Hours past.

Lily had followed without a second thought as James walked with difficulty up and away from the Hospital Wing, her heart breaking as she heard the unmistakable sounds of weeping. Not for the first time, Lily felt woefully unprepared to be in the position she was in. Did James even want her to follow? Hadn't he left to be alone? Hadn't she followed without a second thought, unaware and uncaring of his feelings in the matter?

It didn't matter how many times James told her that he wanted her, that he loved her, even. It didn't seem to sink in, the idea that somebody could care for her enough to love her despite her flaws, her imperfections, it didn't commute. Love was one-sided; love was the exchange of guilt for services. For so long, love had been an action and not a feeling; to her, love was duty and not devotion. It had been months since these feelings had reached a head, these unwelcome thoughts of the careless nature of the love she had felt before.

James turned a corner, and she turned her head with wide eyes as his thick breaths turned short and quick. She lunged and caught him before he fell, and when he clung to her with tears running down her cheeks, she didn't hesitate to pull him close to her. She wrapped her arms around his upper body, rubbing his back the way he had for her when she woke in the night. Lily tucked her chin into the crook of his neck, whispering quiet little nothings as he wept brokenheartedly. Lily felt tears dot her vision and sniffed, kissing James' forehead.

"I'm— I'm here," Lily said, feeling foolish parroting his words of comfort back to him. "You're safe, you're going to be okay,"

James squeezed his eyes shut, his hand grasping her thigh like a vice. His wand skittered out of his pocket, but she reached over him and retrieved it, pressing it into his hand. His fingers moved past the wand and gripped her fingers, his hand firm against hers.

She couldn't imagine the depths of his loss. How many times could he row with Sirius before their relationship soured? Lily didn't want to think of the long-term implications of Sirius' words, of James' defence of her. Did she deserve to be put above Sirius? They were best mates, and who was Lily in this? A nobody, a pity case. A Muggleborn who took freely and gave nothing in return. The Mudblood who ensnared James Potter and cheated on her boyfriend, the emotional nag who cared for nothing and nobody and no one more than herself.

"No, you're not," James murmured as if he could hear her thoughts.

"What?"

"You're—" James said, his throat scratchy with disuse. "You're not—not a pity case."

"You can hear me?" Lily said, leaning down so their eyes met.

"No," James said, leaning back against her shoulder as if spent. "You're thinking too loud,"

Lily sniffed, smiling to herself as she leant against the wall with tears in her eyes. She felt an overwhelming wave of warmth wash over her, a deluge of care, of attention, of joy. She turned, kissing James on the temple.

You are worthy of love.

…

James wasn't in pain, he assured her, so they stayed where they were. Thankfully, most of the student body had already left for Christmas hols, and the castle was nearly empty. The quiet wisps of ghosts passed them without comment, cats and rats slinked around corners. Noon passed, and great shafts of sunlight soaked the castle in warmth. Lily wasn't sure how long they sat, nor was she sure if James was awake or asleep. He looked too peaceful to move, no matter how uncomfortable the flagstones were to rest on, she stayed where she was, smoothing his fringe from his eyes.

Footsteps approached, and Lily tensed, unsure of who they were about to meet. Lily thought she heard voices and turned, surprised to see Lupin, looking stern and focused. A dog slowed to a stop beside him, its large head hung low. Lily started before she realized, God, was that Sirius?

It had been two years since she had seen the Marauders in their Animagus forms, and her memory had deceived her. Padfoot was massive, his shoulders brushing Lupin mid-thigh as he shifted on his paws. The corridor was empty, but Lily felt herself pulling James beside her, behind her. Away from this mastiff in the corridor.

Lupin nudged Padfoot with his knee, and the dog turned its head with a look of trepidation. Lupin repeated the action, muttering to Padfoot before cracking a grin at Lily.

"His bark is worse than his bite," Remus said, crouching in front of Lily with his hand extended. "And no one knows that more than me. Come, I reckon they have a lot to talk about,"

Lily turned around, but James was already awake, looking Padfoot with measured exasperation. James met her eye and nodded. Lily accepted Remus' hand and stood.

Lily watched as the dog Sirius sat at James' feet, his face downcast and ears down. James leant forward, his fingers reaching and taking hold of Padfoot's thick fur. As Lily walked away, their foreheads met and she watched with a smile on he,r face as a tear slipped down James' face.

…

The corridor was empty, and for the first time since his family blew him off the family tree, Sirius let himself feel the waves of abandonment and loss, how it felt to have James choose Evans over his mates. For so long, Sirius had acted as if the Marauders were the same as they always had been. He had let himself slip into the mentality that the Marauders were the one thing in his life that would stay the same forever; that change was unlikely, and the steady course of friendship was his future. He hadn't anticipated any deviations, much less another member. For a long time, Sirius had let himself think that there could only ever be four— and if Evans grew closer to James, he would be excluded and left behind. He couldn't bear making the same mistake twice; the Marauders were his family, his only family. And he didn't mind Evans, not really. He made a show of exclusion, but she was smart, funny. She complimented the group in a number of ways, added sensitivity and a layer of compassion it had previously lacked.

And it all stemmed from that, didn't it? Was Sirius always going to be fifteen and disowned inside? Was he always going to revert back to the fear of neglect when the going got tough? The years had hardened his heart, and he had grown adept at hiding his feelings from his mates. But there were times that Remus looked at him, and it felt like he was looking through him, as if he could see Sirius for who he really was. The feeling was pacifying, exhilarating, but also numbing. Would his friends still want him if they knew what he felt? Would they abandon him like his parents had?

James' parents hadn't hesitated to let him in when he appeared on their doorstep at four in the morning. On the contrary, they had given him a room, and from there on, purchased two of everything he and James would ever need with no questions asked. Sirius hadn't had to hide the fact that he had nowhere else to go, certainly nowhere that would welcome him as readily as the Potter's had. But not a day went by without Sirius recalling what it had been to fly in the rain in the middle of the night, two hours in the dark on the word of his best friend's father who said once that he'd always have a home with them. Sirius remembered the rain and the feeling of tears clouding his vision, the shock of his leather jacket freezing to his skin. He remembered packing the night before their last fight, Regulus clinging to the banister like Sirius was vermin the family was happy to be rid of. The last sight of his family's townhouse was the sight of the Muggle posters he had stuck to the wall with well-placed sticking charm in fourth year, the window as it struck open in the storm. His mother had screamed as he tilted out of the casement and flew away, never to return. He was a Black no longer, and whatever future the universe had for him, it was going to be made on his own terms. His family would hold him back no longer. He was his own man, and he'd rather live in a cave and beg for scraps than be a Black for one second longer.

Sirius' room at the Yorkshire estate was the same it always had been, clean and fresh and smelling faintly of incense. Mrs. Potter hadn't blinked upon his arrival, and the pile of clothes on the chifforobe was most likely her doing. He remembered shrugging out of his soaking clothes in the loo, the feeling of warm water on his back, sitting with his head in his hands in the shower he had let run to hide the sound of his heartbroken weeping. No matter what Sirius thought of his family, no matter the freedom he had so temporarily experienced, they had abandoned him. Sirius had no family that wanted him. He couldn't go back; the only direction was forward.

Sirius tried to steady his breathing, the harsh sound of his sobs echoed around the loo, but he couldn't help it. He pulled his knees in tighter, not quite able to see with his dripping fringe in his eyes. Lupin said it looked good longer, but his mother hated it, said it made him look like a filthy Muggle. She hated his leather jacket, his Muggle posters, but if he was honest with himself, it was really him she hated. Her eldest son, the blood-traitor who consorted with werewolves and half-breeds. The flight was cold, and more than once, Sirius had slipped on his broomstick and considered the fall. Would anyone care if he did?

"Padfoot?" A voice said from the doorway, and Sirius slipped in his haste to stand. It was James, had he heard? Sirius' hand shook on the wall, his legs weak and eyes full of tears. "Pads, can I come in?"

"I'm — I'm in the loo," Sirius said, his voice a little desperate.

"I'll just wait here, then," James continued before silence fell.

Sirius felt his hand shake on the shower nozzle before he was able to turn off the faucet. The towels were warm and soft, and he wiped the bubbles from his hair with uneasy breaths. Luckily, Sirius had left a pair of pyjamas in the cupboard before he left for term in September, and he dressed hastily, stumbling into his trousers before he was brave enough to broach the door.

"Hey," James had said, sitting patiently on the lounge at the foot of Sirius' four-poster. His eyes were thick with sleep, but he smiled nonetheless, and Sirius sat beside him with trepidation. "Mum told me you were here,"

Sirius nodded, wiping his eyes on his sleeve. He couldn't bear to meet James' eyes. Who did he think he was? The Marauders hadn't been invited to the Potter's until Christmas Eve. Sirius hadn't even made it through a full night at No. 12 before leaving forever. Was he an imposition? Would James ask him to leave?

Oh God, and if he did, where the hell would he go?

"Sirius, what happened?"

Sirius couldn't meet his eyes but sat beside him on the bed nonetheless. James sat in silence, which was unlike him. Were his best mate's thoughts as jumbled and confused as his? Sirius looked over at him through his fringe, blinking the wetness out of his eyes. It was strange to see James sit quietly. Did he judge Sirius for what he had done? Had his parents told him?

The story spilled out of him like a flood, and for the next hour, Sirius told his best mate all the feelings he had hidden about his family. He told James how he had left forever and didn't intend to ever return. He cried when he mentioned Reg; Sirius didn't think he'd ever forget the wide eyes of his little brother as he watched Sirius leave.

His voice was hoarse, and his tears were sticky on his cheeks by the time he finished, and Sirius sat on the comfortable chaise, feeling more pitiful and exposed than he had in his entire life. Desperately, he wanted James to respond, to comfort him, to tell him that he hadn't made the biggest mistake of his life. He needed reassurance that he hadn't thrown away his future, any hopes and dreams he had for his life after Hogwarts. God, what James must think of him. How weak, how defenceless. How cowardly to leave his home with no thoughts of a future, abandoning familial loyalty in exchange for … what? Sirius knew that James valued his family above all else.

"You don't need them," James said softly, wrapping his arms around Sirius' shoulders. "We can be a new family, just the four of us."

Sirius collapsed into James' arms, a fresh round of sobs wracking his chest as he let himself cry. For so long, he kept his feelings inside, ashamed and embarrassed to admit that he felt the way he did. His family had abandoned him; the worst was surely over. Any family he had in the future would be of his own making,

"My dad lost the key to the wet bar," James said finally, looking down at the best mate, who sniffed into his sleeve. "There's an almost full bottle of Ogden's finest," James stood, offering Sirius his hand. "Shall we?"

"Yes,"

That night, and for every night until the rest of the Marauder's came on the 24th, James listened as Sirius told him all the secrets he had buried deep inside himself. They both got drunk for the first time that night, screaming and crying into the wood behind the estate, running and laughing through the snow side by side. And when the moon rose, and the shadows fell, they transformed into their new Animagus forms, a soft-nosed doe with the beginnings of antlers and a mastiff, a black dog that was growing bigger every day. They ran through the drifts and slid across the lake, following the moonglow across the shifting ice. Sirius would remember that night for the rest of his life, the night he was sure that he had somebody who loved him.

Sirius sat quietly, sunk in his memories, and started when James spoke.

"I'm sorry I said that you conspired with Snape," James sniffed, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. "It's not true; I don't know why I said it,"

Sirius leant back against James, tears running freely down his cheeks. There was a time where he might've wiped them away out of shame, but there was no one else. The corridor was empty, as was the castle. Wherever Moony had taken Evans, it was made clear that he and James were to be left alone. Sirius tried to not feel embarrassed by the implication (for God's sake, Moony didn't get to decide where he went or who he talked to), but his outburst had left him feeling unhinged and with a single focus. It bothered him that James couldn't see it the same way he could. Didn't Regulus matter just as much as Frank did? But all Lily and James wanted to talk about was Amelia's attack, Frank's kidnapping, and it had angered him to the point of lashing out.

Sirius blinked and ran a hand over his eyes as he turned towards the door. He remembered resenting Evans and Remus for ushering the others out when they started rowing, but he didn't anymore. The outpouring of emotion was embarrassing, and he hated the look Remus gave him, pity, almost. Not shame, but it was like Remus could see through him, expose him. He chose not to, but the sadness in his eyes would take time for Sirius to forget.

And then there was the attack. Even now, it had been almost a week since James had jumped in front of Regulus' curse, ducking as Snape continued the attack. It had felt like a tragedy in action, as if he was watching himself act in a film rather than participating in it. Sirius remembered hearing the cry of pain as James took the blast for him. And what had he done in return other than make him regret his actions?

"I'm sorry I hesitated," Sirius said quietly, feeling the weight of James' head rest on his neck. "Seeing Regulus there stunned me ... I didn't know what to do. You jumped in front of me and saved my life; I have no business being angry. You saved my life. Snape would've let me bleed out,"

"Mhmm," James said, anxious for Sirius to continue.

"You're my mate, my best friend. God, James, I'm so sorry,"

For the first time in a long time, Sirius felt a deep swell of peace settle in his heart. He was wrong to assume that James had chosen Lily over him; it was a misconception buttressed with feelings of rejection and inadequacy. Sirius wasn't what his mates thought of him; he wasn't who his family or enemies thought he was either. He could choose who he wanted to be, who he wanted to be with. No one could decide who he was but himself. "I'm sorry I said you chose Evans over your mates," Sirius said, pulling on a loose curl that escaped his bun." It wasn't fair of me to ask that of you,"

They sat in silence for what felt like hours, long enough that Sirius could feel James' breath level and calm, long enough to be sure that he was falling asleep.

"Let's get you to the Hospital Wing," Sirius said finally, bracing James' back with an arm as he stood.

"No," James said sleepily. "No, I'm fine. You—you had said something earlier. Do you, do you remember? I want you to show me what you found,"

"What I found?"

"Muggle Studies," James said, blinking his eyes open. "You said something about Muggle Studies,"

"It was just a lead," Sirius said, a wave of shame washing over him like water. He remembered perfectly what James had implied. It had been weeks ago, back when he was angry and felt like he had something to prove. He had been wandering the castle for hours before he stumbled upon it.

"It's not far," Sirius said, offering a hand to James. "If you're sure,"

"I want to," James said, standing with pinched lips. "I need to apologize too. I've blamed you for things you haven't done, held you at arm's length, and I'm sorry. I never should have said those things about your family. We're your family now, I hope you know that,"

Sirius let James' words mull through his mind as they walked up a flight of stairs, taking a shortcut without a second thought. James followed, catching his eye with a smile. Maybe they would be okay after all.

Sirius led the way to the door, opening it for James before entering itself.

"This is it," Sirius said, a strange mixture of pride, embarrassment and bashfulness dotting his tone. He watched James carefully as they walked about the empty classroom, tapping his wand anxiously on his thigh.

"What'd you find out?" James asked, sitting on Burbage's desk with a muted wince of pain as he shifted. Sirius watched as James' heels tapped the wood desk, his fingers ruffling the hair at the back of his head. Sirius felt so foolish, had all he wanted was for James to be proud of him? To validate him?

"I found Moody sniffing around in here," Sirius said softly, walking to the corner where, in the days following Amelia's attack, he had seen a hooded figure shifting through the cupboards. Something about it had felt strange; what business would an Auror have observing a classroom with such intensity? When they had been questioned by Aurors later, Sirius had maintained a decisively cool memory recalling the exact location that they had found Amelia and trapped Moody. The Room of Requirement was theirs, the Marauders, and not to be seen and exploited by others. He remembered watching James stutter an answer when the question was directed at him; lies and falsehoods were outside his nature. An abandoned classroom on the seventh floor became the assumed location, and Sirius had watched with a careful smirk as the Aurors tore every room on that floor apart over the following weeks, finding nothing suspicious or even remotely unusual in their search.

Moody had been questioned and released with a healthy amount of suspicion, only delegated to the most basic patrols about the grounds, under strict observation by Hagrid and with Dumbledore's blessing. Sirius didn't think much of it but found his eyes following the grizzled Auror as he moved carefully throughout the castle grounds. There was something… off about him. What business would a new Auror have with Amelia Bones?

As the castle slept, the thoughts kept him tossing in turning in their dormitory, his mind unsettled with all he had seen. His mind slipped towards his brother more than once, remembering the lessons their parents had instructed in Legilimency, Occlumency, curses and hexes for enemies only. Regulus had been too young to be learning such things, fourteen and impressionable, and Sirius remembered his uplifted attitude, already turned towards the other side. He hadn't known it then, but as much as he tried to hide it, his inclinations towards Dark magic were more than theoretical. He remembered what he had been taught, and in scraps with the Slytherin's, and most recently with Crouch, the spells that fell from his lips were brutal and unrelenting in their intensity.

"In the Muggle studies classroom?" James said with a tilt of his head. After all these years, Sirius could read the anxious rise in his shoulders, the tenseness of his fingers as they gripped the edge of the desk. What did James have to be afraid of? Was it not he, Sirius, who had fucked up beyond repair? Was it not he who accused James of choosing Lily over the Marauders?

"Yeah, weird, eh?"

"Lily thinks it was the Imperius," James said, fiddling with a Muggle screwdriver left on the desk. "It seems unlikely that Moody acted on his own."

"Do you trust me?" Sirius asked suddenly, and James turned to look.

"Of course,"

"Even if it's mad?"

"Sirius—" James asked, the screwdriver lolling in his hands, forgotten. The look in his eyes was startling, and James fought to maintain eye contact. "Do you know something?"

"I … saw something," Sirius said, "A long time ago. I didn't, I still don't understand. It doesn't make sense,"

"Is it… someone we know?"

"No, it's not that," Sirius said, pursing his lips. "I think, I think Regulus is undergoing the trials,"

"For…" James said, his eyes widening.

"Yeah,"

"Snape too? And the others? That's why—"

"The Slytherin sixth and seventh years, four, in particular, have been missing from the castle regularly for the past three months," Sirius said, patting his pocket. "I've been watching them. I've only seen glimpses, but Voldemort is a bigger threat than we thought he was. He's recruiting from inside the castle."

"We knew the war was coming," James said.

"Not like this," Sirius said, taking a step closer. "The morning of your attack, I hid in the tunnels beneath the castle, waiting for them to come back. It was… it was Regulus I was watching. It had been so long, I was—I was worried about him,"

"That's understandable," James said, a crease forming between his eyebrows.

"Yeah, but it wasn't just he who came back," Sirius said. "It was more… the assembly in Hogsmeade, the village isn't evacuated because of the deaths, it's because of him, he's there. Waiting for them, watching. Amelia's attack was a set-up,"

"Did they think she had information?" James asked, "about the … organization Frank mentioned?"

"Maybe," Sirius said, gripping the edge of the desk. He felt his fingernails bite into the soft wood and found that he liked the pain. Welcomed it. What he was saying, he needed focus. James needed to understand. "Maybe she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,"

"And Frank," James said, his eyes widening. "They messed up, got the charm wrong. If it was the Imperius they used on Amelia, what did they need Moody for?"

"Or Crouch?" Sirius responded, his blood like ice in his veins. "What it—"

It was as if James could read his mind, "it was a cover,"

"Yeah,"

"I mean, there's no other explanation. It makes sense, Moody's young, impressionable. He's a new Auror, and he already has a reputation for instability. He was in the castle; he'd be the perfect cover.

"Crouch, then," Sirius said. "Crouch was brought in to do an inspection for the Ministry after the attack took place. He couldn't have been directly involved; he was in London when it happened,"

"He was framed," James said, snapping his fingers. "The Ministry isn't trusted; they've been lying in the press. Crouch is a senior minister, making him seem unstable would cripple the Ministry's reputation—"

"Making it easier for Voldemort to infiltrate,"

"We need to tell Dumbledore!" Sirius said, jumping up from his desk.

"Evans, first," James said, following Sirius as they took off for the head dormitory.

Lily was alone when they reached the doorway, surprised and shocked as they took a moment to breathe, panting with exertion. She listened with wide eyes as Sirius and James regurgitated their findings (ruffling through the cabinet for a pain potion as they spoke). She produced a pale blue potion, which James took as a shot before the tore for Dumbledore's office.

James shouted the password, and they climbed the spiral staircase two at a time, knocking hurriedly against the solid oak door.

A soft voice answered from within, and James pushed the handle and burst through, the new information buzzing through his mind.

"James," Dumbledore said pleasantly, closing a book and placing it back on his desk. "Lily, and Sirius too! What do I owe this unexpected pleasure?"

"We figured it out, sir," James said, his body nearly bursting with the news.

"So you have completed your assignment," Dumbledore said, steepling his fingers. There was a glint in his eye that made James stand taller, proud to be considered worthy in Dumbledore's eyes. "And who, might I ask, is behind this mysterious business?"

"Severus Snape, sir," James said, looking over to Sirius, who met his eye with a nod. "And… others,"

"Pray tell," Dumbledore said, and James did.

The story burst forth on its own volition; even though it was the second time in under an hour it had been told, it came forth proudly. With additions from Lily and Sirius, James told him of Amelia's attacker, of Moody's continued exposure to the Imperius curse, Crouch's perceived instability in the Ministry of Magic, the notable mistakes the assailants had made in both Amelia's and Frank's abductions. Dumbledore listened calmly and quietly, watching but not interrupting, waiting until James had exhausted himself, and collapsed into the cushioned chair opposite Dumbledore's desk.

"So you have solved it, then," Dumbledore said finally, smiling at the assembled company. "When I left this school during term, there had already been rumours of such things. Whispers, of course, from old friends and enemies alike. Lord Voldemort has been assembling an army for some time, and with the attacks in Hogsmeade coming so close to Hogwarts, I left easy with the knowledge that my Head Boy and Girl could protect the school, which you have, with honours. The school remains a haven, thanks to you,"

"Unless you're a Slytherin," Sirius said, looking at Dumbledore with an expression James didn't recognize, one he couldn't understand. Sirius looked almost hungry, relentless.

"Those who have joined the other side have made their choice," Dumbledore said finally, "as was theirs to make. There was nothing any of us could have done to have prevented such inclinations,"

"But they're our friends, our family," Lily said quietly, thinking of how the cloaked figure she had suspected to be Regulus Black before they Disapparated. "We can't just abandon them,"

Dumbledore smiled kindly, but the look of broad pride faded from his expression. For so long, Lily had admired Dumbledore for his steadfastness, his leadership. He stood resolute while the rest of the world bowed under the stress of impending war. But as she watched him, his kindly face and steepled fingers, there was a strange glint in his blue eyes, something she hadn't noticed before. She turned to watch James, still rosy and proud and sat beside him and took his hand. He didn't see it, she thought a little madly. Either he didn't see it, or he couldn't see it, and God, which was more frightening?

"You've had a difficult term," Dumbledore said finally, and before her eyes, the strange expression seemed to fade as if she'd never seen it at all. Before her, the man was proud and kind, thankful and remorseful for not coming sooner to their aid. "But Hogwarts was safeguarded because of you. It's gates held, and those responsible for its potential destruction have been caught and sent for a hearing at the Wizengamot." Dumbledore stood and swept his robes behind him, clasping his hands together. "Mark my words, Lily and James, they will answer for their crimes."

"Even Mr. Crouch?"

Dumbledore exhaled, and the bright evening sun cast shadows across the room. He seemed higher than any man she had ever known, more important, surely. "Yes, even Barty. It was a fatal error on his part, I might say, for inviting such thoughts to rest on an already troubled and overburdened mind. I suspect that he was an easier victim because of it. Frequent memory charms, as I suspect it was, as well as the Imperius. Please forgive an old man his pride, but I am nearly always correct."

James smiled, reaching his hand forward for Dumbledore to shake. "Thank you, professor. I'm only sorry that they got away,"

"Oh, surely not," Dumbledore said, notes of shock and surprise in his voice. "You've gone above and beyond the call to duty; I knew you wouldn't let me down. Others had their trepidations, I'll remind you, but I knew that Hogwarts could count on you,"

…

Dinner came and went, and Lily watched as James recalled their meeting with Dumbledore to their friends with muted enthusiasm. Sometime during this, his hand fell from the table onto her thigh, his long fingers running patterns in her dungarees. She flushed, rushes of heat running to her belly as his thumb caught the crease of her hip, the inner seam of her trousers. God, did he know what he was doing to her? She felt her breath come fast and short, not able to meet his eyes for fear of embarrassing herself. By the time Frank and Amelia had all their questions answered, and pudding had been cleared away, Lily was more than prepared for whatever James planned to do to her once the door to their dormitory was closed and bolted for the night.

She could hardly remember saying goodnight to her friends; James kept his hand wrapped around hers as they turned to their doorway.

"After you," he said, his eyes dark as they looked down into hers.

She walked past the loo, opening the door to his bedroom with bated breath.

They got ready for bed side by side, exchanging glances at the other as they pulled pyjamas out of James' chest of drawers. It felt so surreal, the cold wood beneath her toes, the crackling of the hearth-fire in the Common Room. James was undressing in front of her, and God, when he bent over to retrieve his tie, he groaned, and the sound sent heat straight through her belly like a knife. Would he sound like that when he was in pleasure, too? She wondered. If he wasn't in pain, if they slept together, would he sound like that then?

Lily took a deep breath, looking anywhere but him. James' potions lined his bedside table, multi-coloured viles with wax stoppers, organized by size and function. Lily's side was organized in her own way, Gulliver's Travels, a half-finished cup of tea, loose tissues and hairpins. Her dressing gown and Charms textbook were tossed over the chair in the corner of the room, and more than one of her skirts littered the floor in front of the chifforobe. James shrugged out of his cardigan, tossing it somewhat clumsily into the hamper under the window. She knew that he had caught her staring, but she couldn't help it. His wounds were plentiful and impossible to ignore, crisscrossing his chest and belly.

The initial point of impact was the deepest, a long slice from his right hip to the hollow between his collarbones. The others were perfunctory, almost; slashes done with abandon in their flight from the scene. He was torn apart, pieces of flesh sewed together with magic and thread. She felt terrible for not realizing the depths of his pain earlier; she was so focused on Frank and the others. She supposed she had just assumed that he was okay because he hadn't told her otherwise. And later, when James had met with Sirius and met with Dumbledore, all seemed to be well. Well enough, at the least, to make no mention of the continued low-level pain he was in. She watched out of the corner of her eye as his hand hovered above the many potions he had been administered before selecting the pale pink vile that had been prescribed for bedtime use. He downed it in one and replaced it before joining her back in front of the chifforobe.

Lily shrugged out of her dungarees and let them pool at her feet, slipping her stockings off. She wiggled her toes against the floorboards and pulled out her plait, reaching for her nightie at the back of her shelf in James' bedroom.

A month ago, James had shown her the drawer and section in the chifforobe he had cleared for her use. Since then, she kept her nighties and a few Muggle clothes in his room, for convenience, of course, but it was more than that to her. It was nice to see their things co-existing, resting together in the same place. She loved that his Quidditch jumpers and socks rested beside her dungarees and scrunchies. It was as if they were together, a couple, one that couldn't exist without the other. She loved the implications more than the access.

James unbuttoned his cardigan and lay it carefully on a hanger before beginning with his jumper. He tried not to watch as Lily reached up on tiptoes to search for something at the back of her cupboard. Her shirt wasn't very long, and a tantalizing view of her bum as she stretched overhead. Her hair hung loosely about her shoulders, but as he pretended to unbutton his jumper, he watched with fascination as she moved. Never before had he appreciated the beauty of the female body— the soft curve of her ankle, the muscles moving and shifting beneath her thighs. He loved the soft dip of her breastbone, the gentle bones in her fingers. He watched as she turned and made noises of discontent before taking hold of one of his jumpers and pulling it out, slipping out of her shirt before pulling her nightie and then his jumper over her bra.

He made quick work of his jumper buttons before shrugging it off his shoulders. His skin prickled in the cool air, and he looked over to see Lily sitting on the bed with her knees up to her chest, cocooned in soft wool.

"Can you stoke the fire?" she asked, and James nodded, eager to please her. He pointed to the pile of firewood stacked against the wall and willed them to rise, assemble themselves midair, and fall gracefully onto the smouldering fire. James turned as the bark caught, and the hearth glowed warm with sustained flame. He cocked a smile at Lily, who had relaxed against the bedpost; her face was calm and relaxed as she waited for him to join her.

James reached for his wand and placed it on his nightside table, toeing off his socks as he undressed. It still felt surreal, undressing where she could see. James pretended (out of the desire to be chivalrous, yes, but also not to spontaneously combust) that he hadn't noticed her knickers and bras among the rest of her clothing that littered the floor. He always turned away as she shimmied out of her bra, letting it fall to the floorboards and stepping out of it as if James' jaw hadn't fallen with it. He had never seen her topless, but he watched out of the corner of his eyes as her breasts shifted beneath her nightgowns (or more recently, with the return of colder nights, James' Quidditch jumpers, as if she didn't know what seeing her wear his things did to him). She was comfortable with him, and he relished in that comfort.

There was a time that never would've thought that Lily Evans would care for him enough to tell him the time of day, much less undress in front of him and wear his clothes. He knew that he loved her, but the love he felt for her was something else entirely. It was deep; he looked to her reassurance, for answers. He knew that even in his darkest moments before Snape had healed him that Lily stood by his side.

He felt the cold prickle his skin and shifted closer to the fire as he considered the buttons of his trousers. They were metal, and his fingers were uncoordinated and thick as he tried to undo them. He turned away from Lily, embarrassed to show her how weak he really was. Even with the potions and salves the Matron had provided, the skin beneath his bandages was soft and fragile. He hated this feeling of helplessness; he needed to feel strong and capable, to not fall victim to his wounds every time Lily needed him. As noble as the cause for injury was, he was tired of feeling this way.

He rubbed his fingers together, the memory of the sounds Lily had made as he ran his hand over his thigh crowding his mind. God, did she…would she?

And even now, she sat in front of him with her hair loose and curling around her shoulders, the thin little nightgown luminescent in the weak moonlight. She hummed to herself, waiting for him to join her.

His finger fumbled on the first button, and he flinched, a shock of pain running down his arm.

"Hey," she said softly, resting her hand on his. He hadn't realized she had stood; she looked so small and soft standing in front of him. He tried for a crooked smile, but it faded as her hands reached for his.

"Can I? Would you let me help?"

"Are you trying to seduce me, Evans?" Lily's eyebrows shot up to her hairline, and James tried for a smile, brushing her curls behind her ear. "Or are you just trying to get me naked?" James said, leaning down and kissing the spot behind her ear that sent waves of warmth into the depths of her belly.

Lily settled her hands on his hips, trying to keep her fingertips from shaking as they settled against her skin. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes," James said, watching as her hands fiddled with the button of his trousers. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to embarrass you,"

"You're not—" Lily said, struggling to find the words. "You're not embarrassing me; I'm embarrassing myself. You're still healing, I don't want to presume … "

Lily started as his hand cupped her jaw, pulling her gently up to face him. "Presume what?"

"That you want me," Lily said, struggling to maintain eye contact. "Earlier, when you touched me, I—I liked it. I couldn't help but thinking that you wanted me… y'know, like that,"

James took a shuddering breath, the emotions of the day rushing over him like a cresting wave. Had it all led to this? He thought, brushing a finger down her jaw, his heart beating a mile a minute.

"You make me—" James said, rubbing a hand over his chin as he fought to find the words. "When you get near me, when you touch me, I try to hide it. But then you started sleeping with me, and sometimes at night… I relax, and I think you've noticed. When we kiss, when you kissed me that one time and wrapped your legs around my hips, you must have seen. You must have felt it. I can't control it— I don't want to embarrass you—"

"You don't embarrass me," Lily said, looking up and meeting James' eye. She caught his jaw and leant up on her tiptoes to kiss him, pressing close to him, hearing the small gasp of surprise at the sudden motion. "You could never embarrass me. James, I meant it, what I said earlier. I love you. I love you, I said it by accident, but I meant it. I meant what I said." Lily wrapped her hands loosely around his waist, conscious of the pressure lest she hurt him. "When I feel you pressed against me, I'm not afraid. You make me…you make me feel things too. You make me want things that I've never done before, but I want to, I want to with you. When you're around me, James, you make me want more,"

"You mean…" James said, his eyes searching hungrily into hers. "Do you mean it? Are you sure you're ready?"

"Yes," Lily said breathily, taking hold of his hips above his trousers, smiling into his kiss as he jerked towards her at the slightest touch. She took a suspiciously shaky breath before crouching and reaching for the button of his trousers.

James stood still, not quite able to watch as she undid the first button. He could feel the tips of her nails brushing against his bare skin, the quickening breath of Lily as she knelt in front of him. Was she as nervous as he was? Did she feel as he did about how this moment was balanced between absolution and catastrophe? James bit his lip and restrained a groan as her fingertip dipped between the buttons and brushed against the skin of his lower belly. Lily's hands stilled for a moment, unsure, but James nodded with his eyes shut tight, and she continued.

As the waistband loosened, she helped him lift one leg and then the other, taking off his socks one by one. He sat down on the edge of the bed as she shimmied his trousers down his legs, tossing them behind her as she got to the business of his pyjamas. James couldn't help but feel helpless; here he was, a grown man unable to put his own pyjamas on for bed. But wasn't this wonderful too? How many of his teenage dreams had started and ended with Lily Evans between his legs? How many times had he wished and dreamt for intimacy, for a closeness between two people in a way he had never felt before?

"Are you okay?" Lily asked, and James swallowed, unaware that her face was so close to his own. Her pupils were dilated, her breath coming short and fast. She looked so beautiful; her hair was loose and wavy, smelling faintly of her rose-scented perfume. And her eyes, her eyes were wide with anticipation, with a hunger he couldn't quite describe. But she looked nervous too; there was a tightness to her shoulders and a rigidness to her posture that he couldn't understand. Was she as nervous as he was? It couldn't just be him; this was so new, so unexpected. When he had been injured, he could never have imagined that it would be so prolonged. With the instantaneous nature of magical healing, one either was relieved of their condition with little fuss and bother or confined to it without the promise of help. And honestly, in the immediate after-effects of Snape's counter-spell, the last thought in his mind was this. This helplessness, this unexpected moment of weakness to his body's limitations. He was a stag, for God's sake. Surely that counted for something.

He realized with a start that the look in her eyes wasn't quite fearful as anticipatory. She was waiting for him to make the next move, having gone as far as she was comfortable without outward reciprocation. How could he be so thick? He could've undressed her, kissed the long line of her throat that had been tormenting him all day. He could've taken the opportunity as it presented itself to be suave, to be confident and in control and tell her how he felt about her. Was he truly as brave as they all said he was? Was he the leader, the cocky, arrogant James Potter with an answer to every question and a new date every weekend? Or was he someone else, someone distinctly other? What would he give to be honest with how he felt about her, how he felt about himself? Would she still love him if he stopped pretending to be somebody else?

"Thank you," James said softly, lowering a hand to cup her cheek. She leant into him, a soft smile curling on her lips. "Thank you for taking such good care of me,"

"I—I liked it," Lily said with a blush, her hands loose and tangled in her lap. "Is it wrong to have liked it?"

"Depends what part of it you liked," James said, his breath catching as she moved slowly, mindful of his expression as she sat astride his hips, the pyjamas falling from her hands to puddle on the floor. He framed her face with his hands, resisting the urge to move, to feel her moving against him.

Lily grabbed hold of his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his hips, framing his head with her hands. She could feel him there, firm and unrelenting against her belly. He wanted her, he wanted her and her alone, and Lily wanted him all to herself. She wiggled her hips and coaxed a heady groan out of his unsure lips, smiling against his neck as his hands pulled her closer.

"Why don't you find out for yourself?"

…

The light was low, and the moon had risen by the time James collapsed to his side of the bed with a pleasurable sigh. He turned his head, pleased as punch to see Lily gasping for breath, looking flushed and dishevelled and satisfied. He pulled a hand through his hair and smiled, God what he would've thought to find himself here six months ago. What he would've given to be the sole recipient of Lily's love and affection, to be the only one to see her above him with a moan in her throat, bare beneath her— her curls hanging in a curtain around them. He reached beneath the sheets and took her hand in his, grinning as she rolled over to rest closer beside him. Her breaths came quick and short, but she reached up and kissed his neck, a place she had recently lavished so much love and attention upon. He ran a hand up and down her side, his thumb catching the bare swell of her breast and the crease of her hip. Up and down, his body responded in kind to the abundance of bareness— rosy cheeks and still damp skin softly rounded with the curves of womanhood.

Lily sighed, her eyes shining brightly into his as they smiled at each other as if he was seeing her for the very first time. He had underestimated her; every conception he had towards her was poor compared to the real deal. Was this what it was to be in love? At that moment, James felt as if he was seeing the world through a different lens, as if there was a before and an after to that moment, but it stretched forever onwards, swirling with possibilities. Never before had he touched a woman the way he touched Lily, with gentleness and adoration, searching for her satisfaction before his own. He wasn't a virgin, but the sex he'd had before had been quick, embarrassingly so, with no strings attached. More often than not, he shagged the birds who made him feel good, prodded the part of him that still felt so much the boy in a man's body. He had let them touch him, let them please him, but it hadn't been enough. When they had left, gathering their clothes and dressing in silence, James had felt nothing but emptiness. Was that what intimacy was about? he remembered thinking with a sigh. Surely, it had been good at the moment, but the satisfaction was short-lived. It hadn't lasted past the moment of completion, and the moans of those nameless girls were empty, incomplete. It felt like he was missing something, a feeling he couldn't describe or admit to at fifteen.

He had deceived himself into thinking that love and lust were the same thing, that physical attraction and were the epitome of a romantic affliction. But it wasn't true; love was the feeling of Lily's arms around him in sleep; it was the look in his mother's eyes when he woke up in the Hospital Wing. Love was the day that James achieved his first transformation as Prongs, realization that he could help his friend survive into manhood. Sex was empty without love, but as much as he loved the physical dimension of their relationship, he loved her bravery, her steadfastness, her damn stubbornness more than he thought possible. James loved this woman in his arms with abandon, a love that he'd die for.

He turned to face her, brushing a hand over her curls. He felt a jolt as he remembered the sounds she made at the heights of her pleasure, the feeling of her thighs tightening around his ears as he brought her to the heights again and again. Never before had he been more thankful for a silencing charm he did now that Lily Evans was in his bed.

"I love you," James murmured, reaching for her, smiling as she tucked herself in his arms. He relished the feeling of her still damp skin against his, the rise and fall of her breath as she recovered. "I love you, Evans, God, I love you so much,"

She sighed deep in her throat, raising his arm and tucking herself under his arm, resting her head on his shoulder.

"I love you too," Lily whispered as if afraid someone could hear.

Candle smoke hung above them like starlight, floating through the air on the breeze. They fell asleep tucked into one another, no longer two beings but one body, one connected mind and spirit. James could no longer tell where his body ended, and hers began. And as night fell and the shadows deepened, Lily reached up and kissed him, slipping softly into sleep.

If I lay here, if I just lay here, would you lie with me and just forget the world.

...

And that's the end of that! Thank you to all of you who have stood by my side as I completed this behemoth of a work, it means more to me than you will ever know. To Just Forget the World is the first novel-length work I have attempted, and I am so fortunate to have such a lovely group of you who have followed me all this way.

Much love, for the last time :)

xoxo

V