A tiny thing because I've got Ed Sheeran on repeat. Enjoy x
They'd taken to laying out in the grass as soon as the sun began to sink into the lake, when the June heat was finally bearable. They'd lay there, the five of them, for as long as they had to, usually staying long after the stars blanketed the night sky, sometimes until they noticed the horizon catch fire with the early morning sun.
They'd pass one of Sirius' hand-rolled cigarettes between them, blowing smoke rings into the sky, laughing, talking about everything. Every once and awhile, Remus would pull a bottle of firewhiskey out of his bag and they'd share it. He always knew when they'd need the alcohol the most, when they'd need to numb their minds, their worry, their panic, when they'd need to lay back in the damp grass, stare at the sky and pretend that everything was alright.
Sometimes they would walk down to the lake in silence, little food lining their stomachs before Remus broke out the whiskey and they drank away the headlines they'd read in the Prophet that morning. Sometimes the quiet stretched out for ages, hanging heavily in their ears, their chests, their hearts, until someone shattered the silence that had formed walls around them, rage, terror, profound sadness bubbling out until they were screaming, confused and angry and scared, with no fucking idea what they're supposed to do, how they're supposed to go out into the world when it's like this. They were scared, all of them, of the future, of the war, desperate to hold on to this moment, this castle, this family they'd built together.
They were kids. They were all just kids, but they were kids preparing themselves for war and he needed them to know, needed her to know, that they weren't alone, that he would do anything, anything, to protect them, that they would be okay, that they would win. He would take a deep breath and say something, anything - he needed to sound like he knew what he was getting himself into, like he wasn't a boy anymore, like he believed in them, in himself. His voice, this newly deep, rumbling sound, was one of the only pieces of armour he had, one of the few things he knew he could rely on to make it seem like he was prepared to fight for a world that had gone to utter shit.
He wasn't at all prepared. None of them were. But they could pretend. And they did.
They reminisced, recalling all their pranks and fights and antics until they were all doubled over with laughter, their stomachs aching, lungs burning as they gasped for breath. They'd slag him off for how desperate he'd been, Sirius would prod her in the ribs, tease her for finally giving in. She would roll her eyes, joke that he was nothing to write home about, but the way she pressed her hips against his side told him that she didn't mean it, not even a little bit. He tried to tease Sirius back, tried to make fun of him and Remus for finally acting on their own feelings, but it never worked.
When the teasing got to be too much, he would just kiss her, slide his hands over her skin until Sirius was groaning and begging for a swift death. They would laugh, both of them, and she would tell Sirius to fuck off before she'd kiss him again, the promise of more, later, on her lips sending a thrill through him.
Sirius would challenge him to any number of things - foot races, rock skipping, tree climbing - and she would sit in the grass, her chin on Remus' shoulder, her feet on Peter's lap, and cheer him on. Sirius would always pout because Merlin, Remus, why don't you ever cheer for me?! and Remus would roll his eyes, but he'd kiss him and they would all whoop until Remus gave them the finger.
She would sometimes sneak her muggle camera down, snapping pictures in the fading evening light until they all piled on top of her, grabbing the camera out of her hands while she shrieked with laughter because fucking hell, the flash, Lily! We can't see anything!
She never stopped bringing it. Never stopped taking photographs. We'll want these someday, you gits, stop wiggling and smile! She caught them all eventually - tears streaming down Peter's face as he laughed at something Sirius had said; Sirius smiling softly at Remus when he thought no one else was looking; Remus' hand on Sirius' thigh, bottle of firewhiskey at his lips, eyebrow cocked knowingly at the camera; him, staring at her, the setting sun lighting his features, a cheeky smirk on his lips and fire in his eyes. She'd tucked them all into the back of whatever textbook she'd brought with her, sometimes hiding them between the pages.
He'd quirked his eyebrow at her when she stuck a picture of the two of them between the pages of her Potions book - she'd commissioned Remus to take it - he's leaning over, whispering in her ear, his fingers trailing up the exposed skin of her thigh; she's laughing at the camera, her head thrown back, the sun shining off her curls, her hand on his shoulder. She just smiled, pressed a brief kiss to his lips, I hope we're still this happy when we find this picture again.
They would talk about their plans, maintain the illusion that they had a future. Sirius would laugh, louder, harsher than usual, tell them that he was going to buy every muggle motorbike in existence. Peter would shrug, avert his eyes. Remus would think, really think, for a moment before smiling covertly at Sirius, and say that maybe he was moving to London.
He always declared that he would be marrying her as soon as he could possibly convince her. She always laughed until one night, the last week of June - she asked where her ring was if he was so damn certain. She hadn't known he'd been carrying it since January.
Their last night, they'd taken bottles of firewhiskey from the goodbye party in the Gryffindor common room, drank themselves silly until they were a mess of limbs and slurred words. They talked about coming back, maybe every ten years, to laugh at how young and stupid they'd been, about sending their kids here and seeing how much they could learn about the place that had become their home, about how much they would miss it, about how terrified they were to leave. They laughed about the things they'd remember, thanked Merlin for the things they'd forgotten, cried because they weren't ready to leave, not yet. Time had crept up on them, caught them unawares, and they weren't ready to see what cards the world was going to deal them just yet. But they couldn't stop time, and they knew it.
He was watching her, her eyes half closed from exhaustion and an inordinate amount of liquor, as the sun slid back up over the horizon, turned the lake a bright red that nearly rivalled her hair. She felt his eyes on her and she turned, smiled a small smile, before sliding her body so her side was pressed firmly against his, her head on his shoulder. "Promise me we'll come back and visit." She was whispering, but the others have long since passed out and she might as well be screaming, her voice was so foreign to his ears. He turned, pressed a kiss to the side of her head, "I promise."