Chapter Text
Lily Evans waits nervously in a dim hallway, breathing in and out. She knocks before entering a workroom. The men of the room don’t stand, nor do they remove their hats for her. Most don’t even realise she’s walked in. Lily walks past every desk, looking for one in particular.
She finds it and clears her throat, “Excuse me. I’m looking for the Daily Prophet office, I would like to speak to Mr Dashwood.”
The cranky old man behind the desk stares silently at her. She smiles nervously and looks down to see his nameplate ‘Mr Dashwood’.
Her mouth drops into an ‘o’ before she schools her appearance again. She holds the papers out to him, “A friend of mine wanted me to hand in a story she wrote. And to ask if she can write more, if it suits.”
He takes the manuscript from her, “Not a first attempt, I take it?”
“No, sir. She has sold to “The Quibbler” and “Witch Weekly” and won prizes for her stories.”
“Prizes?”
“Yes. Sir.” Her voice falters.
He takes in her lightly dishevelled appearance. “Sit.”
Lily sits, wringing her hands nervously and trying to cover the ink stains on her fingers. Mr Dashwood dips his pen in ink and begins making notes on Lily’s work. He takes great delight in crossing things out and slapping the page on his desk. Every slam breaks her heart further and her leg bounces with anxiety.
She almost doesn’t hear Mr Dashwood when he says, “We’ll take this.”
She meets his eyes, “You will?”
He gathers the papers, “With alterations. It’s far too long.”
She nods, smiles and takes her pages back from him. She inspects her work, eyeing the huge cross marks with disdain. “You’ve cut so much. I made sure some of the sinners repent.”
“The country just went through a war. People want to be amused, not preached at. Morals don’t sell nowadays.” He pushes his glasses down his nose to look at her over the frames. “Perhaps mention that to your ‘friend’.”
“What compensation –”
“We’ll pay twenty for that.” ‘That’ is said with a hint of sarcasm.
Lily is desperate for the money, “You can have it. Make the edits.”
They exchange paper, he gives her the money, she gives him the story.
“Should I tell my friend you’ll take another? If she had one.”
Mr Dashwood sighs, “We’ll look at it. Tell her to make it short and spicy. Oh and if the main character is a girl, make sure she’s either married or dead by the end.”
Lily is taken aback, “I’m sorry.”
He’s already moved on, “What name?”
“Oh, none at all please.”
“If that’s what ‘she’ prefers.”
“Good day, sir.”
As soon as she leaves eyesight of the office, Lily takes off running. Pulling up her skirts and sprinting.
She arrives back at the boarding house, picking up the matron’s cat, “Marlene would love you.” She carries the cat through to the drawing room, kissing it on the head and laying it gently on the seat near the fire. She stands with her back to the fire, warming herself while she writes. A group of young people enter. Among them is James Potter.
“Good afternoon, Miss Evans.” Professor Potter is a very handsome man, dark curly hair and beautiful hazel eyes. Lily was always jealous of how her sister could capture people in portraits. She longed to see him painted.
“Good afternoon, Professor.” She straightens up but continues to write.
“You’re on fire.”
She looks up and smiles at him, “Thank you.”
“No, you’re on fire.” He points to her skirt, panicked. The back of her dress has caught on fire. A young woman from the group he entered with helps her put it out.
Her face is warm with humiliation.
“No, don’t worry,” James laughs, “I have the same habit.” He shows her scorch marks on his jacket.
Lily giggles and is about to comment when the matron of the house, Mrs Sprout, interrupts.
She scolds the two, “Your niece and nephew are waiting.” She thwacks James on the arm and holds a hand out for Lily.
“Harry and Daisy need me.” She sends a soft smile.
“Yes, sorry, of course. Tell them I will be there to tell them a story tonight.”
“Of course. Maybe you can tell them about Y/N in Paris.”
As he watches her walk up the stairs, he whispers, “I’ll tell them about you.”
~*~*~*~*~
Y/N Evans is in a lesson with other young artists, painting a classic Parisian scene of a young woman with two young men at a picnic. She feels that there may be something wrong with it. She looks over at the artist’s work next to her. His work is bright and colourful and the people are rendered with basic features. Hers is incredibly detailed, every person is rendered carefully and realistically. An imitation of her favourite artists.
Y/N realises that she might not be the genius she thought she was. She may not be cut out for this. She continues her painting, troubled and heartbroken.
After her lesson, Y/N travels through the city in an open air carriage with Aunt Evans. She folds a letter from home delicately on her lap. She hopes that if she does it enough her family’s love will transfer through her gloves. Her aunt is complaining, as she always does.
“The decadents have ruined Paris, if you ask me. These French women couldn’t lift a hairbrush.”
Y/N doesn’t respond.
“Y/N!” She whips her head around to her aunt, “I said, ‘These French women couldn’t lift a hairbrush.’”
A faux laugh from Y/N, “Oh yes, very true Aunt Evans.”
“Don’t humour me, girl.” Her voice is stern but her eyes travel down to the letter on her niece’s lap and her lips curl in distress. “What do they write, your troublemaking family?”
“Mother doesn’t say anything about Marlene. I should go back but they say I should stay.”
“There’s nothing for you to do if you go back. She’s sick, not lonely.” Y/N gives her a hard look but she yammers on, “And you shouldn’t go home until you’re engaged to Fred Vaughn.”
Y/N puts the letter away, “Yes and completed my painting lessons of course.”
Aunt Evans is confused for a moment, but waves her off, “Yes, yes of course.”
Y/N looks around at the passers-by, upset at Aunt Evans and her family refusing to tell her about Marlene. A classically handsome man, tall and dark walks by, looking down at his feet.
Abandoning all sense of propriety, she taps the driver, “STOP THE CARRIAGE! SIRI! SIRIUS!”
She jumps out of the carriage and runs straight at the man, almost bowling other people over. She launches herself in his arms and he spins her around. Both laugh with the joy of their childhood.
He rests his hands on her shoulders, “Y/N! You’re so grown up!”
She holds his wrists gently, “You wrote you’d come to the hotel!”
“I looked for you, I couldn’t find you anywhere.”
“You didn’t look hard enough.”
“Maybe I just didn’t recognize you, you’ve become so beautiful.” He removes his hands and steps back, gesturing at her.
She pulls a face, “Please don’t.”
He laughs, “I thought you liked that sort of thing!”
Y/N turns her nose up slightly, “Well I don’t.” She smiles again and looks over his shoulder, “Where’s your godfather?”
“Still in Germany.” He puts his hands behind his back, “I’m on my own, traveling and having fun.”
Y/N teases him, “And drinking and gambling and flirting…”
Sirius looks scandalised, and if she hadn’t known he was playing, Y/N would’ve believed he was genuinely horrified. “Don’t tell your mother.”
“So are you chasing some girl around Europe?” She realises a second too late what she’s implying, “I’m s- I couldn’t believe Lily turned you down, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be, I’m not.” For now it’s false, but in seeing Y/N again, he thinks it could become the truth.
Aunt Evans’ sharp voice cuts into their reunion, “Y/N! Y/N EVANS! YOU GET BACK HERE NOW!”
Y/N pulls Sirius along by his hand and they run to her, “Coming Aunt Evans!”
Sirius jumps into the carriage and kisses Aunt Evans, “You look marvellous as always.”
“GET OFF ME! GO, GO!” With surprising strength, she pushes Sirius off of her and pulls Y/N into her seat in one smooth movement.
As the carriage pulls away, Y/N turns and calls out to her friend, “Come to the New Year’s Party! It’s a ball and everyone will be there, including Fred!” She turns back around, then remembers, “Pick me up at the hotel at eight! And dress for festivities! Top hats and silks!”
“I will, I’ll wear my best silk!” He replies, waving and smiling as she leaves.
She waves and sits back down, ignoring her aunt’s outraged ramblings. She smiles to herself and rubs the hand she was holding Siri’s with.
Sirius watches the carriage leave, admiring the woman within. He turns and walks away, a light pep in his step.
Y/N takes one last look at him before he’s gone again and she knows. She loves him. Just as she’s always loved him.
~*~*~*~*~
Alice Evans, a beautiful woman in her own right, watches her friend Narcissa browse through silks, yearning for the feeling of picking out something you like and not worrying about the expense.
Narcissa is the type of rich young woman who has never worked a day in her life. Even her debut was a breeze, a match made with one Lucius Malfoy in a matter of weeks. She looks over to her friend, who eyes a beautiful green silk.
“Alice, that would look so lovely on you, and I know the perfect dressmaker to help you.”
Alice is snapped from her reverie, “No, no I couldn’t possibly. Frank needs a new coat and Neville and Luna need new clothes.”
“And you need a new dress.” Narcissa isn’t spiteful when she speaks, she doesn’t intend to embarrass her friend. She has simply never had to deal with budgeting or balancing expenses. That was her husband’s job.
Alice attempts to hide her embarrassment, her voice emphatic, “I can’t.”
“But he’ll be so pleased with how you look that he’ll forget all about the expense.”
It was a truly beautiful colour and silk wasn’t that expensive, “I suppose it’s not too much of an extravagance.”
The sales clerk pounces, “Will twenty yards do?”
Her mind was made up, “Yes, thank you.” She watches, delighted heart freezing over with guilt as the silk is cut to length.
When she gets home, the full force of guilt hits her. “What was I thinking?”
Her children play in the garden as she steps out. She sits down on the porch, her guilt almost overwhelming.
The twins run towards her, “Mummy!” She accepts their hug, grateful for the weight they lift from her, even if it’s only for a moment. She sends them off to play again, wiping tears away before they see.
~*~*~*~*~
Marlene Evans has always loved playing piano. It brings her a tremendous amount of satisfaction. It always fills her empty childhood home with joy. She stops playing suddenly, breathing deeply through the pain.
She feels the sunlight on her hand. She flexes it, hoping to stretch the pain away.
Her mother’s concerned voice sounds from the kitchen, “Marlene? Marlene!”
She can’t bring herself to respond.
~*~*~*~*~
Lily Evans had never been to the theatre half as much as when she came to the city. One of her favourites is on tonight. She had finished her lessons with Harry and Daisy and eavesdropped while James told them a story. Then she wrote furiously, until it was time for her to leave.
Lily stands in the back, watching Twelfth Night, enraptured in the actress’ spectacular performances. James watches the play from a ‘proper’ seat, amongst his friends. He’s seen the play many times before, so it no longer entertains him the way it used to.
He looks around the theatre, taking comfort in watching others’ reaction to the play. He spots Lily at the back. He watches the delight on her face and smiles.
Later that night, Lily enters a beer hall nervously, having followed James and his friends there. She takes the bright energy in, rowdy patrons drinking and dancing. She finds James in the crowd, speaking a foreign language to a couple who entertain him.
A young man, also speaking a foreign language, approaches Lily with an outstretched hand.
“I only speak English sorry!” She cries, giggling at the sweet man.
“Come dance!” She briefly wonders if he learnt that phrase in English for this specific reason, but is pulled into a dance.
It’s not structured like she’s used to. Everyone seems to be doing what they want in their pairs, whirling around wildly. Pairs even swap partners as they go, and eventually Lily finds herself with James, who smiles sheepishly. All of her self-consciousness leaves her body and she throws herself into movement. She dances the night away with James, mind whirling as this kind man sweeps her off her feet.