Work Text:
The lamp at Lily’s desk flickers as she double checks the stockroom ledger one more time.
5 Ashwinder Egg. 12 vials of Billywig Stings. 9 Bloodrot Blooms...
Her eyes dart side-to-side as she compares her notebook to the ledger, fingers moving in tandem as lips recite the ingredients soundlessly. The silent recitation is out of habit more than necessity, as most of her coworkers have already left for the day—one of the most reliable things she’d come to find about Ministry employees in the last few years is their punctuality, at least in Lily’s department.
That’s why when a shadow settles over the ledger and shoes squeak to a halt on the marble floor beside her desk, it causes her to jump—just a bit—and abandon her double count.
“Have you seen Lisa?” Mr. Broadmoor asks without preamble. The Head of the Department of Potion Development and Regulation, he’s an older man with rapidly declining social graces, though thankfully his faux-pas are those of forgotten niceties and not inappropriate jokes or offensive comments.
Lily smiles apologetically as she leans back in her chair, her spiked heart rate slowly returning to normal. “She got an owl earlier that little Ernie was showing signs of a case of Mumblemumps, so she had to leave after lunch. Don’t worry though,” she blurts out at Mr. Broadmoor’s mild look of panic, “I’ve been briefed on tonight’s dinner for the Dragon Pox research initiative. I told Lisa to focus on Ernie, and I’d go in her place.”
Heart pounding in her chest, Lily holds her breath and her stomach plummets when Mr. Broadmoor’s expression doesn’t change to one of relief. She’d been in this department for three years and recently been promoted to Assistant Analyst on a development team—she’s eager to prove that she can handle more than just desk work. Once the Dragon Pox project gets underway she’s fairly sure she’ll be tasked with some brewing, but even this—a dinner with a potential partner in the research portion of development—would be a huge step a career that’s mostly consisted of parchment-pushing grunt work.
“Sir?” Lily prompts uncertainly after a few more agonizing seconds of silence.
“I appreciate your willingness to step up, Lily,” Mr. Broadmoor begins, “but I’m not sure—”
“Please, Mr. Broadmoor,” she interjects, rising to her feet. “Let me go tonight. Who knows how long this agreement will take? Rescheduling would just delay us even more. I assure you, I’m up to speed—”
“It’s not that.” Mr. Broadmoor scratches absently at his neck as he carefully chooses his next words. “Lisa didn’t mention who dinner is with, did she?”
Unsure of what difference that makes, Lily shakes her head, and he lets out a defeated sigh.
“The research partner we’re trying to work with is…Sleekeazy’s.”
Understanding dawns over Lily, and she (unfortunately) can feel the flush of embarrassment crawl up her neck. “Ah. I see.”
The grimace on Mr. Broadmoor’s face is like a stinging hex straight to her stomach. “I’m just not sure it’s wise—”
“Sir, if I may…” Lily begins in a panic, not really sure where she’s going even as the words fall from her mouth. “It’s been a few years…I think both Mr. Potter and myself have grown and matured in that time—I know I have,” she amends, rolling her shoulders back. “Please, there won’t be an issue. I will get that agreement.”
In a pause that feels much too long to be anything positive, Mr. Broadmoor’s eyes scan around the empty office, landing on Lily as he heaves a heavy sigh.
“Alright, then,” he relents, pursing his lips. “Come by my office tomorrow morning and debrief me.” He turns to walk towards the door, leaving Lily standing in shock at her own desk before he pauses and looks back at her. “We’re counting on this partnership, Lily. Don’t let us down.”
As he takes his leave, Lily sinks back into her chair, blood roaring in her ears as the implications of the last few minutes really settle in. She had successfully pleaded her case to the head of her department. She is going to help secure important research assets for her team’s new experimental potion trials. She is meeting James bloody Potter at The Fork of Fortune in half an hour.
Propping her elbows on her desk, she drops her head in her hands as a soft, frustrated groan forces itself out of her throat. She’d been rid of him for over a year—why did his company have to be the research partner?
Because this is essentially a cosmetic potion, a little annoying part of her brain recites dutifully, and he is the head of a wildly successful, dynastic, cosmetic potion company, and has familiarity with the department.
‘Experience with the department’ might be a bit generous, she corrects herself as she organizes her desk to leave. James Potter had started in the DoPDaR (that is, The Department of Potion Development and Regulation, for short) the same day as Lily—fresh out of Hogwarts and ready to make a name for themselves. Only, Lily had started at the Ministry with a job offer in hand and he had been appointed to some farcical internship based on his father’s reputation.
Though they had worked together as Head Boy and Head Girl at Hogwarts for a year prior, friendly and actually productive, their time together in the DoPDaR couldn’t have been more opposite.
Truly, to this day, Lily doesn’t know if he actually wanted to prove himself in the department or if he just wanted to make her life a living hell (a very easy thing for him to do!). Continuously, he stepped on her toes, took work off her plate that was out of his purview, and always seemed to be trying to best her. When he left the department to take over for his father at Sleekeazy’s, it ranked as one of the happiest days of Lily’s life.
(And she’s sure the rest of the department breathed a sigh of deep relief, as their constant bickering often, embarrassingly, got out of hand. It’s not something Lily’s particularly proud of).
For fifteen glorious months, Lily Evans has lived her life Potter-free, only to have him crashing right back into her life on her most important work assignment to date. How very like him.
Grabbing her cardigan and her bag, she stands and pushes her chair in, fingers tingling with apprehension and excitement—she can do this. She can clinch this partnership and prove herself to Mr. Broadmoor and the others, and jumpstart this development plan.
She just has to maintain her composure and ensure Potter can’t get under her skin, first.
✧ ˚ · .
When Lily is shown to their table at The Fork of Fortune, she is unsurprised but incredibly thankful to find that she’s the first to arrive. After immediately requesting a drink from the waiter she finds it in her hands in what feels like seconds, and savors the bitterness of the gin as she takes her first sip.
It’s a business meeting. She’s not going to get sloshed. But seeing James Potter again, and being in a position where he has the upper hand requires at least a little bit of alcohol to dull her simmering hatred for him so she can at least appear civil.
The thought of him sends heat rushing up her neck and into her cheeks and she takes another sip, trying to tamp down the irritation and embarrassment that always present themselves front-and-center when his name is mentioned. She’d tried for over a year to swallow the damage to her pride and move forward, not pay him any special attention even as they worked around each other in the Ministry, but every time she saw him, any time his name is even brought up in passing conversation still, she’s thrown back to the landing of the boys’ dorm in seventh year—the night before their last train ride back to London.
‘—made an offer to Evans? Next year is going to be a fucking disaster, and they won’t have anyone to blame but themselves.’
Her heart had plummeted, her blood running cold through her veins as she stumbled back from the slightly-ajar door of the Seventh-Year Boys’ dorm. After months of slow realization—that she was not, in fact, in love with her boyfriend of seven months, that she was perhaps, harboring a little more than friendly feelings towards her co-Head—her friends had finally given her the confidence she needed to actually tell James how she felt.
(‘It’s the last night, Lily!’ Melanie had practically shouted in her face as she grabbed her by the shoulders, possibly a little drunk. ‘It’s now or never!’)
She had tiptoed over to the Boys’ landing, intent on asking James for a moment. Never did she intend to eavesdrop, but her name floated out to her immediately—and with such…animosity. True animosity, too—the tone of his voice had been so different than all of their years of bickering. She had never heard her name laced with such bitterness in James’ voice.
It shook her.
It shook her, it humiliated her, and—quickly—it enraged her.
Gone were the fond feelings that had taken a deep root in her heart over the last year working side-by-side together, the hopes of remaining close (possibly closer) as they worked together in the Department of Potion Development and Regulation. Instead it was replaced by her own hot contempt—Who was James Potter to disparage her placement into a field for which she had devoted her entire school career? Who was James Potter to pass any judgment on her and her abilities when he relied solely on the reputation of his father for a lesser position in that same department? And who was James Potter to make a fool of her? To appear kind and funny and charming and sincere to her face for nearly two years, only to mock her callously behind closed doors?
No one.
He was no one.
And so Lily went back to her dorm with a paltry excuse for the girls and completely ignored James Potter on the last train ride to London. When they met again a month later at the Ministry, she gave him the cold shoulder, unwilling to allow herself to be made a fool of anymore. And as they worked in proximity to one another for the next fifteen months, she did not relent.
Her tongue remained sharp, even as he shoulder thawed (for professional reasons), and that back-and-forth volley they had perfected in their teen years returned easily to them once more, though gone were the mischievous grins and twinkling eyes that—Lily had thought, anyway—always hinted at a shared understanding of camaraderie. Instead the glares were deadly, the empty smiles tight and emotionless as they played pretend for the coworkers around them.
They were not friends. And the uncertainty of if they ever were is something that—in the recesses of her mind—haunt Lily to this day.
“Sorry I’m late—testing debrief ran a tad longer than expect—Evans?”
Lily’s jolted from her memory by the flurry of an arrival that typically announces James Potter. The rim of her glass is pressed thoughtfully to her lip and she allows herself to take him in in an instant: tall, with that aggravatingly confident ease in the way he carries himself; his hair predictably unpredictable, sticking out every which way as if he did not just come directly from a job where he is literally the head of the company; and that stupid, infuriatingly permanent grin on his face that falters for the smallest second before growing even larger.
She takes pleasure in the falter, even if it was momentarily.
Taking another sip of her drink, she presses her lips together and sets the glass down before leaning back in her seat and watching silently as James Potter finishes removing his jacket and takes the seat across from her.
Fuck, he’s still fit.
She’s quick to swallow down the mortification and self-loathing at this unconscious observation and decides it’s a one-drink night. Undoubtedly.
“Thank you for meeting with us,” she begins easily. Across from her, Potter blinks and his eyes dart around quickly.
“Oh are we waiting for someone else? I thought I was meeting with…Lisa?”
Lily exhales through her nose. “Lisa couldn’t make it, it’s just me. I was speaking on behalf of the department.”
“Oh, on behalf of the department,” Potter echoes with an edge of amusement in his voice. He’s mocking her, but she notices the tension that’s gripped his shoulders. He wants to appear at-ease, but the two of them know each other too well—for better or worse—for her to believe it for a second.
“I know you and Lisa had scheduled a whole dinner to talk about the specifics of what we’d like from Sleekeazy’s in this partnership—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow down.” Flagging down the passing waiter, he orders a drink. “All business talk needs a little something to make it more bearable.”
Letting out a short, hopefully-not-noticeably-exasperated breath, Lily drums her fingers on her thigh beneath the table as they wait for his drink—she’s not here to make small talk and refuses to do so. Seconds later, a drink appears on Potter’s side of the table and he lifts it in a toast before bringing it to his lips.
It takes everything in her not to roll her eyes. “Better?”
“Much,” Potter agrees, loosening the tie around his neck and settling into his chair. “How’ve things been with you?”
The question catches her off guard and she blinks in a stupid sort of way. All she wants is to get the agreement and be done, but Mr. Broadmoor’s obvious doubt of this entire situation weasels its way into her mind and she hesitates. She can prove him wrong—she can get the agreement without causing an all-out brawl in this restaurant. She can grit her teeth and play nice. After all, it’s not personal, it’s business.
“Fine.”
Okay, so it’s short. But really no elaboration is needed.
Expectantly, Potter’s eyebrow raises and she stifles a groan. “How have you been, Potter?”
“Busy,” he nods, taking a sip. “But I can confidently say I finally have a hand on this running-a-company thing.”
“It’s taken fifteen months?”
Something about the way he grins at her words makes her regret speaking. “Sixteen months, but who’s counting, eh, Evans? Besides, it’s a large company, a little adjustment period is to be expected.” He glances at a menu. “How’s the good ole DoPDaR?”
Begrudgingly, she follows his lead and takes a look at the menu—she had hoped to be in and out, possibly skipping the long and drawn out dinner portion of this meeting once Potter realized he’d be meeting with her. No luck. “More or less the same,” she answers, refusing to acknowledge his use of the acronym they’d come up with in seventh year. “Though everyone’s a-flutter about this new Dragon Pox project.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” He leans back, taking another big sip of his drink. “You still a parchment-pusher or are they actually letting you do important, grown-up things now?”
The words light a fire beneath her skin and its takes everything in her not to break the glass in her hand as her fingers curl around it. Same arrogant prick, as always. Slowly, she takes a steadying inhale through her nose and plasters on a smile that she knows he can unfortunately see right through.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“But was it something they asked of you or did you just happen to be working late and get stuck with the fallout of someone else not showing up?”
“I’m an Assistant Analyst now, for your information,” she spits back, and even to her ears it sounds so childish, so petty.
“Assistant Analyst,” he repeats slowly, a heavy dose of feigned awe dripping from the words. “Well thank you for deigning to meet with me.”
Lily counts her blessings that a waiter appears at the moment. She can hear her blood rushing in her ears, her entire body almost vibrating with the fury that often accompanies a conversation with Potter. To give herself a moment of reprieve, she glances down at the menu in her left hand as she finishes the rest of the drink held in her right.
“Two more drinks and we’ll need a bit longer with the menu,” she hears from across the table. Her head snaps up and watches as Potter finishes his own drink. “If you have a prawn cocktail, we’ll take that to start.”
The waiter is off in an instant before Lily can protest.
“You still like prawns, right?”
“No—I mean yes, but that was wholly unnecessary,” she stutters. “This is meant to be a business meeting. Two drinks seems a bit much.” The temptation was strong. One drink was not enough to dull the strength of her irritation (hatred?) of her dinner mate.
“Says the woman who ordered the first?”
There’s a stretch of silence where she just stares at him, unblinking and biting the inside of her cheek to keep from shouting. The amusement on his face tells her that he’s enjoying this too much, and her stomach twists in an uncomfortable knot—they hadn’t even touched on the agreement between the Ministry and Sleekeazy’s, and already this entire thing is going to hell. If she wants any chance at saving the potential partnership—a partnership that the program desperately needs—she needs to play nice (no matter how bloody difficult it is).
And for that? She’ll need another drink.
Two drinks tonight. That’s it.
. · ˚ ✧
“No, it was Donna Pearson that went to Broadmoor—”
“Why would she go to Broadmoor? I swear to you it was Sullivan. He always had it out for me—”
“Well you shagged his niece at the holiday party—”
“That’s not a fireable offense—”
“Well you didn’t get fired because it was bloody Donna that went to bloody Broadmoor!”
The slight raise of her voice causes a surprised Lily to slap a hand over her mouth while Potter considers her words with a thoughtful sip of his fourth drink. He takes a moment to swirl it around before he sips, and Lily finds her eyes drawn to the lazy way he holds the glass from the top—such a reckless way to handle something so likely to break, but he does it without a second thought. Six years of Quidditch must’ve developed in him a strong, careful grip.
A flush warms her face in the ensuing silence and she quickly brings her fourth gin and tonic to her lips, letting the burn of the alcohol send a jolt to the few senses she still has left.
They still haven’t touched on the agreement—instead getting lost in conversations about this classmate or that coworker, ‘did-you-hear’s and ‘you-won’t-believe’s. With a steady trickle of alcohol they’ve almost been…getting along.
(Lily credits the alcohol, at least. It seems a more likely culprit than Potter deciding to just turn off the part of his personality where he’s an utter prick.)
Potter sets his drink down, nudging aside the picked-apart prawn cocktail. “I’m still not convinced. Donna never had it out for me.”
Lily can’t help it; she laughs—a real one, with no sort of hidden (or obvious) scorn—and brushes some hair out of her face. “Put a pin in that because I am dying to tell you just how wrong you are, but it’ll truly take ten minutes to give you the whole picture and we have to talk about the Dragon Pox project.”
He settles back in his chair and crosses his arms, lips pressing into a small smile. “Go on, then, Analyst Evans. Give me the pitch.”
She thought she’d be more nervous when it came down to actually asking for the research from the client—appealing to their sense of responsibility to the wizarding world at large, providing them with statistics of how this could affect the lives of so many, assuring them that it was a noble pursuit, though many internal Ministry departments had minimized their importance. All of that nervousness increased tenfold when she learned it was Potter she’d be meeting with—take all her previous worries and add contempt, bitterness, and even the residual hurt from that night all those years ago on top of it…there had been a moment right before she had walked into The Fork of Fortune where she doubted herself.
But though he looks amused sitting across from her now, she notices a distinct lack of animosity. Instead his humor seems to stem from something good-natured, however strange that seems to sound coming from her analysis. He raises his eyebrows as if to say ‘I’m waiting’, but the way the right corner of his mouth twitches upward doesn’t send that angry prickling sensation through her like it might’ve at the start of the evening.
She’s still got a fluttery stomach of nerves when she begins speaking, but she finds that’s she’s not nervous.
“So right out of the gate, I want to state that this is not any sort of preemptive treatment for Dragon Pox. We’ve gotten that question a lot while pushing for funding within the Ministry. And of course there’s already the Dragon Pox cure, to be taken after the onset of symptoms, which is mostly effective depending on the cases. And while I think some sort of vaccination against Dragon Pox would be a very worthwhile endeavor, magical folk don’t seem to be too keen on the idea of getting inoculated in the Muggle fashion.” She resists the urge to roll her eyes. “So what that leaves us with, at this point in time, is the opportunity to make the lasting impacts of Dragon Pox a little less…permanent.
“And that’s why we’ve reached out to you—or rather, your company. The potion we’d like to test and develop will be about reducing the lifelong physical markers of extreme cases of Dragon Pox; so, cosmetic in nature.” Lily pauses for a moment to let the information sink in. “The worst 20% of cases leave at least some discoloration of the skin, with the worst of those including some severe scarring.
“In some of the research we’ve conducted, our subjects say that though health-wise they’ve fully recovered from Dragon Pox, their personal lives still suffer. Some are too embarrassed to leave their homes, others take daily beautification potions—which really shouldn’t be consumed in a long-term fashion like that—and an overwhelming majority all say the lasting physical markers of the disease have had a negative affect on their mental and emotional wellbeing.”
Potter learns forward, eyes alight with interest behind his glasses. He’s quick to interject here as she takes a breath. “So you’re looking at a topical salve?”
“Likely a combination regiment—topical and ingestible. And the routine will probably take a few months so we can address it a little at a time for a lesser shock to the system.” Taking a quick sip of her drink, she sits back and sighs. “It’s not perfect, but hopefully it’s something.”
Lily watches as Potter makes sense of everything she’s told him, and she can see the pieces falling into place with every twitch of his brow. Beneath the table, her hands wring together in an absent-minded habit of dealing with silence. Finally, Potter leans back in his chair, a hand flying up to rake through the mess atop his head.
“So you’re looking for our documentation on anti-blemish potions? How different ingredients and combinations react when evening out skin tone?”
“And any adverse reactions you’ve discovered, too,” Lily adds. “We have several different brews we’ll be testing, so no solidified recipe yet. We’d like to know what to look out for when testing.”
A restless finger taps on the mouth of his glass and his lips press together as he stares into its contents. “That…shouldn’t be too hard to approve.”
Lily sits a little straighter at the optimism in his reply and her heart beats a little faster; she’s buoyed with the possibility of success before mentally tripping. She offers him a pained smile.
“We were also hoping you would help connect us with your supplier of Shrivelfig.”
The finger on the glass stops and his eyes flick up to meet hers. She’s not used to seeing James Potter still.
“That is quite the ask.”
“We would, of course, compensate you for your help—with this and the research,” Lily quickly offers. “And our final product wouldn’t be for purchase—strictly brewed and prescribed by Healers in St. Mungo’s and its network.” Potter is still silent and motionless, and Lily wets her lips nervously. “Sleekeazy’s would continue to be the only product containing Shrivelfig on the market; there’s a noncompete clause in the contracts we’ve drawn up. We understand it’s a big thing to ask.”
Potter lets out a sharp exhale through his nose and pushes his glasses up, massaging his temples as Lily continues to sweat. Asking for research is one thing, but asking to share a supplier for a proprietary ingredient is a lot riskier. She hopes that one does not negate the other.
“A request like that will need to go through several points of approval.”
Lily, who’d been swirling the dregs of her drink, looks up so quickly she hears something pop.
“That’s not a ‘yes’,” Potter cautions. “It’s an ‘I’ll see’.”
She nods. “Understood.”
Unwillingly, she smiles. Tomorrow she’ll be able to tell Mr. Broadmoor that things had gone well—that the research was as good as theirs and the Shrivelfig wasn’t an outright no. And even better than proving herself to Broadmoor was the fact that this meant movement on the project. Hope for so many.
And maybe she was right when she had told Broadmoor that she and Potter had matured. At the time it had just been something to say in a desperate attempt to let her take more responsibility, but here in the posh atmosphere of The Fork of Fortune, after several drinks and nearly-friendly conversation, she feels as though the two of them might have possibly turned a corner.
“If I agree to turn over our research,” Potter says slowly, pulling her from her self-congratulatory thoughts, “will you do something for me?”
The smile on her lips freezes, then falters. Oh, she’s so wrong, isn’t she?
“Nothing tawdry, I promise,” he assures with a grin. “The tamest quid pro quo you’ve ever heard of. I just have a question I’d like an answer to.”
She considers saying ‘no’, calling his bluff. Whatever she thinks of him, she truly doesn’t think he’d renege on an agreement like this—at least not the first half of it. But as she hesitates, she watches him: she sees the small crease between his brows, the dim light reflecting off his irises in a way that makes him look soft and hopeful somewhere beneath the bravado of the man that sat down across from her. And somewhere within her (likely somewhere between drinks two and three), she finds that she’s curious in what he could want from her.
Unable to give him a verbal answer, she nods tightly.
The tension in his brow ceases and for a split second surprise is etched in every feature of his face; he recovers quickly with a nod and a quick sip of his nearly-empty glass before fixing her with a much-too-penetrative stare.
“Several years ago…your opinion of me seemed to have…changed.” He frowns in confusion and Lily swears her heart stops beating for a solid ten seconds. Not this. “Seventh year, we were friends. We worked really well together, even the professors saw it. But when we started at the Ministry, I don’t know…it was like I had done something and two years of progress had just been completely erased.”
No air is entering or leaving her lungs. Not this not this not this.
“I’d really like to know what happened, if you’d tell me.” He punctuates the end of his ask by finishing his drink, his lips puckering.
There’s a ringing in Lily’s ears. “I…what?”
“I think I was pretty clear, Evans.” There’s no malice in his tone but it’s not overly kind, either. His expression waffles between hope and impatience as the seconds tick on in between them. “It hurt, you know? To just show up one day and realize everything had changed. I know we weren’t close like me and the lads, but I thought we had something. But maybe I misread our working relationship as something more.”
The audacity of this man. The sheer gall he has trying to place the onus of their post-Hogwarts strain on her when he never gave a flying fig about her at all. She lets out a sharp laugh and rubs her temple, grateful for the alcohol that flows hot through her bloodstream, giving her the courage to lay it all out for him, years of buried embarrassment and bruised pride be damned.
“You were hurt. Of course…” she shakes her head incredulously and Potter seems taken aback. “You never gave a damn about me, Potter, so you can save the wounded hippogriff act.”
“What?”
“I know exactly what you thought of my getting a job at the Ministry,” she hisses, all semblance of professionalism gone as the talons of past pain dig deeper and deeper into her chest. “You thought it was a joke and that they made a mistake hiring me.”
Confusion reigns free on his face as he leans forward. “When did I ever—”
“Our last night at Hogwarts. I went to find you in your dorm and I heard you talking to the others. ‘They made an offer to Evans, what a fucking disaster. They should be embarrassed.’” She says this last bit with a lower affectation and then downs the rest of her drink, setting the glass down a little too forcefully before looking him square in the eyes. “I felt like a bloody idiot.”
Potter’s mouth is agape in horror, and Lily can’t help but take a little satisfaction from it. If she’s dredging up the humiliation in her past, she’ll find the light in anything she can.
“I’d never say anything like that about you. Obviously you know I think you’re brilliant.”
She scoffs.
“Lily—I mean Evans.” He pauses, staring somewhere over her shoulder, though his gaze seems far away. “Evans…Evans!”
“What?”
Excitedly, his eyes snap back to hers—not a speck of terror or confusion anywhere to be found.
“I wasn’t talking about you, back then!” His hand rubs up his face, under his glasses as he lets our a breathy chuckle of relief. “Merlin, I’d never talk about you like that. It was Evans! Joseph Evans!”
The ringing in her ears is slightly dulling as she stares at him blankly, waiting on him to further clarify. “Who the hell is Joseph Evans?”
“He’s a chaser for the Magpies!”
Indignation erupts somewhere in her stomach as she reaches behind her for her discarded jacket. They’d discussed business and she could follow up via owl about the research, she didn’t have to sit here and be fed lies. “Listen, you asked me a question and I answered it. The least you can do is be honest instead of making up some ridiculous excuse—”
“I can prove it!” Potter cuts her off, digging in his pocket and pulling out some coins. His eyes find hers again. “Come with me—just a few streets over in Diagon. I can prove it, I promise.”
Lily hates that there’s a little part of her that wants to go. A part of her that would love an alternate explanation (a true one) for the way the rug was pulled out from under her that night outside the boys’ dorm. This small part of her wars—briefly—with her pride; the urge to just get up and leave him in the lurch knowing that he was the one to mess up.
Unfortunately, the alcohol in her system takes the side of curiosity.
Potter must see the moment she wavers because he’s placing more than enough galleons and sickles on the table for their meal (well, their drinks and prawn cocktail) and rising quickly, as if worried at any moment she’d change her mind.
In a more sober state-of-mind, she’d never let herself be dragged from the restaurant and through the empty streets of Diagon Alley, but she’s had approximately 3.5 gin and tonics which is apparently what it takes to reckon with that hurt that she’s kept buried inside since graduation. She’s covered it with anger and indignation for years, but here in the cool night air, Potter’s firm grip around her hand as he frantically leads her around corners with a determination she’s only seen on the Quidditch pitch, she wants answers. Though she’d accepted the words as truth, she never understood the disgust and anger with which they’ve been said and wonders (hopes, really) if there’s truly an explanation and it’s all been some horrid misunderstanding.
When Potter comes to a stop in front of the dim storefront of Whizz Hard Books, she almost runs into him with the sudden change in momentum. He tries the knob with no luck and then proceeds to start knocking frantically on the window.
Just as a slightly-mortified Lily’s about to tell him to knock it off, the bewildered face of Remus Lupin appears in the window. His eyes flick between the two of them with a deepening crease in his brow, but makes haste to unlock and open the door all the same.
“Jesus Christ, Prongs,” he says by way of greeting, wiping a weary look from his face. “Is someone dying?”
“No, but I need to find a book.”
The absolutely put-upon look on Remus Lupin’s face almost breaks Lily into a fit of giggles. What she’s witnessing is clearly a man who’s used to some level of asinine gestures or requests from those around him.
“I was just heading out.”
“I can lock up. Please, it’ll just take a second, I know exactly what section it’s in. I just need to show Evans something.”
Lupin’s eyes slide over to her again and she gives an awkward wave.
“Hi, Remus.”
He hesitates, mouth opening and closing as if trying to find the right questions to ask to be brought into the loop, but eventually he fists a hand into his pocket and presents it to Potter with a beleaguered sigh.
“I need this back no later than nine a.m. tomorrow, alright?”
“You’ve got it. You’re the best, mate!”
Lupin takes a few steps before turning to take a last glance at them. “Have…fun?”
Lily’s cheeks grow hot. “We’re settling an argument, then I’m out of here, don’t worry.”
Potter tugs her into the store at the very moment Lupin turns to walk away, dropping her hand as he makes a beeline for the leftmost section of the store. Cautiously, she follow him, taking her time as she weaves in and out of the aisles, admiring the books around her.
It’s as she’s turning up the aisle touting Quidditch and Other Magical Sports that she’s accosted by a book in her face with a finger tapping impatiently on the page.
“Look!”
She makes a discontented sound and snatches the book from his hands, lowering Quidditch Teams of Britain and Ireland - 1980 down to a comfortable distance from her face. Potter’s opened it to a pair of pages that appear to be biographies of the teams’ players. On the lefthand page under an ornate logo for the Montrose Magpies, is a smiling picture of a young woman with a short, cropped hairdo called Tabitha Duke, who is apparently the reserve Beater for the team. Beneath her photo is a list of her stats (not many, it appears, as she recently joined the team) and a small biography.
The next page over follows an identical layout but instead of a smiling Tabitha Duke, Lily’s greeted by the serious and stoic picture of Joseph Evans. Her stomach does a funny little flip as she begins reading down the page, her eyes catching several quotes that give credence to Potter’s story. Widely lauded as a terrible trade by the fans. The first time in ten years without going to play-offs. Lowest-scoring Chaser in decades.
“This is last year’s edition, too.” Potter’s voice comes from behind her and it gives her a start—she hadn’t realized he’d been reading over her shoulder. “After this season they moved him to the reserve squad. Just…terrible.”
Lily’s eyes run over the page again, her chest feeling dangerously lighter as the hope once again takes root somewhere inside her. It had been a misunderstanding. Still, the prideful part of her—the part that had been damaged all those years ago, pushes for more.
“I doubt that this was the first time a bad trade has been made in Quidditch.” Closing the book, she looks up at him, frowning. “I just remember—there was so much…contempt in your voice. Like it was personal. I don’t—”
“It was personal, though,” he admits, taking the book from her and walking back to re-shelve it. Shoulders drop as his hand lingers on the spine and from her vantage point, Lily can see the way his jaw tenses. His confession is tight, as though he’s forcing it out. “The Magpies were the only team that was interested in me after the scouting game seventh year.”
The final piece falls into place.
He was telling the truth.
She had been so blindsided, so upset by the sudden turn in James’ behavior towards her that last night at school, and it had truly and utterly had nothing to do with her. She had gone there to confess her feelings, left a scorned woman…and it had been a colossal mistake.
“And it’s not just that they didn’t recruit me, you know?” James’ fingers tap nervously along the spine of the books as he continues, not looking her way. “It was the fact that they didn’t recruit anyone new to the league. It was a slap in the face, is what it was. And yeah, if they had traded for Johnson from Puddlemere or Khanna from the Wasps, it would’ve still felt like shit, but those players can actually contribute something to a team. To be passed up for fucking Joseph Evans was just…” he trails off and shakes his head as if trying to rid himself of the memory before pulling back from the shelve and looking at her with an apologetic smile. “And you know the rest: Dad had to call in a favor at the Ministry for my internship. Guess I’m still a little bitter about how it all played out.”
“It’s shit,” Lily acknowledges, her heart still racing from this sudden upheaval of truth.
The apologetic smile brightens several watts. “It is shit.” A second passes before a frown takes its place once more. “But you…I don’t—Lily I’d never say anything remotely like that about you. You deserved every good thing that came your way, truly. You’re great at your job and you were the best Head Girl Hogwarts has seen in decades, I reckon.” Lily can feel her cheeks growing warm under the unexpected praise, and her stomach does that funny little flip again when James takes a step closer. “I noticed something was off our first day at work. I should’ve asked then.”
Three lost years of friendship settles heavily in her chest, her own blame in the matter a physical weight upon her shoulders. It all makes her a little dizzy.
“I’m so sorry, James,” she breathes, and he takes another step closer to better hear. “God, it was just a knee-jerk reaction. I could’ve confronted you, I could’ve gotten clarity but—” she stops.
“But…”
Lily inhales shakily. Fuck it. “It was more than just anger; my pride really took a hit, you know? I just—I fancied you something awful, and to hear you slagging me off behind closed doors was just devastating.” His brows raise at this piece of news, but doesn’t pause to let him address it. “It was an awful feeling, especially because the whole reason I was on that bloody landing was to tell you how I felt. And then I knew that we’d be working together after we left school and I…I couldn’t just go on acting like everything was normal as if I’d never heard it, but I couldn’t exactly lash out at you either, could I? Not when I would’ve had to explain what I was doing outside your dorm in the first place—which was mortifying in the aftermath of everything. So I just…ignored you to the best of my ability.”
Nervously, he runs a hand through his hair before repositioning his glasses. “Well I don’t think I made it that easy for you.” Lily scoffs. “When we started at the Ministry and I realized you wanted nothing to do with me, it caught me off guard—last I knew we had done great work as co-Heads and I considered you a good friend and then suddenly you wouldn’t do so much as look in my direction at work.” He releases a sigh. “I was pretty hurt by that myself, so yeah, I went back to being a bit of a shit because of it. Not proud of that behavior but if we’re being honest…yeah, I understand a knee-jerk reaction.”
With all of this out in the open space between them, Lily offers him a feeble smile—something that’s half-apology, half-commiseration—that he returns in kind. The air around them grows static as awkwardness wraps around them; everything is out in the open to make messy sense of with nothing really resolved. Where do they go from here? Back to their separate lives? Is it worth trying to rekindle the friendship that both of them had mourned and set aflame?
James is the first to look away, adjusting his glasses as he looks back at the spines of the Quidditch books beside him, and Lily takes this moment to watch him in this new light (both literally and figuratively—the bookstore’s lighting, thought soft and warm, was much better than the restaurant’s). Where earlier tonight she clocked all his usual traits with disdain, she allows herself now to see her old friend: the ease with which he approaches the uncomfortable, and how it rubs off on those around him; the wild hair that, like him, can never stay put or be bent to someone’s will; the grin that even now in the uncertain silence tugs at the corner of his mouth, so emblematic of his ability to make those important to him happy.
And in the same split instant where she takes all this in, an ache—small as it might be—echoes somewhere in her chest as she mourns not only the three years of friendship lost, but the possibility of what could have been. What would be different now had she confronted him on the train home, or in the first weeks of their summer at the Ministry, instead of digging her heels in the dirt like a petulant child? Sure, she had fancied him at the end of seventh year, but she had never discovered if her feelings were reciprocated, and it was well and truly too late to ask now.
Though her mind is buzzing with so many warring thoughts, she’s able to unstick her tongue from the inside of her mouth and return to a safer topic in the effort to break through the awkwardness.
“I, erm, answered your question. Does that mean we’ll be getting the research access from Sleekeazy’s?” It feels utterly ridiculous to be pivoting back to business after baring a bevy of her emotions; her palms are sweaty, she can feel them.
When he laughs this time, it’s soft; not its usual boisterous ringing. It travels the short space between them as he turns and looks at her, and there’s a small, furtive smile on his lips. “Yeah. And I’ll talk to the board about the Shrivelfig supplier, too. If there’s a noncompete, I think I can tip the scales in your favor a bit. Anything else you need for this project is yours.”
Here in the Quidditch and Other Magical Sports aisle, Lily reasons that she can no longer blame the warmth that spreads up her neck and into her cheeks on the alcohol. It takes her a second to remember to breathe, and she proceeds to do so slowly in an effort to calm the rapid beating of her heart. Unfortunately, her tongue’s become a bit twisted under James’ gaze and she can only mumble out a breathless “Thank you.”
“In the spirit of honesty, I have to confess that I was never going to actually withhold anything if you didn’t answer. What you’re trying to do is important—for the community but also for me, personally.” He leans against the shelf, looking wholly at ease even though his eyes drop from her face to the floor. “My mother had Dragon Pox a few years ago—that’s why Dad stepped down from the company. Medically, she made a full recovery, which was really unexpected given her age, but she chooses to be mostly homebound now. She won’t say it, but I think she’s been a little embarrassed to go out ever since, because of some of the lasting scarring.”
Lily’s breath catches in her throat. She remembers Euphemia Potter from the few times she’d seen the woman at King’s Cross—tall, posh, and bursting with the same exuberance that she’d passed down to her son. A woman who could easily draw and command a crowd, who (from the stories shared by James and his friends) loved hosting and attending parties for any and all occasions. To think of her relegated to the shadows of her own life gripped Lily with a deep kind of sadness.
“Dad’s been trying some things of his own, but mostly just wants to keep her company,” James continues, turning his attention back to her. “Running a company is not something I really ever thought I’d be doing, but I’m glad to be in the position where I can help, in any kind of way. This is meaningful work you’re doing Evans, really.”
“I think so, too,” she nods, her voice quiet as she mimics his stance against the shelves. Heaving a sigh, she rests her head along one of the beams. “I hope we can make it happen. It’s all just theory right now.”
Something passes across his face, and she can’t quite identify it. However his eyes suddenly have a little more light to them, the corners of his mouth curving up ever-so-slightly as he looks down at her.
“You’re on the development team, Assistant Analyst?”
Lily laughs. “Yeah.”
The smile becomes fuller, his head cocking to the side. “It’ll happen, then. You’ve never not come through.”
Her cheeks burn at the compliment, the faith he’s placed in her, and she has to look away. She has to breathe, she has to—well, she doesn’t have to do anything. The partnership’s been discussed and agreed to; that was that. At this realization, that small, curious (drunk) part of her brain that told her to follow him to the bookstore makes herself known once more. The compliments, the proximity, the insistence of getting to the bottom of a wrong that happened three years ago—this isn’t a typical business dinner; the business is complete but the night feels far from over.
“Always with the flattery,” she murmurs, shaking her head with a small laugh before she fixes her gaze on him once more. “I remember that. Careful or I might think you want something from me.”
Christ alive, be more obvious.
His lips (when did she start looking at his lips?) press together as if considering something as his eyes slowly roam her face. She notices the way his shoulders rise with his next inhale.
“Is that everything you need from me? Business done?”
Deflated by the abrupt change in topic, she swallows the pang of sadness that washes over her as she nods with a tight smile. “Yeah.”
James’s exhale rustles the hair around her face (she hadn’t realized they were this close) as his hand again nervously rakes through his hair. “Good.”
He still doesn’t step back. Lily’s heart pounds, hope dangerously finding its way back into her lungs. “Good?”
Nodding, the corners of his mouth quirk up. “Yeah. Now I’ll feel a hell of a lot less unprofessional when I do this.”
His palm is warm against her cheek as he leans in, lips finding hers eagerly in a way that sends a thrum of excitement through her whole body. Immediately, her hands come up to clutch the lapels of his coat, pulling him down further as she melts into him, a small, surprised gasp escaping through her lips as his other hand finds her waist.
Slowly and carefully, he pivots them so her back is against the shelves, and his lips stray from her mouth to her jawline and down her neck, allowing Lily a brief moment of clarity.
Lily of three years ago would be thrilled. Lily of three hours ago would be undoubtedly horrified. But right now no previous iteration of Lily matters other than the one here, with James bloody Potter sucking and nipping a trail down her neck. One of her hands loosens its grip on his coat to gently tangle in his hair, and she lets out a sigh of pleasure.
Gently, she tugs and directs his mouth back to hers, their lips moving in a slow, electric harmony. The faint taste of whiskey on his breath sends a thrill up her spine as she marvels at how the animosity at dinner has flipped so suddenly to find themselves here, pressed against the stacks of an empty bookshop not five minutes away.
It continues on like this for a few moments, until calloused fingers work their way beneath the hem of her shirt and Lily jumps at sudden contact. He chuckles against her lips and clarity—just a bit of clarity—hits her.
“Wait,” she breathes, and James’ hands still, warm and heavy against where her skin has been set aflame by his touch. He leans back to look at her, his glasses slightly askew on his face, warm and honey-dappled eyes wide behind them.
“Everything alright? Did I—is this too much? Sorry if I—”
Lily interrupts him with a kiss, her eyes opening slowly as she reluctantly pulls away to continue her thought.
“Everything’s fine. I just—” her heart pounds and her ears burn as she takes a heavy breath. “I think Remus might kill you if we shag here.”
Worry gives way to awe gives way to the biggest, most mischievous grin she’s ever seen in her whole bloody life. James’ hands skim against her skin again, pulling her closer.
“I’ll die. Gladly.”
It all makes her giddy—his touch, his voice, the way he’s looking at her—and she almost crashes her lips back to his without a second thought. But the buzz from dinner is wearing off (just, apparently, replaced by the intoxication of Potter himself), and she gently untangles herself from his arms.
He doesn’t object, but watches her intently, keen to take his cues from her. A small grin—mischievous, to mirror his—pulls at her own lips as she tugs his hand while walking backwards towards the entrance.
“Come on, I don’t live far.” He takes a step, then another, and he’s far too quiet for Lily’s taste. Shrugging, she amends teasingly, “If you want to, I mean.”
“Evans—” He’s caught up to her in an instant, her face in his hands as she bows back slightly under the fervor of his kiss. “It’s not even a question,” he murmurs. “I’m locking up and following you wherever the hell you’re leading me.”
Lily’s stomach flips in anticipation. “Hurry up then,” she breathes before turning on her heel.
As James hurries through the store to lock the back door, Lily thinks back to this afternoon in her office and laughs in disbelief. It had been the big night she was anticipating—a big step for her career, securing a win for the department, and a challenging dinner with a client. And like he always does (or at least used to do, before her misplaced grudge), James Potter somehow makes it all that much sweeter.
He meets her at the front door, swinging it closed behind them and locking it with a key and some additional wandwork as he glances at her over his shoulder. “Something funny? Is this some sort of revenge scheme? Should I be worried?”
She grins. “You talk too much.”
”Apparently. I’m still absolutely horrified by the whole thing.”
“Nothing we can change now.” Lily tilts her head to the right. “I’m this way.”
James slings his arm over her shoulder, and she leans into him as they begin walking. ”Then so am I, Evans. Lead the way.”