The evening sun casts a warm glow over the Black Lake as it sinks towards the horizon. James takes in the view from the center of the Quidditch Pitch, the castle jutting up out of the water like a mighty fortress, silhouetted. Somehow, he thinks, it looks more magnificent than it did the first time he saw it almost seven years ago. Maybe it has to do with how he feels so much smaller than he did then, more terrified and unsure than he'd ever imagine he would be.
James closes his eyes and lets the memories of the years wash over him. He can hear the echoes of post-match cheers and Padfoot's exhilarated howls the first time they risked a full moon outing in the forest. He can feel the prickle of the grass from the seemingly endless hours lounging by the lake with his friends, admiring Lily from afar and then—somehow, magically—as she lay in his arms. And he can feel the cut from Snape that fateful day after OWLs. He remembers their first prank, how Remus' eyes lit up with mischief, and Sirius' last big one, when Remus' eyes had betrayed more hurt than he'd ever say.
A cool breeze brings him back to the present, and he opens his eyes. Standing there, a thoughtful look on her face, is Lily.
"It's amazing how late the sun stays up in the summer," she says quietly as she slips her hand into his, "being so far north and all. It must be half eight by now. I've been looking for you for ages. Thought I might find you here, though."
"Didn't much fancy chaperoning a party just now," James replies. Lily hums in agreement but says nothing, seemingly waiting for James to continue.
"I've been thinking about what Dumbledore said. About what comes next."
Lily nods. The headmaster had called them into his office earlier that day to inquire about their post-Hogwarts plans and to offer them a chance to join him in a secret resistance group.
"He talked to the boys, too," Lily tells him. "I spoke with them before coming out here. Sirius was acting as though he'd already enlisted and was heading for battle tomorrow. I don't know when I've seen him this excited in a while."
"He feels that he has a lot to prove, generations of pure-blood mania to make up for." Almost as much as Sirius' ardent belief in blood equality, James knows his friend wants the world to see him as more than the white sheep of the Black family, as a hero rather than a villain.
"And you, James?" Lily asks, biting her lip and furrowing her brow slightly. "I'd have thought you would have jumped at the idea to fight the good fight."
He runs his free hand through his hair in frustration and looks out at the empty stands, trying to sort out his thoughts. A year ago—hell, two months ago—he would have relished the thought of an action-packed life, dueling dark wizards with Sirius at his side, destroying Voldemort's grip one Death Eater at a time. And he still wants to. He can't think of anything he'd rather do than join Dumbledore, not even being an Auror. But now… If he were to join the Order and the wrong people found it out, how long until Lily became an even more blazing target? He sighs and shuffles his feet.
"No…. Yes. Bullocks, I'm not sure… It should be simple. Join the Order, fight alongside my brothers—"
"And me," Lily interrupts.
"You're joining?" James asks, snapping his head back to her, eyes wide.
"Of course I am, you prat," she retorts, taking her hand from his and turning to look at him full on, arms folded across her chest and a defiant tilt to her head.
James knows he oughtn't be surprised, not really. Not when the Death Eaters are targeting her very existence. She's a fierce fighter, he knows; he's been on the wrong end of her wand and the subject of her wrath too often to deny it. But the thought of her fighting to the death petrifies him even more than the thought of her being a target because of him. He doesn't know how to say this though, so he opts for the easier option.
"What about your potions apprenticeship?"
"I can do both," she answers. "The apothecary will be only part-time you know. But what about you, James? This better not be some bloody noble attempt to keep me out of danger. We've been through this before. Existing isn't safe for me right now. Whether or not we're together, regardless of what resistance groups we join, I'm a target. And I'm not going to hide away while Voldemort murders Muggle-borns."
"No," James agrees, resigned, "you won't."
"And neither will you, not when every part of you is screaming to fight."
He looks at her, pale skin flushed with anger and eyes alight with passion, and nods. It's amazing how well she knows him. How she's able to suss out his feelings and motives before he's even made complete sense of them.
"I love you, Evans," he says, taking her hands and pulling her close, resting his head on hers. "I'd keep you safe, if I could. I'd kill every Death Eater in England if it would keep you safe."
"I know," she replies, and James knows it's a sign of how scared she truly is beneath this fiery facade that she doesn't defend her ability to take care of herself. As terrified as James is of losing her, he knows it's probably nothing compared to the fear she has to confront on a daily basis. There's no coincidence, he thinks, that she's a Gryffindor. The hat would have been mental to sort her anywhere else, regardless of how loyal or intelligent she might be.
The Sorting seems so long ago now, and yet it feels like just yesterday. James marvels at everything that has happened between the two of them, their transition from acquaintances to enemies to friends to this. And while he hates the tragedies, big and small, that somehow led them down the path to togetherness, he wouldn't change any of it if that meant sacrificing being with Lily.
"Does it feel to you like we've grown up too fast?" he asks several moments later.
"You haven't," she answers, and James can feel her face break into a smile against his chest.
"I have a bit."
Lily pulls back away from him just enough to look up at him. He's aware that she's studying him as she thinks back on all the daft things he's done, all of the bad decisions he's made. But her eyes are kind and her voice gentle as she says, "I suppose you have."
"But only a bit," he acquiesces, smirking.
"I hope it stays that way." They fall silent again. Lily places her head back against his chest, and James finds himself thinking about her words. He has grown up over the past few years; they all have. Yet he sometimes feels more confused and helpless than ever before. Where he was once the Quidditch king of the school, leading Gryffindor to win after win, James now feels like an untested recruit in a new, much more dangerous game. In a very real way, he is.
"When I first got my letter," Lily continues, interrupting James' thoughts, "it was like a dream come true. And in spite of everything and everyone who wants to change that for me, I refuse to let this become a nightmare. I need to hold onto that little girl with rose-colored spectacles and a naïve view of magic." She pauses, and James notices that her eyes have become a bit bright. "Because if I forget the magic of magic, then I'm afraid I could grow to resent it."
"Here's to holding onto some naivety, then," James says, all laughter gone from his voice. "May our eleven-year-old selves live on, no matter what we come up against."
"Long live," Lily breathes, lifting her head to look him in the eye. Her dark red hair blazes as it catches the last light of the day. Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears, but she's smiling. James ducks his head and places a soft, chaste kiss to her lips.
"Long live," he whispers in agreement.
