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Miss Lily Evans flicks her willow wand, Levitating a jar of scarab beetles down from the tallest shelf in The Apothecary in Diagon Alley. Neither of the two step-ladders is available for use. She’s not tall like her sister, Miss Petunia Evans. She can’t even reach the third-highest shelf on the towering displays in the shop.
She expected that an apprenticeship would be more mentally exhausting than studying for her N.E.W.T.s. and it turns out she was right. Lily’s brewed the Wit-Sharpening Potion every weekend since she began her apprenticeship to help her remember everything that she learns. Alchemy is a complicated field of study. It can be extremely dangerous. She needs her wits about her at all times.
“I’m low on ginger root,” Lily reminds herself as she places the jar in her shopping basket.
Thankfully, none of the ingredients for the Wit-Sharpening Potion are rare or expensive. If she had the time and motivation to keep a garden, she would grow them all herself. Mister Severus Snape, her oldest friend, does cultivate all the ingredients. However, he uses them in his experiments as part of his Potions apprenticeship.
And while Lily has the funds to purchase doses of the Wit-Sharpening Potion from Premier Potions—the Honorable and Most Ancient House of Potter’s flagship potions shop—it’s cheaper for her to brew it herself. The potion is fairly simplistic and doesn’t take long to brew. It would be a waste of money to buy it at more than twice the cost of the ingredients simply for expediency’s sake.
Besides, Severus shares his small potions laboratory with her each weekend while she brews. It allows them to spend time together and catch up, which is more difficult now that their schedules are so completely different from what they were when they were students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
“And I should grab some armadillo bile to be on the safe side,” Lily says after adding several ginger roots to her shopping bag.
The bell over the door jangles somewhere behind her.
Lily passes a locked cabinet with potentially hazardous potion ingredients. The back panel of the cabinet is mirrored. She grimaces when she catches sight of an unruly head of dark hair behind her, just a few steps inside the door of the shop.
“For Morgana’s sake,” Lily groans.
This will be the third time in as many weeks that Heir James Potter has “coincidentally” bumped into her while she’s out shopping in various magical districts. At this point, Lily can’t help but wonder if he’s paying people to owl him or Floo him when she’s spotted in public.
“Your family owns a bloody potions empire,” Lily mutters as she adds a jar of armadillo bile to her bag. “The Barony of Potter Fields grows a truly monumental amount of potion ingredients. You can’t seriously think I’ll believe it’s a coincidence you’re here at the same time I am.”
Someone to the left of Lily snickers loudly. She flushes, realizing she’s been overheard quietly mocking the heir of one of the most respected pureblood lineages in all of Avalon.
Before Lily can turn to see who it is and gauge just how much damage she’s just caused her hard-won, excellent reputation, an unfortunately familiar voice calls, “Miss Evans, what a pleasant surprise to see you here!”
Lily sighs and turns to face him. She bobs a curtsy and manages to keep her tone friendly while saying, “I hope you’ve had a pleasant day so far, Heir Potter.”
The corners of James’s honey-hazel eyes scrunch from how widely he smiles. “It’s even better now that I’ve seen you, Miss Evans!”
She can’t say the same without making a liar of herself. Her days are always better when she doesn’t have to see him or deal with his crush on her. “That’s kind of you to say,” Lily replies.
Rich, throaty snickering sounds from somewhere behind her.
James rocks on his heels, stance full of unwarranted confidence given how many times she’s politely refused his company, and asks, “Are you available after this?”
It’s an absolute miracle that she manages to keep her voice free of irritation when she inquires, “What do you want, Heir Potter?”
“Everything,” James answers instantly and too intently, before adding with a grin, “but I’ll settle for escorting you to lunch today for now.”
“How like a wizard to be so presumptuous,” a husky, feminine voice mocks as a lush womanly figure slots neatly against Lily. “Don’t you think she would have accepted one of your offers by now if she held even a smidgeon of interest in you?”
Lily’s stomach swoops as the witch’s arms wrap around her from behind. Elegant hands interlock right beneath Lily’s bosom in a display of casual possession, as if assured such intimate contact is welcome. The fair skin, starry manicure, and black robe sleeves announce the pureblood witch’s identity without Lily having to see her face.
“Lady Bellatrix,” James greets, bowing at the shoulders, displeasure in his eyes as he glares at how familiarly she’s draped over Lily.
Bellatrix doesn’t curtsy in response or return his greeting, in defiance of pureblood etiquette. Unlike her younger sister, Heiress Narcissa Malfoy, who is famous for adhering to the strictest form of etiquette at all times, Lady Bellatrix is equally as famous for snubbing even the highest-ranked members of pureblood society.
One moment, Lily sees Potter’s affronted face. The next, she’s staring right at Lady Bellatrix, who stepped between them with a wicked smirk on her lush lips. Her riotous black curls are barely restrained, several having sprung free to frame her face. Her dark sloe-eyes are as captivating as the night sky.
“Lady Bellatrix,” Lily whispers as her cheeks burn. She laments the loss of Bellatrix’s touch as she curtsies.
“You’re much too tempting when you blush, little flower,” Bellatrix purrs as she drags a finger down Lily’s cheek. “I want to see how far it spreads.” She trails her finger down Lily’s neck, not pausing until she reaches the neckline of Lily’s robes.
Unlike Petunia, who is happily engaged to Heir Rodolphus Lestrange, Lily has never attended a single Courtship Date. Until now, as the object of Lady Bellatrix’s undivided attention, her heart has never so much as skipped a beat for anyone else.
The sensation is somewhat frightening in its newness, but Lily chose Gryffindor over Ravenclaw for a reason.
“Lady Bellatrix!” James gasps, sounding mortified. “Don’t speak of Miss Evans in such an uncouth way.”
Bellatrix laughs, throaty and with dark amusement. “I wouldn’t believe you’ve never imagined plucking this tempting little flower even if you swore a Potter Vow to that effect.”
Lily wrinkles her nose when Potter doesn’t refute the statement. She would rather never again think about whatever fantasies he’s built up in his head about them. None of them will ever occur in real life.
“I want you,” Bellatrix states baldly as her dark sloe-eyes meander their way down Lily’s body.
Breath catching in her lungs, heartbeat thundering in her ears, Lily grins at the gorgeous pureblood witch who ignites something inside her and says, “Then offer me a courting fan.”
As Lily turns on her heel and heads off to pay for the items in her bag, a smirk of satisfaction curls her lips when Bellatrix laughs delightedly and then purrs, “Oh, I will. All my favorite flowers have thorns.”