A brief warning for those with innocent or delicate sensibilities: This Chapter Will Contain Smut.
Well, sort of. It's nothing too terrifying.
You've been warned, friends.
Chapter Two.
James was sat in her office, looking up at her lazily.
Amusement had lifted half of his mouth into an arrogant sort of half smile.
She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and he would have her if it killed him.
"Sometimes it rains, see. I don't know why I should be held responsible." He told her.
She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down.
James Potter could bring out a homicidal streak in a saint. And Lily Evans was most definitely not a saint.
"It was raining in Filch's office, Potter. And Filch's office only."
"Well, it's more of a cupboard, really. An old storage spot with a bed pushed into the back."
She looked at him without expression.
"I'm going to have to give you a detention," his grin only grew.
"But how do you know it was me that did it?"
He was leaning forward now, getting too close. She found his physical presence choking. He made it hard to breathe- and now her head was light.
"The same way I know it was you who carpeted the Slytherin bathrooms." She'd been in seventh year when that had happened. Even the ceiling had been covered with dark
red shagpile. It was nasty.
It had taken a group of professors six whole days to get it off, by which point the entire place was growing quite a heinous breed of mould.
"And how did you know I did that?" He asked, his smile growing wider, once again, at the memory.
"Because no one else would. You'll meet me here at five o'clock sharp, and bring a quill because you'll be grading my first years."
He leaned back in his chair.
"Do you think that's really wise, Evans? We both know I'm shite at charms." He said it as if it were something to be proud of.
Lily wondered if he had ever managed a modicum of shame in his life.
She frowned when she realised that he probably hadn't.
"You're not so bad that you can't grade essays written by eleven year olds." She said, rubbing at a spot above her eyebrow where a headache was starting up.
She didn't want to have to deal with this tiresome bullshit, she was exhausted.
It was why she didn't bother trying to give detentions to the other three of his little group, in fact, if Potter hadn't talked to her about the charm on the Great Halls' ceiling the other day, she wouldn't have bothered with him, either.
"I beg to differ," He said, his smile falling off of his face, he was looking at her with something like concern, and it unsettled her deeply.
"You can leave now," she said. It was a very thinly concealed order.
For once, he didn't argue, and just did as she said.
She tried to grade seventh year homework, but became too exhausted to bother.
She trudged back up to her room, walking past the entrance to the Gryffindor common room. She could faintly hear the voice of Sirius Black coming through the fat lady's
portrait.
"You're a liar," She could hear him yell over a wordless female shrieking. "I'm the most fabulous fornicator of all time,"
Lily Evans decided that she had heard enough, and walked away before she could hear any more.
When she finally opened her own portrait hole, Benjy was waiting for her.
He appeared to have pilfered a large number of muffins from the kitchens.
"You look dreadful." He said with a grin.
"Thanks, mate." She tried to say over a yawn.
She could use a shower and a nice long nap.
In fact, that, was exactly what she intended to do.
She had a long shower, got changed into muggle clothes and when she re-emerged, Benjy was holding a nice hot cup of tea for her.
She considered giving him a heartfelt declaration of love, but fell asleep instead.
She woke badly.
She felt groggy and terrible, the way one always does after a nap.
She lifted her wrist to check her watch, and saw that it was ten past five.
"Fuck." She told her pillow.
She tried to lever herself up, but was unsuccessful.
"Benjy, help me up." She yelled.
He came into the room.
"You're a mess, ginge."
"Sure am, now help me up, I've got a detention with Potter."
"Well shit, Lily, why didn't you tell me you had a hot date," he snorted, hoisting her up, covering her with a robe, and leading her out of the room.
She tried to rub the sleep out of her eyes as Fenwick dropped her arm.
She almost tripped over three times, and when the fourth came, although she was now fully awake, he sighed and wound his arm under hers to hold her up.
It took them a few minutes to get back to her office, where James Potter was waiting, leaning against the wall outside the door waiting for her.
There was a long moment before he'd noticed her and Fenwick that she got to watch him.
He was hunched at the shoulders, his cocky arrogance gone entirely.
He looked worried.
Then he looked up, and the worry dissipated.
James Potter assessed the two of them standing together, her arm over his.
He looked at her rumpled clothes and her tangled mass of red hair.
His jaw clenched, she could see the muscle in his cheek harden and dent.
She cleared her throat and then stepped forward to unlock her office door.
"Sorry I was late," she murmured, completely embarrassed.
He didn't answer her, just walked past her and into her office.
Benjy snorted and shot her a mock salute before turning to walk away.
Taking what was meant to be a deep, fortifying breath, she followed Potter into the room.
She closed the door behind him and saw that he hadn't sat yet.
Instead, he was standing tall, his ribcage heaving and his hands in shaking fists by his sides.
"Fenwick?" He asked.
Her brow furrowed.
"What about him?"
James Potter turned around to face her, and he looked angry.
Not annoyed, or sort of angry, he looked livid.
"Benjy fucking Fenwick?" He said, stalking toward her until he was standing too close.
She thought for a moment that he might hit her.
Instead he just stood and breathed heavily at her.
"What about him?" She repeated, standing her ground and staring up at him.
He was tall, her eyes only came as high as the middle of his chest, and she could see it expanding and contracting rapidly with some sort of frustration.
"What were you doing with him?" Potter demanded, jaw hard and gaze level.
She took a half a step back, starting to feel a little panicked, her own breathing was speeding up now, her heartbeat thrumming along as if there was carbonation in her veins.
He took a whole step forward, pushing her back until her shoulder blades hit the wall behind.
Her breath snagged in her throat as he boxed her in.
She patted her pockets a little frantically, but found that she'd left her wand back on the table next to the muffins.
He leaned over her, casting her in shadow.
He was tall, much too tall.
And incredibly broad.
The muscles in his forearms flexed, thick and strong, and he was a man.
She realised it for the first time, he wasn't a first year anymore, he was a man.
And he was close. Much too close.
Her blood started to heat up even further in her veins, fizzing, bubbling, boiling.
A delicate line of electricity danced over the skin of her neck.
She put her hands on his chest and tried to push him back, but he didn't shift.
This was when she realised that she was in trouble.
She tried pushing harder, but he ignored the pressure as if he hadn't at all noticed.
Instead, he reached down with one hand and opened her robes, pulling them down her shoulders.
They dropped to the floor.
"Potter, what are you doing?" she asked, her voice started shaking.
She'd always been somehow above him, always older. She'd always been a prefect or Head Girl, a teacher while he was a student.
She'd never considered that when they had both been stripped of title, boiled down to their basest selves, he was strong.
And she was not.
And now they were alone in a locked office, and she didn't have her wand.
His breath was hot on her skin, and his pupils had expanded to almost fully eclipse his irises.
He hadn't seemed to have heard her.
He reached up to trace a light hand down the side of her neck.
A tiny breathless whimper came out of her throat and her skin raised a million tiny goosebumps.
His touch burned.
He liked the noise she'd made, by the sound of his low grumble of approval.
His huge hand dropped from her neck to her collarbone, where his deft fingers undid the top button of her shirt.
And then made very quick work of the next two.
Half of her shirt was now open, and her limbs felt useless, as if they'd been jellied, removed of bones altogether.
She tried to reach up to stop him, to stop what he was doing, but they didn't want to.
She didn't want to.
He lowered his head and she let him.
He brought his tongue down to trace over the lazy border of her bra.
He groaned, and the vibration of it made her bite her lip to keep from crying out.
Her heart had gone mad inside of her chest, and she felt as if she'd been drugged.
Lily wasn't completely inexperienced, it wasn't as if she'd never been touched by anyone before- but this was different. That had just been skin against skin, in hindsight, they might as well have been inanimate objects for all of the reaction they'd drawn from her.
This was electricity tracing through her skin and fire running through her veins. This was terrifying.
Her shirt wasn't even all the way off and she could feel a pit of roiling heat low in her abdomen.
Her knees were going to give out, and she had no idea any longer why she'd been trying to push him away.
The idea that he might stop touching her, that he might move away, had become entirely repellent.
He pulled one cup of her bra down, and the cold classroom air chilled her for a moment before his hot, soft mouth closed gently over a nipple.
He swiped it with his tongue, and this time her knees did give out.
He held her up, and she wound her fingers into his messy, jet black hair.
He reached down and ran a gentle finger over her slit. And she made a sound that had him trembling against her.
And then she looked down to see her own pale fingers threaded through his trademark rumpled hair. She realised what was happening.
Or more accurately, who it was happening with.
Who was making her feel this way.
She remembered that he was seventeen and her student.
He kissed, bit, and sucked a line up to her neck.
His hands smoothed down over her back and then down to cup her buttocks.
He squeezed and rubbed and then without any warning he pushed her forward to grind her hot, wet core against his throbbing, hard crotch.
It felt so good that she couldn't help but roll her hips against him.
She wanted him closer.
She wanted his clothes gone, just rubbing against him with something in between them felt intrinsically wrong, she wanted him inside of her.
She needed him inside of her now, her insides were aching for it, clenching around nothing.
He was doing horrible, torturous things to her neck, and her eyes were fluttering.
She couldn't keep them open.
He was making rough, animal sounds in the back of his throat.
"You're mine." He told her.
And then he sucked too hard, and bit.
He bit hard enough to leave a mark.
This, as it turned out, was exactly what she needed to clear her head.
She shoved him hard enough that he fell to the ground.
He looked up at her, his glasses fogged and his eyes unclear.
His mouth was swollen.
The fact that his glasses were still perched on his face was ridiculous.
She pulled up her bra and tried to hastily re-button her shirt.
James Potter flopped back against the floor.
"What the hell was that?" She hissed at him.
"That was me giving in." He told her, perfectly calm as if they were talking about nothing more important than the detention he was meant to be in.
"Giving in?" She demanded, yanking her robe back in place.
"Yeah, Evans. Giving in."
"To what?"
He looked at her lazily.
Every night since first year, he had stared up at the canopy of his four-poster and thought of her. Of course, he was no longer eleven, and his night-time thoughts of her were no
longer innocent.
No, now they were imaginative.
And explicit.
But he couldn't say that, he'd sound insane and she'd get a restraining order.
Instead of waiting for him to come up with something, she pulled herself to her feet and stared down at him.
He didn't even bother trying to sit up, he knew he wouldn't be able to.
Not after that.
"You're seventeen," she said in a harsh whisper. "And you're my student."
And he thought she was lovely, but that didn't stop him from getting instantly annoyed at her words.
"And you're nineteen, I don't see a very big age gap, Evans."
"I-"
"It's only two years and fifty-seven days." He said darkly.
This seemed to stun her for a moment.
He took this opportunity to look at the bruise he'd made on her neck, it was already blossoming, pink and lovely.
He felt heat and satisfaction. She was his, and everyone would know it. Especially Fenwick.
"You're still my student."
"But I won't be in another two years."
"That isn't the point, Potter."
"You'll be mine, Evans. It might take me a month or a year, or maybe even ten, but I'll get you."
"Mary mother of fuck, get over yourself. Find a girl your own age. Find one whose life wouldn't be ruined by an affair with a child." she yelled, completely unhappy that her heart was still beating so quickly.
"No." He told her through gritted teeth.
Then he stood, and he left, knowing that he wasn't going to be able to stay in the room alone with her without doing something.
Or someone.
The fire was roaring in the Gryffindor common room, and the other Marauders were sat around it. Clareece Connelly was sitting nearby trying to catch Sirius' attention.
He, however, was far too caught up in telling Remus some sort of dramatic story to notice.
Remus Lupin, however was barely paying attention for doing his homework.
"Remus, are you listening? We turned him into a goat, Remus, Remus a goat, Remus."
"James?" Remus asked, looking up to see his friend coming through the portrait hole.
Sirius' turned so quickly that James was surprised his neck didn't snap.
"Don't you still have an hour left of detention?" He asked, looking concerned, probably more for Lily than him.
The two had always been dreadfully fond of one another, which was something, to James' annoyance, he hadn't been allowed to capitalize on.
"No. Got let out early for bad behaviour." He said.
Remus didn't like the sound of that.
"Wasn't it a detention with Lily?" He asked cautiously. He always brought up Lily cautiously, but that was mainly because James had a habit of going on about her for hours after she'd come up in conversation. That or sighing a lot.
James Potter had become rather good at sighing.
He did it with the drama and flair usually reserved for pre-pubescent girls and annoyed dogs.
He did not sigh now.
"Yeah, it was."
And with that pathetic non-excuse out of the way, James Potter made his way up to their dorm room.
He got into his bed and closed the curtains.
He stared up at the canopy for a long moment, before reaching out to his bedside table for the book he'd been half way through for the past two years.
Out of this book, he pulled a bit of paper that he'd been using as a bookmark, sitting the book itself back down, his page lost and forgotten.
The bookmark was a photo.
It was a photo of the stretching sandstone walls outside of the Great Hall.
There was a line of white through one of the corners, where it had been accidentally folded over.
It was a picture of Lily back when she was a student.
Back when he'd thought she'd be leaving Hogwarts and he wouldn't be seeing her again for at least another two years.
She was leaning against the castle wall and sighing in relief, having just come out from finishing her N.E.W.T.s
He'd paid fifteen galleons for the photo.
The boy who'd taken the photograph had done so especially for him.
Everyone knew he loved Lily Evans.
And now she did too.