James was melting.

When he looked down at himself, he was surprised to find that he still had a corporeal form, and had not in fact dissolved into a puddle, because it was hot. He spent nine months a year in Scotland, he simply wasn't used to this kind of temperature - and to add insult to injury, it was too hot to play Quidditch. He had tried, cloudless day after cloudless day, only to return to the ground pouring with sweat, defeated by – of all things – the sun. Bastard sun, James thought. What had he ever done to it? As if it wasn't enough that his friends had deserted him to suffer alone in the blistering heat, with even Sirius being packed off to Wiltshire to stay with his dreaded cousins. Of course, James didn't envy him – they were both absolutely certain that Sirius' oldest cousin Bellatrix was pure evil itself – but he craved company. His parents were very nice, but he was sixteen and easily bored, and they were elderly and perfectly content to sit in the shade all day, reading and talking about how hot it was.

In the second week of sweaty, mind-numbing boredom, James' mother announced that she was going to Diagon Alley to shop for clothes, and such was the extent of James' ennui – and, possibly, heatstroke – that he agreed to accompany her.

He regretted it very quickly.

Forced to endure half an hour of his mother's running commentary on the various hats on offer, he was even less impressed when, after a hat had been chosen, she decided that James was in dire need of new clothes.

"What's wrong with the cloak I have?" he demanded, when she tried to manhandle him into a peacock blue one. "I like red more than blue …"

His mother, a former Ravenclaw and – for some reason – proud of it, rolled her eyes.

"This one suits you far better, darling," she wheedled, "and it looks much smarter – oh, and it'll go perfectly with this hat, Polly dear, show him the hat –"

Polly, the eager-looking shop assistant, rushed forwards with a navy hat, trimmed with peacock blue.

"I don't need a new hat," James grumbled as his mother plonked it on his head, "or a new cloak – or robes! No! Mum! Put them down!"

Lavinia removed her hands from the set of silk robes she had been stroking fondly and turned, a guilty expression on her face.

"I just want you to look nice," she said with a deep sigh. "If you will go around looking like a vagrant -"

"Harsh," said James, who knew for a fact that his hair did actually look cooler when he messed it up more.

"The truth hurts, darling," was Lavinia's riposte as she turned her attention to a rack of dress robes. James grinned; there were few better sparring partners than his mother.

"All right," he bargained, "I'll comb my hair. Just for you. Can I go now? I want to go to Gambol & Japes …"

"Not on your own," said Lavinia at once. "Not after last time."

"I've told you, I didn't set those cards off –"

"Sebastian Stebbins had no eyebrows for a month, his mother said," Lavinia cut in, "and you were the only other person near that stack of cards."

James considered his options, and then conceded, "all right, I may have knocked into the table, and I suppose that could have set them off …"

"Well, then, I had better come with you, hadn't I? To prevent you from knocking into anything else." Lavinia smiled triumphantly. For a Ravenclaw, James thought, his mother could be awfully Slytherin at times.

"Fine," he said mutinously, realising this was the best he was going to get. "Here –" he ripped off the hat and pushed it into Polly's hands. "We are going now?" he added to Lavinia, when she continued to browse the racks of robes.

"Not yet, darling, I still haven't found what I wanted. Be patient."

"But I don't want to hang around in here! It's sweltering."

"It won't do you any harm to wait for once. And since you're here, you can try on these boots – Polly, the dragon-hide -"

James looked wildly around for an escape before Polly could return with the boots – and then he spotted one. Outside the café opposite, Lily Evans had just sat down at a table by herself.

James didn't even stop to think: he said quickly to his mother, "Mum, there's a classmate of mine, I'm going to talk to her until you're ready, OK?" and ran before she could protest.

It was only when he was inches from Lily Evans' table that he remembered a slight detail that was potentially very important: the last time they had been face to face, she had not been very happy with him. She had, in fact, told him that he made her sick: his cheeks burned at the memory.

Could he sidle away? No – she had seen him, clearly heading towards her, he would look like an idiot if he went in a different direction now. Bollocks. He wished, heartily, that Sirius was there, because he was realising that he had absolutely no idea what to say.

He stopped in front of Lily, who looked up at him, squinting in the sunlight. Merlin's balls, she was pretty, even with her face screwed up like that. His palms were growing sweatier; the day suddenly seemed much hotter, if that were possible.

"Hi," said Lily.

"Hi," said James.

Bugger, shit and bollocks. He was certain his hair had gone flat in the heat, and he simply wasn't prepared for this – he would have liked to run into her when he was with his friends, all of them laughing at a joke he'd told, or perhaps he would be re-enacting a goal – but no, he was just standing there, gormless, looking and sounding an utter prat.

"What are you doing here?" Lily asked. Her tone was not unfriendly, but she was not wearing her usual smile, either.

"I'm with my mum …" James gestured across the street. "I was really bored," he added quickly, so she wouldn't think he was a mummy's boy. "And, y'know, I thought she'd benefit from my company."

"Of course," said Lily. "Sirius not around, then?"

"Nah. Dragged off to stay with his cousins. What're you doing, then?" It suddenly occurred to James that she might be waiting for a boy – what if she was here on a date? But, he reasoned with himself, she had not asked him to leave. That was something, surely.

"I'm meeting Mary and Sonia and the rest, I got here early. My sister's driving me up the wall and in this heat I might have done something regrettable."

There it was – the cheeky smile, the comical way in which her eyebrows danced as she spoke … that had not been the Lily Evans that James had come up against in June. But she seemed to have got over her problem with him … or was it that he wasn't dangling her friend upside down in the air? Girls were hard to read.

"I could be wrong, but I don't think the underage magic thing applies when it comes to annoying sisters," he said, grinning now that things seemed to be going more smoothly.

"Oh, brilliant," Lily laughed. "I'll test that out, shall I, and blame you if it's not true?"

"Yeah, that'll definitely work." He adopted a feminine voice. "It wasn't my fault, I was going on what James Potter said …"

"That's not what I sound like!"

"I never lie, Evans," said James gravely.

"I never lie, Evans," Lily repeated, in a ridiculously deep voice that seemed to be going for suave and sophisticated and missing the mark considerably.

"Well, that's just silly."

"That's what you sound like!"

"It's not," James insisted, though uncertainty was prickling at him. He thought girls liked it when men sounded mature, and what was more, he thought he'd managed to carry it off. When Lily had shouted at him, she'd mentioned him messing up his hair, playing with the Snitch (he had only done that once!) and hexing people, not his voice. And he wasn't doing any of those other things right now, though the urge to sort his hair out was almost unbearable.

"It is."

"No it isn't! And how come you're allowed to make fun of my voice – my alleged voice – but I'm not allowed to make fun of yours?"

As he said this, it occurred to him that mocking the witch you liked was perhaps not the best tactic for wooing her, but he was in too deep now, and anyway, she was laughing.

"Because mine was accurate," she said, "and yours was terrible."

"I would be hurt if I weren't so dreadfully manly."

"Dreadfully is right."

"You seem dead set on being cruel to me," said James jokingly. "Why, Evans? What have I done to you?"

It was like the sun had gone in: Lily's smile faded, the light in her eyes dimmed. She had been leaning towards James, but now she sat back in her chair, fiddling with the menu on the table.

"What?" he asked, confused. "What did I say?"

She blinked at him. "If you really don't know, I can't help you."

There was a long, awkward pause.

"Sni- Snape," James said eventually.

Lily was silent.

"That wasn't to you. I didn't do that to you. I didn't know he was going to say – that –"

"You humiliated both of us in front of half the school," Lily said in a low voice.

"But I didn't call you that name –"

"I know you didn't -"

"I would never –"

"I know you wouldn't. That's not the point."

Exasperated and even more confused, James ran his hands through his hair. Lily was staring down at the table, looking upset.

"I don't like being angry with people," she said quietly.

"Great," said James. "Don't be angry with me then."

Lily shook her head.

"I should go."

She stood up to leave, and James noticed, for the first time, that she was wearing a Muggle dress that left her arms and half her legs bare, something that made the hair on his own arms stand up. He had been so focused on their conversation, he hadn't noticed what she was wearing.

"You are funny," she told him suddenly, jolting him out of his wandering thoughts. "Just – not when it's at the expense of others."

James opened his mouth, realised he didn't know what to say to that, and closed it again.

"It was nice to see you," she said, more kindly. "Enjoy the rest of your summer."

"I – yeah," James blundered. "You too. See you, Evans …"

She gave a funny little wave, picked up her bag and set off down the street, bouncing along, dark red hair swinging behind her.

James, unsure of whether he was pleased or dejected, stared after her until she was out of sight, heaved a deep sigh, and went back to his mother.