Hey people of ff . net -- got another one for ya! This is another prompt from owanalilypotter, so the basic idea -- James cooking -- goes out to her! Thanks!

Also, if you read this story, PLEASE review. I can't tell you how irritating it is to have three hundred hits and only two reviews. Epic grr.

...Yah.

~Maraudette

Only My Marauder

"Don't you dare, James."

Sometimes I wonder about my boyfriend's sanity. He – I – what the hell would make him think that wearing canary yellow would be an even remotely good idea?

James frowns. "You don't like it?"

"I'm thinking it's a bit too much like my sister's dead bird to make you approachable to her."

"Point taken," he says, and strips his shirt off, throwing it to the side.

I lean back on his bed and plump the pillow behind my head. I'll never get over how comfortable his mattress is. And for all of you reading this that are thinking the same thing Sirius is thinking, get your mind out of the gutter. We have not.

And if we had I wouldn't tell you.

James turns to face me, still half naked. Good Lord, thank you for Quidditch. My eyes take in every little detail about his torso, his arms – and then travel to the cheeky grin on his face.

"Like what you see, Evans?"

"You wish, Potter," I tease, settling back even farther into his mountain of pillows. (The boy has more pillows than my cat-crazed great-aunt --- and let me tell you, that's saying something.) "Just wear – that one." I point to a deep red tee shirt lying crumpled on the floor behind his door. "It's nice. I like it."

He pulls it on, messing his hair up even more than it already is. I think that maybe gravity doesn't apply to his furry head some times. Doesn't mean I don't love it, but it gets a bit much when it's standing perpendicular to his head… like now.

James raises his arms to show it off. "Perfect," I say, getting off the bed and running my hands over his chest to smooth out the wrinkles. He smiles and wraps his arms around me in a hug. I swear to God, when he gives hugs his body is like a radiator. Mmm.

"Ready to go?" he asks, looking down at me. I bury my face against his shirt. It smells like Quidditch without the disgusting amounts of sweat.

"It won't be that bad, love," he says quietly, and I look up at him. I can tell my eyes are wide. "I'm naturally charismatic."

Of course he would ruin such a sweet sentiment with a joke like that. I smile. James plants a chaste little kiss on my lips, takes my hand in his, and turns away from me into the compressing, breathless dark with me right behind.

.o.O.o.

We come up by the park a few blocks from my house. James has never been to my place, so I lead him by the hand, every few feet giving him another direction.

"Only shake Dad's hand if he offers first," I say under my breath, turning right, "or he'll think you're pompous and hate you. Don't hug Mom or she'll think you're touchy-feely and hate you. And whatever you do, don't talk to Petunia more than absolutely necessary. She hates you already."

James opens his mouth. "Not even to call her a horse-face," I say severely. He closes his trap, looking disappointed.

We take the final turn and end up at my house – small and quaint with a thick oak door. I lead him up the steps to it, my heart racing. I have a feeling this is going to end badly. Call me a pessimist if you like – I think I'm more of a face-the-real-facts kind of person.

I take a deep breath and knock on the door.

Straightaway Dad opens it like he was waiting there for us to show up. He smiles at me, but his eyes are hard. "Hello, honey," he says, hugging me. I pull away after a second, and the Dad holds out his hand to James. "Hello, young man."

"Good afternoon, sir," James says, shaking it. Firm grip – good thing, Dad hates wishy-washy handshakes.

"Lily, baby!" Mom says, rushing out of the kitchen to me and sweeping me into a hug. "Oh my goodness, look at you, so beautiful, and of course it's my hair that pulls it all together –" she teases, looking me over, putting her hands on either side of my face. We both know my hair is from my dad's dad. Mom's hair is as black as James's.

Speaking of whom, Dad hasn't invited him in quite yet. He's standing on the stoop, looking in, a bit lost. I wave him over. "Mom, Dad, this is James Potter," I say, shooting them a look that says behave yourselves. Mom ignores me.

"Well, nice to meet you, then, James!" she says, holding out a hand. James shakes it. She smiles. Dad looks a little like he ate too much bad ham.

"Where's Tuney?" I ask, peering around Dad's shoulder.

"Out in the sun room with Vernon," Mom says, wiping her hands on her apron.

Aw, damn.

James looks like he's about to burst out laughing. I can't blame him. I've told him some of the… ehm… not-so-good encounters I've had with Vernon. He scares me a little bit to tell the truth. Like if I pissed him off he'd sit on me and I'd be lost into his rolls, never to return.

I take James by the hand and take him towards the sun room – or I try. Mom says, "I just don't know what to do for dinner, though, honey, it's just too late to start anything big –"

"Could I cook for you, Mrs. Evans?"

God damn it, James.

He's looking at my mom like it would be the greatest privilege in the world. I see her grin.

"Well, I don't see why not –"

"Mom, James was just kidding, weren't you, love?" I ask forcefully.

"Not at all! I'd love to!" he says, eyes wide behind his glasses and grinning like a madman.

Lord, I'm sorry for whatever I've done, but please stop messing with me. This is a bit much. I'll take nothing for Christmas if you knock some sense into him.

"Well, if you're quite sure then," Mom says, dusting her hands on her apron. "Follow me, I'll show you around the kitchen…"

.o.O.o.

"How is your drill company coming, Vernon?"

"Quite well, Mr. Evans, thanks very much," says the walrus-in-a-tie, sipping a cup of tea. "We're looking to expand, and I'll be expecting a nice raise just before Petunia dear and I get married next February."

I can't think of a worse month to get married in. February? Really? It's like, the mystery meat of all months. Disgusting. I plaster a fake smile on my face and sip my (still-too-bitter-after-half-a-cup-of-honey) tea.

Crash.

After living with a Marauder for three months, you learn that crashes are never the best thing to hear when something important has been trusted to said Marauder. Especially when it's one of the black-haired ones. And at the moment, my Marauder happens to be in a fully equipped and highly breakable Muggle kitchen.

Lord, I'm begging you here.

I smile sweetly and excuse myself, pretending I don't feel Petunia's stare on my neck. "Oh, James probably just tripped again – what a goof!" I call easily over my shoulder. As if James would trip over anything. Too damn coordinated. Jerk. Loveable jerk, but a jerk nonetheless.

I push open the door to my mom's pristine white kitchen and nearly scream.

James has discovered the only way to make a chicken look like soup without it actually being, you know, soup. And where did all this flour come from?

"Honey," I say quietly, surveying the damage, "what the hell did you do?"

"Oh Merlin, no," he groans, thunking his head on the white tile countertops. "Lily, just – just go away and pretend that you didn't see this, okay? It's not how this is supposed to happen, please just go back –"

James doesn't babble. That's my thing. Something weird's going on here.

"Honey," I say again, taking a few steps and putting my hand on his shoulder, "what's the matter?"

Apparently that was the exact wrong thing to say.

"What's the matter? Oh, I don't know, Lily – I've imagined this for years and I've royally screwed up and now you're going to leave me and I'll never get to buy a house with you and live with you and –"

"Love, it's just a kitchen. Not a big deal."

James runs a hand thru his hair roughly. "It's not just a kitchen, Lil, it's the idea behind all this and it's not how it's supposed to happen!"

I turn him around to look at me. His eyes are … watering? "James, take a breath." I wait: he takes a very exaggerated gasp. "Okay. What exactly was supposed to happen here tonight?"

He looks away, then sighs and puts his forehead against mine. "I was supposed to take your father aside and ask him first," he says. I open my mouth to question, but he just keeps talking over me. "I was supposed to cook an amazing dinner and impress your parents so that they would like me. I was supposed to chat up your sister. I was supposed to take you away for a beautiful walk afterwards and I was supposed to do this."

James drops down to one knee and rummages around in his pocket. I… how d'you breathe again?

"Lily," he says quietly, looking at me thru his glasses, "I love you. I love you more than anything or anyone else in the world, and I'm never going to be able to make it past twenty-one without you. Will you marry me?"

And he opens a little black box to the most beautiful ring I've ever seen. Silver – with a pink diamond between two white ones – and my nickname on the inside. Tiger. I'm… I'm crying. I can't believe I'm crying.

"Lily?" he says anxiously, standing up and putting his arms around me. "Say something, baby, I'm dying here."

"Yes, you great bloody fool!" I sob, putting my face in his chest and wrapping my arms around his neck. It's a few seconds before I stop crying, but when I do I look up and kiss him as hard as I possibly can – and it's only then that I realize that my daddy it standing in the doorway with a little smile on his face.

James and I turn our heads to him at the exact same time. James takes a step away but I wind my fingers through his to keep him near me. "Dad –" I start, but he lifts a hand to stop me.

"James is allergic to peanuts," he says.

What?

James and I glance at each other.

"James is allergic to peanuts," Dad says again, more forcibly. "He tasted the peanut sauce for the chicken and is having a severe allergic reaction. Lily, as the good person you are, are whisking him off to the hospital even as we speak. Of course no one expects you to return tonight. I'll tell your mother. She won't mind." He winks.

Oh.

"Daddy, I love you," I say, giving him a quick hug. And then my Marauder -- my fiance!! -- and I hold hands and turn together against the solid air behind us.

No, I'm not going to tell you what we did after that. But I like to think that Petunia would be very, very jealous.

I don't think my cat-crazed great-aunt ever had so many uses for pillows.

Liked it? Hated it? Either way, it's the first thing I've put up in a while, so please review! ^_^