A/N: Coming up this chapter…

Fluff.
Amusement.
Fluff.
Embarrassment.
Fluff.
Guilt.
Fluff.
Sirius.

And then some more fluff. Fluff, fluff, fluff. You're going to have fluff pouring out of your ears by the time this one's over. Have you booked that dentist's appointment yet? You're going to need it.

This chapter, you should listen to: She's Got You High, by Mumm-Ra; Sweet Disposition, by the Temper Trap; Stolen, by Dashboard Confessional; First Time and Spin, both by Lifehouse.

Enjoy.

--

March 27

10:00 AM
Status: Horrified

I would like to take this opportunity, on this fine Monday morning, to say that I am a dolt – completely, utterly, and truly.

Honestly. I deserve to be struck by lightning, turned into a Lily-stick (an alternate form of fish-sticks) and fed to hungry crocodiles. Or sharks. Some water-dwelling animal with enormous teeth and the ability to put me in a lot of pain, anyway.

Why?

Because today is James Potter's eighteenth birthday…

and I forgot!

Merlin's beard, I forgot. Can you believe me?

Of course, I mean, it's not like I was maliciously lazing about, eating grapes and admiring my own reflection. I've been really busy with another wash of homework – and with Livvy's steady silent treatment (now running into its second week), I've been the slightest bit lonely, tired.

I am fully aware that there are other people who care about me enough to stick by me, but it's still horrible, seeing someone who's supposed to be your friend pretend like you're someone else, another stranger, when you know you're everything but. It takes a surprising amount out of you, having this whole dilemma hanging over your poor head, which has too much else to deal with already.

Of course, I know this is absolutely no excuse. I mean, James and I are like boyfriend-girlfriend now. How can his new girlfriend forget his birthday, of all things? Even if she does happen to be busy? Everyone's busy, but they haven't forgotten his birthday. Only I have.

I figured it out during first period today. I walked in with Alice after breakfast as usual, chattering about something or another, when I saw the Marauders laughing particularly loudly in the back corner of the classroom. Peter was hugging James and Sirius was grinning widely, resting his arm on Remus's shoulder.

I was about to ask what was going on when Sirius answered my question indirectly, presenting his friend with an enormous, brightly-colored party hat – complete with baubles, small exploding crackers, and a huge magenta flower – and loudly said, "Happy birthday, mate!"

At this, I immediately froze. Birthday. Birthday. I searched my memory bank, and indeed, it came up with James's birthday on the twenty-seventh of March. Which is the date today.

Bollocks. My strike-me-with-lightning-and-feed-me-to-oceanic-creatures thoughts were thus born and guilt bubbled in my stomach like a potion gone horribly wrong.

I mean, not only am I his girlfriend, but he had made such a huge hullabaloo for my birthday, back in January, when we weren't even dating. And now, to reciprocate, I had completely forgotten his special day. I hadn't even gotten him a present.

Fuck.

As the boys hugged it out and James aw-shucked all their well-wishes with a wave of his hand, I sat in my seat and squirmed, thinking fast and wondering what the hell I was supposed to do. I had to get him something, but the Hogsmeade weekend just passed and I don't know how to get in without getting caught. That rules out buying him a present – and it'd feel weird if I gave him something of mine, because it would become heavily obvious that I couldn't be bothered to get him something worth having.

Damn. The situation was extremely bad. I had to do something about it.

Luckily, though, James didn't get a chance to talk to me during the beginning part of the class period. He was too busy smirking with his friends and letting Sirius poke the baubles on his party hat. That gave me some time to think about the dilemma, think about what I'm going to do.

I didn't get far, I can say that much. But once class was over, James carefully detached himself from his friends and caught me on my way out the door.

"Hey, Lils!" he said cheerfully, arms out for a hug. "Good morning!"

"Hey!" I forced myself to be cheerful, smiley – and admittedly, it's not hard when you're looking at someone as buoyant and lovable as James – and gave him a hug. "Happy birthday!"

"Thanks," he said, giddy.

"Eighteen, huh?" I asked (despite knowing the answer already) as we walked down the corridor together.

"Yep," he confirmed proudly.

"So when's the big birthday party?"

Mentally, I told myself I'd beg Sirius to take me to Hogsmeade and get him something nice, which I'd give him at the party. Everything would be okay. Perfect, in fact.

But James just gave me a look.

"What party?" he asked.

"Aren't you having one?" I backtracked.

"No," said James. "I mean, normally, I would, but this year, there's a lot going on. There's no time. Exams to worry about, homework to keep up with, that sort of thing. You know?"

"Oh," I said, deflating just a little bit. "I see."

"I don't mind a quiet birthday though," he said, putting his arm around my shoulder. "I get to patrol with you tonight, and I'll have the guys all evening today, and that's all I really need."

"You sure?" This notion of having a quiet birthday struck me as highly bizarre, seeing as I'm the one who likes quiet birthdays and James likes the loud ones.

"Yeah," he said easily. "Don't worry about me, Lily. Honest."

"Okay…" I said it vaguely, not committing to any viewpoint, and James smoothly transitioned us onto another conversation point. I followed along, but really, the wheels in my brain were chug-a-lugging, an idea beginning to form somewhere inside my head. I was about a million miles away, wondering if maybe, just maybe…

We got to second period – where I am now – and we are sitting in our seats. I sit on the opposite side of the room from James. At the moment, he is trying (and failing) to pay close attention, while Sirius is absently doodling something on his parchment. Sirius is the one I'm more interested in though. I need to talk to him the moment class is over – which is actually in about two minutes – and make my ideas known. It would rot and die if left to my devices. It needs development from an outside source if it wants to go anywhere.

I'd best go now. Sirius is beginning to pack up. I need to demand – ahem, request – a word and tell him my plan. I'll write again once I find out how that goes.

Wish me luck. Operation Making-it-up-to-James-for-Forgetting-his-Birthday (i.e. Operation MIUTJFFHB) has officially begun.

11:05 AM
Status: Pleased

Okay…so I talked to Sirius after last period. It wasn't hard to get him alone. I just said I had to speak to him privately about something and he told the Marauders he would meet them in a few minutes, obligingly joining me and eyeing me with that look of his, earnest and serious and almost eerily focused on me. I don't think I'll ever get over how he does that. But I launched into my proposal all the same.

"So…James told me he's not having a birthday party this year," I said.

"Yeah, he told us that too," confirmed Sirius. "We've been banned from planning one – a commitment we do, unfortunately, have to honor. Part of the Marauder code."

"I'm thinking we – as in you, me, Peter, and Remus – should give him one anyway," I said boldly. "A party, I mean. On Saturday. It's April Fool's Day – his favorite day of the year, besides his birthday – and we'll make it a big deal."

Sirius stares at me a second, as though considering my offer, and then his handsome face breaks into a wide grin.

"You know, Lily, I like the way you think," he said conversationally, admiringly, as we walked together down the corridor. "You're right. Screw what James wants. He's getting a party and he's going to love it. And if he doesn't…a few shots should do the trick."

I chuckled. "If you say so, Sirius. So…can you do all the illegal break-ins into Hogsmeade? I can do anything and everything else."

"My pleasure." Sirius gave me a mischievous smile. "Just one more thing."

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to make it a big deal…or a really big deal?" he asked.

I mulled this one over for a few seconds.

"A really big deal," I said. "Pull out every stop. If there were any to begin with."

Sirius gave me a high-five.

"You are my favorite out of all of James's girlfriends," he said approvingly.

I blushed. "Thanks."

"So…I'll get the stuff and let you know what else needs to be done," said Sirius. "For now, just make sure he hasn't a clue. He probably won't, the brainless twat."

I wanted to give him a playful nudge for this slight, but he uttered the insult with such warm, genuine affection that all I could do was chuckle.

"All right," I said. "Sounds good."

"Cheers." Sirius gave me a wink and a nod of his head, sauntering away to harass another friend of his. I sprinted up the corridor a little, found Alice, and now we're sitting in class. She sits next to me here and is constantly trying to figure out what I'm doing. She's craning her neck to read over my arm as I write these very lines, in fact. It's quite irksome, if I'm honest. She can tell when I'm keeping something from her.

Ah, well. Might as well give in and let her read what was going on in my head all morning. We'll get some good discussion going, at the very, very least.

-

How the bloody hell did you forget his birthday?? –A

Weren't you reading? Rubbish was going on and it slipped my mind completely. And I'm sorry about it. Hence Operation MIUTJFFHB. –L

I know…still. Frank's birthday is June sixth and I could state it under torture. –A

Excusing my poor memory skills, what do you think of my idea? For the party with Sirius? –L

I think it's cute. And it sounds like fun. If you need my help, let me know. –A

Thanks. And yeah, I will. –L

But, Lily, his birthday? –A

Oh, shove off, Alice. –L

So much for good discussion…

-

11:00 PM
Status: Trying not to implode

So…I'm just going to jump straight into it, starting from the beginning, because if I don't, I might combust. I might unravel completely and I don't want that. I want to savor the details, put myself in a headlock on the ground before I fly up and away. I want to find control again – because I'm losing it. Fast.

Here's what happened.

All day, James and I hung around each other intermittently, walking and talking and, in the case of Potions, trying to figure out why James's potion was a bright, bubbling green when it should've been silver with a slight vapor. Very casual, very normal. But as we did all the things we normally do – as I included James in the conversations that have only ever been mine and Alice's – I felt guilty (again) for forgetting his birthday.

I mean, I knew I'd set Operation MIUTJFFHB into play, and everything was going to be fine, but still. It's his eighteenth birthday today, not Saturday. I wanted to make it special.

After much agonizing, thinking, and asking for/regretting asking for Alice's help, I decided to do something simple. I left five minutes early for patrol, stopped by the kitchens, and picked him up a birthday cupcake. It was chocolate, topped with chocolate frosting and multi-colored sprinkles. I stuck a little blue candle in the middle like a flag.

When I got close to the spot where we always met, I lit it with my wand and turned the corner. James was there, waiting for me. At first, he was confused to see the little cupcake in my hand; but when he realized what it was, he smiled tremendously and his eyes smoldered as though I'd lit them with my wand too.

"Aww, is that for me?" he asked, eyeing the cupcake in my hands.

"Yes," I said shyly. "See…I have a confession to make. Before this morning, I kind of forgot that today was your birthday. I felt awful about it – really, really awful – and I wanted to make it up to you, but I didn't know how. So I guess this cupcake is my meager, pathetic, on-a-moment's-notice way of saying happy birthday, James. I hope you had a lovely day."

James's cheeks – and ears – went pink at this.

"It's not a big deal," he said. "You didn't have to feel bad."

"It is a big deal," I said. "And I'm sorry. There's just been a lot going on lately, school-wise and Livvy-wise, and it totally slipped my mind. It's no excuse, though."

James came forward and hugged me gingerly, so as not to disturb the cupcake. "Nah, Lils, I'm not being heroic or anything – it really isn't a big deal," he said. "I kept forgetting it was my birthday too. There's a lot going on. I understand."

"No matter how many times you say that, I won't let it go," I pointed out wryly. "So…instead of arguing with me, why don't we skive off patrol – I already told Mavis and Jonathon to take care of it for us – and you can eat your cupcake and we can just…do nothing?"

James's smile was the epitome of sunny sweetness as he said, "You know, that sounds perfect. Let's do that."

I could feel something vast and happy fill me up like warm butterbeer, my mouth melting into the same shape as his. "Okay."

So, together, we walked out to a quiet alcove at the very back of the sixth floor, where we settled in on the floor and I presented James with his cupcake. He grinned and accepted it. I insisted on singing him happy birthday before he blew out the single candle and commented on my hideous singing. Very silly.

But afterwards, the giggly atmosphere calmed down, as James and I settled in next to each other, shoulders touching, and I watched him eat his cupcake. He offered to give me a bite, and my sweet tooth was more than tempted, but I resisted and told him to have his birthday treat. It was his day, not mine. So he ate it – licking all the icing off first, then eating the cake part – and we talked.

"You know, at home," he was saying at some point when the cupcake was almost finished, "when I celebrated my birthday, my mum always had this tradition. She was a horrible cook – still is – and whenever my birthday date came closer, she would insist on making my birthday cake for me. My dad (who loves cake as much as I do) and I would try to deter her – begging, pleading, bribing, blackmailing, anonymous notes, dismantling the kitchen, stealing ingredients – but she wouldn't budge. She made it anyway. And it was always awful and Dad would always sneak out to the shop and get a proper, edible cake."

I laughed. "Really?"

"Yeah," he said, smirking at the thought of it. "And every year, we buried Mum's cake in the backyard, hoping it wouldn't be as toxic for the grass as it was for us humans."

"Your poor mother," I said.

"She didn't mind," said James. "She knew she couldn't cook. There was always a point in the begging scheme when I got down on my knees and pleaded with her not to make the cake, and she would ruffle my hair and say, 'It's all out of love, Jamie.' And then she'd give me a kick in the pants and flounce off."

I smiled, but in my head, I was made fragile by a sudden image of young James – likely with the same full head of sheep-dog hair – arguing with his mother about birthday cake. I've never met Mrs. Potter, but I'm sure she's beautiful. She has to be, because James's gene pool, looking at him now, was clearly a good one.

"You're close to your parents then," I said.

"Have to be," he responded with another smirk. "I'm an only child, so they're all I've got, and vice versa."

"Have you ever wanted a sibling?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," he said. "My mum said that when I was four, I invented an imaginary older brother for myself. He only lasted until I was five or six, but apparently he was involved in every family decision and slept in my room every night."

"Must've been the slightest bit lonely," I mused. "I wouldn't know, obviously – I have an older sister – but I'd imagine it would be odd, not having anyone near your age in the house to talk to."

"What's the age difference between you and your sister?"

"Two years," I said. "She did everything first and I could've sworn she knew everything. We were inseparable, did everything together. When my parents asked what we were up to, we'd answer, 'Girl stuff.' She taught me how to tie my shoes and we practically lived at the park in the summers."

"This is the sister that's getting married, I presume?" he inquired.

"Yes," I said. "Petunia. Clearly, my parents were avid gardeners before we were born. Petunia was named for my mother's favorite flower and I was named for my father's. But as we grew up, they quickly figured out that two little girls who loved playing outside were not conducive to a good gardening environment. They've all but given up on it now."

"That's nice," he said genuinely. "I was named after my great-grandfather on my dad's side. He lived an obscenely long time – over a hundred years – and my mum was pregnant with me when he began fading away. He asked her on his deathbed to name me after him. She didn't want to dishonor a dying man's wish, so when I was born a couple of months later, voila! My name became James."

"See, that's an honorable place to get your name from," I said. "I was named after a bloody flower. When I was born, my dad's life was consumed not by his older daughter but his little grove of lilies in the backyard. Hence…I became Lily."

"Well, I think it's a pretty name," James assured me, giving my foot a nudge with his. "You had an interesting childhood."

"I was an innocent, sheltered baby girl," I said, nudging him back. "I didn't know anything about anything – that mattered, anyway. Then I came here. Talk about a culture shock."

James laughed. "I grew up the trouble-maker. My parents both come from huge families with at least five or six siblings – hence why they mutually decided on a very small family – and at family functions, I was one of too many little kids. Our goals in life were to prove we were different, special, interesting – that we could stand out in the crowd. I discovered I had a natural gift of demanding attention with my frequently noisy antics. That didn't change much when I came here."

I snorted. "Clearly not."

He pretended to become extremely miffed by the "tone of my snort" – a literal quote, I swear – and we sat around together, teasing and poking each other in a fantastically childish display of affection. Pretty soon, we were touching everywhere – our arms linked together, my head on his shoulder, our legs side-by-side, our feet playing footsie games.

It was very simple, very casual, like everything about us seems to be. Not for the first time, I marveled at how easy it was to be around him, how easy it was to let him hold me, tell me things and play the aforementioned footsie games. I was nervous as hell to get into this relationship mostly because I didn't know how it would go…and now it seems silly to look back at all my worries, all my lamentations and fears.

All year, slowly and carefully, James has been trying to prove himself to me. He wanted me to see what I see now – that our whole relationship before this year was one big fat misunderstanding further complicated by the violent, irrational, black-and-white emotions so characteristic of children.

We are not the people we thought we were. And now, a few years too late, we know that. We started over and I swear, it should be illegal to be as happy as I am when I'm around him. It's like floating on air when you know you were always meant to be on the ground. It's wrong in all the right, wonderful ways.

This feeling – so foreign to me, deep and frothy and bold as it is – filled me up slowly but surely through the duration off our "patrol." We laughed and talked and sighed and all I could do was think about how much I cared about him. I've never had a boyfriend who made me feel that way – who put me in such good spirits just by lying around and letting me look at him – and I like that he's the first to make me feel like that. Emotion-wise, he's always been a bit of a first for me.

When our time to "patrol" was almost over, James checked his watch and said, "We've got about five minutes."

"You want to stay or leave?" I asked. "We don't have to be anywhere and it is your birthday after all."

"I don't care," he said. "But…thanks, Lils."

"What for?" I was sincerely befuddled.

"For…getting me this cupcake," he said, holding up the paper. "For sitting in this alcove with me for, like, an hour. For…just being here."

I smiled shyly. "Well…did you have a nice birthday? Despite the fact that there was no party?"

"I did," he said. "The best of my life."

I bit my lip and just looked at him for a second. The hazel eyes, with those long, almost feminine eyelashes. The long nose with the small bump near the bridge from when he broke it in fourth year. The ears, which were a nice size and always got so red when I embarrassed him. And the lips – full, lovely, such a healthy pink.

And then, just like that, I did something that changed everything; that altered the early, fragile state of our relationship in a way I could never have foreseen.

I have ample time to reflect on it now, after the matter, and obsessively dissect what I was thinking at the time; but in the moment itself, I didn't think. I didn't obsessively dissect. I didn't consider the pros and cons, or talk to Alice, or do any of those cautionary things I usually do before I do something big.

I was caught up in the heat of the moment, in that face I know so well, that has changed so much, and not a single rational thought passed through my head. My emotions took over for my brain, swiftly and quietly instead of loudly raising a coup, and I did the impossible.

I leaned in towards that face, closed my eyes, and lightly-but-surely kissed those full, lovely, healthy-pink lips of his for barely a second and a half.

Brief though it was, I did it – I kissed him for the very first time – and then my eyes opened. It was over and that face – now stunned – filled my line of vision.

"That was a birthday kiss," I said softly.

"I see," he said, equally soft.

The air was thick and awkward then, the two of us with our faces so close, my eyes averted down, not speaking or kissing or anything. It was an in-between place, residing somewhere in the wide gulfs between Nothing and Something and Everything.

Acutely, I knew that everything hung on that moment, on what we did next; but I had already taken the first step. I didn't even know if he wanted me to kiss him. So I waited, lingered, wondering if he would take the next step or take a step back, if he would claim me or let me go. The thick seconds ticked, as we remained in that weird, awkward place, so close but not quite close enough.

Just as I was about to pull away, though, I felt that air shift. I felt his body move – his hand, his face – and then, all of a sudden, we were kissing again.

This time, though, was nothing like my soft little introduction. This time, James kissed me deeply, quite fearlessly, and there I was, trying to simultaneously work out if we were really kissing and attempting to kiss him back.

It's a terrifying experience, a first kiss. It's your first entry into uncharted waters, that huge physical milestone, where you show the other person you want them not in one way, but every way. That first kiss is an exploration, a declaration. It's truly a promise; it's a pact, something that's intensely private and yours. All yours.

I don't know what I expected out of our first kiss, but it certainly wasn't what I had anticipated. It was fierce, full of pent-up I-don't-even-know-what, but it was still smooth and sweet, gliding along and leaving me breathless without overwhelming me. Plus, thanks to the cupcake, James tasted a little like chocolate frosting. That only added to the sweetness of the experience as a whole.

He was not groping, not squeezing me tight or anything tough, but his hand on my back was firm, solid. We did not use any tongue, but the motions of our mouths moved quickly, in sync, as though holding still too long would break the magic of this harried, awkward, bumbling first time.

We did not know how to touch yet. We did not know how to kiss. We were strangers to this physical aspect of a relationship; but tonight, we were learning. Tonight, we gave this a trial run and it felt good. No, it felt more than good. It felt right, natural, like what we were doing was part of some unwritten secret progression we knew nothing about.

The time was quickly forgotten, the seconds stretching themselves out in front of us like a red carpet of honor, as we sat in our little alcove, kissing with that determined calm. My head was empty, my world utterly upside down, and he was the center of my universe. It was everything I wanted and more. Too much more.

Eventually, though, thoughts began filtering slowly into my shaken brain and I gently broke our kiss, my mouth somehow numb. It was only when I slowly began to open my eyes that I realized how tightly I'd been squeezing them shut. One more time, James's face filled up the entirety of my line of vision. His expression was indecipherable.

"Happy birthday," I whispered.

He said nothing, but the warmth flooded into those features of his and I could feel it seeping into me as well. Wordlessly, I stood up and offered him my hand. He took it and came to his feet as well, his hand still holding mine, and we silently walked upstairs to our dormitories – where I am currently now sitting, on my bed, trying to remember how to breathe, writing about all this.

To be honest, though, I can't go into any more detail than what I just described. I just can't. Even coming back to it a second time, my feelings are raw and muddled and sharp and I don't know how to translate something so rough and magical into English. I could never do it justice. I can barely believe it's happened. I don't even want to tell Alice for a day or two, because I want to let it settle in my head as reality, as something that did happen, before I let her in on the secret. I want to mull it over and live with it before I decide to turn the information into anything else.

My chest is too full to continue on any longer. I need to sleep, maybe toss and turn and think for a few hours. For now, this goes beyond words. It goes beyond everything I've ever known. I feel like I've been hit by a train.

I'll write again when some of the impact damage has lessened. I promise.

--

A/N: Coming up in the next three chapters…

Snogging aftermath.
Marauder mayhem.
Jumping into the unknown.
Changing family dynamics.
Lots of planning. For stuff.
A Livvy-related tragedy.
Drama.

Review and we'll get right on that, yeah?