily gives a start: he'd been so silent during Alice's check-up that Lily had forgotten he was there.

In a minute, he's back. "Lily?" he says, "I'm ready when you are."

Lily nods, trying to get up.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm getting up so you can help me get to the tents," she replies, using the same tone of voice one might use with particularly little children.

"And how exactly are you planning to get back?" James asks, and there's an edge to his tone that Lily really doesn't like.

"Walking?"

"You have a broken ankle, Evans!"

"If I lean on you, I can hop there!" Lily shoots back defensively.

"And risk breaking your other ankle?" Lily is getting angry, but the fire is gone from James's voice as quickly as it came. "Look, I know you can, Lily," he says. "But that doesn't mean you should."

There's something in James's tone, something so soft and kind, that Lily's resolve crumbles. "Okay," she whispers.

"So," James says, the corner of his mouth quirking up despite the situation, "we have two options. One, I levitate you and we hope that no Muggles see us, or— I can carry you, if you'd like."

He says the last part without looking at her, a faint blush creeping on his cheeks and so quietly that Lily barely hears it. Her stomach lurches and she turns to the side, just in case. When nothing happens she looks at James, a faint smile on her lips.

"Yes, please," she says.

James grins. "As you wish, Milady."

Then he kneels and gently wraps one arm on her back and the other under her knees. He lifts her as if she weighs nothing and looks down at her. "Hold on to me, Evans."

Lily loops her right arm around his neck, feeling strangely queasy. Her side presses on his lean, toned stomach, and she's able to make out the lines of his abs under the cotton shirt he's wearing. Suddenly, a shirtless, laughing, carefree James ripples through her mind, and she blushes furiously.

"You're hot, Evans," James says, and Lily's brain short-circuits.

"Uhhh, wha—" she stammers.

"—You don't have a fever, do you?" he continues.

Lily exhales shakily. She wets her lips. "I don't think so."

James nods and starts walking. The steady rhythm of his steps is calming, so much so that Lily soon feels herself slip out of consciousness. "James, I'm just gonna— jus’ gonna rest my eyes for a bit," she mumbles.

She hears a low, hearty chuckle. "Sleep, Lily. I've got you."

"Evans. Evans," someone says, a million miles away.

"Lily." It's louder, this time. Someone —the same person who called her, Lily presumes— shakes her shoulder lightly.

Lily blinks. Still half-asleep, she looks around and meets a pair of warm hazel eyes.

"We've arrived, Evans," James says.

More alert than before, Lily realizes that she's laying on the sleeping bag inside her and James's tent. She shifts, and a sharp stab of pain shoots up from her ankle. She hopes that her wince wasn't too visible.

Judging by how quickly he raises from his seat, James has most definitely seen it. "I'll get Alice," he says.

Within a few minutes, Alice gets inside the tent, holding a flask of light blue potion.

"Lily," she says. "I have Skele-Gro, but it should be our last resort. I'll get Madam Pomfrey—"

Lily stops her with a shake of her head. "She's on holiday, and we don't know where she lives."

"We could figure it out, I'm sure," James interjects, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

Lily glares at him. "We are not invading her privacy."

"It'd be for a good reason!" he shoots back. "And we wouldn't tell anyone else."

"Nope."

"You have two fractures, Evans!" James says, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

"I'm well aware of that, thank—"

"Guys." Alice says firmly. She fixes them both with a glare, and Lily feels more than a little ashamed. "If you're certain you don't want Pomfrey—" she looks at Lily.

"I'm certain," Lily says.

Alice sighs, but she doesn't look too surprised, "—Then I'll have to do." She uncaps the flask and glances at the instructions on the back, muttering under her breath. "You have a clean break and a compound fracture, so…," she counts something on her fingers. "Two tablespoons on your ankle, one on your wrist and a teaspoon ingested, just to be sure." She extracts a cloth and a spoon from the inside of her jacket, and waves her wand at the spoon to make it smaller.

Then, she slashes the air towards the cloth, saying, "Diffindo." It rips neatly in two, and Alice wets the pieces with the potion. Delicately, she wraps one around her left wrist and one around her ankle. Lily wrinkles her nose when the wet rags touch her skin.

Alice is trying to force-feed her the spoonful of potion, so, reluctantly, Lily opens her mouth and swallows. It's as sour and unpleasant as spoilt milk.

"Ugh," she mutters.

Alice spares her a sympathetic glance. "Keep those on for three hours. Your temperature will spike up — your body's essentially repairing itself. Wet some towels with cold water and put them on your forehead."

Lily nods, but her friend isn't done. "Maybe James'll help," Alice adds. At least she has the decency to whisper it in her ear.

She saunters away, and Lily's left a shocked, sputtering mess.

That night, Lily wakes feeling like she's on fire. She gasps and her hand flies to her forehead, but before she can even think about wetting a rag to cool down, someone gently moves her hand, putting a wet towel in its place.

"You're all right. I've got you," James whispers soothingly.

She tries to protest— tell him "you don't have to" or "I can do it" or "sleep", and she isn't quite sure what comes out of her mouth.

Probably a mixture of the three, because James merely replies, "Hush, Lily. You'd do the same for me." Then he presses a featherlight kiss to the crown of her head. Somehow, in her slumber, Lily doesn’t think much of it. It’s almost...natural.

Now content, Lily closes her eyes, slipping into Morpheus's arms once more.

"Do you always watch people sleep or is it just a privilege you've granted me?"

To her immense amusement, James becomes as red as a beet.

"I, uh— I'm sorry, Lily, I didn't mean…" he trails off.

She decides to have mercy on him. "Relax, Potter," she says with a smile. She's been smiling an awful lot these days. Must be the summer air.

He grins back. The summer air appears to have the same effect on him too.

"So," he says. "What d'you wanna do today?"

"I'll read," Lily answers honestly. "Or maybe play solitaire."

"Isn't that the card game Muggles play when they're alone?" James asks with a frown.

Lily's glad to call James Potter her friend. He's loyal to a fault, funny —occasionally—, and has an admirable moral compass. He is, however, extremely oblivious. This means that, sometimes, he unwittingly rubs a wound in salt. Like now.

Lily scowls. "Well, yes. But that's what I'll be for today, isn't it?"

"You think we're all gonna leave you here?" There's a hint of outrage in his voice, and she hates it.

"I can't expect you all to stay here and lose one day of your holiday because I was clumsy!" Lily says, her voice raising slightly.

James opens his mouth. Closes it. When he speaks, it doesn't look like he's saying what he originally wanted to. "You're not expecting anyone to do anything. We do it because we want to."

"But—"

"And anyway, Pete came by earlier to tell me that if you were okay with it, they were going to go to the village."

"Of course I'm okay with it," Lily says, torn between feeling bewildered and touched.

"It's settled, then," James says brightly. "They go to the village and bring us dinner and we have a wonderful day here."

"We?"

"Yep. I'm so magnanimous I decided to grace you with my presence. Feel free to thank me as you see fit."

"I couldn't possibly ask you to—" Lily starts.

James cuts her off with a huff. "You can't ask if I'm offering. I want to, Lily," he adds, his tone soft but determined.

Lily's smart enough to know when a battle's lost. Plus, a little company can't hurt.

She gives a minuscule smile and says, "Okay. Thank you."

He pumps his fist in the air. Lily gives a full, if a little disbelieving, laugh.

He turns, presumably to go give the others the all-clear.

"James?" Lily calls.

He stills.

"Thank you," she says.

James faces her. "You're welcome, but you've already said that."

She shakes her head. "Not for that." And then, gesturing pointedly at the dark circles under his eyes, "For...tonight."

"Oh. Well, you're welcome for that, too. But it was the least I could do, given…"

"Given what?"

"I was the one to dare you to run in the first place. It's kind of my fault that you fell."

That has to be the stupidest thing Lily's ever heard. "James. Potter. Fellow Gryffindor. I understand that you have an ego the size of the Quidditch pitch and a guilt complex to rival it, but you cannot take credit for my fall. I did that. I tripped. I accepted your dare." Her eyes narrow. "Thank you kindly for your previous offer," she says in the stuffiest tone she can manage, "but if it is born out of guilt, I shall have to reject it."

"No, no, I put that badly!" James says. He clears his throat, puffs out his chest. "My offer is not born out of guilt, Milady." A beat passes. He adds, in his usual voice, "I want to. Seriously."

"Siriusly?" Lily asks, feigning innocence.

James gasps in mock betrayal. "That is my joke! How could you?!"

She shrugs. "You handed it to me on a silver platter."

As James gets out of the tent, she hears him mutter something suspiciously similar to, "That's why I like her." She pointedly ignores the way her stomach twists.

James has been incredibly helpful all morning. Maybe even too helpful, if you ask Lily. He's made sure that she was comfortable on the mattress, propping her up with the pillows they already had and stealing some from Sirius and Remus' tent. He's brought her breakfast and water and anything else she might desire. He made her teach him to play gin rummy so that they could pass the time. He offered to braid her hair so that she wouldn't "strain" her wrist— much to her amazement, it actually turned out pretty good. He wasn't bluffing when he said he'd practiced on Sirius before, then. However, he also adamantly refused to let her walk more than she needed to and therefore insisted on only letting her up when she had to use the bathroom— and even then, he was two inches behind her. Needless to say, he vetoed Lily's proposal of going to the sea.

This more than anything else got on Lily's nerves. They're camping at the seaside and he doesn't want to go to the sea? And he won't hear her out, no matter what she says.

By noon, her patience is wearing thin. She and James speak in clipped, overly formal sentences, like they're two acquaintances rather than friends. Then, at some point, there's the last straw: she catches James trying to slip Pepper-Up in her glass. In other circumstances, she might've been a smidge annoyed; maybe she would've laughed at his lack of foresight— really, Pepper-Up? She's not even sick. Besides, it's one of the potions with the strongest taste: he really thought that Lily Evans, one of the best potioneers in their year, wouldn't recognize it?

Now, though, the only thing she feels is deep irritation. Finally, Lily Evans snaps. "Stop coddling me, Potter! I'm not a toddler!"

"Well, you're sure as hell acting like one!" James fires back, equally irritated.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, Evans, exactly what I said. You've been sulking for hours. I'm sorry we can't go to the sea, but I don't think you'll die if you don't see it for a day— half a day, actually."

"But my ankle feels fine, and my wrist barely twinges—"

"Still, it's not fully okay! Maybe it's best to let it heal completely, don't you think?"

"Dunno about you, Potter, but I don't need my wrist to walk to the beach!" Lily says pettily.

"No, you need your ankle— which," he adds pointedly when Lily opens her mouth to retort, "Alice told you not to strain for today."

"Alice started studying Healing four months ago— forgive me if I don't take her as the utmost authority on the matter."

"As the only person with any medical knowledge present at the moment, she is the utmost authority on the matter. Do I have to remind you that you didn't want her to write to Madam Pomfrey, and you didn't want to go to a Muggle hospital?" James is starting to lose his temper, she can see it.

She finds that she doesn't particularly care. "She's most likely on holiday, and the nearest hospital is two hours away!"

"We could've traveled by Floo!"

"Do you perchance have a fireplace up your arse? If so, taking it out would be much appreciated," Lily says sarcastically.

James, to his credit, doesn't rise to the bait. "We could've taken a car—"

"Oh, yeah? Who here knows how to drive?"

"—We could've called you an ambubulance!"

"It's ambulance, Potter. And this isn't nearly as serious enough to warrant an ambulance."

"This isn't serious enough? Do you even hear yourself, Evans? You broke your wrist and your ankle, for Merlin's sake!"

"They're no longer broken— I took Skele-Gro! The bones are mended! I assure you, Potter, I feel fine! Do you want to know how I know? Because it's my. Fucking. Body!"

"That's precisely why you should take care of it!"

"Fuck you, Potter, I didn't fall on purpose!"

"I never said that, Lily. You're not taking care of it now—"

"I did! I'd feel fantastic now, were it not for the fact that you suddenly decided to go all mother hen on me!"

"Well, I'm sorry, Lily, but since you were too busy whinging, I had to step in!”

"Had to? No one asked you!"

"No one ask— sure, be a martyr. Would you have preferred it if I'd left you here alone? Not accepting help is an excellent way to lead a life. Real mature of you, Prefect Evans."

"Oh, come off your high horse, Potter. I don't think you're in any place to talk about maturity, considering that one year ago you were dangling Snape by his ankle for everyone to see!"

Lily realizes the words she spat only after they've left her mouth. James's eyes widen in shock, and a flurry of emotions flashes through them: disappointment, fury, sadness.

She immediately regrets what she said. "I'm sor—"

James shakes his head, silencing her. His face is carefully, painfully blank. "You know what, Evans?" he says, deathly quiet. "I'm tired of having this discussion. You want to go to the sea? Fine. Fucking go. I won't stop you. But don't you dare come crying to me when you break something again."

"Don't worry, Potter, I won't." Lily says, as viciously as she can.

"Good." James hisses as he walks outside.

Lily fumes in silence for a couple of hours. She replays the final moments of their argument over and over in her mind, until the voices are much crueler and distorted than they truly were. She closes her eyes. Opens then. Takes a deep breath. Then, pushing herself off the bed, she goes outside. Of course, because apparently Merlin has it in for her, she trips as soon as she's in James' line of vision.

"Lily!" he shouts, rushing to her side.

"I'm fine," she grinds out, but takes the hand he's offered.

He pulls her to her feet and they look at each other warily. Then, Lily sighs and sits back on the grass, patting the empty space next to her. James gets the message.

"I, um…" Lily says hesitantly. "I owe you an apology. You were only acting out of concern and I— well, I acted like an arse."

James laughs. He doesn't deny it. "I'm sorry, too," he says. "I was... overbearing."

Lily gives him a small smile. They sit in silence for a bit, treading around the other carefully for fear of breaking the fragile peace they've just established.

James is the one who breaks the quiet. "If you still want to, we can go to the beach."

Lily knows what this is: an olive branch. She perks up considerably. "Really?"

James nods and holds up a hand. "If, and only if, you use these." He takes out his wand and transfigures two nearby fallen branches into crutches.

She wants to object, but she bites her tongue.

James must sense that she's not thoroughly convinced, because he adds, "It's either these or I carry you."

Lily's eager to accept the crutches.

With a soft thud, the crutches fall rather unceremoniously on the sand. Next to them, there are James's glasses. Lily stands in front of the open ocean, James beside her. A smile pulls at her lips until she's grinning from ear to ear. James takes her hand and squeezes it fondly.

"Happy, Evans?" he asks.

"Very," she answers. "Bet you couldn't get to that buoy over there."

"You bet, huh?" James says, a cocky smirk already on his face.

"Yup," Lily says.

"Alright then. Let's settle this. One…"

"Eat dust, Potter. Two…"

"We'll see about that. Three…"

"GO!" Lily shouts, diving in the water.

She ends up touching the buoy first and lets out a whoop of joy. James reaches her soon after, laughing. "Who knew you were so good at swimming?"

"What can I say, Potter. I'm full of surprises."

He grins at her. "You'd make an excellent honorary Marauder, you know?"

She sticks her tongue out at him. Sunlight hits his hair, making it look more like brown than the usual inky black. There are beads of water on his lashes, and they glitter like pearls. Lily's close enough that she can count the freckles on his nose. She doesn't know why, or how —she's been knowing very little around James Potter, lately—, but something in her clicks.

Oh.

Oh.

It isn't particularly earth-shattering or upsetting. It's actually pretty obvious, in hindsight. It feels like the right key fitting in the lock, the missing tassel that completes the puzzle. It feels like adding all the ingredients of a potion together and getting it exactly like the textbook said it would be. Once she bounces the words in her mind, they sound as natural and as ordinary as her own name. She, Lily Evans, likes James Potter.

That certainly explains the sudden cheek-flushing and stomach-twisting. Suddenly giddy, she looks at James, smiling widely.

"Lily?" He asks questioningly.

"I just realized something," she answers, voice soft.

"What?"

"I'll tell you later."

Lily can't stop smiling. The newfound knowledge tastes sweet like the treacle tart the elves prepare at Hogwarts. She thinks that Charlie Bucket might've felt like this when he saw the golden ticket.

A while later, she has another realization. James might just even like her back. If this had been two years ago, she would've scoffed and said it was obvious, but he didn't really mean it. Now, though? She thinks back to the past few days. She thinks of his flushed cheeks, of the way he offered to tie her bikini, of the kiss he still hasn't realized she knows he's given her. All in all, she thinks there's at least a chance he likes her back.

Despite all her previous talk, Lily's pretty sure she's this close to shitting herself. "Hey, Potter," she says.

The water laps at their feet, and Lily wiggles her toes. It's now or never.

James turns to her expectantly, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

Lily takes a deep breath and says softly, "I like you."

James smiles. "Well, I like you too, Evans."

Lily frowns for a moment. Then she sighs deeply, because it's not like she should've expected much better from the boy who understood that Sirius and Remus were together only after he'd walked in on them snogging. Feeling eerily back to kindergarten days, she clarifies, "I like like you, James."

James's mouth falls open in a small "o", and the sight would be comedic if Lily weren't having a heart attack. A beat of silence passes. Lily suddenly becomes interested in a pebble near her toe. It's very round, she notes. Extremely black. Sleek. Probably perfect for stone-skipping. She's pondering whether to pick it up and test her theory when James speaks. "You mean you...like me?"

Lily grins, mirth dancing in her eyes. "I like you, Potter. Quite a bit, even."

Fortunately for her, James seems a bit more prepared. "Well, that's fortunate, because I also happen to like you quite a bit, Evans."

They turn to look at each other, saying everything and nothing with a few glances. Their hands somehow end up intertwined against the cool sand.

Lily scrunches her nose, squinting at the setting sun.

"What're you thinking, Lily?" James asks, and Lily can detect a hint of concern in his tone.

"That I really wanna kiss you." She answers, forcing herself to keep her voice casual. Maybe he doesn’t want to. Maybe he’ll make me wait a bit, maybe—

Luckily, James is oblivious to her internal panic and interrupts her tangent before it can go any further. "I really wanna kiss you too, Evans"

"Well then." Lily's words are barely louder than a whisper. "Shall we?"

Later, when pressed by Alice (she discovers she’d started a betting pool at the beginning of their holiday), she cannot say who initiated it. It’s a mess of wet lips and teeth and noses that get in the way. Lily cards her hand through his wet, horrible, obnoxious hair. James has his hand on her cheek and it should be cold to the touch, given that they’ve just got out of the water, but it burns. It burns, and Lily burns that feeling in her brain. When she’ll cast her Patronus next year, she’ll think of this, too. At some point, one of them trips and they stumble back into the water. They break apart with a joyous, breathless laugh. Lily’s had a couple of first kisses: after a romantic picnic on the Hogwarts grounds, over a bottle of Butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks. Even in a cupboard beside the Transfiguration classroom with Davey, the Ravenclaw prefect. They were a lot better than this one, logistically speaking. And yet, when James Potter gives her a megawatt smile and declares it “the best first kiss he’s ever had,” Lily can’t help but agree.

When they get back, the others are preparing dinner. Hearing them, Sirius turns from where he’s setting the table, a greeting on his lips. “Hel—”

He faces them properly, taking in their overjoyed faces, squints, and says, very pleased, “Congratulations, Prongs and Prongsie.”

The reaction from the others is immediate.

“WHAT!” says Frank.

“I knew it!” Say Mary, Marlene, and Dorcas in unison. Lily’s reminded of the Greek Chorus in tragedies.

“Pay up, all of you!” This is Peter, who apparently won the aforementioned bet.

“I’m happy for you,” Remus says. “And for me, too. I was getting tired of hearing you gush separately about the other anymore!” Lily turns to him, a bit betrayed.

“I want the details, Lily Evans!” Alice screeches.

Lily exchanges one look with James, who shrugs, giving her permission to say whatever she wants to. She turns to her friend, a smile playing at her lips, and says simply, “Fought. Made up. Made out.”

James laughs and plants a kiss on her forehead. “Yeah, that’s pretty much it.”

That night, Lily’s tucked against James, and their hands are intertwined. Finally, she allows herself to think what she’s subconsciously been thinking all week. She feels safe there. She belongs there, in a way, just like she belongs at Hogwarts, just like she belongs back in Cokeworth.

She’s falling asleep, and of course, because James is still an annoying arse at times, he has to speak. “Lil?”

Lily grunts in response, hoping that he’ll get the message and leave her alone. Predictably, he doesn’t. “Think our friends set us up?”

And...okay, she’ll let him off the hook this time, because he may have a point. She thinks back to Sirius and Mary high-fiving, and how happy Alice seemed after telling her that she’d broken her wrist and ankle. She thinks of Remus’ words that day in the water. Okay, yeah, they definitely did.

“Yep,” she answers.

“I thought so, too,” James says. “And should we prank them or thank them?”

Lily grins mischievously. The boys are rubbing off on her, for sure. “Prank first, thank-yous later.”

“See, that’s why I like you.”

The next morning, Lily and James wait, sitting crisscrossed on the grass. She plays idly with her hair.

“Shouldn’t be long, now,” James says.

Lily mentally counts three, two, one…

And sure enough, the others all come barrelling out of their tents, screaming bloody murder and a surprisingly creative number of other threats. Sirius and Alice are leading the charge, dripping water as they go. James was the one to suggest drenching them with water balloons; Lily, who’s always been better at Charms than him, figured out what spell would do it.

“I will kill you, Lily Evans!”

“You watch your back, Potter, ‘cause you’re a dead man!”

James gets to his feet, utterly unconcerned. “That was for meddling,” he says, his tone innocent.

They’re all becoming angrier now. “We did you a favour, you—” Marlene starts, outraged.

Lily follows James, discreetly waving her wand behind her back. She’s got to be quick, or their friends might decide to make good on their promises and drown them in the sea. One by one, eight bouquets sprout from her wand, and she hands them out with a flourish.

“And these,” she says with a smile, “are also for meddling.”

Then, she brings her arm around James, and she watches the scowls on her friends’ faces become grins.

She takes in the scene: she and James and their friends, laughing in the sun, and she thinks, this is how it’s supposed to be.

She and James and their friends against the world.

(Four years later, when she gets the news that Marlene’s been killed by Death Eaters, she breaks down in James’s arms, because they were supposed to stay together, dammit!

When Sirius and James start talking about how Remus might be the spy, she tells them both to get their heads out of their asses and breaks a vase, and as she looks at her reflection in the shards she wonders what exactly happened to the ten teenagers who went camping once upon a time.

When Voldemort himself tries to break down their door three weeks later and she realizes that the same boy who once brought a pan with him on holiday betrayed them to the Dark Lord, Lily Evans-Potter has her answer: the War happened.

But that is a story for another time.)