Things I expected the summer before my Seventh year at Hogwarts:

1) A three-month period of dealing with horrid Petunia.

2) Supremely uncomfortable family dinners with Petunia and her even more horrid beau, Vernon.

3) Long, solitary bike rides.

4) Saturday coffee dates with Marlene and Dorcas.

5) Mum pressuring me to give her details about my breakup with Owen.

6) Uncomfortable letters from Owen.

7) Absolutely no thoughts about fucking git, Owen. Except when he wrote uncomfortable letters.

8) Dad pressuring me about what I wanted to do with my life beyond school.

9) Me avoiding thinking about life beyond school.

10) Sunrises and sunsets.

Things I absolutely did not expect the summer before my Seventh year at Hogwarts:

1) The Potters, infamously wealthy pureblood wizarding family, moves into a min- mansion down the street from the lowly Evans'.

2) James Potter becomes a friend.

3) James Potter becomes a friend, plus other things.

"You're joking, right?"

"I'm not kidding." James looks at me from across the table, his eyebrows knit together in anxiety. "And I'd appreciate if you didn't look at me like I just walked out of a mental institution."

I immediately attempt to contort my face into an expression that doesn't display absolute shock.

James Potter has just informed that he's a virgin.

Excuse me for having trouble processing the fact.

I search my mind rapidly for an instance of hard evidence I'd had prior that proved his supposed non virgin state. I find nothing absolute, just assumption.

"But, I mean, you've dated before," I start. I'm listing them out in my mind: Ruby, Elizabeth, Amelia, Gwyneth. Possibly more I'm not remembering.

James nods. "Yeah."

I open my mouth, then close it. James is examining me closely. I look away from him and down at my tea.

We're at a diner, downtown, our unofficial favorite place. I don't know how we first ended up here, or why we return so often, just like I can't pinpoint exactly where our friendship began. End of May? June? It started slowly, uneasily, but he made me laugh unexpectedly one afternoon and then I began to notice that he was different without a constant crowd around him, and he would join me on bike rides and suddenly I wasn't constantly seeking to avoid him so much as constantly seeking his company.
And now here we were, somehow thrust into a conversation I'm not exactly sure how to navigate.

"Well." I pour cream into my tea and stir it.

James leans back in his chair. "Are you surprised?"

"Well," I say again. "Yes."

His lips quirk into a smile. His face hasn't changed since first year so much as strengthened − the cut of his cheekbones higher, the curve of his nose sharper. His summer hair is longer than school-year hair, brushing his temple and light from sun. "Can I turn the question on you?"

I feel my cheeks redden instantaneously. I think (against my will) about Owen.

"Um," I laugh nervously. "Well no, I'm not."

James raises his eyebrows and nods slowly. "Interesting."

"Interesting?"

He shrugs. "Yeah, it's interesting."

I sigh. "Is that a bad thing, that you're so interested in it?"

"Well, do you think so?"

I roll my eyes. "James, what are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to say that−" He sighs, running a hand through his summer hair. Then he leans forward, folding his arms on the table, looking into my eyes. His gaze is accosting. (Against my will) I'm transfixed. "I'm trying to say that I...I want experience, you know?"

I try not to betray that my heart skips a beat. "You mean..." I lean forward and lower my voice. "Sexual experience?"

"Yes, Lily, sexual experience," he shakes his head and laughs. "You don't have to say it like it's some big secret that I'm seventeen and have got lots of raging hormones."

None of this is news to me. But why is he having this conversation with me? Unless−

Hm.

I take a sip of my tea. I'm infinitely more aware of our knees are touching beneath the table. I'm infinitely more aware of how fit he's become.

"Well, it sounds as if you may need a, um, instructor, of sorts," I try, tucking my hair behind my ear nervously.

I don't think James was prepared for that response. His face is a canvas of surprise. "Um," he attempts to control the look.

There's only two other people in the diner, a man and woman, clearly lovers. For a moment, I'm mesmerized by the way the man is stroking the woman's fingers atop the table. I imagine (against my will) James caressing my fingers with his own.

I break my gaze from the pair. James still looks lost.

"James," I'm suddenly feeling both confident and confused about the confidence. "What if I helped you gain...some experience?"

Now he looks like I threw him into a jungle without a map or water. I've really done it.

It's hard to ignore the fact that for a long time he had feelings for me. But sixth year had brought Owen for me and Gwyneth for him, and I had been relieved that he'd finally moved on.

But now here we are, unattached and unexpectedly friends, and I had somehow just offered to sleep with him?

What the hell had gotten into me.

James clears his throat once, then twice, then finally says, "Um, are you...offering to, er, educate me?"

I almost laugh, but reconsider. I'm insane, but I nod. "I guess so."

The lovers at the other table are kissing now. Godamn it.

James definitely notices, too. I try not to observe his lips too obviously.

I'm suddenly self-conscious of my own bravado."Well, look, that was kind of forward of me, to assume you'd want to−I mean, just, why don't we forget that I−"

"Okay."

I find his eyes level with my own. "What?"

"Okay, I'm willing."

I want to smile, but that feels a bit odd given the situation. "You are?"

His eyes are laughing now. "Are you?"

His forearms are insanely defined. When did that happen? Who has such fit forearms?

"Well, yes."

The lovers get up to leave.

"I expected more...Quidditch posters, I guess."

"Sorry to disappoint, Evans."

James' room isn't nearly as large as I figured it would be, given the size of the Potter family home. It's in fact no larger than my own bedroom, and has neat blue walls and a bed with white sheets. There's a cherrywood desk and armoire, and his broom leans against a wall next to what I assume is his school trunk. The whole place is spotless.

"I expected it to be messier, actually. Are you this well-organized at school?"

James laughs. He's sitting on his bed, leaning back on his arms. "No, because my mum doesn't live at school with me."

I'm stalling and I know it. Our talk in the cafe had seemed almost hypothetical, but here we were, and I was unprepared. Mentally. Physically, I'd spent an irrational amount of time choosing an outfit that made it seem as though I hadn't put any effort into it.

James is eyeing me because I think he knows I'm stalling. My hands are clamped together behind my back. "So listen, I figured we'd start slow, yeah? Ease into...the real stuff."

James suppresses a smile because I sound like I swallowed a canary. "Alright."

He looks very young. He's wearing a white tshirt and jeans and no socks. Carefree summer James. He's so different than I expected.

I decide to be candid with him. "I'm feeling a bit of anxiety about this."

He nods. "I know, me too."

This makes me feel a little better, so I approach the bed and sit down next to him so we're aligned leg-for-leg. Up close, I can see my reflection in his glasses. "Maybe we could start by just...kissing?"

He nods slowly, eyes caught on mine. " But I've got to give you forewarning. I've been told by several girls that, er, well, I'm not very good at it."

"Is that so?" I say, unable to stop the smirk that forms on my lips. The image I had of James before, some image of him being this untouchable, irresistible sex maniac, has fallen flat. He's just like the rest of them. Flying by the seat of his pants.

"Yes. So I apologize. In advance."

I'm leaning forward now. "Just start slow, okay? Nothing fancy. Just...kiss me."

He pauses. Then draws in a breath and kisses me.

He listened, and it's just a kiss. Lips-on-lips. And it's not bad, but it's not great, either. I pull back. "Okay, that was fine."

"Fine?" He asks, his eyes laughing.

"Yes, fine. Now do it again, but longer this time. No tongue."

He leans forward and our lips meet again. At this point, his only advantage seems... unreasonably soft lips. Very pillow-like. I'm lost in this thought and don't notice that he's pulled back, breathing against my mouth for a moment, then pulling it back again. This action is unexpectedly and beguilingly sensual.

I'm caught off guard, so I disconnect enough to say, "Okay, try tongue now."

I suppose I should feel weird about this situation. But the weirdest part is that I don't feel weird about it.

James hesitates.

"C'mon, I'll help, it's okay."

He seems encouraged by this and goes for it. His mouth opens on mine and I feel his tongue attempting some sort of war with my own. I laugh into the kiss and pull back.

He looks wounded. "Jesus, Lily, I told you."

"No it's okay, I'm sorry," I quit laughing. "Just−just don't be so aggressive, okay? Softly. Be softer."

He tries again, and it's softer and slower, and it even sends a small tingle down my spine, which surprises me and results in my hand reaching to his jaw.

This makes him retreat, like he's doing something wrong. "Was that better?"

"Yes." My voice is bizarrely low, so I clear my throat, pointedly ignoring the spine-tingle. "Yes, that was much better. Did it..feel better to you?"

He seems preoccupied by my hand on his jaw, and nods. "Yeah. It felt nice."

"Try again," I say. "And don't be afraid to, er, touch me, okay?"

"Okay," He seems uneasy about that bit, but my thumb acts on its own accord and strokes against his jaw, which propels him forward. Our mouths meet again, and he brings his hand onto my arm, tentatively, which is kind of awkward, and I'm smiling around his mouth again so he pulls away.

"What now?"

I stop laughing. "I'm sorry! Just," I take my hand from his jaw and put it on his hand, guiding it from arm to my waist. He looks down at it, and his grip softens. "If you want a girl to enjoy kissing you, you're going to have to make her feel like you're invested."

My waist is warm where he holds it. He raises his free hand to brush a strand of hair away from my face and behind my ear. He curves the fingers into the red, pulling my lips back to his. I experience another spine tingle.

We sit like this for a while. I teach not with my voice but with my tongue. I force him to slow down the cadence of each kiss, to savor the movement. His hands feel less and less stiff, moving through my hair, up and down my arms, over my thighs. I skim my fingers over his chest and up the back of his neck. His hair is like a dream. He is solid and soft all at once.

I enjoy myself probably too much.

After a while, I pull away. We are entwined from feet to forehead. I don't want it to end, but I also don't want to go further. Of course, my body feels otherwise. James' hand on my thigh sends tingles to places other than my spine.

He's giving me a look I can't identify. "How was that?"

I let my hands slip from his hair and down his shoulders. "Not bad, Potter."

He beams and offers to walk me home.

The sun hangs low in the sky. When we reach my house, he turns to me. "I want to say thank you, is that strange?"

"No," I laugh. "You're welcome, I guess."

We look at each other and I know what we're both thinking about.

"Maybe next time, we can do that...with less clothing on?"

James swallows visibly, but nods, trying to act confident. "Okay." The late-afternoon sun colors his hair golden. He was made for summer sun.

He looks at me for a moment more, than turns to leave, but changes his mind and faces me once again, a question in his eyes. "One more?"

I had wanted it, too. I nod.

When he kisses me this time, I let the spine-tingle flood my entire body. It lasts only a moment, then he turns to leave.

I watch him go, thinking only of how fucked I am for having agreed to this.

"Of course I've seen a girl topless before. I live with Sirius Black nine months out of the year."

I roll my eyes. "I mean in person, not in some dirty magazine."

"I mean that too! Did you not just hear me say I live with Sirius Black?"

I roll my eyes again. I can only imagine the amount of girls Sirius Black brings back to the Marauder's dormitory in a school year.

We're at my house this time, lying on my bed. After a series of kisses that was meant to last a moment but somehow lasted forty-five minutes, I pulled away desperate for air, and told James to take off my shirt. He'd hesitated.

I sit up, disconnecting myself from him. "Do I have to take it off myself, then?"

James scrambles upwards. "No, no, I can do it."

I raise my eyebrows to disguise how jumpy my pulse has become.

I tried to wear a shirt an easy one to remove, but he still fumbles with the buttons, and I try not to smile. He pauses when he sees my cleavage peeking through, and looks up at me. "Are you sure your parents aren't home?"

I roll my eyes a third time. "Yes, I'm sure! And my soundproofing charms are infallible, just in case. I'm not top of our class for nothing, okay?"

James doesn't seem entirely appeased, but returns his attention to my shirt. When it's all the way unbuttoned, I slip it off my shoulders and throw it on the floor. James looks like he has swallowed a firecracker.

He finds my eyes. "May I?"

I take a second to contemplate the weird truth: I'm on my bed topless with James Potter, and he's asking so damn politely if he can take off my bra.

"Please."

He struggles, as I suspected he would. The clasp of the bra is a source of frustration that drives his eyebrows together. "Tricky piece of machinery, huh?" He bites his lip in concentration. When it falls away beneath his fingers, his face alights with success.

The expression falls away into something soft as I shrug my bra off and toss it aside.

For a second I'm self-conscious. I didn't plan on feeling vulnerable at this moment, because this arrangement is supposed to be for his education rather than my embarrassment. But his gaze makes me heat and I'm immediately thinking about how naked I am, how lopsided my tits are, how they're a bit too large to fit my proportions, how pale my skin is compared to his, how−

My tangle of insecure thoughts didn't allow me to notice how he had leaned forward to press his fingers against my bare stomach. His skin is cool against mine. And then he tilts his lips onto the side of my neck. I was so busy thinking myself into oblivion that I'd given him no instruction. But he is acting on instinct, his lips skimming downwards as his fingers drag upwards.

I'm feeling a mix of things. Tingles abound.

He pauses at the very place I want him most to touch with both lips and fingers. He looks up. "May I?"

"Please." I'm embarrassed that this time it's less of a polite response and more of a low rumbling need.

James might be new at this, but I can't remember a time that Owen was particularly good at kissing my breasts. One of his hands rounds one breast, his thumb sweeping the nipple. His lips visits the other breast, open-mouthed. Every sensation collides.

I'm floundering. "Less teeth, James, more tong−oh."

His tongue obeys. It's − sublime. I try to remember Owen paying any sort of detailed attention to anything besides what he found between my legs.

I let James stay where he is for a while, which I justify by thinking it's mainly for his educational benefit rather than my pleasure. Which is, of course, only half true.

When he finally lifts his lips he's got a wicked smile on his face, which I bring to my mouth and devour. "Did you−" he attempts to speak but I'm suddenly ravenous for his hands on my bare back and my fingers in his hair. "Like that? Was that−" He's having a hell of a time finishing his sentence with my tongue in his mouth. "Lily, c'mon, was I−"

"For the love of Merlin," I breathe, against his cheek, my head lolling at his neck. "I didn't even tell you to do any of that."

He laughs against my shoulder. "Okay, I'll take that as a good sign."

I kind of want to bed him right then and there.

A/N: hey guys! let me know what you think of this ! xo