Lily Evans was a smart girl. She had always been a smart girl, and she had always respected rules. It's what she prided herself on, despite the bullying it had brought her at school. She was a smart girl and so when the war came, she made the smartest decision she could. Fighting would be futile, she knew that. She also knew it wouldn't be long before all the muggleborn girls were sold off like depraved house elves, and she'd be damned if she let someone make her compliant. No, it was far smarter to go in knowing, get in the industry before they forced her in. She knew better.

James Potter was a smart boy, despite his constant attempts to appear differently. He was a smart boy, but he was lonely, and he had always been reckless. The war had been cruel and had stripped him of the childishness he once prized. His friends were always away on missions, as was he, and he hadn't actually seen tits, let alone touched them, in a year. He was lonely, and he was drunk, and he had never known better.

She had met him in a dodgy massage parlour off Knockturn alley at 3am, when she was busy being Ophelia and he could have been whoever he wanted. She liked to think he was as bad at pretending to be someone else as she was, with the phoenixes tattooed on his chest.

"James, isn't it? no prizes for guessing your job then," she spoke with humour, tying her red hair away to protect it from the water they'd soon be climbing in to. He adjusted his glasses and smiled proudly.
"I'm in the Order".
"No shit, Sherlock".
"What's your 9-5 then Ophelia, if that's your real name".
"This is my 9-5... It's not".
"Didn't you ever want to join the fight?"
"My parents are muggles. I was always going to end up here, the plaything of purebloods. I'd rather be here of my own free will and making decent money than imperiused. Fighting is useless anyway."
"You can be whatever you want to be. You should never give up on fighting against the injustices. You should never see yourself as a plaything," his hazel eyes flashed with passion as he spoke. She was taken aback.
"Are you always this serious?" She tried to make the tension disappear, and was successful as he broke out in a grin.
"Nah, that's my best mate. So where did you go to school?"

He asked her more questions, and she surprised them both with her honesty.

"I love this game! Ask another question", she giggled, her chest brushing against his and her hand reaching for her drink.
"How do you feel when clients try to touch you where the house rules say they can't?"
"Mostly annoyed, because they're mostly gross about it. Like, hello clients of the sex industry, please take off your wedding ring before you try and stick your fingers in our bodies". She wrinkled her nose and downed the rest of her glass.
"How would you feel if tried to kiss you?" he held his left hand out for her inspection "see, no wedding ring". The glint in his eyes showed his humour, the quirk of his mouth his daring. She rolled her eyes, brushing her breasts past his face as she leant over him to pour them both another drink, the bubbles of the cheap sparkling wine fizzing to the top. One hand reached up to caress them, while the other steadied itself on her hips.
"Couldn't you tell? I've been trying to get you drunk and have my way with you this whole time", her voice had gotten quieter, and she wasn't sure if it was with mischief or desire.

Love, in a place where you buy affection by the hour, is fleeting. Still, she felt something that night as they broke all the rules she'd held with such esteem. When she'd just finished laying the fresh towels out correctly, she froze as she realised – he'd left rings on the shelf.

When he came back, a week later at 5am on a Sunday, she surprised herself by going over to him.
"Hi, I'm Ophelia. Nice to see you again".
"Oh Godric. I was so hoping you'd be here. Haven't been able to stop thinking about you, really."
"Cute. You left your rings her last time. I'll get them for you from reception; I'm not sure how you've spent a week explaining it to your wife".

She'd tried to be nonchalant, and when the manager called her name she smiled at her friends and grabbed her bag, and his rings. The silver felt cold in her hand and in her heart. She assumed he'd taken them off intentionally, hiding the evidence of his obvious marriage. She handed them over to him after she closed the door.
"I was shocked you'd think I'd care that you're married. Well, obviously I care now but I wouldn't have if… I didn't know you were married and you shouldn't have tricked me so I'd fuck you".
"I'm not married". He straightened his glasses and messed up his hair.
"I'm not stupid". She folded her arms and arched her brow.
"No seriously, who has 3 wedding rings? They're warrior rings. See they have runes carved in, they're for protection", the silver glinted in the red light as he held them up to show her. Sure enough, she recognised the protection runes. "They're Celtic, a family heirloom modified. My parents gave me them when I joined the Order." She was shocked, again, as she found she believed him.
"You have Celtic heritage", she snorted, noting the darkness of his hair and the absence of freckles across his toned body. Really, if anyone in the room had Celtic heritage it was her, with her hair and abundance of freckles.
"Nice apology."
"Shut-up and take your clothes off, git."

They got naked. They got drunk. They got to know each other, in the biblical sense, once more. She realised as he pulled her hair and kissed her neck that she hadn't done this in years. Not sex, she'd had sex a lot, and with many different people. But she hadn't had sex with the same person since she was 15, and she hadn't enjoyed it this much….well, pretty much ever.
They showered. They got dressed. She pushed herself up onto the massage table and sat with her legs apart, smiling as he came and stood between them. She slid her arms around his waist and placed her head on the spot where she knew, under his shirt, a phoenix sat patiently.
"I do not have the energy to deal with any other guys tonight, I'm going to need to ask Dorcas for a pepper-up potion. I just know I'll have someone horrible, probably some blood purist who wants me to pretend I don't know anything…and if I have someone nice, Merlin help them if they actually want a massage and not to just sit and talk shit in the spa".
"Did I exhaust you?"
"A little….and you got me drunk". He laughed as he pulled away from the hug and looked at her, emerald orbs meeting hazel.

"What's your name?"
"Ouch, kinda harsh you forgot, fuck you. It's Ophelia, you wanker."
One, I'm obviously not a wanker," he winked, "Two, you just did fuck me," he winked again, "Three, I meant your real name," she rolled her eyes.
"You did not just make those jokes."
"You did not just avoid my question."
"We can't do this."
"I didn't ask you to marry me, I didn't even ask you out for breakfast, yet. Shouldn't doesn't mean can't. What's your name?"
She paused. She knew better.

"Lily. Lily Evans,"She was definitely worse at pretending to be someone else than he was.
"Well, I'm James Potter... Now, what do you say, Evans? Come to breakfast with me".

She really should have known better, but she still said yes.