Author's Note: This is my first story published on this site, so please go easy on me. Anyway, this is basically an AU where there's no magic. Lily keeps having dreams about a mysterious James Potter in the 1920s, but the dreams are extremely realistic so she has really no idea what's real and what's not. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Obviously not JK Rowling

Chapter One

August 4, 2012

Dear Diary,

I had a dream about a strange boy last night. He had a lot of messy dark hair, bright hazel eyes, and was dressed like he was from the 20s or something. He said his name was James and he looked to be about seventeen, the same age as me.

Everyone else was dressed like they were in the 20s too. The dream wasn't really clear…it was like it had a bad signal. Somehow I knew that James was my boyfriend and basically everything about him. It was actually a really good dream because we went to the lake and took a rowboat out to the middle.

"James, where are we going?" I asked, allowing myself to be pulled along. James glanced back at me with a mischievous grin, but didn't say anything. I rolled my eyes and dug my heels into the grass.

"James! I demand that you tell me where we're going!" I cried, trying in vain to sound stern and serious. James weaved through the trees, taking us deeper and deeper into the woods. I could see the sun bearing down on us high above our heads, making me warm and uncomfortable in my dress and heels.

James stopped suddenly, forcing me to trip over myself to avoid slamming into him. I noticed with annoyance and disgust that my heels were now muddy and probably ruined. Mother would kill me for sure.

"My shoes are ruined," I complained as I shot him a glare. He rolled his eyes.

"I told you to wear something you could walk in."

"Yeah, well, I had to come right from church, didn't I? I didn't have time to change out of my church clothes."

We were standing in front of a rowboat, which was floating in either a small lake or a large pond. James, snapping his suspenders in satisfaction, led me by the hand to the boat and helped me in. He climbed in after me and settled himself so that I would have to row us out.

"You're just the perfect gentleman, aren't you? Making the girl row the boat, honestly. What would your mother think?" I chided as I took the oars into my hand. James laughed.

"Are you not capable of rowing a boat, Miss Evans? Are you that big of a pansy that you can't row a boat?" He challenged. I narrowed my eyes and started rowing as fast as I could.

James had kidnapped me from the middle of a church service to go out for a day together. Mother (I say Mom in real life, so I don't know why I kept calling her Mother in my dream) was really pissed, Papa (I say Dad in real life) looked like he was going to murder James the next time he saw him, and my older sister Petunia looked bored as usual.

But I remember thinking it was all going to be worth it. I was happier in that dream and felt more than I did in any of my other dreams and sometimes even in real life.

I wasn't as good at rowing boats as I thought. James threw his head back in booming laughter as our boat started to rapidly spin in circles as it drifted towards the center of the lake.

"I don't think I know anyone worse at this than you, Lils!" James laughed, leaning back against the sides.

"Shut up," I said, glaring at him. "I got the boat into the middle, didn't I? I just…spiced it up a bit."

He shook his head and laced his fingers through mine. "You, Lily Evans, are somethin' special."

I leaned forward so our knees were touching. "You're not so bad yourself."

James shot me another one of his mischievous grins and leaned forward until his face was an inch away from mine. His breath smelled of Wrigley bubble gum and I could see flecks of green in his hazel eyes. He let go of one of my hands and placed it around my neck, pulling me closer until our lips met.

I don't think I've ever kissed someone in a dream. Ok, maybe once or twice with a hot British actor in a random dream, but it never felt as real as that one did. Typically in dreams, a kiss feels like when you're underwater. You feel the water on your lips, but it doesn't really feel like it's touching you because your whole body is underwater too. It's like there is pressure on your lips and your brain tells you it's a kiss, but it doesn't feel like the real thing.

That kiss defied anything I ever thought about dream kissing before. It tasted like bubble gum and was warm and sweet and left me breathless.

My brain went completely blank as soon as James kissed me. He's always had that effect on me and I don't know why, but I don't mind. I reached my free hand up to run it through his messy black hair. James is one of the only boys in town to not slick his hair back. I've always liked it better that way because my hands don't get all greasy when I run my fingers through it.

He pulled away and rested his forehead against mine, grinning. "Do you think you'll be n much trouble when you go home?"

I rolled my eyes. "James, you kidnapped me in front of my parents. Papa looked like he wanted to kill you and I'm pretty sure Mother popped a vein in her forehead."

"You scared?"

"No. I've faced their wrath before, I'm pretty sure I can handle it."

"You're such a rebel," he teased. I squeezed his hand.

"Only when it's you."

James threw his head back and burst out laughing. "Talk about a cheesy one-liner, eh, Red?"

"Don't call me Red," I said, punching his arm. "And don't make fun of me! It's true!"

"You know you secretly like it when I call you Red, you don't have to deny it," James said, putting his hands behind his head and leaning against the back of the boat. "And I should add that I'm only a gentleman when it's you."

I snorted. "You have to be kidding me. You made me row us out here!"

"I was simply giving you a chance to prove that you aren't a pansy. You failed, by the way."

I don't know if feminism was big in the 1920s, but James seemed to be a supporter. I'm not sure many guys would make their girlfriends row a boat while they sat back and relaxed. I also don't think boys typically wanted a girl to wear hiking boots. Based on what I remember about what I learned in school, the 20s were all about flappers and Prohibition and the Great Depression and women getting the right to vote. Boys were always gentlemen and girls were always ladies, almost like royalty. But what do I know? I wasn't even close to being alive.

"Whatever. How did you manage to get out of work today?" I asked, leaning back against the boat and tilting my head back to face the sun.

"Diggory covered for me. All I had to do is promise him an ounce of whiskey by this Wednesday."

"I swear to God I'll kill you if you get caught and arrested."

James rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Stop worrying about me. It's not like I'm up to my neck in this bootlegging business."

"You're so cocky. One of these days you're gonna get caught with a bottle in each hand, James, and then what will you do?" I asked sternly. Trying to change the subject, James flicked a handful of water at me, hitting me square in the chest.

I looked down and studied the growing wet spot on my chest that made my bra visible beneath my shirt. I sighed, letting him get away with the subject change. "You totally did that so you could see my bra."

With a grin, he leaned forward on his elbow. "So?"

I leaned forward until our lips were almost touching. I watched his eyes lazily drift closed…and then I grabbed his shoulders and flipped him into the water.

He came up sputtering almost immediately, a look of indignation all over his face. "What the hell, Evans?"

I laughed. "Well, now it's fair, isn't it? Both of us have wet chests."

Suddenly, James disappeared beneath the water. I laughed for a moment, but grew worried when he didn't resurface. He could swim, couldn't he?

Anyway, when James didn't come up for a while, I got really sick to my stomach. I had honestly thought he'd drowned, and it still makes me sick to think about it, even now in the real world. I obviously can't tell anyone about this, especially my family. God, I would be in an asylum faster than I could say his name.

"James?" I called. No answer. "James, please tell me this is a joke."

I peered over the side of the boat, trying to look beneath the water's surface. Suddenly, I felt a lurch from the other side. The next thing I knew, I was flying through the air and hitting the water.

It was freezing, causing goose bumps to erupt all over my skin. I felt my dress weighing me down, dragging me towards the sand ten feet below. I frantically waved my arms all around, trying to pull myself up.

Panic seized me. This is it, I thought. This is how I'm going to die.

Thank God I didn't die, because I read once that if you die in dreams you die in real life. I'm only seventeen; I haven't really done anything yet. I also read that drowning is the worst way to go. You can feel your lungs filling up with water and you still have the ability to think. Basically, you know you're going to drown and you can't do anything to stop it.

I felt strong arms pulling me up from my armpits. I started gasping for air as soon as my head broke the surface and turned to glare at James. He grinned at me, his hair plastered to his forehead and looking so dark it was almost purple.

"Jesus, James, I thought you died!" I yelled, smacking him but all the while keeping a strong grip around his neck. He flinched back from me and struggled to remain afloat.

"I saved you! You're the one who pushed me in!" He argued. "And why did you think I died? Did you just assume that I couldn't swim or something?"

"You didn't come up for air! What was I supposed to think?"

Rolling his eyes, James leaned forward and kissed me, thusly ending our argument. His lips were cold and tasted like lake water and I'm sure mine did too, but neither of us cared.

"You sure know how to end an argument," I gasped when I pulled away. He grinned.

"You could say I've had a lot of practice," he said cheekily. I shook my head and shoved him under in response.

He grabbed my waist, but didn't try to pull me down. It was only when I felt his hair on my thigh when I realized what he was doing. Gasping, I grabbed a handful and yanked him up.

"What the hell?" he sputtered, rubbing the sore spot on his head where I had pulled.

"You know what you did. That'll teach you to try and look up my dress again."

"Well, Lils—"

That, unfortunately, was when my alarm clock gave me a heart attack. Never have I wanted so much to throw my alarm clock across the room and go back to a dream. So instead of eating breakfast (I could eat on the way to work), I took out this diary and started writing. Because I really do not want to forget this dream or James. Especially James.

Until next time,

Lily