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‘Whoever managed to get James Potter to take off his robes in this weather deserves a Nobel Prize,’ grinned Vera Haart.
‘A nobility prize?’ asked Lizzie Vane, frowning.
‘Never mind.’
Vera’s chocolate-coloured eyes found Lily for a second.
‘Whatever the prize, they definitely deserve it,’ agreed Maeve Ryan, who ogled James as avidly as the rest of them.
‘You share a changing room with him,’ remarked Lily, a little impatiently, but then she could hardly be blamed. Everyone was behaving as if they’d lost their minds. Though she couldn't quite explain why she was outside in this weather, watching James Potter getting undressed in front of the Black Lake either.
‘Ah, not really. Not anymore. Captains have their own changin’ room.’
‘What tragedy.’
‘Nice to know someone understands my pain,’ grinned Maeve, before shouting at James. ‘You missed a piece!’
James, who was now standing in nothing but his briefs, shivering slightly, showed her two fingers in reply.
The wind off the lake had turned his skin pink with cold, though it did very little to lessen the effect of him standing there half-undressed against the dark water. James had become tall enough to tower over most of the seventh years, broad-shouldered from growing up on a broomstick, with lean muscle visible in his arms and torso. His already messy, black hair was being whipped violently by the wind, his glasses slightly crooked as he grinned back towards the girls on the bank.
Beside him, Sirius looked deeply entertained by the entire situation, Peter had his hands shoved firmly into his pockets, sniggering slightly, and Lupin was wrapped in a thick scarf—he was the only one who looked like he was there against his better judgement. But then again, he often did.
‘You know,’ said Gemma Dawlish, leaning over Catriona Oakby to speak to Lizzie. ‘Potter is going to need warming up after this.’
Lizzie giggled, ‘Oh, I know.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ snapped Lily.
Gemma sent Lily a rather smug look when she said, ‘Well, it gives Lizzie something to do on her date with him, doesn’t it?’
‘A date?’
‘Yes,’ nodded Lizzie, blushing slightly. ‘In Hogsmeade, this afternoon.’
‘Can’t fault the timing,’ agreed Vera, without much enthusiasm.
Lily turned away, focusing instead on James, who had gotten into the lake, though the water was only reaching his knees. The icy wind, whipping across the surface of the lake, raised goosebumps all along James’ bare skin. Even from where she was sitting, Lily could see him shivering harder than before, his shoulders tense.
He had a date with Lizzie? He never mentioned that he had a date with Lizzie. Not that he needed to mention that he had a date with Lizzie—or anyone else. A date with Lizzie, though? Lizzie?!
‘Honestly, Lizzie,’ smirked Gemma, ‘if he survives this, you basically have a moral obligation to warm him up.’
‘Improve his circulation,’ agreed Hattie Miller, raising her dark eyebrows meaningfully.
‘I suppose butterbeer can be very restorative,’ mused Lizzie.
‘You can do better than Butterbeer, surely?’
‘This is ridiculous,’ muttered Lily.
‘Jealous, Lily,’ grinned Gemma stupidly—as if it was her date.
Lily shook her head, then nodded towards the lake. ‘No, I mean he is being ridiculously slow.’
That wasn’t what she’d meant. But telling Lizzie and Gemma that they were indeed being ludicrous by falling over themselves for a boy—especially someone like James Potter, Head Boy badge or not—would just result in them thinking she was, in fact, jealous. Which, for the record, she was not.
‘There’s nothing wrong with a man who likes taking his time,’ offered Hattie, before she, Gemma and Lizzie dissolved into giggles.
Enough of this, thought Lily. Pushing herself up, her hands turning both wet and cold as she pressed them into the grass, she started towards the boys. Wiping her hands on her robes, she reminded herself she was about to get a lot wetter and colder still. Reaching the bank, she threw off her cloak, then pulled off her robes.
Before she’d had much time to think about the freezing wind clawing at her bare skin, she was in the water. She marched past James, who’d only gotten so far as to his hips, and threw herself onto her stomach.
It felt more like swimming in fire than it did in cold water. Kicking and pushing, she made it further and further from the bank, fuming. How dare they talk about James as if he was some meat to be consumed by anyone who wanted to? He was a person. A very clever, moderately good-looking, funny, talented (but in no way interesting, she quickly reminded herself) person.
Getting tired, her limbs increasingly numb from the cold, she made to stand, only to find she was treading water.
Shit.
Lily wasn’t a very good swimmer. Not really a swimmer at all. She wasn’t even sure how she’d managed to get this far.
Panic flooded her senses, but the more she thought about how she needed to stay afloat, the harder it got. She managed to push herself around, and to her relief, she saw James swimming towards her. He knew, of course, that she couldn’t swim. They’d talked about it a few weeks ago. He’d been surprised, but to his credit (and her surprise) he hadn’t been an arse about it.
Willing herself to stay calm, she kicked her feet and kept her gaze on James. He was moving quickly through the freezing water, his expression serious. Even from this distance Lily could see the sharp focus in his hazel eyes as he pushed towards her, cutting cleanly through the dark water with powerful strokes (from powerful muscles, her mind supplied… Christ, what was wrong with her?!).
James’ eyes never left hers for a second, and within moments, he was there. One arm wrapped firmly around her waist before panic could make her grab at him properly, and without a word he turned them both back towards the shore. Lily tried to help, kicking weakly through the freezing water, but her limbs felt heavy and useless now. James said nothing as he pulled her along beside him, breathing hard through clenched teeth.
At last he seemed to find the lakebed. A moment later Lily did too. The water reached just above her hips when she stood up, icy waves slapping against them both as James kept one steadying hand fixed on her arm. His wet hair hung messily into his eyes, his glasses speckled with droplets of water, chest rising and falling quickly from exertion and cold alike.
Only then did he speak.
‘What were you thinking?’ he demanded angrily.
‘That you were being too slow,’ she almost spat back, as if it was James’s fault that the girls had pissed her off, as if it was James’s fault that she had run into the water and started swimming. As if he somehow was responsible for putting her life at risk. ‘That you needed a bit of an incentive to take the plunge.’
‘I’m being serious. You could have died. Show some damn judgement! You’re Head Girl, for Merlin’s sake.’
At this, Lily laughed. It was an ugly laugh; a hysterical one. ‘Oh, really? I’m Head Girl, am I? That’s rich. That’s so rich coming from James fucking Potter.’
‘Hey, you two, get up here before you catch a cold!’ shouted Sirius.
Lily didn’t feel cold. She barely felt the cold going into the water, and nearly drowning had somehow dispelled all ability to feel anything. And yet... and yet she was shivering.
‘We’d better get up,’ muttered James, looking thoroughly miserable, ‘otherwise he will come in to get us.’
Despite herself, she snorted. ‘I’d like to see that.’
‘You really wouldn’t,’ replied James as he started wading through the water. ‘He’s a delicate little Londoner, y’know? Not made of the same stuff as you and I.’
That was another rich statement coming from James Potter, who had never faced a difficult day in his life, but this time Lily didn’t call him out on it. Perhaps because she was very aware that he was joking.
There was one problem, however… or yet another problem that she hadn’t taken into account. Not until they were both standing on top of the bank. James had brought down one heated magical blanket, not two.
‘Take it,’ he said, grabbing his wand from Sirius and conjuring a rather pathetic-looking regular towel.
She did, mostly because she knew James would want it that way and because she was very aware that she had destroyed a moment of fun and daring between the boys. At least she could give him this.
As she sat down and wrapped herself in the blanket, her emerging guilt increased tenfold. Warmth spread through her numb, frozen body, and her shoulders seemed to ease up as adrenaline finally released its grip on her. James, however, only had his tiny grey towel.
‘You know,’ said Sirius to a visibly shivering James, ‘you two could share the heated blanket.’
‘Oh, shut it,’ stammered James through chattering teeth.
It was only when Lily understood he was too cold to blush that she realised that Sirius was indeed right: they could share the heated blanket. They probably should, lest James develop flu just before the first Quidditch match, which would make Lily the most hated person in all of Gryffindor.
‘When did you become such a prude?’ said Lily, opening her blanket.
She had been wrong. He wasn’t too cold to blush. Heat crept up in his cheeks as he looked at her.
‘James,’ she said as goosebumps spread over her stomach and arms, the wind now having free access to her skin, ‘it’s freezing cold … get in here.’
For a few seconds, she regretted her generosity. It was like inviting a block of ice to bed. Not that they were in a bed. They were merely sharing a blanket. And he was colder than Antarctica.
‘Why didn’t you warn me?’ she groaned. ‘You’re fucking freezing.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I would have thought that was obvious to the girl who understands the property of heat and the lack thereof better than anyone.’
He turned to face her, and she let out a giggle. His glasses had become completely steamed over.
‘Enjoying the view, Potter?’
‘Oh, tremendously,’ he replied easily.
And yet there was nothing easy about the way he was sitting. His shoulders were raised, his muscles tense. She had just enough time to see that his cheeks were still flushed before he turned his head (she couldn’t exactly say he looked away, given she wasn’t sure he could see anything).
‘Alright, Potter?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ he replied, but there was no confidence in his voice now. ‘Just sitting next to the most gorgeous girl in the whole school, in my underwear. Why wouldn’t I be?’
Lily blinked. What?
‘I don’t think you want Lizzie hearing that.’
Now it was his turn to be confused, brows drawn together, turning back to face her. ‘Lizzie?! What’s she got to do with anything?’
‘Your date?’
‘My what now?’
‘Date,’ said Lily, feeling more and more bewildered by the second. ‘She said you two had a date in Hogsmeade this afternoon.’
‘What? No, I agreed to a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. Not a date.’
Lily let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.
‘James,’ she laughed. ‘When a boy and a girl agree to grab a drink in Hogsmeade, they’re going on a date.’
James looked almost as panicked as Lily had felt while thrashing in the water earlier. ‘I don’t want a date. What? How do I fix—?’
Later, Lily would insist that it was the remaining adrenaline from nearly having drowned, or perhaps the lack of blood supply to her head (considering she’d almost frozen to death), that made her do what she did. After all, he had saved her earlier, so she supposed she could return the favour.
‘I think I can help with that.’
Before she really had time to think about it, she leaned forward and kissed him. James went completely still. Lily could feel the sharp intake of breath he gave against her mouth, the stunned tension running through him.
Then he caught up.
His hand slid instinctively to her waist beneath the blanket, fingers tightening almost painfully for a fraction of a second before relaxing again. The kiss deepened; no longer hesitant, but still somehow careful. Lily’s fingers tangled automatically in the damp hair at the back of his neck. He made a strangled sort of sound in response, one that seemed to surprise him almost as much as it did her.
The world around them seemed to disappear entirely. The cold. The wind. Sirius and the others. All gone. There was only the warmth spreading through Lily’s chest and the dizzying realisation that James Potter was kissing her back.
And Merlin, he was good at it. So good Lily ignored Sirius’ wolf whistles and the cheers from Maeve and Vera. She didn’t care what had happened to Lizzie or Gemma, or what would happen to her when she had to see the two girls again. All that mattered was James and his surprisingly warm, soft lips.
By the third—or possibly fourth—kiss, James seemed to be fighting some internal battle with himself. Every time she shifted closer, his breathing hitched slightly. His fingers flexed against her waist before withdrawing again, only to return a moment later like he physically could not help himself. When she kissed him once more, slower this time, he let out a soft groan against her mouth and dropped his forehead briefly against hers as though steadying himself.
‘Lily, stop.’
‘What’s wrong?’
Panic flared in her chest. Did he not like it, kissing her? Oh, she was probably a terrible kisser. Bertram had said something of the kind.
James exhaled shakily before putting on his glasses. She hadn’t actually noticed him slipping them off earlier.
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said, his voice unsteady. ‘Shit, nothing’s wrong. Just… if we don’t stop now...’ If she thought he’d blushed before, that was nothing to how his cheeks were practically glowing scarlet now. ‘I… erm… am going to have to swim for ten minutes in the lake… and I’d rather not.’
