Work Text:
There was nothing quite like the scratch of quill against parchment.
It struck a particular note in the ear that was crisp, organic, and oddly satisfying.
Different from the drag of a pencil on paper, which was softer and more tentative. The quill’s strokes felt purposeful. Intentional.
It had a smell, too. Ink and old parchment mingling into something warm and comforting, something that filled the nostrils and settled in the chest.
Lily loved how it filled her senses.
Especially in the library, where the air was thick with the scent of old books, dust, and magic. Where the low chorus of scribbling quills created a kind of meditative hush that wrapped around her like a blanket.
Lately, her favorite place in the whole library was across from James. His quill always moved at a furious pace, his tongue poking out just slightly, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he bent over his work. He was so focused, so unaware of anything but the parchment in front of him, that it made her want to laugh and kiss him all at once.
She leaned slightly over the table, tucking her hair behind her ear to get a better look at what he was writing.
"That’s not your Charms homework," she said.
"I finished that ages ago," James replied without looking up.
"Then why are we still in the library?"
"I’m working on something."
"You're drawing," Lily said, smiling as she tilted her head to get a better look at the parchment.
It was something that had surprised her when they became friends the year before—James loved to draw. He always carried an inkless quill and a scrap of parchment in his robes, ready for idle sketches whenever inspiration struck.
“It’s nothing much,” he said with a shrug. “I just like doing things with my hands, you know? Helps me stay calm. Doodles, fidgeting with a Snitch…”
“Messing up your hair,” Lily added teasingly.
James had grinned, but looked down, oddly bashful.
And while he was unusually modest about his sketching, the truth was that he was good. Really good. Sometimes it was silly cartoons of his friends or strange little things he’d spotted around the castle. Other times, he drew with startling detail—trees, flowers, tiny magical creatures with wings like lace.
Lately, he’d been drawing her.
And that never failed to make her blush.
He claimed he hadn’t quite figured out how to get her eyes right—said it was impossible to draw perfection—and she’d swatted him on the arm and called him an idiot, though she’d been smiling when she did.
James turned the parchment around and slid it across the table toward her.
It was a drawing of a tiny country cottage, nestled beneath the gentle slope of a hill. A thatched roof topped the stone walls, and ivy curled up from the garden gate like it had lived there forever.
"Lovely," Lily murmured, tracing the lines of the sketch with her eyes.
“It’s our house,” James said, leaning back in his chair until the front legs lifted off the ground. His crooked smirk stretched wide across his face.
“Our house?” Lily arched a brow.
“Yeah, you know. Where we’ll live after Hogwarts.”
“I didn’t realize we were going to have a house together.”
“Of course we are,” James replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. As if they had agreed on this simple plan ages ago, and Lily had simply forgotten about it.
Lily pushed the parchment back toward him, settling her chin on her hand. “All right then—tell me about our house.”
“Well,” James said, tapping the edge of the drawing, “it’ll be in the country. As much as Sirius goes on about the city, I just don’t see the appeal.”
“Same,” Lily agreed. “I like seeing trees.”
“And animals,” James added, nodding. “So, West Country probably. My parents are getting up there in age, aren’t they? It’d be nice to be near them.”
“Not near my family?”
James pulled a face. “Your sister lives in London, and we’ve already agreed that it’s a detestable place. Padfoot is off his rocker for thinking it’s the best place in the world.”
“I love when we agree on things,” Lily said, grinning.
“Same.”
“What else about the house?”
James’s smile deepened. “It’ll have a big garden. So you can do your potion experiments—and we can grow vegetables for dinner and things like that.”
“I love gardening.”
“I know,” he said softly. “It won’t be huge. Just cozy. A couple of extra rooms.”
“One for Sirius, obviously,” Lily said.
“I was thinking the same.”
“Though maybe we should get him a doghouse for the garden.”
James laughed, tipping his head back. “We should do that. But I think he’d prefer a bed and four walls, unfortunately.”
“And who’s the other bedroom for?” Lily asked.
James waved a hand vaguely in the air. “You know. The future.”
Lily smiled as understanding settled between them like sunlight through a window. “Yeah,” she said quietly. “The future.”
“Want to hear about the other bedroom, though?” James asked, eyes glinting.
“Sirius’s?”
“No. Ours.”
“Oh…” Lily blinked. “Right. Our bedroom.” It sounded silly, somehow, saying it out loud. She hadn’t even gotten used to the idea of their hypothetical future house , and now there was a hypothetical future bedroom involved—that they’d share … together . Of course, it made sense. If they lived in a house, they’d obviously share a bed. But hearing it spoken aloud made her stomach flutter in a strange, fizzy way.
“Obviously, we’d have a bed,” James said with a grin. “Where did you think we’d sleep—the roof?”
“That could be fun,” Lily quipped. “We could look at the stars and make up our own constellations every night.”
Time passed, as it tends to—lost in the blur of exam prep, late nights in the library, and trying to impress important Potions masters at Slughorn’s parties. The whole moving-into-a-house-with-James thing had quietly slipped from Lily’s mind.
In her defense, she’d thought that moment in the library had just been them goofing around. Not serious. Just one of their many little hypotheticals, the kind that made studying a little more bearable.
And James hadn’t brought it up again.
Not until they were walking through Hogsmeade one chilly afternoon, and he stopped suddenly in front of a shop window.
“What do you think of that?” he asked, pointing.
Lily squinted. It was a rug—a dazzling swirl of green and purple, covered in yellow stars. Loud didn’t even begin to cover it.
“It’s a bit gaudy.”
“So… not for our house, then?”
“Our house?” she repeated.
“Yeah,” James said, opening up the door to the antique shop. “We’ll need rugs, won’t we? I assume. My mum is always going on about rugs.”
They stepped into the little shop, the bell above the door jingling as it shut behind them. It smelled like cinnamon and old books, and every available surface was cluttered with odd trinkets and mismatched furniture.
“Ooh,” Lily said dramatically, pointing at a pair of garden gnomes wearing monocles and tiny velvet waistcoats. “Now, these are a statement.”
James picked one up and gave it a once-over. “Very sophisticated. I imagine they drink nothing but brandy and judge us from the hedges.”
“They’d definitely gossip about the neighbors,” Lily added. “Probably throw shade at the roses.”
James set the gnome down with a mock-reverent nod. “We’ll take two. One for the front garden, one to guard the liquor cabinet.”
Lily wandered further in, stopping at a set of sparkly pink curtains covered in glittering moons. “What do you think? For the bedroom?”
James grinned. “Only if we can get matching bed sheets. Really lean into the whole glamour wizard aesthetic.”
“I don’t know, Potter,” she said thoughtfully. “That might clash with our classy gnomes.”
“True. The gnomes would never forgive us.”
They turned a corner into another aisle, where Lily picked up a lumpy-looking teapot shaped like a badger.
“I want to say this is hideous,” she said, inspecting it, “but I’m also kind of in love with it?”
James looked over her shoulder. “It looks like it has seen things.”
“Right? Like it’s haunted. But charmingly haunted. We could use it whenever Petunia comes over, just to keep her on her toes.”
“Perfect,” James nodded. “We’ll build an entire tea set of mildly cursed items. Each cup inflicts a different discomfort on the person who drinks from it - green hair, purple freckles, itchy armpits….”
“Except yours,” Lily said. “Yours only talks about how devastatingly handsome the owner is.”
“Obviously,” James said without missing a beat. “We will be enchanting it ourselves after all.”
They were both laughing now, arms full of nonsense they had no intention of buying. A cracked mirror that James claimed was a portal to another dimension (“where I’m even cooler than I am now”), a feathered lampshade Lily insisted had once belonged to a drag queen named Phoenix Wandsbottom, and a dented cauldron that made a loud wheezing noise every time they walked past it.
After a while, they dumped everything back in a heap with mock sorrow.
“Shame,” James sighed. “We had such a cohesive vision.”
“Next time,” Lily promised. “We’ll come back with a cart and far fewer scruples.”
James looked at her then, eyes a little softer beneath the laughter. “One day, though,” he said. “We’ll actually do it. Pick out curtains and gnome security and a badger teapot and make it ours.”
The weather had turned warmer, the sun brighter, and the lake shimmered with a clarity it hadn’t had all winter—gentle signs that their time at Hogwarts was drawing to a close.
Lily found herself counting down the days, not with the excitement she’d expected, but with a quiet, growing dread. It wasn’t that she feared the end of school—it was the uncertainty of what came after that made her stomach twist.
She sat on the wooden bridge with James, their feet dangling over the edge, toes brushing the breeze above the glassy water. The sunlight danced across the lake below, but Lily’s mind felt anything but light.
“Petunia’s got herself a boyfriend, you know,” she said suddenly.
James turned his head, the familiar quirk of his lips pulling at the sides, “Does she? Poor sod.”
“She’s quite serious about him. Moving in together and everything.” Lily’s eyes followed two birds skimming across the lake’s surface. One dove under with a splash, disappearing beneath the water. “I don’t think she’ll be too pleased if I move in with them. And I don’t really know what I’ll do. It’s all happening so quickly. I never thought I’d finish school and not have a home to go back to.” She hesitated. “Not with Mum and Dad gone.”
“Hey,” James said softly, sliding closer. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “I know it’s awful with Petunia. And I know how much you miss your parents. It’s rubbish, all of it. But you don’t have to worry, alright? We’ll get our own place. That’s the plan, isn’t it? I don’t want you to ever wonder where home is, not when you’ve got me.”
She looked up at him, blinking. “You’re serious?”
“Of course I am. Haven’t we spent half the year talking about it? Picking out rugs and garden gnomes and arguing about city versus country?”
“I thought… I mean, yeah, but I thought we were just messing around. Joking. I didn’t think—”
“But we love each other,” James said simply. “Why wouldn’t we be serious?”
Lily’s breath caught, and for a moment she couldn’t find the right words. Then she threw her arms around him, pressing a kiss to his cheek, then another to his lips.
“Oh, James,” she whispered against his smile. “I love you so much.”
“Good,” he said, grinning. “It would be a bit awkward if we bought a house and you didn’t.”
Her heart lurched. She swore she could feel it sink all the way down to the bottom of the lake beneath them.
“James… I can’t afford to buy a house.”
“Don’t worry—”
“No, James.” Her voice sharpened. “Seriously. I need to pay my share.”
“You will,” he said calmly. “When you become the world’s most brilliant Potions Master and cure dragon pox or something. Until then, my dad has too much money and I can’t possibly spend it all myself. So please—don’t worry.”
Lily bit her lip, still uneasy.
“If you’re really desperate to contribute,” James added, “I can think of one way.”
“Don’t joke,” she said, frowning. “This is serious. I don’t want you to ever resent me.”
“I could never resent you,” James said, his tone gentler now. “But you do have to do one thing.”
She eyed him warily. “What’s that?”
“We have breakfast in bed.”
She blinked. “Every day?”
“No, that would be excessive.” He leaned closer. “Just Sundays. Sundays are sacred. We stay in bed, eat toast, drink tea, and refuse to move unless there’s a fire.”
Lily let out a laugh despite herself. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But charming,” he said, lifting his chin.
She rolled her eyes and kissed him again. “Fine. Sundays in bed. But I’m picking the jam.”
The house didn’t look exactly like the one James had sketched all those months ago in the library, but Lily thought it was perfect all the same.
It was small and charming, nestled along a winding cobblestone street, with ivy climbing up the stone walls and a crooked chimney that puffed smoke on cool evenings. A low gate led to a narrow path that wound up to the front door, flanked by a garden that clearly needed some love—Lily had already started making plans for it.
They shared a hedge wall with the neighbors, and while it wasn’t tucked away in the deep countryside, the house sat comfortably in the quiet heart of Godric’s Hollow, the village where James had been born. That, somehow, made it feel even more like home.
The kitchen was entirely Muggle, much to Lily’s delight. It had a stove with temperamental burners, an oven that ticked faintly when it cooled, and a fridge that hummed to itself in the early hours of the morning. Everything came with knobs and plugs and handles that clicked and turned—no charms, no self-stirring pots, no magically replenishing pantry. She’d insisted on it. It reminded her of her mum’s kitchen, and she was determined to make her recipes the way she had taught her, to keep a bit of her mum in her new life.
The sitting room had a small, welcoming fireplace with a slightly uneven brick mantle. Lily’s cat, Winston, had claimed it as his throne and could often be found draped over it like a sleepy gargoyle, tail flicking lazily as he surveyed the room.
Framed photographs lined the narrow staircase leading to the upper floor, a mosaic of their life so far—arms slung over shoulders, wide grins, windswept hair, some images still and others moving just slightly. There were pictures of Lily and Petunia as girls, of James’s parents laughing on a summer day, of their friends running around the grounds of Hogwarts.
There were two spare bedrooms upstairs—one unofficially Sirius’s, of course—and the other for additional guests or… whatever the future might bring.
And then, there was their bedroom.
It had wide windows that overlooked the back garden, spilling golden morning light across the floor. The bed they’d picked out fit perfectly beneath the windows, and James’s mother had gifted them a beautiful handmade quilt—deep navy stitched with tiny silver stars—that kept them warm through the night.
The house was home. Instantly, Lily knew she and James belonged there. It was a feeling she hadn’t known since her parents passed—a quiet sense of rootedness, of warmth and safety. It felt like heavy blankets on cold mornings, the gentle crackle of a fire, soft laughter echoing down the hall. It felt like love, and support, and security.
They had lived in the cottage for just under a week, but already Lily felt as though they’d been there for years—tucked into their own little corner of the world, wrapped in peace and the quiet certainty of love.
She lay nestled in the softness of their bed, drifting in that liminal space between sleep and waking, where dreams still lingered and the real world felt far away. The morning light filtered gently through the curtains, warm against her skin.
She stirred slightly as a familiar hand traced a slow, feather-light path along her arm, fingers grazing over the exposed skin. A quiet hum escaped her lips—half a protest, half contentment—but her eyes stayed shut.
Then she felt the soft brush of James’s lips against her shoulder, followed by the warm tickle of his breath as he leaned in and whispered in her ear.
“You know what day it is, Evans?”
“Sunday,” she murmured sleepily. “The day of rest. So shhh.”
James chuckled, his mouth grazing her again, soft, amused. “But we made a promise, didn’t we? Something about Sundays and breakfast in bed?”
“I’m not ready to leave bed,” she mumbled, pulling the quilt up higher and curling deeper into its warmth, like a cat seeking the coziest corner.
“Who said anything about leaving bed?” he murmured, and there was something teasing in his tone, but before she could summon a proper reply, the covers shifted. She felt the cool air rush in as James disappeared beneath them, and her eyes flew open just as his hand found her beneath the sheets.
“James!” she gasped, half-scolding, fully breathless.
“Shhh, Lily,” came his muffled voice from somewhere near her thighs, low and musky. “I’m just enjoying my breakfast in bed.”
Then his hand was replaced by his mouth, and Lily’s head dropped back into the pillow with a breathy sigh. Her fingers curled in the sheets as James made good on their promise of a Sunday breakfast tradition—unhurried, devouring, and thoroughly indulgent.
The room grew steadily warmer with the rising sun, golden light pooling on the floor, across their bed, and along Lily’s bare shoulders.
By the time they were tangled together in the aftermath with their bodies loose, breath slowed, hearts still thudding in tandem, it felt like the world had paused just for them.
Eventually, with lazy limbs and shared grins, they made their way downstairs, bare feet padding across the cool kitchen tile. They returned to bed with a tray of toast, fruit, and jam. They fed each other between kisses, crumbs forgotten on sheets, mouths sticky with sweetness and laughter.
“You think we can really keep this up every Sunday?” Lily asked, dragging the tip of a strawberry across James’s mouth, smiling at the way his lips parted slightly in response.
“Why not?” he said, plucking the berry from her fingers and popping it into his mouth with a grin. “We need to eat anyway.”
Her hand lingered in the air between them, and James reached for it, drawing it to his lips. He pressed a soft kiss just beneath the glittering ring on her finger—the one he’d given her on the last day of school, a promise wrapped in gold. A promise of home. Of family. Of forever.
They hadn’t picked a date yet—hadn’t even talked about flowers or venues or anything remotely practical, but Lily’s heart still fluttered every time the light caught the ring just right and she remembered, for the hundredth time that day, that she was going to be Mrs. Lily Potter.
And somehow, that felt even sweeter than the strawberry.
“I meant the two breakfasts in one morning.” Lily clarified, “Feels a bit indulgent, doesn’t it?”
James grinned, shifting so he hovered over her again, his weight settling against her in a way that was both grounding and inviting. “Oh, this is all one breakfast.”
“It is?” she asked, arching a brow, even as her hands found their way to his shoulders.
He kissed her stomach, a slow drag of his mouth over her skin. “Of course. Now this—” his lips dipped lower, teasing “—this is our second breakfast.”