A/N: A little piece from the POVs of Euphemia and Fleamont Potter. Contains ES spoilers from throughout currently-posted chapters.

When We Were That Age

FLEAMONT

The first time Fleamont Potter talked to his son about sex was probably the strangest conversation he'd ever had to date.

The idea came up when James had just recently returned home from his fifth year at school, and Euphemia had told Fleamont one evening that she'd discussed with Flora Macdonald and Maple McKinnon how they were going to broach the topic with their daughters and start them on contraceptive potion that summer.

"So, I suppose we should talk to James," Euphemia had said as she applied some cream or other to her face before bed.

"I s'pose," he had agreed, not lifting his eyes from his latest copy of New Potioneering.

"They are all sixteen," she had gone on, sounding like she was trying to justify it to herself more than Fleamont.

"Mmm."

She had finished at the sink and slid into the bed next to Fleamont with a sigh. "That just seems so young."

Fleamont had chuckled, turning to peer at her over his glasses. "Euph. Remember when we were that age?"

Her eyes had darkened as she smirked back at him. "I suppose we did christen most of the classrooms in that castle, didn't we?"

He had just grinned. "Might've actually gotten them all by graduation. Should've kept track."

That had earned him a swat, followed by an endearing stroke of soft fingertips through his hair as he turned back to the article he'd been reading.

"Well," Euphemia had gone on quietly, "the most important thing is he's responsible."

"Mmm."

"And that he listens to the girl, you need to make sure you go over that. I don't want my son being a ponce that never leaves a girl satisfied."

"Mmm." She had a point there.

"Did you retain that? Two rules."

"Two rules," Fleamont had echoed. "I'll talk to him."

xxx

The next day, he did. Fleamont saw James having a fly from his perch in his potions cottage, and he leaned out the door, calling for James to come inside. A few moments later, his son was rounding the corner, broom over his shoulder, cheeks slightly ruddy from the wind and hair a disaster.

"What's up, Dad?"

Fleamont sat on his stool by his workbench, gesturing to another stool across from him.

"Have a seat. I'm supposed to, erm, talk to you. About…something."

James gave him a puzzled look but sat, leaning his elbows back on the workbench. Fleamont studied him a moment, then bit the bullet and raked his hand through his hair as he said, "Sex. I'm supposed to talk to you about sex."

His son's mouth fell open and a hint of a flush rose up around his neck. "I'm not—"

Fleamont cut him off, shaking his head. "I wouldn't care if you were."

A strange look passed over James's face. "You wouldn't?"

Fleamont shrugged. "No, I was sixteen my first time."

James seemed to relax, a more curious expression on his face. "Was it…with Mum?"

He shook his head. "No, it was"—he chuckled at the memory—"Agatha McClaggan."

James's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "Mum hates the McClaggans!"

Fleamont was still chuckling. "And that's partially why. Agatha and I dated for awhile, fifth into sixth, before your mum and I got together."

James nodded but didn't say anything, and Fleamont, more to fill the silence but thinking it might be something James needed to hear, went on, "The first time was kind of awkward. It can be…a little painful for the girl at first."

He paused at James's blank stare. "Okay, backup, you know how it all…works?"

James rolled his eyes. "Yes, I know how it works."

Fleamont sighed, rubbing his neck. "Thank Merlin, I didn't want to explain that much."

"Er—so…why do you need to talk to me about it?"

"Well." Fleamont gripped his knees, looking sideways at James. "There're some rules."

He ignored James's second eye-roll, knowing full-well his son's penchant for disregarding anything labeled such, and elaborated, "Only two, actually, and they're damned important and affect you, so you need to adhere to these."

James's eyes narrowed, and Fleamont could tell he was really listening.

"Rule One. You always need to be safe. Your mother and I would rather your inheritance go to children you want to be having with your wife in the future and not a girl you accidentally knock up at school, yeah?"

James nodded, and Fleamont thought he could see comprehension dawning in his eyes at the potential repercussions of unprotected sex. Good.

"Most girls go on contraceptive potions by sixth year, so if you're with a girl you know is taking it, you're fine. But if she's not, or you don't know, or you don't trust her, you need to—well…you know."

But James wasn't looking like he did know, so Fleamont cleared his throat, reminding himself that he was the authority figure and that he had a job to do, and said, "You'd need to…pull out and not…finish…inside."

Now he looked like he was tracking. A flush crept back around James's neck, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Got it. Rule Two?"

Fleamont smiled. "Always listen to the girl."

James gave him another blank stare. "Isn't that obvious?"

A laugh escaped Fleamont at that, and he reached out and jostled James's shoulder. "Your mum would be proud of that answer. But yes, I suppose it is." Fleamont leaned back against his workbench, propping himself on one elbow. "Look, James, I know I'm supposed to lecture you and tell you sex is something you shouldn't do, at least until you're of age, but the truth is that sex is a lot of fun when you really connect with whoever you're with. You just need to be responsible. And besides, everyone says the of age thing like it's some line from this unspoken parent manual out there, but we all went to Hogwarts, and us parents all know that we started hooking up before then, so that line's damned hypocritical, if you ask me."

James chuckled at that. Nothing like getting a kid to listen than by harping on adults.

Fleamont paused a moment, thinking back to what he might've liked to have been told before his first time. "So. Listening to the girl. You should obviously only do whatever you're both comfortable with doing, I think that goes without saying. But there's another reason you need to listen to her, and that's because girls, erm, enjoy it…differently."

James was flushing slightly more.

Fleamont cleared his throat. "I know you've probably—well—it's normal if you've—"

But James blurted out, "I've messed around with a girl, Dad," and then his face burned, like he was horrified to hear he'd actually said that out loud. But Fleamont was beyond relieved, because the less he had to explain orgasms, the better.

Which was probably why his mind skipped right ahead to, "Who?"

James blinked at him, then looked at the ground as he muttered, "Greta McLaird."

"No shit."

James's gaze snapped back up to him. Fleamont hastily collected himself, pushing past the surprise at that revelation.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to pry, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to, James."

But James just shrugged, looking slightly more at ease now that that information was out in the open. "We kind of had a thing this spring."

Fleamont nodded. "So I don't need to explain…that is to say, you—well—I know I just said I wasn't going to pry—"

James looked determinedly at the floor again as he said hurriedly, "She—yeah. We both—um—"

Fleamont looked at him—really looked at him—and seemed to see for the first time that James really was sixteen. It was almost like he'd been projecting a younger face, or his memory of a younger James, onto the figure in front of him, but now, pulling that away, he saw James truly as he was. Nearly as tall as Fleamont, shoulders more broad, arms thicker than they'd been last summer, the hint of stubble along his jaw. Fleamont could still remember those golden sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts like they were just yesterday—could remember how old he'd felt, how mature he'd thought he was to finally be at N.E.W.T. level and be smuggling Firewhisky, getting drunk with his friends, sneaking off with girls, exploring sex in cramped broom closets and empty classrooms and behind dorm room drapes, everything new and exciting and adult. They'd been kings and queens of the castle, untouchable in their revelry, the world at their feet.

And now James was there, probably feeling as Fleamont had once felt, with two golden years ahead of him. A warmth unfurled in Fleamont's chest, a strange mixture of nostalgia and relief and pride. Pride in James, for having this conversation, for having already figured it out on his own and being, Fleamont was sure, every bit as respectful as he'd hoped James would be. And pride for himself, and for Euphemia, because they had raised him, this boy—this young man?—who'd already matured far more than Fleamont had really realized until that moment.

He reached out and gripped James's shoulder affectionately, cutting him off with, "So you already have Rule Two down."

James chuckled softly, his cheeks still pink. "Guess so, yeah."

Fleamont thumped him on the back. "A Potter through and through."

EUPHEMIA

The first time Euphemia Potter heard about her son having sex was from the mouth of mother of the girl he was shagging, and if it was anyone else, she might've been mortified, but as it was Cordelia Selwyn, she was just livid. Cordelia simpered over her teacup, that familiar glint in her eye, but instead of relaying a juicy piece of gossip about a real adult, Cordelia instead relayed a juicy piece of information about her own daughter.

"So it sounds like Ladie's becoming a woman." Her eyebrows arched over her teacup.

"Oh?"

Euphemia had seen Adelaide around their estate over the summer and, from the snatches of conversation she'd overheard, had gotten the impression she had already become one.

Cordelia added, "With James."

Euphemia choked on her tea. Cordelia seemed far too delighted as she went on, "It sounds like they have quite the, ah, passion."

Euphemia gaped at her. "Just so I'm clear…"

Cordelia rolled her eyes playfully and reached for a biscuit. "They've having sex, Euphie. All over the damned castle, from how Ladie tells it."

Euphemia's mouth had hung open for a few seconds, all life-long training to never catch flies gone straight out the window. James was having sex. Well, she wasn't shocked about that, he was sixteen, and Euphemia remembered all too well all the shenanigans that students got up to in that castle. But Adelaide Selwyn? Of all the girls he could have picked? Was he trying to give his mother a heart attack?

Her mind frantically raced over everything Fleamont had told her about how his birds-and-bees talk with James had gone that summer. There were only two rules Fleamont had been instructed to press upon him: first, always be safe (because there should be no unintended heirs to the vast Potter−van der Linden fortune), and second, always listen to the girl (because she should always feel comfortable and, ahem, satisfied). Fleamont had told Euphemia that he had relayed these, and that James had already mastered the second but had not yet needed to invoke the first.

Apparently, that had changed. With none other than one of the boy-crazy and gold-digging band of women those Selwyns were. Ugh. Euphemia wish she could spike her tea, but of course Cordelia would have a heyday with that, so she contented herself with mentally chanting positive thoughts that James was just getting horny teenage boy out of his system and that he and Adelaide weren't serious, because if she had to bestow a van der Linden jewel on a Selwyn someday, she'd never forgive her son as long as she lived.

xxx

The second time Euphemia heard about her son having sex wasn't so much hearing about it as it was hearing it. And seeing it.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight. They were in the basement storeroom, and Euphemia actually heard Dahlia first, crying her son's name out in a passion Euphemia never needed to hear again, but by then her eyes were already landing on their entwined figures, on James holding Dahlia up against a beam in the shelves, on Dahlia's stockinged legs wrapped around him, her sweater dress hiked up around her waist. (So that explained her near-daily wearing of sweater dresses.) And she got an immediate eyeful of James—she grimaced at the word—thrusting—she shuddered in revulsion—while he buried his face in Dahlia's neck.

That confrontation was decidedly uncomfortable, but really, they had to learn to be more discreet. They had an entire disgustingly, absurdly large mansion at their disposal, and they choose the most trafficked room of Christmas Eve party preparations in which to go at it like horny rabbits? They seriously needed to get it together.

Her annoyance faded into amusement as James and Dahlia emerged in the doorway, setting boxes down, both distinctly flushed. She smirked and arched an eyebrow as she teased,"Now that you've both finished downstairs, perhaps you could help Sirius with the garland?" She turned back to the clipboard containing her checklist. "I think he's onto the library by now."

Footsteps retreated from the room, and Euphemia started when she sensed James sit down next to her.

"What is it, darling?"

He shrugged, looking sheepish. "I just wanted to…apologize I guess. I feel bad that you, you know, walked in."

Euphemia patted his knee. "Well, I appreciate that, Jamesie, but you don't need to worry about it."

James's eyes were wide. "You're not, like…mad?"

She laughed in earnest at that, her head falling back. "Merlin, no, I'm not mad." She arched a brow at him as she added matter-of-factly, "Besides, if you're going to be having sex, I'd much rather it be with a nice French girl than a Selwyn."

"Mum—"

"But I suppose I am surprised." She frowned as she looked at him. "You've only ever talked about one girl, Jamesie, and that's not Dahlia."

James sighed, running a hand through his hair in a gesture that was entirely Fleamont.

"There's no chance of me and Lily ever happening, Mum. She hates me, we're not even close to being friends anymore, we can't talk without rowing. She's dating Eddie Bones now. I need to, you know, move on I guess."

She could see the disappointment in his eyes, the resignation in his voice. Even the words felt rehearsed, like they'd been repeated in his head so many times he didn't even have to think about them. It all rather made her heart ache.

But it also made sense, and explained what she'd been wondering ever since that tea with Cordelia Selwyn months before. "Ah. Enter Ladie, followed swiftly by Dahlia."

James blanched. "You, er, heard about that? Me with Ladie?"

Euphemia looked at him sideways. "Darling, do you think her mother and aunts wasted a single second before telling me every sordid detail of everything they heard about the two of you? Presumably from the horse's mouth itself?"

James's face flushed anew, his fingers pinching his nose under his glasses.

Her heart tugged for him as a flash of anger rose within her. Those damned Selwyns really needed to learn this thing called tact. And also privacy. But the damage was done, and though she hated that her son's privacy had been violated like that, she thought he seemed like he had moved on from all of Adelaide's escapades.

"Well, as I said—better Dahlia than Ladie. And you seem to really like her."

She was prying and she knew it, but really, she was his mother, so she ought to know.

His voice was quiet as he answered, "I mean—yes, but—it's not—Dahl and I are friends, really, we're close, and she's great—but it is mostly just, you know…what you saw."

Euphemia looked at him thoughtfully. "I see."

And she did. She'd heard him talk about Lily Evans for years. First because she was an insufferable know-it-all, then because she was rude and mouthy, then because she was a show-off, and then, after James came home from his third year, because she was suddenly cheeky and brilliant, and then, after he came home from his fourth year, because she was pretty. That was when Euphemia finally learned Lily Evans had dark red hair and bright green eyes, and she'd smiled to herself as she'd prompted a younger James to tell her stories about Lily, hearing his admiration for her as he described funny moments in class or in the Gryffindor common room. But he hadn't talked about her that summer after his fifth year, and Fleamont had told Euphemia that James had had a fling with Greta McLaird, so Euphemia had suspected that something was afoot. Hearing about his fling with Adelaide had only confirmed it, as had his subsequent letters telling her he had ended things with Adelaide and was dating his friend Dahlia, which had taken Euphemia completely by surprise.

Not that she didn't like Dahlia; the girl was a delight, well-mannered, from a nice family, and utterly adorable with that added mystique only the French seemed to have. And Euphemia could see the friendship between her and James, the ease with which they got along, they way their whole friend group blended seamlessly. But it hadn't escaped her that James had never written to Euphemia about asking Dahlia on a date, despite the countless times he'd joked before about wanting to take out Lily. And he'd never asked for Euphemia's advice on buying Dahlia a gift, though they would surely be exchanging them for Christmas. And though he'd only ever said nice things about Dahlia, he'd never gushed about her like Euphemia knew he could gush about a girl—like he'd gushed about Lily.

And as she looked at her son, eyes somewhat sad, jaw clenched, she really did see. He was disappointed. He was hurt. He was trying so, so hard to move past feelings he'd had. And though he'd found contentment, even chemistry, he certainly hadn't found love.

It broke her heart.

Peeling her reading glasses from her face, Euphemia looked him square in the eye. Her eyes, sparkling hazel, staring back at her.

"James," she said softly, "all I can tell you is that from the time you were a child, you've had a strong intuition—you always knew exactly what you wanted, and what you needed. I mean, really, I don't think you've been indecisive about anything in your life"—they both chuckled at that, knowing just how true that statement was, but then she finished seriously—"so I don't think you should start being indecisive now. Trust yourself, darling."

He nodded, giving her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thanks, Mum."

She lifted a hand to gently push the hair off his forehead—Merlin, he was turning into a spitting image of her husband—and nodded toward the door. "I imagine Sirius needs all the help he can get."

James smiled a genuine smile at that and joked, "You're probably right," as he got up and headed for the door.

FLEAMONT

The first time Fleamont Potter met Lily Evans was also the first time he thought his son was a complete idiot. And that was saying something, because Fleamont knew James had done many (many) idiotic things during his tenure at Hogwarts, but those things had always been laced with just enough humor and cleverness (at least, the way Minerva wrote it) that though he'd thought his son was a good-natured prankster with too quick of a mouth for his own good, he'd never thought him an actual idiot.

That all changed in their box at the Quidditch World Cup. Fleamont had been surveying the pitch with Magnus when Marlene McKinnon burst through the door, and the box was instantly filled with shrieks only teenage girls can make. Fleamont turned to take in the commotion as Magnus set off to greet them, and his eye caught his son, arm frozen in mid-air with a Firewhisky bottle in his hand, staring at the clump of girls now talking to Magnus. Fleamont followed James's gaze, noticing more fully the fourth girl that Fleamont had never seen. She wore denim shorts and a summery white blouse—Scotland's colors—and her dark red hair was pulled into a loose yet intricate braid that fell long over her shoulder. At a word from Magnus, her face split into a blinding smile, something that lit up the room and crinkled her eyes.

Fleamont looked back at James and saw an open, wistful look on his son's face that could only mean one thing. It was how Fleamont imagined he had looked at seventeen while staring at an animated Euphemia van der Linden. Full of longing, desire, admiration, etc. A look, in other words, that meant James was probably out of his league. Definitely pining. Possibly fucked.

Fleamont sidled up behind Sirius at the bar counter. "Who's that with Marly?"

Sirius leaned back over his shoulder, grinning, and told Fleamont, "The girl our Jamesie's been in love with since we were thirteen."

James growled, "Wanna say that a little louder, Pads?"

Sirius just waggled his eyebrows, but wheels turned in Fleamont's mind. Euphie'd brought that up before, James liking a girl in their year. She'd last mentioned it around Christmas, after James and his friends had headed back to school, because apparently her and James had had a little talk about Dahlia after Euphie'd caught them going at it in the basement storeroom. After what James had just told him about the nature of his—relationship? arrangement?—with Dahlia, that conversation with Euphie now made more sense. Euphie'd been a little upset for James at the time. Something about trying to move on from this girl, this…

"Oho," Fleamont chuckled. "Lily, was it? Lily…Evans?"

"The one and only, Flea." Fleamont didn't miss the wink Sirius threw James as he added, "She's looking fit, mate."

He also didn't miss the sudden clench in his son's jaw or the way he reached up to rake a hand through his hair, that life-long betrayal of his anxiety, as he fixed Sirius with a look.

"Very pretty," Fleamont concurred.

James looked at him briefly, then rolled his eyes and went back to pouring Firewhisky into the shot glasses, adding two more to the row.

Within moments, Magus started leading the girls toward the bar, and Marlene scampered up ahead, giving James a side-hug as she smiled at Fleamont and said, "Thanks for letting us crash your box, boys."

James squeezed her shoulder. "Anytime, Marly."

Fleamont smiled and asked, "How're your parents?"

Marlene pulled away from James and leaned on the counter, telling him, "They're really well, they were just saying recently they hadn't seen you and Euphie in a while."

"Yeah, I'll send 'em an owl tomorrow, we should all have dinner once you kids are back at Hogwarts."

Fleamont hadn't heard footsteps behind him, but he suddenly heard Mary's voice saying, "Hey Flea. This is our friend Lily Evans, I don't think you guys have ever met her. Lil, this is Fleamont, James's dad."

He turned, smiling, and shook Lily's hand. Up close, her eyes were a striking emerald green, and light summer freckles dusted her nose. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, whether from climbing all the stairs or the excitement of the Cup or nerves over of some variety, Fleamont couldn't tell, and he desperately wished he had paid better attention to what Euphemia had told him about this girl and her apparent lack of relationship with his son.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lily. I've heard a lot about you." There was a flicker of surprise in her face, and he immediately realized the implication of what he'd said, even if it was true. "Er, from Mary," he added.

Lily just smiled. "Pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Potter."

"Please, it's Flea. And I'd offer you a drink in my own box, but I guess my son's already got that taken care of."

Lily looked past Fleamont, toward James, and quirked her brow. He watched James smile at her, something that just turned up the corner of one side of his mouth, and push some poured shots forward as he said, his voice coming out slightly lower than normal, "You sit with us, you drink with us, Evans."

Fleamont buried his mouth behind his hand as he propped himself at the bar. Merlin and Morgana, he just witnessed James turning on his game. Or, what he thought was his game, anyway.

Lily chuckled and said dryly, "Okay, Potter."

And that was when Fleamont knew. His son was a complete and utter idiot. Because the girl he'd fancied this whole time was gorgeous, and he was obviously still pining after her, and Fleamont knew—he just knew—that if James was still relegated to pining after all this time, it was because he had somehow mucked it up. Like an idiot.

Further observation only continued to confirm this. Lily took her Firewhisky shot with the group, looking defiantly at James while she set the shot glass back on the counter without a hint of a grimace. James only smirked at her and asked, "Another?"

Lily pursed her lips, looking over the contents of the bar around James. "What do you have for mixers?"

James reached for the charmed ice bucket, pushing bottles around. "Um, honestly everything."

Lily leaned over the counter for a closer look, and Fleamont didn't miss the flicker of James's eyes toward her neckline. Yep, a total goner.

"The ginger ale and the apple cider."

James arched a brow. "Both?"

Lily nodded. "Yeah, it's version of a Mule."

That piqued Fleamont's interest. "Make that two, James."

James pulled some bottles from the ice bucket and then grabbed some glasses and a cocktail shaker from under the bar. Looking at Lily, James asked, "Ratio?"

Lily picked up the bottle of Firewhisky by the neck and set it next to the other mixers. "A third of each. And precise measurements, Potter, not that haphazard shit you get away with in class."

Fleamont chuckled. "Imprecise in Potions, eh, James? Miracle Slughorn hasn't kicked you out."

James shot him a look, and then Sirius was on Lily's other side, saying, "Miracle indeed, Flea. But compared to Evans, we're all just lowly cretins to Slughorn anyway."

A slight flush rose around Lily's neck. Fleamont angled his body toward her. "This does seem like the kind of cocktail a potioneer would think up."

She looked like she was fighting a smile as she admitted, "It's my favorite subject."

"Mine too," Fleamont told her, winking at James as he picked up the drink his son was pushing toward him. James stared at him levelly for a moment, like he was unsure how to handle his father talking to the girl he'd fancied since he was thirteen, but then he turned his attention back to Lily, who had taken her first sip and smacked her lips lightly.

"Not bad, Potter," she said, looking over her glass at him as she took another sip.

James held her gaze. "Precise enough for you?"

Lily seemed to consider James a moment, eyes narrowed. "It'll do."

From Lily's other side, Sirius jabbed, "Yes, yes, we all know Slughorn's prodigy could do it better."

Mary had reappeared next to Fleamont, saying, "Lily's the Potions whiz in our year."

"So I've heard."

The conversation devolved into stories about Slughorn for awhile, with Lily and Mary getting a kick out of Fleamont's recollections of his own Slug Club parties in his day, and then at some point Magnus joined them, appalled that they were talking about school at the Quidditch World Cup and promptly changing the subject to Muggle football. Lily laughed, turning her attention to Magnus, and immediately launched into a discussion that had Fleamont feeling like he was listening to a foreign language.

James had struck up a conversation with Mary and Sirius had drifted to look out over the pitch, where the large scoreboard was showing a countdown of ten minutes until opening ceremonies and wizards in official-looking robes were rushing around on the ground in last-minute preparation while the stands continued to surge and fill with people.

Fleamont nudged Sirius and ducked towards his ear, holding his drink in front of his mouth as he muttered, "Is my son always like this around her?"

Sirius grinned and said quietly back, "You mean completely losing his head? Since we were thirteen."

Fleamont pursed his lips, turning to observe James observe Lily. He had that wistful look again, and his eyes drifted down her body, like he was scanning her, before resettling at her face. His son was such a fucking goner.

"What's the story there?"

Sirius shrugged leaned closer to Fleamont's ear. "Dunno, they used to get along fine, but they rowed something horrible at the end of fifth year, and they just…never made up. They didn't really talk last year, and when they did it was usually prickly."

"But he still likes her?"

Sirius smirked, clapping Fleamont on the shoulder. "He'll never admit it, Flea. He's been on a mission to get over her since last fall."

Fleamont frowned. "And she doesn't like him at all?"

Sirius went quiet for a moment, then said thoughtfully, "I could never tell. She did go out with his rival last year after he started that thing with Selwyn…"

Fleamont turned his head again. Positions at the bar had shifted, and James was now making a Magnus a drink and laughing about something with Magnus and Mary. Lily leaned sideways against the bar, her own drink poised at her lips, but her eyes followed James.

Who was oblivious. Who looked a lot more at ease, whose smile was far more natural, when he didn't realize Lily was watching him. Merlin, James was such an idiot.

To be fair, Fleamont knew that he had also been an idiot at that age, but now that he was on the other side—older, wiser, and all that—and could see the tension plain as day after being in the same room with the two of them for less than an hour? He had to do something, because James obviously needed assistance. A lot of it.

They were five minutes out until start, and people started drifting toward the seats at the front of the box. Fleamont approached Lily and gestured to a seat in the front row.

"That's yours," he told her. "You're usurping James, he's been coming to these since he was five."

She smiled and thanked him, filing into the front row and sitting where directed. And then Fleamont sat next to her, and Mary filled in Lily's other side, and as he sensed people behind him, Fleamont turned over his shoulder to smile at James and Sirius as they dropped into their seats. He thought James looked rather nervous, and Sirius rather amused, which was just as well. These boys needed a lesson in How To Win A Girl Over.

And it worked. He'd known it would, but still. Fleamont couldn't ignore the swell of pride—of happiness—that hit him when James leaned forward in his seat and inserted himself into Fleamont's explanation of team mascots and World Cup traditions. Fucking finally, James was talking and acting like himself. Fleamont pulled back slightly as James and Lily bantered, doing his best to fight the smile that threatened to break across his face, jumping in only when necessary to prod their interaction along. And call it Potter pride, but when one of the Brazilian Chasers executed a perfect Finbourgh Flick, he couldn't resist making sure Lily knew that James could do that move too.

In fact, it worked better than Fleamont had dared hoped. Because then, hours later, long after the match had ended and they were back at their campfire and copious amounts of alcohol had been consumed, Fleamont looked out of the corner of his eye to watch James in animated conversation with Lily. He didn't miss how they both leaned against the log bench with James's arm draped over the back, or how Lily swatted him playfully, her hand lingering briefly against James's chest whenever she did. Nor did he miss the big smiles, the near-constant laughter, the held gazes. And when James and Lily stood up, swaying slightly and catching hands, Fleamont held his breath along with everyone else (all blatantly watching them at that point), not daring to believe his eyes when he saw James's hand stay at Lily's waist, waited through that momentary pause as they stared at each other, witnessed the start of a head tilt, James leaning down—

And then the moment was broken as Lily blanched and ran off behind the tent with her hand clamped tightly over her mouth, and Fleamont chuckled to himself as he heard Sirius not far from him swear, "Fucking hell, seriously?" under his breath. James set off after Lily, looking over at them briefly with that cheesy, drunken grin plastered on his face before he turned behind the tent to help Lily be sick.

Maybe his son wasn't such an idiot after all.

EUPHEMIA

The first time Euphemia Potter met Lily Evans was also the first time she thought her son had done the smartest thing he'd ever done in his whole life. (She'd think this again on their wedding day, of course, and it would be doubly true then.) And that was saying something, because James was a smart boy and had done a lot of smart things, but nothing—absolutely nothing—compared to falling for Lily Evans, who was, without a doubt, everything Euphemia could have dreamed James could have in a partner.

But she was getting ahead of herself.

Anticipation prickled over her skin as she stood laughing and exchanging hugs with Sirius and Mary, who had emerged with James from the Gryffindor common room to come say hello. Because now, they just needed Lily. Who should be coming back with Remus from Arithmancy any moment.

The thought sent butterflies fluttering around in her stomach. Was this how every mother felt when they were about to meet the girl their son had fancied for years? She wasn't afraid of not liking her, not really, not when she'd all but pounced on Fleamont after the World Cup and demanded a play-by-play of every moment he'd spent in the girl's presence and he'd had nothing but good things to say. She's a gem, Fleamont had chuckled. Strikingly beautiful, pleasant, very sassy with James. Honestly, I think he's intimidated by her, but he didn't see how she was looking at him when he wasn't paying attention. Euphemia had never heard of James being intimidated by anyone, so for Lily to have managed that was no small feat indeed.

Mary suddenly waved and then Sirius turned, revealing a flash of red hair approaching, and his face split into a grin as he exclaimed, "And here she is!"

The redheaded arrival was now tucked under Sirius's arm as her second son looked directly at Euphemia and said, "Euphie, I'd like you to meet a very important person: my Potions partner, the one and only Lily Evans."

Euphemia tilted her head down to take in the girl who'd left her son besotted for years and knew she was beaming. Fleamont had been right, James had been right—hell, Sirius had been right. Lily Evans was stunning, a mesmerizing combination of red hair darker than Euphemia had ever seen, eyes the color of emeralds, and a smile that seemed nervous but was no less dazzling for it. There was a hint of a flush around her cheeks, and Euphemia could practically feel the energy radiating from her, something exuberant and playful.

She knew immediately, before Lily had even taken her outstretched hand. Why James was enraptured by her. Why Dumbledore had picked her to be Head Girl. Why she was apparently Slughorn's favorite. Call it mother's intuition, or just experience in reading people, but everything in that moment—the way Lily carried herself, the way she smiled, the way she rolled her eyes at Sirius, the way Sirius had introduced her, the way James was tense at Euphemia's side—told Euphemia that if ever there was a person who could intimidate James, it was her, and if she'd ever imagined the kind of young woman James would bring home, it would be Lily Evans.

Lily shook Euphemia's hand, saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Potter."

Euphemia covered Lily's hand with her own. "Call me Euphie, everyone does. And really, the pleasure's mine, I've been wanting to meet you for ages, I've heard so much about you—"

"Mum."

It was the first time he'd spoken during this entire encounter, and though he said it scoldingly, Euphemia could hear the pleading in his voice. He'd just written her the other day to tell her that he thought he and Lily might be turning a corner in getting along, maybe even becoming friends.

Still holding Lily's hand, Euphemia turned to look at James, returning his intense do not mess this up stare with her own innocent trust me look as she said sweetly, "From Albus, darling."

She let go of Lily's hand with a pat and added, "You're the only one of Jamesie's class I've never met, I really can't believe it's taken this long. And you're exactly as Siri described."

Lily turned to give Sirius an appraising look, and Euphemia turned to the boy on Lily's other side, watching this all with amused eyes.

"Oh, and Remus!"

Euphemia pulled him into a hug, giving his back an affectionate rub, and then pulled him aside for a quiet conversation with Dumbledore, telling him of her most recent visit to see his mother. When they were done, she bid farewell to Remus, Sirius and Mary with more hugs, and then looked between Dumbledore, James, and Lily. "Shall we?"

xxx

The moment Euphemia arrived back inside Stinchcombe Park, she dropped her heels unceremoniously in the foyer and made straight for her study, where she hastily scrawled a note to James.

Darling,

I had to write you the second I got home. Lily is wonderful. I'm so impressed—I see exactly why Dumbledore picked her, and exactly why he paired the both of you together. There's just something about you two. If you really have rowed as often and as intensely as you say you have (are you sure you're not exaggerating?) then I expect it's only because you're so terribly alike.

Liking Lily as much as you and your father do,

Mum

She was just signing off the letter when Fleamont appeared in the doorway and leaned casually against the side, hands in his pockets as he asked her, "What's brought on such frantic letter writing?"

Euphemia grinned at him as she rolled up the parchment. "Lily's perfect."

Fleamont chuckled and pushed off the door frame to stride over to her desk. Euphemia called for her owl, a fluffy snowy owl she'd picked years ago for how she reminded Euphemia of winters growing up in Holland, and tied off the letter around her leg.

"To James, Athena," she said quietly. "Though he might have left for the party already."

Fleamont opened the window, and with a small hoot, Athena set off into the sky.

After closing the window, Fleamont turned to her and pulled her into a hug. "Liked her, hmm?"

Euphemia breathed him in; Fleamont always smelled slightly smoky and woodsy, like the fumes from being in his potions cottage and the air from his walk back to the house had permanently sunk into his skin. "Oh, yes," she murmured softly. "She's lovely. And so incredibly bright."

She'd gathered that from the quickness with which Lily had followed their conversation in Dumbledore's office, the connections Lily had drawn, and the understanding Euphemia had seen in her eyes as more layers had been peeled back for her, and it all only reinforced everything she'd already felt about her.

Fleamont nuzzled her ear, one arm holding her securely around her waist while his other hand drew absent circles around her back. "Not unlike someone else I know."

Euphemia chuckled as she stroked the back of his hair. "Then he has your good taste."

"Well," Fleamont murmured, leaving a kiss at her jaw, "he apparently also inherited my tendency to fall in love with a woman leaps and bounds out of my league."

She dropped her hands to his chest, pushing against him playfully. "Oh, stop. We've been hashing this for decades. I'm the one out of my league, marrying a famous potioneer."

Fleamont just chuckled, the sound like a low purr deep in his throat.

"And Lily might be out of his league," Euphemia continued as she tilted her head to give her husband better access to her neck, "but I saw how they looked at each other. Merlin, Flea, you should've seen Jamesie's face—"

Fleamont pulled his head from her neck, meeting her eyes as he smiled, one of those grins that made his eyes crinkle behind his glasses and Euphemia's knees go weak. "Oh, believe me, love, I saw plenty of how he looked at her at the Cup. Reminded me of how I used to look at you when I was a sappy seventeen-year-old, to be honest."

Euphemia smirked. "And how was that?"

Fleamont leaned forward and nudged her nose with his. "Like you were the center of my whole world and all I wanted was for you to smile at me."

She shook her head slowly, fighting a smile. "You're the sappiest sap I've ever met, you know that?"

"Yes," Fleamont chuckled. "It's why you married me."

Her responding humph was promptly cut off with a kiss, something warm and sweet and tasting like home. The damn man was so right.

xxx

When the third time Euphemia was confronted with her son's sex life involved Lily Evans, she was only surprised for a moment before she realized she'd squealed like a school girl in the Macdonalds' dining room.

Flora looked at her with an arched brow over her wine glass. "Everything alright, Euph?"

Euphemia ignored her, reread James's letter a second time, one hand over her mouth, and then she clutched the letter to her chest, looking between Flora, Magnus, and Fleamont as a grin started spreading across her face.

Fleamont's mouth quirked. "What'd he do?"

Euphemia snorted into a giggle. "He—he got caught—" She pressed a hand to her chest, taking a deep breath to try to calm her laughter so she could speak. "Pince—in the library—" Flora, Magnus, and Fleamont all watched her, varying expressions of curiosity and amusement on their faces. "With—Lily."

Fleamont's eyebrows shot up into his hair as his face split into a laughing smile, and Flora just blurted, "Lily's finally dating him?"

Euphemia handed the letter to Fleamont, whose laughter only increased as he read it for himself, and she shrugged back at Flora. "I don't know if they're dating, but they're definitely—"

Fleamont looked up from the letter and finished, "Hooking up in the library."

Flora shrieked in laughter, reaching for the letter with excited fingers, and Magnus shook his head, saying, "Damned bad luck. Remember when we were that age? Got caught by the Groundskeeper, none too pleased he was, though we might've damaged the tree—"

Flora waved him off, reading, "'Pince may have seen L while she was—well, you know?'" She looked up at Euphemia, her face incredulous. "Oh, that poor girl. I mean, she obviously enjoyed it, so good on James—"

Fleamont broke in with a "Cheers," and clinked glasses with Magnus, to which Euphemia rolled her eyes dramatically.

"—but to have a teacher see you, while you're—"

Flora cut off, but Euphemia knew what she meant. All too well. "I know," she said empathetically, "believe me. The headmaster saw me once when we were in the Astronomy Tower."

"Ugh." Flora shuddered and poured herself more wine.

Magnus had now read the letter and was shaking his head. "And being lectured by McGonagall? She's a tough bird, from what Mary says."

Euphemia nodded her agreement. "She keeps students in line, I can assure you that."

Fleamont laughed, tipping the rest of his whisky into his mouth. "Ah, fucking James. Getting caught by the librarian and then getting lectured on—what was it again? Performing public sex acts?" He shook his head. "Well, Minerva got one thing right at least, they have liked each other for ages." He nodded at Magnus. "You saw them at the World Cup."

Magnus inclined his head, pouring Fleamont another dram. "That I did. Lad looked smitten as could be. Thought they were gonna snog in front of us all."

Fleamont resettled back in his chair. "Could have cut the sexual tension between those two with a knife." He smirked and added, "Sounds like he's finally winning her over, though."

Euphemia pursed her lips as she stared at her husband. "He is so your son."

His eyes were tracking Flora's summoned parchment, quill, and ink as they floated onto the table in front of Euphemia, and then he met her eye and winked. "Remind him about the cloak, love."

FLEAMONT

The second time Fleamont Potter saw Lily Evans was also the first time he saw his son kiss a girl, and all it took was one look exchanged with Euphemia afterwards, and he knew. James was in this. Because most seventeen-year-old boys that just played a match like that wouldn't ignore their friends to go kiss a girl, and most seventeen-year-old boys probably also didn't kiss a girl like that, period. Not unless they were head-over-heels in all-consuming love.

Which, Fleamont would know. He imagined that's probably how he had looked kissing Euphemia on their wedding day after they'd said their vows, when he'd held onto her face and kissed her with everything he had and felt like they were the only people in the room even though the cheers of the crowd were like a stampede around them.

But even better than seeing the happiness on James's face when they broke apart, even better than seeing the elation and wonder in James's eyes when he talked about getting recruited with his Quidditch idol, even better than seeing the loving support of his son's friend group, was seeing evidence with his own eyes that Lily Evans was just as in it as James.

He saw it in the nervous excitement in her face as she talked to them while they waited for James to shower, all rosy cheeks and rushed breath and bright eyes. He saw it in the way she did a double-take when she noticed James walking up to them, one hand messing with his damp hair and an easy grin on his face. He saw it in the look on her face as she watched James greet Greta, like she suddenly felt sick but couldn't look away. And he saw it, over and over again in the hours that followed, in that smile. Fleamont had already seen her smile at the World Cup; it had been one of the first things he'd noticed about her, how her laughter had lit up the room. But something about this smile was different. It was softer, yet accompanied by a slight smirk and sparkling eyes, something affectionate and mischievous at the same time.

And it only came out when she was looking at James.

Who might as well have been a puddle for as sappy as his face looked. Fleamont vaguely wondered if James even knew that he'd gotten to special-smile-status, but then again, if they'd arrived at sweeping-post-match-kiss territory, he assumed James had to have an idea.

xxx

Several hours later, Fleamont rolled off of Euphemia, catching his breath as he ran a hand through his hair and opened his other arm for her to snuggle against his chest.

"Shit, Euph."

"Mmm."

He stroked his fingertips along her arm but didn't say anything, his eyes drifting closed to the sound of the enchanted piano playing softly in the distance. He was almost on the verge of sleep, lulled there by the tinkling melody and the ambience of the candles in their room, when Euphemia shifted against him and asked quietly, "Do you think she's the one?"

He didn't even have to think about his answer. "I sure as hell hope so."

She smiled softly and tilted her face up to look at him. "Remember when we were that age?"

Fleamont reached over and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Of course I do. That's when we first fell in love. I sent you on a scavenger hunt to find me for our date and I snogged you so senseless we didn't even make it to our reservation."

Euphemia chuckled but then nuzzled into his hand, her eyes becoming a little misty. "I want that for them."

He traced the line of her cheek bone with his thumb, smiling down at her. "I think they're already there, love."