A/N

Hi! Just a few things to clear up: firstly, this fic is being written by two Potterheads from the UK – one who writes Lily's P.O.V., and one who writes James's. This is our first fic so please be nice, and reviews are appreciated!

Disclaimer: I wish I was J. K. Rowling, but I'm not. So nothing from the wonderful world of Harry Potter belongs to me.

LILY'S P.O.V.

To say every blade of grass is different is ludicrous.
Sure, they are different shades of green and all that, but at least a hundred of them around my chair are exactly the same. And I mean exactly. Same length, same colour, same bloody insect resting on them too.
And lots of the daises are identical too. Same missing petal, same height, same thickness-of-stem.

But I do love gardens. Gardening, no. But gardens, yes. The neat ones, the rather grubby ones, the trying-to-look-good ones, that look even worse than the grubby ones. The ones that you can tell are kept by a gardener and not by the owner, and the ones that have never, ever been tended, that look more like a jungle than a lawn behind someone's house. It's like -

It did not take very long for her to get bored of writing. That ordinary little notebook that she adored had been written in so many times it was crinkled and bent and rather ancient-looking. And that day the sun was attacking the already-faded cover, so that the blue that had started off as baby was now dangerously close to baby-blue. She thought that the book deserved to be written in, being owned for so long. But every time she tried, she ended up filling it with tat. It embarrassed her to read over what she'd written, so she stopped doing that. She didn't rip out the pages either. Instead, she just started up again, leaving two blank pages after each failed attempt.
In years to come, the redhead would spent dull, quiet evenings reading through that tiny book, skimming through the pages and marvelling at how awful her handwriting had been.

It was the summer before sixth year.
Things had changed the previous year. She was getting older. She was wrinkled - well, not quite. She felt old, sure, but she was also very aware of how young she still was. Lily wanted to enjoy things, to savour moments and to remember every single thing.
The only problem was there were a lot of things she didn't want to remember.
Don't get the wrong idea, Lily Evans enjoyed her life. There were lots of things she was grateful of and appreciated. Her schooling, her upbringing. She had a lot to be thankful for, and she knew it. She wasn't a snob, she didn't take things for granted.
But even so, she had experienced the death of a loved one. And for a fifteen-year-old girl that's hard enough, without the loved one being your father.
To lose is a father is to lose a friend. A guardian. A guide. A carer. A mentor.
You can't forget about losing a father. You can move on, at least partly, but you never forget. It's always there. And you always remember little things about him. The way he smelt, the way he laughed, the way he teased and made fun of you and tickled you.
A father is your first best friend, and that never truly goes away.
Especially not in Lily's case. Her father was a kind, wonderful man, and when he died, it hurt her more than a stab to the chest.

It soon got to that point in the afternoon where you begin to make a daisy chain. She scurried like a child from patch to patch, collecting small piles of the flower and setting them on her chair. Smiling she began the childish job, swatting away the flies whenever they came too close, and yelping when bees or wasps followed suit.
More than once she tumbled off of her chair in a heap next to her cat, causing it to 'meow' loudly and scamper off to hide in a bush until it decided that Lily wasn't a dangerous beast.
Picking a flower at random, she got it to what she seemed was the right length, and then dug her thumbnail into a spot at the bottom of the stem, creating a slit. Then, after choosing another daisy and trimming it, she fitted the end of the stem through the previous hole, hereby creating a little pair of daises.
She did this again and again until she got bored of it.
Again, that did not take that long.
Lily began pondering silly things, such as who made the first daisy chain, and what the purpose in doing so had been.
The breeze was picking up, the clouds were partying. It was getting sunnier, but not warmer.
The decision wasn't a big one, but she still didn't know which to pick.
Option number one; call Marlene, nip over to hers and have a chat about some mundane topic like Sirius Black's arse.
Option number two; stay outside and try to ignore the cold.
And option number three; go out somewhere else.
Put on some decent shoes, redo the messy bun that did not do a good job of keeping her red hair out of her eyes, grab a jacket, and go out somewhere.
Where, she didn't know.
But going out seemed like a good idea to Lily.
So she picked option three. Told her mother it was option one. And was out of the house in less than ten minutes.
Odd, right? Nah. Lily Evans had taken to easily growing irritated with staying still. She no longer enjoyed simply relaxing and doing nothing. She had to be doing something.
Otherwise, what was the point?

Her brown jacket kept her warm, much better than her small, summery, short-sleeved top did. And surprisingly, her legs were warm, even though she wore only a pair of fading denim shorts.
It felt like summer, even if the holidays had barely begun.
She had forgotten to tie up her hair again, so it trailed lazily down her back, the loose bun doing a very bad job. Her sunglasses were anything but cool. But they did their job. They were big, brown and round, making her face look even paler and smaller than it was.
She couldn't tan; even if her life depended on it. She got freckles of course, more than was bloody natural.

She didn't know where she was heading, not really. She let her feet take her through the sunny streets, her plimsolls slapping the ground gently with each brisk step.
No, she wasn't heading anywhere in particular. So that was why, when Lily ended up somewhere she'd been many times before, she wondered whether or not her subconscious had a plan up it's sleeve.

JAMES'S P.O.V.

It was only a couple of weeks into the summer holidays, and James Potter had already found himself bored out of his mind.

This happened every single year, so he didn't know why it always came as a surprise when one day, he would lose the will to drag himself out of bed and would lay there all day, eating junk food and rereading old copies of Quidditch Monthly which had been used so many times before that the corners were bent and the pages were tattered and discoloured.

The lead-up to summer was always great; lessons would become progressively more relaxed and the workload would become easier to handle. The teachers would relent their cruel ways and conveniently 'forget' to set homework. There was a certain anticipating buzz that flowed through the entire student body, simply because school was almost over and a glorious eight weeks of freedom was foreseeable.

Then would come the first few days of the vacation; filled with laughter and enjoyment and students making as many plans with friends as was humanely possible. It always seemed to the teens that unless all plans were made within the first few days, they wouldn't happen at all.

The rush of activities and outings was always short lived, however, and after a week or so, the summer hype would die down and the boredom would set in.

That was exactly the case of how James found himself in such a state.

The first week of his summer had been great. James's three best friends – Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew - had all stayed in Potter Manor for the first four days after the end of term, which for them meant four days of pure unadulterated fun, but for Mrs. Potter meant nothing but a messy house, constant noise and an array of pranks being pulled on her and her husband. [i] Boys will be boys, [/i] She always reminded herself, and it wasn't hard for her, being the good natured woman that she was, to actually be rather open minded and see the amusing side of the boys' troublesome ways.

Besides, it wouldn't be like that forever. They would grow up eventually and, though she didn't like to dwell too much on the fact, there was a war raging outside of the confines of their home. If it wasn't over by the time the boys became men, they would be involved in it too and she would wish for them to be back in their childhood, just as any loving mother would.

Those four bustling days had been spent pulling pranks and playing Quidditch – despite the fact that Remus wasn't a huge fan of flying, and Peter was absolutely useless on a broom – and just being the carefree boys they were.

That had been the previous week. As soon as James's three friends had left, he had found himself without anyone or anything to keep him amused. His parents were often at work for long hours, what with his mother volunteering at St. Mungo's and his father being Head Auror, and so James was more often than not left to his own devices with only the Potters' house elf as company. Then again, the Gryffindor couldn't complain. Proud would be too weak a word to use to describe his feelings towards his parents. Both were fairly old, what with them having conceived James late into their lives, and to hold down such highly respected jobs at their age was amazing. In his opinion, at least.

Yes, James would happily sacrifice all of his quality time with his parents for their careers. He truly did admire both of them.

Those thoughts only led onto more, and without even realising it, James had been lying in silence for almost an hour.

He probably would have continued like that, had the familiar voice of his best mate not snapped him back into reality.

"Oi, Prongs!" Rang Sirius's voice, echoing through the vast hallway outside of James's bedroom. "You're not naked, are you? I'm coming in; you've got five seconds to cover up."

True to his word, it was mere seconds before the raven haired boy came bursting through the door and strolled right into the room as if it was his own home.

"Y'know, knocking on the front door and waiting for an answer is always a good way to go about visiting someone." James said with a small chuckle, though he certainly wasn't complaining. In truth, he was ecstatic that he finally had something to do. "How'd you get in, anyway?"

"Flooed in, mate." Sirius replied noncommittally, wrinkling his nose at the less-than-tidy state of the bedroom. "My parents were pissing me off again. They seem to be under the impression that one day I'm going to marry a nice pureblooded girl whom they choose for me." He rolled his eyes.

Sirius's parents were the typical prejudiced purebloods with all of the old traditions and standards. In their eyes, Sirius was a complete and utter failure. He was a disgrace to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Being a Gryffindor was bad enough, but the fact that he actually conversed with and kept mudbloods and blood traitors as friends?

He should think himself lucky that they still allowed him to keep residence in their house.

"It'll be a slap in the face for them when they find out that you have no plans of doing that, then." James chuckled, trying to steer the conversation towards a more cheerful topic.

"Or a slap in the face for me. Literally." Sirius replied with a dry laugh, kicking a dirty sock aside and bringing his gaze to James's face. "Anyway, that's why I'm here. Plus, you look as bored as me." He added with a grin. "C'mon, let's do something. I heard there's this new ice cream place in Diagon Alley that I wanted to visit, and I'm pretty hungry, so we could stop at the Leaky Cauldron. Oh, and I need some new dung bombs."

James swung his legs out of bed and hauled himself to his feet, feeling a slight stiffness to his muscles that could only be blamed on his lack of physical activity for the past few days. "Sure, whatever. Not like I'm doing anything." He laughed. "Just give me five minutes to get dressed and we can go. I'll leave a note to tell mum where I've gone."

Sirius left the room as James got dressed and within a mere ten minutes, both boys were heading to the fireplace with a handful of Floo Powder, deciding on Flooing directly to the Leaky Cauldron to grab something to eat.

LILY'S P.O.V.

Cursing - or praising - her subconscious, she took another step down the lane, before stopping again. At the end of that small street was a small, ugly-looking watering can. Nobody moved it, nobody noticed it. It was green and faded and rusted. And yet, the owner hadn't taken it away.
It was a portkey.
Lily had been told about it by another student who lived in her area. Apparently, she and her family had used it for years. And so, when Lily had been told about it, she'd of course tested it out.
Two years later, she had used it as often as she'd read Pride and Prejudice.
And that was a lot.

Lily, not for the first time in her life, had a bad feeling. A bad feeling about using the portkey, a bad feeling about going to the Leaky Cauldron, and bad feeling about shopping in Diagon Alley.
But, being the proper young woman she was, she trod on those girlish whims, and marched forwards, to the watering can. She knelt down momentarily, and pressed a palm to its side.
It didn't matter how many times she used the magical object, the effect would be the same. At least until she got a little older. Her stomach dropped down a hundred feet. Her heart flew upwards the same distance. Her body felt disconnected and everything spun. Her bobble fell out, leaving her hair in a scarlet mess. In her mind. In reality, it looked perfect; tousled and wavy from being tied up, and smooth and silky from the shower she had had that morning.
Lily arrived a few feet away from the pub, just like she always did. It took her at least two full minutes to stop feeling like she was about to vomit, but after that time had passed, she was grinning.
Enough boredom. Now it was time for excitement.
Something had to happen this holiday. She'd decided that. Whether it be something incredible, or something mildly interesting, there had to be something.
Otherwise, she'd go back to school in a terrible mood.
Holding her little brown bag close to her side, and holding her head high, she made for the door, striding with big, confident steps, that almost looked unnatural with her small, girlish frame.
A frame she was irritated with at the best of times. It made her appear a lot younger than she was, even with her growing chest.

It was late afternoon. Past lunchtime, but not yet anywhere near dinnertime. It was at that awkward stage during the day where all you can order is a drink even if you're starved. And Lily, having had a small lunch, was the very definition of starved. Just thinking about eating something sent a rumble through her stomach. She blushed, even though she was alone.
Pushing the door open, she entered the pub.
She nodded to various owners and waitresses and customers, recognising only one of them, but being polite nonetheless. She moved through the loud, bustling room, and was in the street in no time at all.
Diagon Alley.
Once again, she smiled at those who met her eye, and nodded her head at others.
Yes, Lily was a polite girl. To most people.
There was only one exception to that rule.
And that exception's name was James.
Quidditch player, and intellectual twat. He was good at everything. There was nothing he was not above average in. And no, it didn't matter that Lily was above average herself, because he didn't try. If he tried hard and got those marks, she wouldn't be so annoyed. But he didn't try, he didn't care, and he still managed to one-up her every term with at least one exam.
It usually ended up being Transfiguration.
Whilst he never did well in Potions. And she always did spectacularly.
If it hasn't already been mentioned, James and Lily were wizards; talented, young and famous ones, to be exact.
But they weren't famous whilst they were alive.

James Potter was the exception to Lily's politeness. And to her kindness. And to her patience.
He got on her nerve effortlessly, and never seemed to tire of agitating her. He wouldn't relent. He could spend day upon day of teasing her about the same thing.
He was a complete and utter -
"No...", murmured Lily, her green eyes narrowing.
Some cruel trick of fate was playing out before her.
The very boy she detested was swaggering across the street in front of her with his shaggy-haired comrade in tow.
It was the painting of her worst nightmare.
She was alone, without any of her friends to defend her against their teasing. And they were both together. Meaning James was even more persistent.
Not only that, but without Marlene or Mary, it would be harder for her not to laugh at their jokes and comments.
She would never admit to it, but she couldn't help but sometimes find them rather amusing.

Lily ducked her head and hurried across the main street, moving to the side as if to study the objects in the window of the store there. Pretending to be interested, she tilted her head this way and that, praying she would remain unnoticed, that they wouldn't recognise her, and that she could simply slip into a shop and not be found.

It was Lily's own fault for wanting something to happen.
Of course she'd be misunderstood by the fates, or whoever controlled these sorts of things.
Lily didn't believe in luck or fate or any of those things, but she believed in coincidence.
And this was one of those times that she was coincidence could stay the hell out of it.

JAMES'S P.O.V.

"I'm telling you, something about that place is fishy. It's always so dark and… weird in there." Sirius rambled away to James, not that the latter was paying him any attention.

They had just left the Leaky Cauldron and ever since they had, Sirius had been going on about how the small restaurant was not quite completely honest and that the food always tasted slightly odd and that there was something off about the waiters.

Honestly, James just believed that his friend was pissed off because the barmaid had laughed off his attempts at flirting with her.

"Yeah, right, it's fishy. Whatever you say, mate." James replied noncommittally, glancing around at the various shop windows they passed. He came to a complete halt as they came to Quality Quidditch Supplies, his nose practically pressed up against the glass as he admired the newest models of broomsticks in the window display.

Out of the entire street, this was the one shop that was always guaranteed to capture his attention.

To say that James was utterly mad about Quidditch would be an understatement. His father had bought him his first broomstick when he was just three years old – not that it was a proper broom, mind you, but a children's play broom that would only hover two feet above the floor – and since then, he had been obsessed with flying. He could fly better than he could walk, and damn, did he know it. There was a fine line between being confident in his skills and being overly cocky about them.

It was slightly unclear as to which side of that line James resided on.

The Gryffindor had perfectly good reasons to be confident in his skills. He had joined his house team when he was in his second year – the only second year on the team at the time, which had proved to be a very boastful topic for him – and had continued playing every year since then. James had gone on to become House Captain in his fifth year, which was quite young as far as Captains usually went, and was excellent at the job. He had just the right balance of authority and confidence, along with his vast knowledge of the sport and his popularity among the students. It was safe to say that James had been asked to continue playing the role of Captain in his upcoming sixth year; an offer which he had readily agreed to.

"Look- what do you think of these?" James asked, completely interrupting Sirius's rant. He was pointing to a pair of top-of-the-range Quidditch gloves in the window, admiring them with a loving look on his face. "Reckon they would be any good for our beaters this year?"

Sirius wasn't on the Quidditch team. Sure, he had the skill to play – he was a fantastic beater, in fact – and he definitely had the fitness levels for it, but it was through his own choice that he didn't play on the team. He claimed that it was 'far too much effort to get up early and go to those bloody early morning practices you schedule' and that 'it would be unfair to force the girls into watching me fly. They'd be dropping like flies with pure lust for me – more than they already do, anyway'.

James believed that he was simply too lazy.

It was a highly likely reason.

However, Sirius might as well have been a member of the team. He helped James pick the new members each year, he helped out at practices – when he could be bothered, that is – and was always there to give James a helping hand in coming up with new tactics and tricks.

It was commonly known that Sirius was practically an honorary member of the team.

"Yeah, they look good." Sirius confirmed, glancing towards the objects of James's distraction. "Pretty expensive though. I suppose they would be, mind, looking at the grip on the pa-" The Gryffindor broke off abruptly after glancing up for only a moment and spotting a familiar head in the crowds.

"Prongs," He said, swatting his best friend's arm to catch his attention and nodding towards the easily spottable head of flaming red hair, also known as Lily Evans. "Love of your life at two o'clock."

James looked up and immediately spotted Lily. It wasn't hard, considering her hair stood out like a sore thumb. A smirk adorned his face, and he took a small step away from the window and closer to her.

"She's not the love of my life." He replied coolly. [i] Liar.[/i] His brain taunted. "She's the pain in my ass, sure, but not the love of my life."

Sirius merely rolled his eyes. James had been chasing after her ever since she had first rejected him all the way back in third year. He had asked her out since then more times than anyone could count, and each time she came up with a new, more creative way to reject him, sometimes even adding in a hex or jinx.

Yes, she certainly was a feisty girl.

"Whatever." He said with a shrug. "What do you say we go and see Gryffindor's little Golden Girl?" He asked, a smirk forming on his own face.

"I haven't heard a better idea in a long time, Padfoot."

A/N: Thanks for reading! Next chapter should be up very soon (: Also, reviews make for very happy writers.