"What's going on?" James craned his neck to see, struggling inspite of his height to catch a glimpse over the heads of the rest of the Auror class.

Padfoot shrugged. "Not sure. Just got here myself. It's damn lucky Moody's busy or I'd be doing extra laps for a week." He paused. "Where is Moody?"

"Smith!" James called to a stocky blonde. "What's going on? Where's Moody?"

Smith turned to look at him, his expression somewhat hesitant. "Moody announced he had an assignment."

"Already?" Sirius raised a brow. "Training doesn't finish officially for another couple of months."

Smith shrugged. "Special circumstances I suppose."

"What lucky bloke was picked?" James grinned.

"Not a bloke..." Smith cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Evans."

James' grin faded instantly, his eyes flicking to Padfoot--questioning.

"What?"

All three turned to face her, equally startled at her sudden appearance.

Padfoot was the first to recover. "Lily."

He acknowledged her with a flirtaticious grin that made James seethe with jealousy inspite of the certain knowledge that they had never been an item.

"Evans." James managed, casting a warning glance at his mate.

"I heard my name." She replied curiously, cocking her head to one side. "What were you three talking about?"

"Your assignment." Smith looked like he'd very much prefer to be elsewhere. "But since you're back, perhaps you'd prefer to fill them in? Right, then. I'll be going." He headed off to return to the group he'd been chatting with, not bothering to wait for a reply. Lily watched him go, a somewhat perplexed expression on her face.

She shrugged slightly, turning her attention back to James and Sirius. "It's nothing really. Just a bit of...undercover."

James ruffled his hair nervously, his mouth suddenly gone dry. What kind of assignment could Moody have given his Lily? "Undercover?" He inquired, raising a brow at her, the beginnings of a disapproving frown working its way across his face.

"Sure." She replied, nonchalantly studying her fingernails. "Just a clandestine meeting with a potential source. Nothing particularly interesting."

"Why you?" James persisted, unable to keep his displeasure from his tone. Her eyes widened. Fuck. James knew that look. He'd offended her. But that was hardly unusual. It was, after all, what he did best.

"Because I'm the only one the source is likely to trust. To open up to." She tilted her chin defiantly.

"And why would that be?" He had the feeling she was dodging the subject--holding out on him. A sudden thought occured. "Do you know this contact, Evans?"

Her arms folded across her chest the heat of her glare nearly singing his skin. Not a good sign. "As it happens. I do. Which is why it has to be me." She paused, her cheeks flushing a fascinating shade of pink. "He's sweet on me."

"And just who is this contact?" He demanded, his hands fisting and his eyes narrowed. He had an idea, an inkling he ferverently hoped she wouldn't confirm.

"That," She said archly. "Is classified information. Given out on a need-to-know basis. And you have no 'need-to-know'."

Padfoot snickered under his breath, earning him a frosty look that he chose to ignore. "Death Eater, then." He put in.

James opened his mouth to scoff at the very idea, but snapped closed abruptly when he caught sight of the expression on her face. "It's true then?" He asked, watching her carefully.

She nodded weakly.

"A Death Eater, Evans?"

He was drawing the attention of the other Auror trainees--they were staring. And James didn't give a flying fuck. They could collectively go to hell.

"How did you come to be aquainted with a Death Eater?"

But he knew. He knew. There was really only one person it could be.

"Snivellus? Is it Snivellus, Lily?"

She sucked in an angry breath. "Severus is the contact, yes." Her eyes met his--a challenge. He took her up on it without hesitation.

"Absolutely not!" He all but yelled at her. "I absolutely forbid it!"

"Prongs..." Sirius grabbed his arm, his voice hesitant, warning. James shrugged him off in a fit of peak, stepping forward towards Evans to close the gap between them.

"It's too dangerous." He added, softening his voice a triffle. "You could be...hurt."

And I don't want that greasy git anywhere near you. His mind added. You're mine. He reached out to caress her cheek. It was a casual touch, and all the more sensual because of it. He knew if she moved the slightest bit, gave him the faintest indication of desire, he'd be on her, kissing--devouring--those delictable lips. She swallowed, turning her cheek to brush into his hand for a moment. His head descended towards hers of its own accord, the intent clear. She pulled back abruptly, her eyes taking on a stoney glint.

"You know what you are, James Potter? You're the worst kind of sexist. You pride yourself on saying all the right things, but deep down, you still think I'm just a little girl in need of protecting." She poked him in the chest with her finger. "Well you can just forget it, Potter, because I'm more than capable of taking care of myself."

"Are you, now?" He arched an insolent brow at her--an arrogant, skeptical gesture specifcally designed to provoke her.

"Yes, Potter, I am." Her jaw clenched. "I do not now, nor have I ever needed a hero."

"Well that's just too bad, love, because I'm not asking your permission." He grabbed her finger pulling her closer to him. In the next instant, he was cupping her jaw in his hands--rough and abrasive, but utterly provacative. He forced her to face him. Their gazes locked. "I'm telling you how it is." He continued.

"You don't have the right!" She told him haughtily, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip so hard it bled. He followed the gesture with his eyes hungrily, perilously close to losing control.

"Maybe I want the right." He replied, his voice dropping to a honeyed purr.

Her tongue flicked across her wound lip, soothing it in a darkly erotic manner. He lowered his mouth quickly--violently--giving her no time for protest before he slanted his lips over hers. His tongue immediately thrust inside--past her lips and teeth--into the waiting cavern of her mouth, demanding response. She moaned as her tongue clashed with his, eager and needy. Her hands slid down his chest, gripping his shirt and pulling him to her as if she were afraid he'd slip away. He rubbed--grinded--the hard length of his erection against her. She moaned again, her hands moving lower...lower...

Fuck.

Not low enough!

She froze suddenly, going rigid against him. And then she was shoving, forcing him away from her--severing all contact. She looked up at him, breathing heavily, panting.

"If you wanted the right," She huffed, her eyes sparkling with unshed tears. "then you shouldn't have proposed to another woman!"

She turned and fled. James watched her go, dumbfounded. He was an idiot, an absolute ruddy idiot! Why the fuck had he been so stubborn? If he'd just told her, told her about Christine, then he wouldn't be in this situation. She'd be his.

And the worst part was...

Padfoot was right.

For once. And he'd never hear the end of it.