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They’re barely eleven years old when they first meet. What eleven-year-olds don’t squabble? Pulled pigtails, silly hexes that fizzle harmlessly, shouting matches heard all across the Great Hall. And the next day, sharing a desk in class or a cauldron in Potions, talking and laughing at the same things they had fought over yesterday.
The spark between them flares into life on the first day and never goes out. Lily thinks nothing of it at first — it’s just there, and he’s just a boy — but over the years, as she grows up and learns of life, there are some moments where it shines brighter. A heavenly provision, one might say; a little ray of light to brighten the cold, damp February mornings.
1. Her first Valentine
Wednesday, 14 February 1973
For second years, Valentine’s Day is mostly an inconspicuous affair. Hogwarts does not acknowledge the occasion; the Great Hall looks the same as every day, and if the older kids tease each other and exchange playful glances, it’s nothing that Lily Evans concerns herself with.
Not until James Potter shows up with a red rose in hand and offers it to her.
“You are the prettiest girl in the school,” he says — announces, rather, because his voice is bold and loud. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
She blushes, takes it, holds it near her nose and looks at him over it. Her “thanks” comes out soft, timid. For a long moment, they stare at each other. He doesn’t ask for anything, even though his gaze is expectant and his knees are waggling with his relentless energy. What could she offer in return for such an unexpected, illogical, yet inconceivably sweet gesture?
He eventually nods — to her or to himself, she’s not sure — and leaves to find a seat away from her. For the rest of the day, her eyes don’t leave him.
2. Her first date
Friday, 14 February 1975
The eve of a Hogsmeade Saturday is always fraught with anticipation; plans for a day out, whether shopping or just getting a Butterbeer, run about the classrooms in giggling whispers. Lily nods along to her friends’ suggestions, paying little attention to Professor Binns’s dronings.
As History of Magic lets out, she is approached by a tall, blond boy. Caradoc Dearborn is a prefect, older than her, with all the signs of adolescence etched on his face.
“Hi,” he greets. His smile really is pleasant, even though she can’t shake the apprehension that sweeps over her in the proximity of his imposing figure. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
“You too,” she replies with some reservation.
“So, do you have a Valentine? For tomorrow?”
Lily blinks once, twice, aware of her silence growing all the more telling with every beat —
“She’s going with me.”
James Potter waltzes airily towards them — what he lacks in height compared to Caradoc, he makes up for in attitude — and wraps an arm around her shoulders. She doesn’t contradict him.
“Oh, all right,” Caradoc says, his pale blue gaze now playing between the two, and a solemn purse on his lips. It all looks very natural — two classmates, bright kids, spirited, good-looking. A good fit. “Have fun. I’ll see you there.”
He waves a careless goodbye and heads inside the classroom. James’s arm doesn’t leave her shoulders.
“You wanted to go?” he asks, his tone making it very clear that he’s expecting a no.
“No,” she confirms, “but you didn’t have to lie.”
“It’s not a lie.” He grins, that ever-present proof of mischief. “We can go together. Make it a study date and finish that Transfiguration project.”
She raises an eyebrow at him. “At the Three Broomsticks?”
“Why not? Everybody else will be at Puddifoot’s.”
His smile is infectious. She smiles back, unsure about his suggestion yet — but she ends up going.
They don’t work much on their project that day, but it doesn’t matter.
3. Her first crush
Saturday, 14 February 1976
It’s rare that Lily gets an opportunity to spend a whole day with her best friend anymore, so they decide to make the best out of a Hogsmeade day that keeps their other friends busy.
The dreary morning starkly contrasts with the cheery atmosphere they encounter outside the castle. The village is all decked out in pink, the shops boast heart-shaped goodies, and the Three Broomsticks offers a 1+1 Butterbeer special. Severus hates the rose-coloured festivities, but the offer is too good to pass up on account of such principles.
The corner tables are all taken up by couples, so they snatch a small one in the middle of the room. They’re halfway through their drinks when a boisterous group walks in — James Potter and his gang, laughing and patting each other’s back, apparently in the midst of really good jokes galore. Lily’s eyes dart to them as though magnetised, and stay there long enough to provoke Severus’s sneer.
“What?” she asks coolly, in an attempt to fight the wave of heat rising in her cheeks.
“The heroes of Hogwarts,” Severus spits. “Everybody’s looking at them.”
Lily shrugs and reaches for her drink again. It’s scarcely a minute later that James Potter saunters by their table.
“Oi, Evans.” His voice invites her eyes easily.
“Potter.”
He throws a contemptuous glance at Severus. “I’d have thought you could do better than that on Valentine’s Day.”
She sighs. “Stop that.”
“I’m just saying, it feels like a step down from last year —”
“Cut it out.” Now she’s getting irritated. “I’m having a drink with a friend, all right? Leave us alone.”
“Get your own date to badger, Potter,” Severus speaks up.
“Sev.” Lily turns sharply at him. “Don’t start too.”
James Potter’s gaze plays between them, something like challenge in the way his lips purse and his eyes narrow. “Maybe I will.”
“Enough.” Lily rises from her seat, half-turning her back at Severus as she faces James Potter in clear warning. “You’re being an arse. Go away.”
He steps forward, right into her personal space. His eyes — normally an extraordinary, bright amber — darken, as captivating as they are threatening.
Then he smirks.
“Well.” His eyebrow tilts upwards, and she catches him throwing a furtive glance at Severus before he continues. “There’s still time for you to get a good date, Evans. You know. If you finish your drink.” Another look at Severus — this one longer and openly disdainful, but then his attention returns to her, along with his arrogant attempt at charm. “I’ll be around.”
She has no other words for him as he walks away with his gaze fixed on her until long after he’s reunited with his friends. She can still feel it on her by the time she plops back on her seat with a huff and her shoulders slumped, the intensity of the encounter weighing heavy.
“He likes you,” Severus says, and it’s an accusation.
Lily shakes her head tiredly. “He just likes to get under your skin.”
“Idiot.” His gaze is still on Potter, and as bitter as his voice. “He thinks his pompous strutting and the stupid jokes will work on you.”
She shrugs and dives into her drink again, feigning indifference so he won’t see the truth in her blush.
4. Her first kiss
Monday, 14 February 1977
The end of a full day of NEWT classes and prefect activities finds Lily in the Gryffindor common room sharing a table with James, the only students to be doing homework at that hour. Most of their friends are sneaking about the castle seeking private moments with their sweethearts of the day; the younger kids are enjoying games of Exploding Snap and wizarding chess, and a fifth-year boy is making a grand show of offering a girl a Valentine’s card, flowers, and his undying love, right there in front of the lit fireplace.
Lily chuckles at the sight. “Valentine’s Day, and we’re stuck doing Transfiguration,” she says with a playful roll of her eyes. “Just our luck. Remember fourth year?”
“I do,” James replies, and the spark in his eyes has something wistful.
Poring over heavy Transfiguration tomes together is a comfortable pastime for them. McGonagall likes to pair them together, and Lily considers herself lucky to have James as her partner. He’s got a real knack for the subject, a sharp mind, and overzealous motivation. Their essay grows longer and more detailed with every page turned, and the hours pass without noticing — until it’s almost midnight, their homework is dealt with, and they’re the only ones left in the common room.
They pack up — James is swifter, while Lily dawdles. Once he’s done, he springs to his feet, throws his rucksack over his shoulder and looks at her expectantly. She turns around and smiles, then finishes with her own bag and gets up herself.
“Goodnight,” she says.
He leans closer, as if to tell a secret, then pauses with a hitched breath — and then he kisses her, a gentle but persistent touch of his lips on hers and his fingertips on her cheek. When the need for breath threatens to take his sweetness away, her mouth parts open in protest — pulls him in again, if only for long enough to make the inevitable end of the kiss all the more painful.
“What was that for?” she breathes.
“Valentine’s Day.” His gaze roams over her face, flittering somewhere between mischief and something more tender — so tender she’s afraid to speak, lest the words break it. “Goodnight.”
As he turns away to leave, she lifts her fingers to her lips, as though to preserve the feeling; and she spends the rest of the night, and the long nights that follow, with the memory of that kiss.
5. Her first love
Tuesday, 14 February 1978
The fourteenth of February marks their three month anniversary. Three months of holding hands, teasing kisses and sharing days that all end the same way; past curfew in the Head Office, lips running on lips and necks, hands reaching under robes that stay stubbornly on, in a pretence of propriety.
Tonight, the pretence falls in a black heap on the floor, in front of the locked door; propriety is lost somewhere between thirsty touches and lacy underwear, and their bodies seek contact that has been unknown and forbidden until now.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” James murmurs, a smirk on his lips as his fingers lick the pink lace over Lily’s sensitive spot.
She lets out a breathy giggle. “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too.”
It’s all slow and experimental, interspersed with kisses, soft encouragement, doubt swallowed by giggles at the first few failed attempts to find each other. When their bodies finally come together, with Lily on James’s lap, she lets out a deep sigh and burrows her face into the curve of his neck.
“That all right?” he murmurs, through his own pleasure that keeps his eyes closed and his head thrown back against the sofa.
“Yeah.” She moans and wraps her arms tighter around him; her whole body follows the same lead. “I just need a minute.”
“Take your time.” He leans sideways, brushes his nose against hers; she takes the invitation for what it is, and they kiss, deep and heady. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
It’s not the first time it’s spoken, but here, in the throes of intimacy, it carries different weight. When they find their rhythm, it resonates between their bodies; and after the end, it lingers — the echo of two heartbeats that have now become one.
+1. The one time he came second
Saturday, 14 February 1981
“Who’s my favourite Valentine?” Lily coos, playing her fingers over her baby son’s face and belly. “Who’s the cutest boy on Earth?”
“So not only am I not your favourite Valentine, but I’m not even the cutest boy on Earth?” Her husband leans against the doorframe of the baby blue bedroom, eyes bright and twinkling and a playful smile on his lips. “My son sure is giving me a run for my Galleon.”
“He’s got all the best parts of you, and he’s too young to give me cheek,” Lily says, the most adoring expression in her green eyes as she watches the little boy fussing inside his bassinet. “I think he wins this round.”
James shrugs and lets out a dramatic sigh. “I’ll let it slide for now. I’m sure you’ll eat your words next year when he’ll be walking all over the house and leaving no stone unturned.” He walks over to his wife to put an arm around her back and look inside the bassinet — and laughs at the sight of Harry dressed in a pink onesie with white and red hearts. “Merlin, Evans, what’s this thing you’ve put him into?”
Lily grins at her husband. “A Valentine’s outfit. And it’s Potter.”
“Not when you dress my son like that, it’s not.”
She playfully scrunches her nose at him. “If you don’t like Valentine’s outfits, then you don’t get to see mine.”
At that, he responds by putting a hand on her hip and pulling her flush against him. “Maybe if you show me yours, I’ll change my mind,” he says huskily, near her lips.
“Will I get Potter again?”
“You know you’ve got Potter wrapped around your finger, lady.”
Their lips lock, their arms tighten around each other, and they share a kiss that has just enough time to heat up before it’s interrupted by a whiny “ma-ma-ma” coming from the bassinet.
Lily breaks away with a disappointed pout. “My little Valentine is jealous,” she murmurs and leans over to pick up Harry. “I know, I know, it’s time for breakfast. Are you hungry? Tell Daddy that Mama’s your favourite.” She pokes the baby’s nose and holds him up for James to give him a kiss; he happily obliges his son with a big, loud smooch.
“Just you wait, and we’ll see who’s his favourite when he starts to play Quidditch.” He looks over Harry’s little body, and a smirk dawns on his lips. “And when he finds the photo of him in this monstrosity.”
She laughs as she settles the baby in her arms, then places a chaste kiss on her husband’s lips. “You’re not scaring me. Go get the camera. I want a photo with both my favourite boys for Valentine’s Day.”