Ooook I'm really sorry about the wait between chapters, I've been extreeemely busy and this was a hard one to write. Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed or favourited in the wait, I love you all.
This chapter is dedicated to Dee whether she likes it or not, because it would taken a heck of a lot longer without her ...

On the morning of December 31st, Aegeus is released from hospital; although still confined to bed rest, he looks to James ten times better than just a week or so earlier, the waxy pallor of his face fading away. James feels happier than he has done all holiday, which he considers perfect timing: that evening, he and Sirius set out to meet Peter and Remus at the Hippogriff's Talon to ring in the new year.

The pub is crammed, being one of the most popular wizarding taverns, but the loud hubbub of chatter and laughter makes James feel all the more happier; he has felt isolated, he realises now, and to be amongst people – people who know nothing of his worries – is a comfort.

Remus and Peter have somehow managed to secure a table, and James and Sirius make their way through the crowd to the bar, passing people they know, or knew, and exchanging brief greetings; Kingsley Shacklebolt, the Gryffindor Keeper in James' second year, nods, and James' old girlfriend Penny Boot smiles at him before turning back to her boyfriend … at the same time asa ring on her left hand catches the light. Engaged. James' age, and engaged.

He mentions this to Sirius as they order drinks.

"Who to?" Sirius asks, craning his neck to have a look. "Oh, I see – that's Martin Fawcett, three years ahead of us, works for Gringotts now. Nice bloke."

He catches James' eye and adds, "you're not jealous, are you? I thought you were over Pernickety Penny. She said she thought you were too immature for her!"

"I'm not jealous," James says truthfully. "It's just weird, isn't it? She's our age and she's getting married."

"Not that weird … times like these, people want to get married quickly, make the most of it, all that. Like Andromeda … they don't see that there's any point in waiting, when you never know what could happen tomorrow."

'S'pose," James concedes. The barman passes him two pints, leaving the other two for Sirius, and they wind their way back through the throng to their table. Penny and Martin are deep in conversation, hands locked together on the table; this time, Penny doesn't see James as he passes. She's as pretty as ever, blonde hair loose around her rosy face, that same smile. She was always nice, Penny … and she was right to dump James, back then, when he was being a prat, though he didn't see it that way at the time. He suddenly hopes fiercely that Martin Fawcett will treat her well.

"Lots of people we know," Remus observes, when James and Sirius finally reach the table.

"Good night for drinking," Sirius says. "We saw – budge up, Pete – we saw Penny Boot, she's engaged to Martin Fawcett."

James takes a large swig of his pint.

"She's not the only one," says Peter, with the air of one very well-informed on the subject.

"Not the only one engaged to Martin Fawcett? Should we tell her?" James asks, straight-faced.

"No. Not the only one engaged. Cecilia Robards is marrying a bloke ten years older than her and Donald McIntyre was in the shop last week talking about how he and Sharon Carmichael are planning to elope soon."

"Do you plan to elope?" Remus wonders.

"I don't think there are rules," says Peter.

"Do we have to talk about marriage?" Sirius interrupts suddenly. "It's New Year's Eve! Marriage is for old people –"

"Evidently not," says Remus, "and you brought it up."

"And I'm bringing it down."

"What do you want to talk about, then?"

"I don't know." Sirius stares around the room, apparently looking for inspiration. "Maybe … Lily!"

"You want to talk about Lily?" Peter frowns, as James tries hastily to hide the fact that he knocked his pint over the second he heard Lily's name.

"No, idiot – it's Lily, she's over there, look!"

And Sirius is right – there she is, pulling off her cloak and saying something to a dark-haired man, whom James instantly recognises as Caradoc Dearborn. Lily's face is animated as she talks rapidly, hands gesturing vigorously to emphasise her words … how James has missed talking to her …

As he watches, Lily and Caradoc are joined by Benjy Fenwick, who then leads the way to a table a few feet away. James is itching to rush over there and give her a big hug, but he worries that he might not be able to let her go if he did.

"We should go and say hello, shouldn't we?" Peter asks the others, as Caradoc gets up again and heads towards the bar.

Sirius makes to push back his chair, but Remus holds up a hand, looking apprehensive. "I don't know if we should. Do we have any reason to know them, from an outsider's perspective? We don't want to cause suspicion."

"Sirius knows Caradoc from work, and James works with Lily too," Peter points out. "That's reason enough. It might look weird if we didn't talk to them …"

"See? It's fine," says Sirius matter-of-factly, getting to his feet and gesturing to the others to follow.

Lily spots them from a few feet away; her eyes light up, and James feels a wild leap of happiness, the sort of which he hasn't felt in weeks now. She greets them all in turn, hugging Sirius (he looks taken aback) and beaming at Remus and Peter before turning to James. Close to, he sees that she looks tired, dark shadows beneath her vivid eyes, skin pale and tinged with grey, but her smile is bright, and her voice is warm.

"How are you?" she asks, putting a hand on his arm. Be cool. "And how's your dad?"

"Fine. He's fine," James replies distractedly; she is gazing at him with that intense look of hers, and it's overwhelming after some time away from it. "I mean, he's still not – you know – well, but he's doing better, he's out of hospital."

"Hmm," she murmurs, sympathy coating the sound. "You look tired …"

"Charming. So do you, actually."

She laughs; he's delighted to hear it, so much so that he finds himself laughing too. Benjy, who had been chatting to Peter, turns with interest.

"All right, James?" he says amiably. "Lily told me about your father, that must be rough – how's he doing?"

"Better, thanks." James watches Benjy with some curiosity; he hadn't realised he and Lily were so close, close enough to be out together on New Year's, and to discuss James' father, at least. He's a good looking bloke, too, James notices suddenly, bulky and blond with a friendly, open face … damn him, James thinks viciously.

"Good, good … don't need any more drama right now, eh?" Benjy laughs. "Why don't you all join us? It doesn't make sense to sit apart … look, Doc's got the drinks in."

Lily looks pleased at this suggestion, so James agrees and settles in with the others around the table. He finds himself next to Lily; it isn't a large space, and her knee brushes against his, sending tremors through his whole body.

Benjy turns out to be a riot; he and Lily go head to head with impressions of the rest of the Order (Lily wins by a mile, in James' opinion, with her impression of Dumbledore: she steeples her hands together and peers at him through imaginary spectacles, and he can't help but crack up). By the time the clock is streaking towards midnight, the whole table is weak with laughter, clutching their sides – the alcohol has been flowing all night and they're all more than a little tipsy. It is exactly what James needs, after the weeks he's had - comfort and warmth and laughter with friends, Lily at his side …

"Ten!" someone roars suddenly from the middle of the room, and the rest of the pub takes up the chant. "Nine! Eight!"

You're supposed to kiss someone at midnight.

"Seven!"

This is it – this is the moment!

"Six!"

His heart thuds with excitement, blood pounding in his ears. He's going to do it -

"Five!"

He's going to kiss her.

"Four!"

He turns to her, his hands shaking in his lap; she's deep in conversation with Benjy, giggling, hair shining in the lights.

"Three!"

Should he just tap her on the shoulder – and then go for it? What if she pushes him away? No, she won't … she won't!

"Two!"

He takes a deep breath and shifts towards her.

"One!"

His hand reaches for her shoulder – but misses, as she leans forwards and throws her arms around Benjy, who kisses the top of her head, laughing, affection in his eyes …

"Happy new year!" the crowd roars.

Happy new year.


"God, I'm exhausted," Lily groans, lowering her head gingerly on to her desk. "What a night, eh?"

"Yeah," James agrees lamely. He attempts a smile, but this is – this is so hard, being around her now, back in the office, after the energy and – the feeling, how close he was to kissing Lily … and what if he had? What if she had kissed him back? Might they be together now?

Instead, he is bitter and jealous and upset, and for the first time, feeling somewhat resentful towards Lily. He was so sure that she felt something for him – the way she held his hands in their café, the lingering look she gave him … the smiles and little comments … has it all been in his head?

"Dingle," he hisses suddenly, spotting their boss striding towards them. Lily's head shoots upwards; she winces, spitting hair out of her mouth.

"Potter!" Dingle grasps his hand, completely ignoring Lily, who scowls deeply. "Good to have you back with us – how is your father?"

"Er – he's all right, thanks, sir," says James, utterly bewildered – since when has Dingle treated him nicely? "He's out of hospital now."

"Excellent, excellent," Dingle twitters, voice positively oozing unctuousness. When he twitches back to his office a moment later, with one last greasy smile, James turns to Lily in astonishment.

"What d'you reckon that was all about?"

"Dunno," Lily replies grumpily, "but he seems to have changed his mind about you. I suppose I'm still just the secretary …"

"C'mon," James says sternly, "you know you're not just the secretary."

She offers him a weak smile. "Thanks."

"Well, it's true. You're the administrative assistant."

Snorting, she whacks his arm with a heavy binder until he backs away, pleading mercy.

"I surrender," he gasps laughingly, holding up his hands. "And I'm going to have to get to work now … hey," he adds suddenly, words tumbling of his mouth without any prior consideration, "d'you want to have lunch today?"

"I was planning on it," says Lily, not looking at him, but instead reading a message on her desk; a second later, realisation dawns on her face, and she looks up. "Oh! Did you mean – with you?"

James shrugs. "I just thought, y'know … we've probably got a lot to catch up on …"

"We have," Lily agrees, giving him a look he can't quite decipher – suspicion? Or trying to conceal some feeling of her own? "I'd like that. Usual place?"

"It's a date," James says, before he can stop himself; immediately feeling his face flush, he quickly turns to his desk before he can see Lily's reaction.


Dingle continues to act in a slimy manner towards James for the rest of the morning; James can tell that this doesn't go unnoticed by his colleagues, either. More than once, he senses that someone's eyes are on him; when he glances up, he sees a wizard in the corner, middle-aged and nondescript, turning his head away. He doesn't recognise the bloke, but then again he's never really paid much attention to the rest of his colleagues.

"He's new," Lily informs him when they're safely ensconced in their booth. "I haven't managed to get his name yet, but today's the first day he's been here. You say you think he's been watching you?"

"Well …" James shifts in his seat. He hadn't though of it that way, but now Lily says it, he feels like a complete idiot. "I suppose, yeah. You don't think he suspects me?"

Lily purses her lips, looking thoughtful. "It's interesting," she muses after a while, "because I've been thinking about the way Dingle's been acting towards you. I think that could be something to do with – with You-Know-Who's visit. He was interested in you then, wasn't he? If Dingle thinks you've got favour with him, he'll want to be nice to you."

"So …"

"So it doesn't make much sense that Dingle would hire someone who's suspicious of you. Then again …" she trails off, eyebrows knitting together. "It would be stupid not to take this seriously. Don't give that bloke cause for suspicion, whatever you do."

"All my life," James sighs, "I've been told I'm a highly suspicious character. It can't be helped."

"I know. I've had some very interesting conversations with your old head of house."

"Don't listen to a word she says," James warns. "She might seem like an extremely trustworthy and moral person, but she's actually a dirty liar and a thief to boot."

"What did she steal?"

"My youth." James points to his forehead. "See those wrinkles?"

"Ooooh." Lily leans forwards – she smells incredible – and inspects his forehead, wrinkling her nose. She has a few freckles scattered across her nose that he's never noticed before.

"Anyway," he says quickly, before he acts on his impulse to grab her and kiss her and kiss those freckles and damn it every inch of her, "er – I – how come you were at the pub last night? I thought you were away for the holidays …"

To his surprise, she turns pink.

"I was, kind of," she mumbles, "but not with my family, like I told you. It's … it's complicated …"

"Do you want to tell me?" James asks her gently. She meets his eyes with a kind of steely resolve, and nods.

"My parents don't live in England," she begins. Her voice is low, quiet, and James wonders if she is trying to hold it together; her eyes are shining a little too brightly. "I sort of – convinced them to emigrate to New Zealand when it became clear I – and they – were in real danger. They weren't happy about it, but they've always taken the wizarding world pretty seriously – so they agreed, but my sister didn't. She lives in Surrey, with her fiancé. We don't really talk. So – I don't really have family around."

"What were you doing at Christmas, then?" James croaks – a lump is forming in his throat. Having come so close to losing his father, the thought of Lily having to send her parents away to a different continent is hitting him hard.

"Doing stuff for the Order, mostly," she shrugs. "The rest of the time I spent with – with Benjy. He's an orphan, his mother was Muggleborn and his father pureblood, so they were some of the first to go when You-Know-Who came to power. We joined the Order around the same time, and – neither of us had very much money, so we got a flat together …"

James' coffee goes flying over the Formica table, narrowly missing Lily as she ducks.

"Sorry!" he gasps, swiping at the splatters with his sleeve. "I just – you live with Benjy?"

"It's better than living alone in a grimy flat in Balham," Lily says defensively. "Much better, actually – Benjy's a sweetheart, he's been so good to me …"

James tries to nod understandingly, but jealousy is burning up inside him, making his fists clench – Benjy seeing Lily every morning and every night, getting to eat breakfast with her and say good night to her …

"So – are you two …?" he forces himself to ask.

Lily turns even redder, but she laughs too, almost to herself, as if thinking of some private joke. "I love him very much," she says, and James' heart seems to slither from his chest and land with a splat on the floor. "But it's never been – like that between us."

And he believes her, even though there's a voice in his head shrieking that she's lying and she and Benjy will elope any day now. He has to block it out; he can't help but trust Lily. The voice turns into Remus', saying you're too trusting, but really, is that such a bad thing? And if he's honest with himself, he would rather Lily lived with a hundred men than have to live alone, knowing her family are thousands of miles away, knowing there are people out there who want nothing more than to kill her …

This thought keeps him going through the long, cold days that follow. His free time is now completely taken up by the Order, as he, Sirius, Remus and Peter are thrown headfirst into tailing known Death Eaters and tracking down suspected ones, working on strategy plans and doing their very best to stop Voldemort's brutal murders from being carried out. When they manage to save a Muggle family, Apparating them away from their house moments before it goes up in flames, James feels overwhelming pride and achievement like the sort he used to get from holding up the Quidditch cup – except this is so much more worthwhile. With the knowledge that he is doing some good, he is cope with it all – his growing feelings for Lily, the twinges of jealousy when he sees her arm in arm with Benjy; the wizard in the office, whose eyes rarely leave James; his father's poor health and his mother's increasingly anxious letters. It doesn't make it all go away, and when he hovers between consciousness and sleep at night, his mind goes to the things he cannot change, but it makes it easier to deal with, and for now, that's enough.


It's raining, absolutely tipping it down, drumming thunderously against the windows and the roof of The Lodge. The living room is remarkably cosy in contrast; Alice and Frank have provided piping hot tea, and James, exhausted from a long night talking with Sirius and Remus and an even longer day at work, is finding it hard not to fall asleep. He wishes the meeting would just start, so it can end and he can go to bed … These meetings immediately following work are the very worst. Once or twice, his eyelids start to close, and he feels a sharp pinch on his upper arm.

"Stop it," he hisses at Marlene, the third time she does it.

"Stop falling asleep, then," she retorts, infuriatingly perky.

He's about to say something cutting in response when Dumbledore stops his conversation with McGonagall and says, "I think we had better start … there's nothing to be gained from waiting any longer."

"Who are we waiting for?" James mutters to Marlene, looking blearily around the room. Whoever it is, he hates them … he could have been at home by this point, dozing on the sofa …

"Elphias and Benjy," she replies, "but Elphias is always late."

Benjy? Slightly more awake now, James looks over at Lily. Her expression is strained; her eyes keep flickering towards the door as Dumbledore starts to speak.

He starts to go through the topics for discussion and then asks Remus and Peter for a report from their tailing of a suspected Death Eater last week – but Peter has barely opened his mouth when there's a great bang from the hallway, the sound of the front door flying open and shut again, followed by frantic footsteps charging down the wooden floor; seconds later, the living room door bursts open, sending Elphias into their midst, soaking wet and panting heavily.

"What is it?" Dumbledore asks him urgently, but Elphias seems unable to speak; he just clutches his chest and thrusts a damp newspaper into Dumbledore's hands.

"Evening – Prophet," he wheezes, as Dumbledore unfolds it. "Just – came – out – it's bad, Albus, it's bad …"

Every eye in the room is on Dumbledore as he starts to read; the twinkle in his eyes dies as they move down the page, his face growing paler and paler.

"Albus – what …?" McGonagall whispers, her voice trembling, but Dumbledore says nothing, just closes his eyes.

"Give that here," Moody says impatiently, and he leans over and tugs the paper from Dumbledore's unresisting hands. His mismatching eyes scan the text, the normal one widening; as the rest of the room watches with baited breath, he shakes his head.

"The bastards," he snarls, throwing the paper aside, "the bastards …"

"Alastor, what's going on?" Alice pleads; her question is echoed on all sides.

"They got him," Moody growls, and James wants to stand up and shake him and yell 'what are you saying?' "They got us all –"

"Got who?" someone cries, and James feels a sudden surge of nausea – no – surely not …

"Right," says Frank suddenly, and he makes a grab for the paper as several others do the same – but Frank gets there first, and all the colour drains from his face as he takes in the words.

"They know," he whispers. "And – Benjy's dead."

There's dead silence all around the room – and then it's broken, broken by a single, strangled cry that tears James' battered heart into pieces – and Lily stares at Frank, and her eyes are full of a plea, a plea to tell her that it isn't true -

"You're lying," she says forcefully. "You're lying –"

"I'm not, Lily, it's – it's true – they –" Frank's voice is cracking – "it says they've been suspicious for some time – and he was a suspect and they – they interrogated him and it says that - they regret that he died under questioning."

There's sudden uproar, everyone's hands clamouring for the newspaper, to read it for themselves, but James has eyes only for Lily, who tears from the room without a backwards glance, and in that moment he doesn't care that the Order has been discovered - though he does, he just – this is more important, she is more important.

He finds her outside, on that bench where he and Marlene teased each other just a few weeks earlier; it's still pouring with rain and she is slumped with her head in her hands, sobbing brokenly.

"Lily," he tries to say, but his voice catches, and he doesn't know if it's the news about Benjy or – no, it isn't, because that hasn't really hit him yet, but it's hit Lily, and she is broken in front of him, heartbroken. Benjy was her family, wasn't he? What if he lost Sirius? How would he feel?

So he just sits with her as she weeps, rain soaking through his clothes and numbing his skin, and James understands that she doesn't know where to go from here, because when she goes home, she will return to an empty flat, and when she reaches out to him with such pain on her face that he can hardly bear to look at her, he pulls her close and strokes her hair and wishes he could stop her pain - he would have lived with a life of jealousy if it could have meant she had her friend for always …


"We – we can't stay here all night," he says eventually, his voice hoarse from lack of use. The lights are still on in the house – everyone must be discussing what happened – but it is late, very late, and still raining, freezing January rain, and they'll get pneumonia if they stay out here for much longer.

"No!" Lily gasps, her head springing away from James' chest. "No – we can – I can –"

"You can't," he tells her; he's trying to be firm but she's a mess, expression utterly desperate, crumpled and lost, eyes swollen from all the tears … "We've got to go home."

"I can't, I can't!" she moans. Her hands grasp at the front of his sopping robes, and he thinks of a time in the supply cupboard – that seems like years ago now. "I can't go back there – don't make me, don't make me go - home –"

He grabs her hands and holds them tightly in his, acting on impulse – he just wants to make it all OK, he wants to say 'you don't have to go back there' – and he can …

"You're coming home with me."


The flat is deserted, but James doubts Lily would have noticed if the entirety of the Ministry was gathered in the living room; she's like a limp doll as he propels her across the room and into his bedroom. He guides her to the bed - where she sits utterly still, staring at the opposite wall – and conjures a towel for her to dry her hair.

"Thank you," she says as she takes it; her voice sounds forced.

"Don't mention it."

He's halfway to the door when she speaks again, this time tentatively, uncertainly.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to sleep on the sofa," he says, surprised. "I thought – I mean, I don't mind you having my bed – if you don't mind that is –"

She opens her mouth, blinks, and closes it again. He's never seen anybody look so confused or lost, and it hurts.

"Thank you," she says again, after a few long moments, and he shrugs and says 'good night' and turns back to the door, and as he does he wonders if he should stay with her – stay up with her all night, hold her hand and talk her through it – but there's something holding him back.

He doesn't sleep at all that night, and he'd bet all the gold in the world that she doesn't either.


"James?"

He opens his eyes, catches a blinding flash of light and screws them shut again.

"James!"

Go away, he thinks furiously, and it's only when he hears a chuckle that he realises he said it out loud, and only then does he recognise the voice that's been calling his name.

"Professor!" he gasps, sitting bolt upright and almost toppling off the sofa.

"I haven't been your headmaster for well over a year now," says Dumbledore idly – his eyes are travelling over the living room with interest – "so I think it would be quite all right if you were to call me Albus. You know, I think I once owned that very painting … remarkable, isn't it?"

"What?" James mumbles, utterly disorientated. "Er – yeah – my parents got it when I moved in …"

"How is your father?" Dumbledore asks, his expression becoming serious again. "I was sorry to hear of his illness, very sorry indeed."

"He's – he's all right." James struggles up on to one elbow, suddenly becoming extremely aware of the situation; he in his pyjamas, tangled in blankets on his sofa, while his former headmaster reclines in an armchair facing him. Sleep-deprived as he is – he only dropped off to sleep as the sun was rising – he feels like this is a fairly odd scenario in which to find himself. "Erm – Professor - Albus – no, sorry, that sounds too weird – Professor, what are you doing here?"

"We need to discuss the events of last night," says Dumbledore. His blue eyes are fixed on James, surveying him closely. "We are in a precarious situation. It is vital that we act with precision and speed; we must move to secure all places with any link to the Order. That includes this building, and also your parents' home."

"But they don't know anything about the Order!" James protests.

Dumbledore gives him a piercing look. "Can you not think of any way to persuade them to have security on their home without giving away the real reason for it? I think you can. I have always found you to be extremely adept at – ah – inventing false purposes, shall we say."

"Lying, you mean." James heaves a sigh. "Yeah, I suppose I can. I don't like it, though."

"No, nor I," says Dumbledore gravely, "but it is necessary, if you wish to protect your family. I am afraid we are all in danger now."

"Right." James slumps back against the sofa cushions, a heavy weight settling in his stomach. We are all in danger now. "And what about all our jobs? Loads of us work in the Ministry –"

"And you should continue to do so. Do not change anything about the way you act; continue to do exactly as you did before, that is of the utmost importance. They will be watching for suspicious behaviour; do not give them any reason to suspect you."

Thank God, he can't help thinking; he can still talk to Lily … Lily … he shoots back into a sitting position, suddenly remembering – she stayed over, she is here -

Or is she? His eyes light upon a piece of parchment lying on the coffee table a few feet away, covered in loopy handwriting. Lily's handwriting.

"Professor – d'you mind passing me that note?"

Dumbledore, apparently unsurprised by this request, obliges.

James -

Thank you so much for last night. Your support and comfort mean the world to me, you can't even begin to know how glad I was to have you there with me.
I'm sorry to run out like this but I'm confused and scared and I just don't really know what I'm doing – that's no excuse, I know, but Dorcas contacted me and said she'll stay with me at the flat, if I like, and – well, I can't hide from it forever, can I? I need to go back, but I can't do it alone, so this is the best solution. I am so lucky and grateful to have friends like you two in my life.

Thank you for being my shoulder to cry on. I'll see you soon.

Lily

So she's gone. Confused and scared … he's not surprised. With all she's gone through, having to send her parents away, then losing her best friend …

"Professor?" he says abruptly, tearing his eyes from the note. Dumbledore, who had been idly twiddling his thumbs, looks up expectantly. "You said we must secure all places with any link to the Order. But Lily told me that her sister won't let her put protection on her home …"

"Can she not be persuaded?" asks Dumbledore sharply.

"That's what I'm thinking. Sir … do you have her address?"


Privet Drive is – square; there's no other way to describe it, James decides, as he turns into the street and stares at the identical, square houses lining the road. Number four, Dumbledore had said. He had also warned James to dress in as Muggle a fashion as he could manage, so James stands now in a faded old grey suit, borrowed from Remus, who had it for a Muggle job; it's fraying at the edges and is at least two inches too short in the leg, but if Petunia Evans is so vehemently anti-magic, it's probably better than James' finest silk robes.

He approaches number four, as square and bland as its neighbours, with an increasing sense of dread. Is this really a good idea – going behind Lily's back to talk to her sister? What if Petunia doesn't agree, and – even worse – is so angry that she refuses to talk to Lily at all?

Or, he tries to convince himself, she could see your well-reasoned points and agree and it'll all be fine and dandy.

Slightly more hopeful, he steps up to the spotless front door and knocks determinedly.

His first instinct, when the door is opened, is to check that he has the right house, because surely this sour-faced woman standing before him can't be Lily's sister … but as she stares at him and he stares at her, he notices her nose, and her stature, and even her pursed lips … all Lily. Lily's features in the face of a blonde woman who is looking at him – and his suit - with utter disgust.

"Can I help you?" she asks eventually; her tone suggests that she would rather not.

"Petunia?" he checks. She purses her lips further, which he takes as a yes. "My name is James Potter. I'm a friend of your sister's."

The reaction is immediate; Petunia's eyes widen, her face drains of colour and she jolts backwards, hands gripping the door tightly, as if to slam it in his face at any moment. With revulsion etched into every line of her face, she hisses, "what do you mean by coming here? I want nothing to do with – with any of you, or your lot!"

"That might not be your choice to make," James says evenly. He steps closer to her, and she recoils – but doesn't slam the door, not yet. "I – look, we shouldn't talk about this in the open. May I come in?"

He can see her battling with it for a moment – bring him into her house, or have the neighbours see her conversing with someone like him on the doorstep? But then the former seems to win, and she steps aside and furiously beckons for him to come in.

"Quickly!" she snaps. "And take those disgusting shoes off, now!"

He does as he's told, even though his desire to protect this woman is diminishing by the second. He can't help looking around at her house with undisguised curiosity, however; brushing the realisation that he has been in Lily's sister's house, but not hers, aside, he gazes around at the magnolia walls, the beige carpet, the pristine surfaces … nothing appears out of place here, nothing at all.

Except him.

"Aren't you going to ask me into the living room?" he asks, when Petunia makes no move to do so.

"No," she says coldly. She crosses her arms tightly over her bony chest. "What do you want? What did you mean when you said I might not have a choice about getting involved with your lot? Talk!"

James rolls his eyes at her rudeness – he can see Lily in her flashing eyes, though – but takes a deep breath and starts to explain the situation.

"I know you hate magic," he says, "I know. And I know you pretend to hate your sister, too, but I'm willing to bet you don't actually – you're just angry with her. I know she doesn't hate you, either, and she'd be cut up if anything happened to her – she's just lost her friend, he was murdered yesterday –" Merlin, was it only yesterday? It feels like weeks ago – "and – well, essentially, we're in danger and anyone associated with us, linked to us, is in danger. We can protect you and we will, and please, Petunia, you have to let us."

"One of your lot was murdered?" she demands; James flinches at the coldness of her tone, but nods. Her face grows, if possible, even whiter.

"This has nothing to do with me," she says angrily. "I'm not part of this, and nor is my fiancé – we shouldn't be implicated!"

"You are part of this – they're killing Muggles!" James replies exasperatedly. "No, it's not fair, none of this is fair, but you should be bloody grateful –"

"How dare you speak to me like -"

"- you should be bloody grateful that there are people trying to stop this! I don't have to be here right now, doing this, you know – there are a thousand other useful things I could be doing. But I'm here because I care –"

"Care!" Petunia shrieks, colour flooding into her face. "Care! You don't care about me, you care about Lily, perfect Lily – it's always about her, no one would give a damn about whether or not I was – attacked by wizards if it weren't for Lily –"

"Yeah," says James coolly, "maybe that's true. I know I wouldn't care, because frankly you're not a nice person. But because I care about Lily, I care about whether or not you get murdered, and I don't really think that's something to be sniffed at, to be honest. Take what you can get. If some random bloke turns up at your house and says I can help keep you alive, just say OK."

"You –"

"Just say OK."

Petunia stares at him; he meets her gaze determinedly.

"Fine," she says.

"You're agreeing?" James asks in disbelief; he had half been expecting her to slap him …

"Fine," she repeats vehemently. "Now get out of my house."


He expects Lily to turn up to work on Monday morning looking pale and wan and exhausted – but she doesn't. She swishes into the office with shiny hair and a wide smile, and bustles straight into action, ordering folders with a vigour he's never seen before. Is this denial, he wonders, or an act to keep Voldemort's people off the scent?

He gently questions her over lunch, asking if she's actually all right – or just being wary.

"We've got to throw them off the scent," she says – not actually answering the question, he notices. "Dumbledore said act as normal but you and I spend far too much time whispering together and going off to lunch, I think they might get suspicious of that –"

"So you think we should ignore each other?" he asks in dismay. "That'll look suspicious, if we suddenly change our routine completely!"

"What reason could we have for spending so much time together?" she counters. Her eyes meet his; he raises his eyebrows.

"You think we should pretend to – to date?"

"Not overtly so," he says, shrugging, "I don't think we should lie, exactly –" how he wishes it wouldn't be a lie … "I just think dropping a few hints here and there that we're together wouldn't be the worst idea in the world. It could protect us."

"Or it could make things much worse for you, if I'm found out."

"Well, that's not going to happen, is it? But as an extra precaution – maybe we could talk – in the office – about how over Christmas, we stayed with your parents … your very magical parents …"

She shakes her head, but there's a smile on her face, and this one seems genuine. It warms his heart. "You're an idiot."

"Is that a yes?"