Lily woke up earlier than James did, and when she shifted to go to the loo, she was careful to leave him quietly. The Healers and Madame Pomfrey had only just released him from the Hospital Wing on strict orders to rest and not hurt himself further. The scars that crossed his chest and belly were deep but superficial. Snape had done what he had said he would— James was going to be okay. Even now, as she considered him from across the bedroom, the stress and pain from the day before seemed to fade in the light of day. He looked peaceful and happy, smiling in his dreams.

The morning dawned quiet and still; the raging storm from the days prior had faded and calmed. Snow had drifted into glittering masses against the castle and shining silver and gold in the early morning light across the grounds. Lily took a flannel from the cabinet and wiped the frost from the window, but the sunlight was bright and thin. Despite the light, the air was cold, and the tiles beneath her toes encouraged slippers at her earliest convenience.

She toed on a pair of James' bed shoes absently, picking up his watch from the vanity. It was traditional for wizards to receive a watch from their parents when they came of age. James kept his well: the gold was still unmarred and clean, the stars and moons turning and sliding against one another, counting the seconds as they passed. The inscription on the back was brusque and short: to our son in the event of his seventeenth birthday, much love from Mother and Father. She hadn't understood it until she heard Sirius and Lupin talking about it. It was a family heirloom, passed from father to son for four generations of Potter's. Sirius' was an heirloom as well, a relic of Mrs. Potter's brother. No such tradition existed for women who came of age, certainly not for Muggleborns, at the very least. Lily's seventeenth had come and gone with little fanfare and celebration. January was a cold month, and familial affection for momentous occasions was not expected or hoped for. The doctors had diagnosed her mother with depression, and if her sister noticed her birthday before it passed, she said nothing.

The gold of his watch was cold on her palm, and the cool air of the loo helped to distance herself from her thoughts. It was only half-six on a Saturday morning, too early for thoughts better suited to late-night musings. Before they had left the night prior, James' parents had invited her to join them for Christmas, and Lily had answered without hesitation. There was a time where she might've refused out of principle, but in all honesty, where else might she have gone?

Certainly not home, to be pinched and fitted and spoken down to by her sister. From what her mother had said in her last letter, Christmas would be a small affair with the wedding scheduled for New Years's Eve. This was her last Christmas at school, and Petunia wasn't going to ruin it for her.

The thought of spending an extended period with James and his mates— outside of school's confinement— thrilled her. What would it be to spend the Christmas hols being with the people she loved, doing things she enjoyed? How pleasant, she thought with a roll of happiness down her spine, to be looked at with love and acceptance instead of hostility and suspicion?

Another part of her was curious; she had wondered after the Potter Mansion for years. The Marauders had spent their holidays together in Yorkshire for the past six years. She knew the estate itself was large, bordering an extensive forest with a lake at the centre. It had a ballroom, a great hall, a grand staircase. She was used to Sirius and James speaking about it (loudly, and more likely than not intentionally in her earshot) about the parties they had thrown, the shootings, the Friday to Monday's. They were wizards, of course, but countrymen first.

The girls James had dated in the past had never been invited, much to their disappointment. Lily knew she should be honoured to have been asked, but there was a small, contrite part of her who was excited not for the precedence, but for the intimacy of it. They had only known one another from school; what was he like at home, in his element? Had his family's estate changed him as much as Hogwarts had?

The man sleeping in the other room had grown into himself before her eyes. It seemed like years ago that she had heard rumours of James hexing Sev on the marble staircase. Had it only been two months? Had James not insulted and belittled him, broken his book-bag and shattered a bottle of ink in front of his peers? And then, after James' attack two days ago, how had he watched and waited patiently as the person who undoubtedly cursed him undid the Dark Magic and healed him, and James had thanked him? She was too stunned and anxious in the moment to think twice about it, but later, when she and James were in bed together did she think frankly about how extraordinary it was.

Her discombobulated thoughts of the previous twenty-four hours and beyond left her awake at night, thoughts tumbling through her mind as James slept. Why, why was Amelia kidnapped? Who had killed all those people in Hogsmeade? Why were Regulus Black and Severus caught in Hogsmeade? Was there corruption in the Auror department or the Ministry of Magic? Why was Crouch hiding in the bowels of the castle? What had Dumbledore asked him in his office? And why was he in the Hospital Wing, only to disappear while she was in the loo?

The number of questions only seemed to increase with time, while the answers remained few and far between. Sirius remained stoic and closed off; indeed, why he had been chasing his brother and Snape in Hogsmeade was a question asked and answered by nobody. She poured her attention into James and Alice, comforting, healing, applying salves and listening ears. While in actuality, she was fighting exhaustion and confusion. The rumours surrounding Hogwarts' permanent closure until the end of the war swelled and ballooned with a lack of news. The Aurors had called upon Dumbledore to end the term early, send the students home lest another be taken away or injured beyond repair, but there had as of yet been no reply. The whispers and gossip about Mulciber's expulsion after Mary's attack begun once again, as if resurrected from the dead. Marlene and Amelia tried to shield the worst of it from Mary, but what could they do in the end? Hogwarts was a pot on the verge of boiling over, and the worry had reached Mary at long last. She admitted herself to the Hospital Wing that very afternoon, and no one but Tony and the Matron had seen her since.

It had been almost a week since Frank went missing; since his parents came at Dumbledore's request, and James had been attacked. It seemed like they were connected somehow, but Lily couldn't trace the adhesion point. Frank and James had very little in common; Gryffindors, of course, but what else? Both were Quidditch players; both were reliable with a wand, intelligent and brave. Neither had any proclivity towards the Dark Arts, and both had a running familiarly with Dumbledore. The last point, in particular, caught her attention as she rubbed her thumb over James' watch. Where had Dumbledore been during this ordeal? When Frank was kidnapped, he was out of the school in London for a hearing. When James was injured in Hogsmeade, was he not in France meeting with the Headmaster of Beauxbatons? When they needed him, the brightest wizard of their age was tantalizingly out of reach, unable to be reached or summoned by those who needed him most. Lily tried not to be embittered by his absence, but how could she not be? Where was the headmaster when his school needed him?

Would James had a better chance of an earlier recovery had Dumbledore been there?

Both of his parents had told her otherwise, repeatedly, when she had asked. The very best Healers from London had been summoned and had done all they could, given the circumstances. But their son was still marred and would bear the scars for the rest of his life. If they had any opinions on the long term effects of Snape's attack, they failed to share it. Perhaps the Potter stiff upper lip was inherited and not developed over time.

Lily didn't fully grasp the conditions of the agreement Snape, Sirius, Marlene and Lupin had agreed to. Certainly, their mummed voices in the matter were a by-product of the severity of James' condition, but couldn't they have agreed to more partial terms? Letting Severus leave without punishment or further reprimand seemed unfair. James had very nearly died.

It seemed like it happened in a flood, the emotions of the moment, the reality that she could lose him before she had ever truly had him. At that moment, his continued existence and well-being was outside of her control, outside of anyone's control, and her reaction to the thought that he could simply fade from existence petrified her. They had grown so close, and after so many weeks together sleeping in his bed, how could she fall asleep without his body tangled around her own? Even that night spent apart in Gryffindor tower before joining him in the Common Room had felt like absolution.

For years she had watched him carefully, at first for signs of weakness, but later with admiration. He was too trusting, too honest. He loved with abandon, unaware and unwilling to accept the heartbreak to follow. He was a gentleman, someone who put the needs of his friends before his own. And he was stubborn, headstrong. James would never willingly abandon someone who loved him.

For five years, she had watched him through furtive little glances— the way he played with his hands when he talked, unconsciously unbuttoning and re-buttoning his jumper. The method to which he styled his hair with his wand, leaving the mess of curls artfully dishevelled enough to look like he just crawled off his broom—just so. He reminded her of the smell of coffee brewing, the clinking of cutlery on plates and the murmuring sound of many voices speaking at once. James Potter was oxford's beneath jumpers, the crisp collar on soft wool, scruffy Chuck Taylor's and ripped jeans. She watched anxiously as he watched her, loving him from afar.

But as wonderful as he was, as wonderful as they were together, Lily was beginning to learn that it wasn't someone else who could heal her, make her well. She had lost so many people, her dad, Snape, her sister. But it wasn't just losing people; she had to find herself before she could love someone else the way they deserved to be loved; the way James Potter deserved to be loved.

He didn't need her excuses, her half-hearted approval and acceptance. Because who could love her, accept her, more than herself? And that acceptance began with the realization, bitter though it was, that Petunia had broken her heart. She had abandoned Lily like only a sister can, and her reluctance to accept the olive branch in the form of a salmon pink bridesmaid dress stemmed not from her anxiety over the wedding. It had nothing to do with Petunia; it had to do with the fact that as much as Lily tried to hide it— she had never forgiven her sister for what she had done.

It seemed so silly now, a childhood squall turned adolescent storm. Lily had left Petunia behind, through no fault of her own, and Snape had torn them apart. How had she not seen it, not noticed? Hadn't she been sitting beside him when Severus had broken a branch and nearly killed Petunia? How had she allowed it to happen? It was never sister against sister, not even Snape against the Evans' girls. It was always magic and prejudice and abandonment against hope, against love. Petunia loved her as she was eleven and entranced with sisterly affection. And when she had grown and put childish things aside, her sister hadn't accepted who she had grown to be— a Lily Evans who had magic, who was better, stronger, more beautiful than plain Muggle Petunia.

Lily opened the door to the loo, a fire in her eyes she hadn't expected and tore a piece of parchment from her desk, flipping it over to its unused side. She wiped her hand over her eyes as tears began to fall, the letter to her sister growing with depth and emotion. The feelings she hadn't admitted to herself, let alone anyone else. The deepest recesses of her heart barred for her sister in anticipation of her wedding day. She said all the things she wished she'd dared to say five years ago, ten even. How long had she been carrying a bruised and broken heart? How long had she blamed her deep unhappiness on someone else's emotions? How long had she been giving power to the thought that someone else would make her happier than she could be on her own? Lily started as something soft and furry brushed against her ankles and picked up her lovely ginger cat with a smile wider than she had smiled in years. Her sister may never forgive her, never love her the way she once had. But what did that matter? Lily had chosen herself to love and cherish and hold close. And no matter if it broke her heart, it was whole for the very first time in a very long time. Lily Evans didn't need anyone else's approval to be happy.

She opened the window with a sniff, and James' great eagle owl landed with a flash of feathers. She deposited a mouse on the windowsill with a great deal of dignity and flashed her beautiful amber eyes in Lily's direction. Never before had appreciated the promptness of an owl.

Lily sealed her letter and wrote her family home address in Cokeworth before tying it to Atalanta's leg. Lily ruffled the feathers between her ears and watched as she took off, her wings taking her up and away.

Lily returned to James' bed with a lightness and easiness of figure and expression she had felt in years, tucking herself into his arms. The sheets were warm and soft, and the sudden rush of emotion brought a heaviness to her eyes. Without having to rest or consider the depths of her thoughts, she fell asleep.

…

It might've been hours or minutes that passed before James woke with a groan, the enormous weight of pain sitting heavily on his chest. It felt like he had been ripped apart and forced back together, the Muggle sutures piecing him together like Frankenstein's monster. He felt fairly monstrous as well, hungry and sore and in desperate need of a potion to rid him of his pain. He sat up and perused his options before taking the thick plum potion in hand, downing the vile in one.

Beside him, Lily slept on, the frizzy mass of ginger curls hiding her face. She slept on her belly, one leg hiked up, and the other stretched long, her arms tucked up by her face. He had been too exhausted the night before to do much more than take the potions the Healers had left for him and flop into bed, trying not to feel embarrassed by the fact that Sirius and Peter had dressed him and helped clean his teeth for bed. Sirius had made a comment of stepping into Lily's shoes, so to speak, in helping with the particulars of his bedtime routine. He brusquely dismissed them (she only had once, he thought, blushing to the tips of his toes. She had seen, he was nearly positive; that time he had been particularly gutsy and undressed to his pants before slipping into bed with her. But this was different, clinical, the act of undressing and redressing an invalid who was unable to do so themselves. There was nothing sexy or risqué in helping a man button his buttons and shave his chin, but the implications that Lily was the one who attended to him, if not in actuality, then in assumption, God. Would she, he wondered if he asked?)

Despite the persistent feelings of embarrassment intermittently shot with growing helplessness, the thought of Lily Evans helping him put on his socks sent a thrill down his spine. And hadn't he been injured in the act of heroism, following a lead about Frank's disappearance? Did she fancy heroes? She must, he thought with a smirk, hadn't she had that poster of Ezra Warrington from the Wasps on her dorm wall for three years? Did she fancy him more for his unlikely story of survival?

It hadn't quite been two days since he had been discharged from the Hospital Wing with strict instructions to stay out of trouble. Lily's expression once he woke from the fever had been something was unlikely to forget. She looked so afraid, so thin and exhausted, so willing to accept his imminent survival as fact that when she flooded his sleepy and confused mind with queries about the attack, he hadn't been able to keep the smile off his lips. Lily cared about him. Cared enough, apparently, to sleep on his mother's lap in the corridor off of the Hospital Wing waiting for him to wake. She had stayed; they had all stayed and hoped for him to recover, to react positively to the Healer's treatments for hours and hours. He couldn't decide if he was touched or annoyed (hadn't they any number of feather beds waiting for them in their dormitories?) at their hope-ridden tenacity. Of course, without question, he'd've done the same. Perhaps with a touch of transfiguration, perhaps, in exchange for staying close by.

He moved slowly, mindful of the tenderness in his shoulders and belly, and leant forward to kiss the shell of her ear, his lips hovering over the soft skin he found there. She tucked her face further into her pillow and made a noise of discontent that made him smile.

"Good morning, Evans," he whispered, the puffs of his breath brushing loose hairs aside. She stretched languorously, the tips of her toes sliding against his as she woke slowly, turning to face him.

"Good morning, Potter," she breathed, blinking her eyes open. They were so close, nose to nose, and James tilted his chin to kiss the place between her eyebrows. She looked so soft and warm in the light of day, her eyes laughing and bottle-green as she considered him. "How are you feeling?"

"Oh, you know me," James said, falling back against her pillow with a suppressed groan. "Right as rain, I could run a mile,"

"Could you now?" said Lily.

"Maybe even two," he said, reaching for the nightstand for his specs. "Quidditch pitch and back twice. Even through the snow." He paused as he adjusted them on his nose and then leant an arm over her shoulders as he settled back into the sheets. "Is it still snowing? Maybe not in the snow,"

"No, it's stopped," Lily said, blinking the sleepiness out of her eyes with a soft smile. "It is deep; that's quite a pronouncement to be making so early, Mr. Potter,"

"I'd do anything for you,"

James turned to face her after he spoke, and Lily's breath caught with the honesty to which he spoke. It was so like him, to cut through the easier conversation for the bluntness of his innate honesty. As long as they had been together, James had been nothing if persistent with his affections for her, and she started in the realization of how infrequently she had reciprocated. Surely he knew, she thought. Surely he knew how much she cared for him?

"And I for you," she said, rubbing her nose against his, closer than close. "And that determination to do my will would be better suited, in my opinion, to staying still and following the Matron's orders than racing about the grounds in the snow,"

"As you wish," James said in an exhale, taking her hand in his. "And I must say, this is a far more wonderful past-time,"

"What's that?"

"Curled up in bed with you," he said with a grin. "You and your bushy hair,"

"It is not bushy,"

"Course it is, as bushy as they come," James said, pulling a loose curl only to watch it snap back against her head. "Frizzy and wonderful,"

"Oh, so now it's frizzy too?" Lily said with a laugh, sitting up and smacking him with her pillow.

"Oh, I fold," James said with a laugh, batting away her advances with upheld hands. "White flag in all, you win,"

"Oh, I won't back down so easily," Lily said, tossing her pillow to the side before moving to rest astride his hips. "If you intend to withdraw, I intend to draw nothing short of your complete submission,"

James looked up at her with shocked admiration as to this vixen Lily Evans had become. The surprise must've shown on his face because Lily backed down almost immediately, moving from his hips to the other side of the bed in a flash. She didn't appear embarrassed or uncomfortable but truly upset, as if she had gone too far. Lily must have assumed that she was hurting him, agitating his wounds? She hadn't, and it was something else altogether that had drawn the shock and utter delight to his expression. God, she had been sitting on top of him, and he was still very interested in seeing where she was planning on going with this. He sat up and pulled her by the hand, leading her back to his side.

"No, it's not that," he said. "You just surprised me; I'm sorry if I worried you,"

"No, you're right, it's too soon," Lily said in a rush, wringing her hands in the way she did when she was nervous. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to rush you—"

James leant forward and pulled her onto his lap, kissing her soundly. He tucked his fingers deep into her hair, revelling in the fact that he could do this now. He could kiss her in their bed with nothing besides a thin piece of cotton separating him from his wildest desires. She relaxed into the kiss and moved her knee from his thigh to the other side of his hip, settling comfortably above him.

"I'm not in pain, so please do continue whatever you had planned for this morning," James asked cheekily, blowing a piece of his fringe out of his eyes to make her laugh. She rested her palms on his chest, and James' heart beat so loudly he was sure she could hear it. Her fingers ran against the soft fibres of his shirt, the long, ruby nails sending shivers down his spine. She looked anxiously to the door, but James brought his hands around her head and kissed the crown of her head.

"No one's coming," he said, leaning his forehead gently against hers. He wanted so badly to take her, to bring things to the next level, but to what extent? How willing was he to impugn on her honour without her surefire consent? Did she even want him…like that? Was that where they were these days? As much as he wanted her, as much as he loved her, he couldn't take the final leap, those last teetering steps, without her saying she wanted this. As much as he wanted her to feel loved and be comfortable with him, with them, even the idea of them, she had to do it first. He'd never forgive himself if he forced himself on her because God, what would that make him? What would she think? That he was just another lust-driven bastard in search of pleasure without pressure with no strings attached? Lily wasn't some tart, she was Evans, and he cared about her too much to take this from her.

"I love it when you do that," James said quietly.

"What, this?" Lily said, running her nails down his chest, watching with fascination as James leant back and groaned, his nerves misfiring as she leant forward and kissed the place where his shoulder met his neck, shifting long and languorously against him.

Lily settled between his thighs, hands bracketing her head as she kissed him, each kiss more desperate and needy than the last. James ran his hands up and down her sides, feeling the thin catch of her bra beneath her nightgown. She let out a breathy gasp as James' hands danced at the hem, his tapered fingers sending waves of pleasure throughout her body.

"Yes," she said, "yes, yes, yes,"

James bent his knees as he shifted her nightgown up, inches and centimetres of skin exposed for his eyes only. His hands shook with fear, with delayed gratification, the pure pleasure at finally touching her where he hadn't before. She lifted her hips and then her shoulders as he tugged her nightgown up over her bum and hips, laying kisses and hot breaths over her belly. He leant forward, his hands spanning the width of her ribcage as she panted with exertion above him.

Lily, then, hooked her knee with his and flipped herself beneath him, not adjusting her nightie as it pulled higher with the movement.

It wasn't the first time that James had the pleasure of this particular advance, but the sight of the underside of Lily Evans' bra stopped him in his tracks. He knew she had lacy knickers from the few times she had left them lying about in her room, but to see them on her was something else entirely. Her knickers and bra matched, the same white lace knotted with flowers and swirls, gently moulding to her form. She looked demure but not quite shy, anxious, but not nervous. It was the farthest they had ever gone together, and James' heart beat a mile a minute as he shifted above her, his hands dancing on the hem of her nightgown.

"May I?" he said softly, meeting her eyes with trepidation. She nodded and smiled, guiding his hands to the hem, helping him pull the thin cotton up and over her head, tossed without another thought to the other side of his room.

Finally, she was bare beneath him, bare and wanting, and James shifted his hips to discourage the flush of blood that was becoming more and more apparent as time passed. He wouldn't, couldn't ruin this. Not now.

"You're so beautiful," James breathed, peppering kisses over her collarbone and the upper swells of her breasts, hovering as he was above her. "God, you're so beautiful,"

"James," she whispered, pulling his face to hers as she kissed her, relaxing her mouth against him. He started as she kissed him deeply and then responded in kind, leaning and moving against her in a way that felt natural, instinctual. She pulled away with a gasp, and James kissed the column of her throat as she caught her breath, ravishing her with kisses and love. The small part of his brain still capable of cognizant thought marvelled at the realization that he was still fully dressed, shirt, trousers and pants, all. He wanted so much to be bare before her, for her to see him the way that he saw her. How much he wanted her to know that she was it for him, there would be no other that could stir him with want the way she could. Without thinking, without doing anything in particular, just by existing, he would love her this way until the end of his life.

"Off," she breathed, her voice throaty and thick. When he caught her hands on the buttons of his shirt, he helped unbutton and then discard. "Trousers, all,"

"Yes," he said under his breath, his fingers thick and uncoordinated as they undid the tie on his trousers, raising his hips to lower them from his body. Lily's hands rested just above his navel as he did so, hands rising and falling as he breathed short and fast. He pulled her to him, hands spanning her waist as they kissed skin to skin, her belly soft and warm against his.

"More," she panted, leaning her forehead to his. "More, James,"

"Lily," he said, his hands dancing over the strap of her bra, the band of her knickers. They were so close, dancing the fine line between absolute pleasure and disaster. He wanted this to be good for her; she deserved nothing less than complete admiration and gentleness, eyes focused on her and her alone. But how far dare he go? He wasn't under any delusions of saving himself for tradition's sake, but this wasn't a shag with some nameless girl in a broom cupboard; this was very likely Lily Evans' debut performance. And as much as he loved her, he needed to be gentle with her. He needed to be tender, attentive; he needed to push back every instinct demanding immediate and thorough satisfaction. She deserved it, this and more.

"Are you sure?" he said, his voice quiet but firm above her. She nodded breathlessly, shifting her hips against his in a way that left little to the imagination. James suppressed a moan and fell to his elbows above her, pressed more closely together than they had ever been. Sweat slicked between their bodies, and Lily moved against him, sliding together again and again, that every thought except those of her and the sensations their bodies moving as one faded into mist.

How long he had waited for her, he thought, his eyes rolling back into his head in pleasure. Why had they not done this years ago?

In the back of his head, a ringing alarm sounded, but then Lily leant forward and kissed him, and the thought shifted. Was that...

And then the caterwauling wail of the proximity alarm sounded, and James pulled away from her as if by force.

Lust was replaced with fear, and then by irritation. There was a knock at the door, and James fell back against the sheets with a frustrated sigh. Lily untangled herself from the sheets and rummaged through James' cupboard, tossing one of his Quidditch jerseys over her head, unperturbed, apparently, by the sudden and unexpected turn of events. James took a sudden intake of breath as she pulled her hair away from her face, grinning like a fool at the sight.

"It's a Sunday morning, whoever it is," Lily said to their surprise visitor, taking her wand in hand and undoing James' protection charms one after the other.

"Uh, is James there?" a hesitant voice called from behind the door.

"Peter," James said, pulling the sheets over his hips and his arm over his eyes, a smile on his lips despite the panic and irritation at an unwelcome interruption.

The door opened a crack before Peter let himself in, dressed and cognizant despite the early hour. James watched as Peter took in the sight of their obvious continual cohabitation, James' typically meticulously organized bedroom mixed with Lily's messiness. He watched with a grin as Lily pulled a pair of her knickers off the open drawer of his chifforobe and Vanished them under her breath as Peter looked around, clueless. James rustled behind him, pulling Lily's discarded pillow over his hips and sat up.

"Can I help you?" James asked, leaning on an elbow in a play of careful nonchalance.

"Yeah," Peter said, swallowing. "I mean, yeah. Padfoot sent me. Tony and Marlene found something in the rafters above the seventh floor and wanted everyone there before they checked it out,"

"Thanks, Peter," Lily said, smiling softly. "I need to get dressed. Five minutes?" Peter turned to her, blushing before making his excuses and scurrying out of the room.

Lily shut the door and cast a wordless charm before walking back towards his bed, a smile on her face as James tossed her pillow aside. "It's almost a conspiracy at this point," she said.

"What'd you mean?" James said, falling against the sheets as she sat on her heels above him. She wiggled her hips as she settled, and James' breath caught, just as interested as he was before they were interrupted. She smoothed a piece of his fringe that had settled in his eyes, tucking it behind his ear.

"Are you sure?" She asked between kisses, looking down on him with a crease between her eyebrows. "Now? Are you sure? Your friends are waiting,"

"Let them wait," he said, kissing the hollow of her throat, the top of her collarbone, the swell of her breast. "You gave us five minutes, remember? There's a lot I can do to you in five minutes,"

...

Sirius paced the passage between the strange suit of armour and Lily and James' doorway while Remus watched in amusement. He chanced a look at his watch, nearly fifteen minutes had passed since they sent Peter in with summons, and Sirius looked very nearly ready to hit the roof in annoyance.

"How long can it take to throw on some trousers?" He asked angrily, checking Euphemia's brother's watch with a groan of frustration. "This information is time-sensitive; you did tell him that?"

"Course," Peter said, lighting and extinguishing his wand light absently, leaning against the wall beside Remus.

"Then what could possibly be taking so long?" Sirius exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. It was getting long again, Lupin noted with a smile. Long and unruly, when they had shared a dormitory, James fixed Sirius's hair nearly every morning. But now that he lived separately, and Lily's hair (and usually, Remus had no doubt) kept him thoroughly occupied, Sirius' normally carefully coiffed style had relaxed into a knot at the base of his skull. Out of the way, often held together with his wand, if not a spare piece of cloth, and more than once, Remus had started as the strong line of his jaw became more obvious with stress or nerves. After all these years, Sirius' play at nonchalance was no mystery to him, and as much as he hated it, Lupin could read Sirius Black like a book.

His annoyance most likely had little to do with the news Marlene and Tony had delivered a half-hour prior, nor the delay of Lily and James' appearance. Lupin knew that walking in on their dormitory in the early hours of a Sunday morning spelled for an unwelcome eyeful. But he also knew that Peter was blasé enough to either not notice or be entirely indifferent to the likely scenario of walking in on one of his best mate's getting his rocks off. This is why they sent him in the first place and why Sirius continued to seethe in the corridor. Not because James was late, but because he had found satisfaction and happiness with someone other than his mates. James was growing up, and despite all Sirius had done to keep James alive and well, bartering with Snape under stiff stakes to undo his homemade dark magic and carrying him back to the castle after the attack. Despite all of that, and although James was supposed to be resting and not shagging Lily Evans' brains out, Sirius had been cast aside. Left out as James moved forward with his life, and Sirius didn't know how to handle the immediate and thorough loss of being the sole recipient of James Potter's inner thoughts.

It was a loss to all of them, sure, but James and Sirius had been friends for nearly six months before Remus and Peter joined the fray. Both were Purebloods with strong feelings towards the unfairness of blood purity. Both were Quidditch fiends, both fancied sweets and Puddlemore and the fit barmaid of the Three Broomsticks. Sirius knew that James had fancied Lily Evans for four years before his affections turned from conquest to a love match. And a small part of Remus wondered if Sirius thought Lily was just a phase to James. Didn't he see how much she meant to him?

"I'm sure they won't be much longer," Remus said finally, pulling his cigarette case out of his pocket and balancing one on his lips before tossing it to Sirius. Remus lit it with his wand and watched with bemusement as Sirius settled and quieted down, lighting his own and leaning against the wall with a sigh.

James and Lily appeared five minutes later, a comically blissed-out expression dotting both of their faces. Lupin snorted and took his wand in hand as Sirius stood up, his arms crossed and cigarette loose on his lips. Although Lupin was the tallest of the Marauders, and that James was taller than Sirius by an inch and a half, the look that Sirius imposed on his best mate was mutinous. "The others are waiting," he said, crushing the butt of his cigarette under his heel. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way," James said.

…