Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
He's playing guitar when he sees her through the window as she crosses the street towards his house. He's foolish enough to hope that she would knock on the door, that she would wrap her arms around him and say "I've missed you, James," like she used to, that she would kiss him and he would be able to tell people that he was in love, finally.
But she doesn't. She walks right up to the window where he was seated, looks at him briefly, and then strides away. He watches her as she goes. And then he notices that she's wearing makeup.
Lily Evans never wore makeup, not unless she had a date and those were his privilege and his privilege only to attend, she had made that much clear when they were snogging a few days prior. ("James, I don't want us to see other people." "Right, Lily, because obviously I want to see other people." "James –" "It was sarcasm, madwoman, of course I won't be with anyone else." "Nor will I." "Well, it's settled, then.")
Maybe it was a sign.
It was probably a sign.
Somehow, James was never good at reading her signs, although he was perfectly adequate at understanding everyone else's.
And so of course he would be playingthe guitar when his – erm, well, when Lily was trying to tell him something. Because James Potter was brilliant at loads of things, but he was bloody awful at figuring out Lily Evans.
When he finally decides that he should have stood up and left his house ages ago, he rushes out of the front door and meets her on the corner of his street where she's been waiting.
"You're late," she remarks flatly, and he's fully aware that now is not the time for clever comebacks and innuendos.
"Late for what, exactly, love?" He grins now, and she looks at him with reluctant amusement. He's caught her – there were no plans to begin with, she only wanted to see him, to be with him, maybe to snog a little bit (a lot, really, if James plays his cards right).
"Late for absolutely fucking everything," she replies, grinning back.
Fucking hell, he goes mad when she swears. (He also loves how she does her make up and her hair and how she smiles when she's done something rebellious. He loves how she talks and walks how she dresses in his clothes sometimes and it's almost like she's telling everyone that they're together. And he loves the way she looks at him, too, when she expects something, when she likes something, when she's with him and he's finally shut up and starts listening to her.)
And though she'll never admit it, she loves it when he plays guitar. (And also when he looks at her like she's really fucking special because sometimes she believes it for a little while. Sometimes she thinks that for all the consequences that come from association with the Marauders, she's earned some respect and she's learned to live a little except "a little" is really "a lot" because how could she possibly feel the least bit dreary when a bloke like James is in love with her? And she loves him too, of course, whether or not she says as much. But he's hers, for sure, for always.)
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