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“I thought you said it was the greatest mistake you’d ever made? Remember how long it took for the Tories to stop referencing your baking skills—or lack thereof—in debates? Didn’t Riddle call you ‘the Flapjack Fumbler’ on Question Time?”

James grimaced. “That was one time.”

“And then there was that headline that read ‘Britain deserves MPs who don’t crumble under pressure — unlike Potter’s pastries.’”

“Two times.”

“And don’t even get me started on —”

“Three times, all right? Maybe four, five, or six?” James snapped, running a hand through his hair, the breeze causing goosebumps to erupt on his skin. “I remember. Vividly. Thanks. I'll remind you that I was the one that lived it.”

Sirius sighed. “So what the hell are you doing back there?”

James glanced up at the tent again. Lily Evans is here, his brain supplied unhelpfully. Instead, he said, “I don’t know. Temporary insanity? Charity? National humiliation?”

“You forgot to add that yours is a case of deeply unrequited love -”

"Goodbye Sirius." James groaned, cutting him off, and hanging up just as Pomona Sprout jogged up to him, her grin so wide it should have been illegal before noon. He hung up quickly, praying Sirius’ helpful observations hadn’t carried over the line loudly enough for the entire crew to hear. That would further add to the tragedy that was his pathetic excuse of a non-existent love life.

"James, darling," said the woman. “You are a lifesaver! Truly! Everyone is so thrilled you’ve agreed to join us — giving up your weekend, no less, to be back in the tent.” She held her arms wide, as if presenting her surroundings to him.

James gave a weak laugh, hoping it sounded charming instead of panicked. “Well, I —”

She looped her arm through his, dragging him off to one of the production trailers on the other end. "Tonks is waiting for you. Now, not to worry—we’ve told her not to do too much to that delightful hair of yours. You were, after all, elected 'Hottest MP of 2022'!"

He let out an awkward chuckle. "You'd be surprised how quickly that changed after the baking debacle inside the tent," he corrected her. "There's nothing more unattractive than being a fully incompetent baker, it appears."

"Oh, nonsense!" Pomona snorted. "There's nothing sexier than a man admitting he needs help, and you, James, did not wallow and hide it."

He hummed, not fully convinced of the older woman's attempt to cheer him up. Several of the show's crew - people he had gotten to know last year - greeted him cheerfully, smiling brightly. It did stroke his ego to know that he was warmly received, that he was not the laughing stock he feared he might have become. 

"Anyway, if they don't see it, darling, it is their loss altogether. Everyone here at Bake Off loves you for obvious reasons! Unfortunately, none of this year's contestants are even remotely witty or entertaining enough, which makes you the perfect co-host to Lily. Frankly, without you, the season would be terribly drab. Oh, look! There's Kingsley." She stopped and waved, catching the attention of the man she'd spotted. "Kingsley, darling, look who's back!"

"Potter!" Exclaimed the BBC producer, jogging up to him now. "Thank fuck you said yes. We were at our wit's end. Personally, I think it was a stroke of genius to call you up. We should have asked you before Roy called in sick this morning, maybe. You have no idea what your presence did for us last year, mate."

James shook hands with him, his smile tight. "Happy to help out," he said. "Of course, I'm here for selfish reasons, too. It's a form of trauma therapy, I'm sure, returning to the place of your very worst nightmares."

Kingsley laughed loudly, throwing his head back. "And that, Potter, is why you are the perfect man for the job. Don't use up all your jokes before the camera starts rolling, all right?" Not a joke, James thought, but he didn't voice it, eyes scanning the production grounds. "Sprout, get him ready, all right? We want to start rolling in thirty, if possible. I know it's rushed -"

"Do not sweat, Tonks is ready for him, and Lily has promised to join him in the hair and make-up trailer to make sure he is up to speed and knows who will be in front of him." This was news to James, his stomach fluttering at the mere mention of his temporary co-host. 

"Just try not to make your jokes too political, all right?" Asked Kingsley. "You know the BBC, we can't exactly air it if we show unfair bias towards one party over the other. By the way, just so you know, everyone here would vote for you if you were to run for PM. We all love you at GBBO!"

"Thanks," he started, "I don't think the party will consider me any time soon, but I'll be sure to bring that up in the interview when they do." 

"Ha!" Kingsley cackled, walking off. "Keep up the energy, Potter. Today is going to be beautiful, I can tell!"

He was led to the hair and make-up trailer, Tonks greeting him with enthusiasm before she sat him down, and reached for a brush. "I've got direct instructions to make sure you look edible," she said, cocking an eyebrow at him. "I hope you do not mind too much? The BBC wants there to be more eye candy other than the tarts, pies and pastries the contestants will bake." She leans forward, whispers amusedly: "It's why they are keeping Lockhart on, to tell you the truth. Between you and me, we know he doesn't have much else to offer than a pretty face and a massive, overblown ego. I cannot wait for the witty repartee between you and Evans, truly. At least, the both of you have a good head on your shoulders."

"If I can manage to keep it on around her, of course," he said as she powdered his face. His thoughts flitted to the beautiful auburn-haired woman who had, he was certain, been at least twenty-five percent to blame for his spectacular failure the year before. He had been—he was sure of it — far too busy watching her to focus on the baking he was supposed to be doing. Although it was also a skill issue, he was very much aware of that, too.

"You're a hoot," said Tonks, not realizing he was being completely honest in his admission. Or, perhaps, sparing him the embarrassment.

Before he could tell the woman not to feel sorry for him, however, the door to the trailer opened and in stepped Lily Evans herself, hair glossy, a green bow in her hair that complimented her eyes perfectly. His pulse spiked at the mere sight of her.

"James Potter," she spoke slowly, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She wore a suit that matched the bow in her hair, and - surprisingly - a pair of slippers on her feet. "Are you sure you don't want to go out there and bake yourself? They're making a Christmas pudding this year, and I would love to see how yours would come out." Her smile, as she said it, was just a little cheeky, only adding to the magnetic pull of her presence.

He grinned back even if he rolled his eyes, Tonks complaining as he did, and grasping his chin between her thumb and forefinger, holding his face in place. "Believe me, Evans, I'd rather go viral this Christmas for another reason altogether." 

"Hmm," she said, walking over, only to come to a halt beside him, leaning against the wall on his left, "that's a shame, truly." Then, crossing her arms in front of her chest, smile softening a little, she said: "I saw your tweet in response to Riddle earlier this morning." She arched an eyebrow, corners of her lips twitching. "It was good."

He couldn't help the swell of pride that surged through him remembering how he himself had chuckled as he'd composed it, too: Tom Riddle’s immigration policies are like my flapjacks last year—burnt, misguided, and best left in the past. At least I can admit when I’ve messed up. Riddle should try it sometime. #RiddleOut

“Glad you liked it,” he said, fighting to keep his tone light and unaffected. “I thought it was a solid one. Not as good as my baking, of course, but getting there," here she laughed genuinely, tips of his ears warming as the sound met his ears, "It’ll do.”

"I don't remember your baking to be very solid," she teased, he huffed out a laugh. "Honestly, though, I think that tweet deserves a handshake from both Dumbledore and McGonagall. If only your witty retorts were taken into consideration when it came to your baking efforts last year."

"Ah, but, Evans," he clucked his tongue, his ego boosted just a tad at the compliment that followed the insult, "where would have been the fun in that? My epic failure served the show so well!"

"Maybe," she told him, "but I would have preferred it if we could have kept you a little longer. It got awfully boring once you were kicked out prematurely."

"I don't know if anyone else would say I was kicked to the curb well before my time." 

She cocked her head to the side, observing him before handing him a piece of paper he hadn’t noticed she had carried inside with her. It only went to show how single-mindedly focused on her he was. “That’s a list of all the contestants. It includes some basic information about them, too. Things you should know, and can maybe use. I don’t think we should rehearse too much; I like to keep it natural, and I know your brain works faster than mine.”

"Impossible," he shook his head, his eyes falling to the names on the list: Mary Macdonald, a fashion influencer; Marlene McKinnon, a female professional football player — he paused, then looked up at her. “You’re just about the cleverest person I know, Evans.”

He wasn’t sure if he was imagining things, but he thought her cheeks pinkened slightly as he said it. She cleared her throat, pushing off the wall and dusting some invisible speck — though to be fair, his eyesight was terrible — off her pants.  "You're a charming one, Potter." Then, turning to Tonks, she said: "Give his hair a tousle, yeah? It brings out his eyes more." 

James almost choked on air, but before he could recover, Lily sashayed out of the trailer, tossing over her shoulder a teasing: "See you in the tent, Potter!"

---

"Are you ready, contestants?" Asked Lily Evans, standing beside him, heat radiating from her frame, the smell of her perfume intoxicating, and making him feel light-headed. "Ready, set -"

He joined her at the “bake,” clasping his hands together as he did, a wide smile spreading across his face as he took in the contestants in front of him. He couldn't help but remember how he’d stood there, just like them, the previous year — except now, it was infinitely more relaxing. Watching others about to start their baking felt like a piece of cake in comparison to the stress of actually doing it.

He scanned the group, nodding to himself. He predicted that Mary Macdonald would thrive when it came to the decorations, at least, while Marlene McKinnon looked so determined that he wouldn’t put it past her to win the whole thing altogether. He wondered who might be the first to exit the tent.

"Okay," said Lily, turning to him now. Surprisingly, one of her hands came to rest on his upper arm. "So far so good, Potter. We are supposed to do our rounds, now. The most important thing is for you to be yourself. Just be witty, funny, too. It's what you were hired for."

"No pressure at all," he spoke, eyes flitting briefly to where her fingers had almost wrapped around his bicep. He did not want to read into things, most likely shouldn't. "But for you, Evans, I will try and rise to meet your expectations. Not that I was actually hired." 

She snorted, dropped her hand, he felt the loss of her touch deeply. "Okay, we'll start with Filius Flitwick."

James followed her, consciously willing his eyes not to wander to her hips and the curve of her bum, which seemed spectacular from whatever angle he had gotten to admire it thus far. It wasn’t easy, especially with how effortlessly stunning she looked in that suit, the green bow in her hair that matched the twinkle in her eyes making her look impossibly radiant.

Lily stopped at the first station, striking up a conversation with the actor she had said they would visit first, her voice light and engaging. "Hello Filius, good to have you with us. Are you feeling the Christmas spirit yet?

Filius Flitwick, the small but enthusiastic actor, looked up from his station, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "Oh, I’ve been in the Christmas spirit since September," he said, laughing as he adjusted his apron. "But it’s hard to top the energy in this tent. How about you, Lily? Feeling festive?"

Lily flashed him a bright smile, her green bow bouncing slightly with the movement of her head. "I’m always festive," she replied, her tone light-hearted, even though there was a warmth to it, too. "I’m not sure I can compete with the Christmas tree you’ve turned your bake station into, though!" She gestured toward the small decorative tree that Filius had placed on his table, proudly adorned with tiny edible decorations. "You’re setting a high bar here."

Filius chuckled, beaming. "Well, Christmas is about the details, isn’t it? Every bake should be a gift in itself. Not to mention, that I am hopeful that any decorations I do beforehand distract from the bake I might hand in at the end."

James, who had been standing slightly off to the side, observing the exchange, couldn't help but join in with his own comment, very much aware of the cameras following him and Lily around. "Good prepping if anything, Filius," he said, stepping forward with his trademark grin. "A little extra decoration never hurt anyone, as long as it doesn’t end up burnt like some of us were last year." He shot a playful glance at Lily.

Lily raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Careful, Potter. You know the old saying: you can’t bake a Christmas cake with a half-baked attitude. Wasn't that how your flapjacks ended up last year, anyway? Half-baked yet somehow still burnt?"

"You know I was your favourite, Evans," he said, voice deepening ever so slightly, eyes sparking. "No need to keep up the pretence."

"Fucking hell, that's what I'm talking about!" Kingsley Shacklebolt's voice entered his ear through the earpiece he wore. "Keep it up, yeah? Somehow the two of you are making Bake Off sexy. Feel free to turn it up a notch even."

Lily Evans' cheeks coloured - an unexpected, yet welcome sight that greeted his eyes - as Shacklebolt's comment undoubtedly reached her ears, too. She blinked momentarily before turning toward the next station where Mary Macdonald was whisking with such intensity that it looked like she was trying to start a windstorm.

"Looks like you're aiming for your bake to be a whisk above the rest's, Mary," he told the fashionista, who did not even look up at him. Her cheeks were already flushed. 

Lily gave him a quick, exasperated glance, but he could see the corners of her mouth twitching upwards in spite of herself. She turned back to Mary, whose whisking had now turned into a full-on flurry of movement.

"Careful there, Mary," Lily said, her voice light but a touch more serious, "We want a meringue, not a hurricane."

Finally, Mary looked up, a gleam of determination in her eyes. "I’m just trying to get that perfect peak," she said with a grin. "I've read up on it, and it says no meringue is complete without it. Besides, a little storm never hurt anyone, did it?."

James raised an eyebrow. "A perfect peak, huh? I thought that was my thing," he teased, giving her a wink as he watched her work. Kingsley, in his earpiece said: "Yes, Potter, keep up the spice!" James had to resist the urge to roll his eyes now, leaning towards the baking contestant to stage whisper: "But don't worry, Mary, I’m sure you’ll blow us all away."

"Much like you did last year, Potter?" Asked Mary, eyebrow quirked now.

James laughed, "Touché," he replied.

Lily - who had been quiet - now jumped in. "I am certain your title of Most Memorable Celebrity Bake-saster will remain intact this year, Potter. I don't think any of the contestants look as close to a burn out as you did within a minute last year." 

James clutched his chest in mock offense. “You wound me, Evans! I was going for smouldering under pressure, not burnt to a crisp.”

Mary snorted but didn’t look up from her bowl. Lily, in the meantime, arched an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed. “Smouldering? Is that what we’re calling setting off the fire alarm and somehow still delivering raw flapjacks now?”

“Look, I’ve said it before — I like to keep things exciting. Baking is supposed to be about heat and passion, isn’t it?” He shot her a grin, leaning just slightly closer.

Lily didn’t flinch, though her lips twitched as if fighting a smile. It made his heart stutter inside his chest. “I think it’s supposed to be about precision and timing, actually. Or, that's what I was always told. It's as close to science as anything.”

"Ah, Evans," he told her, "I wouldn't want to be accused of being boring, and that's what that sounds like exactly." Then, he turned to the camera, grinned at it: "Sorry, dad, didn't mean to insult your profession, but you know I've got no love for chemistry."

Every exchange between the GBBO contestants and themselves continued in a similar fashion, he and Lily shooting biting comments the other's way. It felt - he thought - like they were flirting, like she was trying as hard as he was - no pun intended here - to one up him.

By the time they reached the last contestant, James was certain half the country would be speculating about what the hell was going on between him - a supposedly well-respected MP - and the BBC presenter. He was certain, too, that he looked like a lovesick puppy following her around in the tent. (He didn't just look like one, truly. He was one, too.)

Lily, meanwhile, seemed completely unbothered — whether by the cameras, the contestants, or his increasingly obvious infatuation. He knew he was being far too forthcoming, that he was giving his family and friends even more grounds to tease him relentlessly once the episode was aired. She, on the other hand, was cool, professional, and maddeningly charming as ever, which only made matters worse. Or better. He couldn’t quite decide. He did have a thing for competent women, after all.

James was beginning to think he needed professional help — or, at the very least, a cold shower. Preferably both. It was entirely unfair that someone could look that good while discussing a bake's consistency. Or that her laugh — bright, sharp, and just a little bit wicked — had the power to short-circuit his brain every time it rang out in the tent.

Luckily, the end of the first assignment was near, meaning that a short break would follow before they'd film McGonagall's and Dumbledore's verdict, giving both him and Lily - as well as the crew and contestants - a much needed moment of reprieve. As soon as the cameras stopped rolling, Tonks was on him with a brush, Sprout joining him, too.

"Ever considered a career change, darling?" Asked the floor manager. “You and Evans make a wonderful team. It is like you have been doing this together for years.”

He laughed, eyes flitting to where Lily stood, deep in conversation with a member of the camera crew he recognized but who had never seemed too keen on him. His hair came to his shoulders, he was dressed in all black, and his nose had a pronounced hook to it. He frowned as Lily laughed at something the camera man said, a pang of jealousy making his nostrils flare.

“- like a Christmas romcom, you know. You’re giving of Hugh Grant as the UK PM vibes,” Tonks said.

“What?” He asked, startled, forehead creasing in confusion.

“Nothing,” said the make-up artist, powdering his face again. He was not quite sure he liked the feel of the brush. It made his nose tickle, his face crunch up. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, and if we find you and Lily snogging in the pantry, we’ll all pretend to be properly shocked.”

“What?” He said again, but Tonks and Sprout backed away, leaving him behind, properly red in the face, he imagined. He felt it was awfully reminiscent of how he had felt when he had first taken his flapjack out of the oven, and noted that it was - well, quite frankly - raw. He had known enough about flapjacks - after having eaten them for years - to know that what he had served up was far from presentable.

That had been a disaster. This, he thought as he shot another glance at Lily — who was still chatting with the cameraman, still laughing — was quickly shaping up to be another one. Only this time, it had nothing to do with burnt flapjacks and everything to do with the way his stomach twisted when her hand lightly touched the man’s arm.

James groaned under his breath. He was being ridiculous. Unprofessional, even. They were coworkers for a day or two, partners for the show, and he had absolutely no claim over who she laughed with, or touched, or looked at like —

Lily turned then, catching his eye, and for one excruciating second, he forgot how to breathe. Her gaze lingered, her smile softening, and he could have sworn —

"Okay, return to your places, everyone. We're getting ready to film Dumbledore's and McGonagall's verdict. In three, two, one -!" 

James startled as Kingsley’s voice rang out across the tent, breaking whatever moment he thought he and Lily might have just shared. She blinked, her expression smoothing into something effortlessly professional as she turned back toward the set. Meanwhile, James was left floundering, struggling to collect himself as the crew bustled around him.

He swore it was easier to navigate Westminster.

---

"I swear, Remus," he lamented over the phone. They had broken up for lunch, he taking the welcome reprieve to distance himself from the tent, from Lily Evans. "This is the worst thing I could have possibly done. I'm going to stir it all back up again, the Tories will eat me alive. Not to mention that mum and Sirius will never let me live it down when they see me obsess over Lily Evans on live television."

Remus, ever the voice of reason, hummed thoughtfully on the other end of the line. "I do have to say," he said, "that all of this is your own fault. All you had to do was say 'no' when they called you this morning." 

"You know very well it wasn't an option," he contradicted, fingers tugging at his curls as he paced back and forth. 

"It most certainly was, what after the flapjack fiasco and how much they milked that for the press," Remus spoke. "They owed you, not the other way around."

James groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "Don’t remind me. I still get tagged in memes about it. The internet never forgets, Moony. Nor does my mum, or Sirius, or fucking Riddle, I -" He turned on his heel, eyes widening when - at a respectable distance still - he could see Lily Evans approach him, plate in hand. "Actually, you know what, Moons, I've got to go."

"James—" Remus started, but James had already hung up, shoving his phone into his pocket like it was on fire.

He tried to compose himself, straightening his posture as Lily drew closer. 

She smiled at him, lifting the plate in her hand, and handing it to him when she was close enough. "I thought I'd get you some lunch. They're all vultures up there, and seeing as you are saving the actual day, stepping in at the very last minute..." she watched as his fingers wrapped around the plate. "It's a curry," she then added. 

"Thanks," he told her, smiling. "I appreciate it."

"Not as much as I appreciate you being here," she pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I know it must not have been easy to go back when you had to listen to everyone ridicule your inability to bake. I'm sorry if I contributed to that discussion in any way. I've seen the footage plenty times, and I just... I should have been more supportive, I reckon."

He laughed. "Evans, when you present the judges with something that inedible, you don't expect nor deserve kindness."

"Maybe," she spoke softly, "but afterwards, when people kept bringing it up and with Riddle and the Tories being so... truly vile," she pulled a face. "I could have spoken up, and should have maybe. Like your tweet this morning, which was such an excellent rebuke... and here I am, constantly joking about your time spent with us in the tent last year. I suppose I just want to make sure that..." she bit her lip, looked uncertain now. "I would hate to be seen as a bully. That's not who I am nor who I want to be. So, please tell me if you'd like me to stop." 

James blinked, momentarily at a loss for words. She was looking at him like she was afraid she’d hurt him. Like she cared if she had. It threw him completely off balance.

"Evans," he started, "the last thing I think you are is a bully. I appreciate that you'd come over and tell me this, but I never thought of you this way. Everything you said in the tent has always been meant to poke fun in a respectful manner. Besides... if I couldn't handle a bit of banter, I would not have survived Westminster at all."

The latter earned him a small laugh, the tension in her posture easing a little. "Okay," she said, nodding, sending him a sweet smile, "that's good."

He looked down at the plate in his hand, hiding a smile of his own. "Anyway," he started, "I think I might have to go and find some cutlery before this undoubtedly excellent curry cools down so much that it will start resembling one of my own recipes." 

Lily laughed at that — bright and genuine — and James felt his chest tighten. 

“Well,” she said, stepping back slightly, teasing smile playing at her lips, “let’s not subject anyone to that particular horror again.”

“Oi,” he protested, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the grin tugging at his lips, "I thought you were supposed to be nice to me!"

She shrugged. "I am," she told him, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Facing down your culinary trauma to save the Bake Off Christmas Special in Gilderoy's absence? Very heroic of you. I’ll make sure the cameras get your good side only. Then again..." she started to walk backwards here, and he was pretty certain he read her right this time, that she meant to flirt: "Unfairly, all your sides are good. It's frustrating, truly." 

He froze, momentarily stunned, his pulse tripping over himself.

"See you back in the tent, Potter."

And just like that, she was gone — leaving him standing there, curry forgotten in his hands.

---

They finished their final take of the day when it was already dark outside. Luckily, the artificial lighting had been bright enough to conceal this fact. When he walked outside, however, heading towards the car Sprout had said was ready for him, he was momentarily blinded due to the sharp contrast of the studio and the outside world.

James blinked against the sudden darkness, rubbing at his eyes as he stepped outside the tent. The chill in the air was sharp, biting against his skin and reminding him that it was, in fact, November — even if he’d spent the last several hours bathed in the warm glow of the studio lights.

The car Sprout had mentioned idled just ahead, its headlights cutting through the gloom, but before he could make his way toward it, he heard footsteps behind him.

“Heading out already?”

He turned, still squinting slightly, and found Lily Evans standing a few feet away. Her hair caught the faint light from the tent behind her, gleaming copper-red, and she’d wrapped herself in a dark green coat that complemented the suit she wore underneath.

“Yeah,” he managed, clearing his throat. “I think I’ve earned a pint — or three.”

She smiled at that, stepping closer. “You did well today,” she said, and the sincerity in her voice made his heart lurch painfully. “You really saved us.”

James shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Well, you know me. Always happy to make a fool of myself for the greater good. It's why I became a politician, after all.”

Lily’s smile softened as she took one more step towards him, her fingers brushing against his clothed arm. “I mean it, Potter. Thank you.”

"You’re welcome," he said, softly. And then, because he was either an idiot or a glutton for punishment, he added, “Fancy joining me for that pint? As a thank-you for putting up with my terrible baking puns all day?"

She smiled wide. "Well, I suppose it was an improvement from last year's terrible baking skills..." She nodded then, brushing one lock of her hair behind her ear. "All right, I'll join you. Will it be somewhere fancy all the UK's most important people go?" 

James grinned, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly, his heart racing a mile a minute as the realization hit that she had said 'yes' or had at least agreed to go out for drinks with him. "I was thinking more along the lines of the dodgiest pub I can find within a mile, actually," he said cheekily. "Can't have the press catching me in a wine bar with a BBC presenter, can I? Headlines like 'Labour MP Romances Bake Off Host While Constituents Starve' practically write themselves."

"Romances?" She asked, tilting her head to the side.

His cheeks heated up. "As a matter of speaking, of course," he spluttered. "I mean... that's what the press will write, won't they? I know we're just going out for drinks -"

She stepped closer, placed her hand over his heart, patted the spot. "You can romance me, Potter."