"James?"
Lily Evans rolled over in bed, searching for the long, lanky body of the Gryffindor Quidditch captain. After a moment, she realized she was quite alone.
That was no matter. It was the Easter holidays, they had more than enough time to spend by themselves.
Lily knew that Sirius had his own flat now, and James, his sympathetic best friend, felt guilty leaving him alone. With Remus and Peter off visiting their respective families, Sirius had no one but the two of them to spend time with. Lily also knew that even without a full moon, James and his friends loved to prowl the night in their animal forms, hunting for Dark wizards.
She was more than happy to let Sirius stay with them in Lily's childhood home, but as usual, he was hesitant to interrupt what he called the "stag and doe" hours. The suggestive tone of his voice always made her face redden, his usual intent.
Sighing, the girl rolled out of bed and stared at the clock. It was only half six, but as usual, she couldn't stay asleep. Resigned, Lily pulled out one of James's Quidditch jumpers (emblazoned with Potter on the back), a pair of socks, and padded to the kitchen.
Despite living here for most of her childhood, it didn't feel quite like home anymore. Earlier this year, her parents had passed on within weeks of each other. With Petunia married and already living with the horrible Vernon Dursley, Lily had the entire house to herself.
"Tuney, please—"
"Don't call me that," Petunia snapped, fastening the button around her collar tightly, as if to keep her emotions in check. "You can take the house, I don't want it."
"Petunia, I didn't know they were going to will it to me, they probably thought you would be living with Vernon already—"
"No, they liked you better!" her older sister said shrilly. "The special one, the pretty one, Lily, Lily, Lily. Well, I don't care. You can take the house, Vernon already has one for us in Surrey."
She hadn't spoken to her sister since that terrible day in January, the day of their parents' funeral. Combined with their disastrous Christmas dinner, Lily was sure that neither Petunia nor her husband wanted to see her or James ever again.
I'll write to her, Lily decided. Something small. A Happy Easter, with love from Lily.
Pleased with her new mission, she put the kettle on for tea. Next, she pulled out the stationary pad she knew her mum kept in the cabinet, just above the stove. Her eyes pricked for a moment. It was strange, the little things she missed about her parents.
Lily frowned. She had no idea how to start this seemingly innocent letter. Should she start out with an I'm sorry to comfort the elder Evans' pride? Lily pulled her hair up haphazardly and chewed the end of the pencil, deep in thought.
"Hogwarts has a strict no-stealing policy, even the Head Girl should know that."
She resisted the urge to grin as a pair of arms wrapped around her waist from behind, squeezing her tight.
"Finders keepers, Potter," Lily smiled, turning around to face the tall and smirking Head Boy.
"I believe I used that same excuse on you once," James replied, pressing her back against the smooth countertop. "It was June, one of our last days of sixth year—"
"You stole my knickers!" she protested. "It was only fair that I take points away!"
James snickered, then bent lower to kiss her neck. "It was worth it, in the end."
Lily tilted her head, sighing. "How's Padfoot?"
He pulled away and smiled lazily. "Still drunk. Pete and Moony Flooed over with some Firewhiskey."
"Boys," she muttered, dropping the pencil on the counter behind her. "And you, have you been drinking?"
"A little...okay, a lot," he chuckled. "But I can hold my liquor."
"I hope you can hold it through supper at your parents' house tonight," Lily said sweetly.
"Oh, that," James moaned. "I forgot all about it."
"Obviously."
James simply smiled in that careless way of his and kissed her deeply. She could taste the alcohol in his mouth, stale from the night before.
The kettle began to whistle and scream; James silenced it with a flick of his wand. Lily pulled away, raising an eyebrow at his intent.
"Right here?"
"Why not?" he asked cheekily. She giggled.
"Okay."
James dropped to his knees. "First I want to do something."
Lily laughed again, delighted. "Don't you always?"
"No, not that," he shook his head. "Well, later. But not yet."
Lily watched as he patted his pockets, pulling out a small box. She could feel her heart beating in her ears, a steady thrum of will he, won't he, will he, won't he. . .
James cleared his throat nervously. "This was supposed to wait until tonight. Everyone would be watching and your face would turn redder than your hair, but I just . . . couldn't wait."
"Oh my God," she murmured, noting how high her voice sounded.
"Lily Evans, will you marry me?" James asked shyly.
Yes, no, yes, no, yes, yes, yes.
"James," she stammered. "We're in the middle of a war. We're only teenagers—"
He shot up like a rocket, so fast that their noses were centimeters apart in mere seconds. "I know all of this, Lils. But life is going on despite the war. I know what I want."
She kissed him, then groaned. "Why are you suddenly so logical? This question shouldn't be so easy to answer."
He laughed, hoisted her up onto the counter, then clamored around until he had her pinned. "Because I love you, Lily Evans, and you love me. Because you realize that this war is going to end at some point, and the time to live is now."
Lily had always been a careful girl. Think before you act. Your brain is your weapon. The Sorting Hat almost placed her in Ravenclaw for her caution. And yet, she was a Gryffindor, same as the hungover teenage boy on top of her. Gryffindors were brave and daring, prone to acting based on the heart, not the mind.
When it concerned James Potter, there was nothing to do but listen to her heart, not her head. And when she looked into those earnest hazel eyes of his, she couldn't find a clear reason to refuse.
"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I will."
He beamed and kissed her again, sliding the ring on her finger. It sparkled in the early morning light, twinkling like a star. He told her it originally belonged to his mother; she glowed happily in response.
"You can keep the jumper," James informed her, nuzzling her neck. "It's going to be your name, too."
"Okay. The jumper and nothing else."
She wriggled out of her underwear and socks, grinning when he perked up in excitement. Deciding that the counter was too uncomfortable, they slid onto the floor.
The tea kettle began to scream again, but at the moment, neither of them cared.
They had other things in mind.