A/N: Welcome! This is a 7th-year Jily fic that is mostly canon-compliant, with some OCs of my extrapolation. There's a little James/OC at the beginning, but rest assured, this is very much a Jily-centered romance! I love them with my whole heart, and we will get there (sooner rather than later - I suck at writing slow burn, ha!). Also, we get some Lily POV in Chapter 2. I originally wrote Chapters 1 & 2 as one looong chapter, but then had to split it into two. I still think they are best when read together!

I love to chat about characters, plot ideas, and all things Jily over at Tumblr - you can find me at missgryffin!

CHAPTER 1: Just Dare, But With A Charm On It

JAMES

Fireworks whistled through the sky, the thrum of revelry steady across the valley, and at the Potters' campsite, a massive bonfire crackled in front of an unassuming tent. As James' father wouldn't be arriving until the next afternoon, he and Sirius had put the word out that the Potters' campsite was the place to be the night before the Quidditch World Cup, and sure enough, a crowd of their Hogwarts classmates were mingling around the bonfire as James and Sirius passed out Butterbeers and shots of Firewhisky.

"All right, Potter?" James felt himself thumped heartily on the back and turned to see Ludo Bagman, a large grin on his boyish face.

"You bet, LB," said James, cracking open a Butterbeer from a crate and handing it to Ludo.

"Cheers." Ludo took a deep swig.

"Summer training going well?"

Ludo nodded. "Yeah, I've got some new techniques for different styles of hits. Reckon some'll be clutch for Black, he's better at those close-range shots."

James chuckled. Sirius and Ludo complemented each other so well as Beaters for precisely that reason: Ludo had more brute-force strength and could launch Bludgers halfway down the pitch, but Sirius had far better aim. "We'll have a training session when we get back to Hogwarts, yeah? You can show us?"

"Sure thing. Also, just so you know, I'll probably have scouts coming this year, they start coming to matches in year six."

"No problem. That's cool, mate."

"You know, it's not too late for you, Potter."

James cracked his own Butterbeer. "What d'you mean?"

Ludo rolled his eyes. "You could play Chaser anywhere, man. You really don't wanna go pro?"

James dragged a hand through his hair. Growing up, a professional Quidditch player had been the only thing he had ever wanted to be, but once the war had started to pick up outside school and he had studied for his O.W.L.s with Auror training in mind, that childhood dream had fallen nostalgically to the wayside.

"I dunno, LB. I mean, I always thought about it, I guess, but I haven't seriously thought about it, you know?"

Ludo tipped his Butterbeer. "Well, think about it, and fast. Scouts will be at matches anyway because I'm on their watchlist, no way they won't look into you once they see you play."

James smiled, raising his own bottle to his mouth. "We'll see how it goes, mate."

"Mac too, you know. She's loads better than some of the Seekers at camp."

That, he believed. Mary Macdonald, called "Mac" by her friends since childhood, was a superb Seeker. James took all the credit. Their parents were close friends, and he and Mary, two only children, had grown up together like non-biological twins, spending summers flying kiddy broomsticks and passing balls, pretending they were famous Quidditch players. Now they were living that dream in a way, being two dominant forces for Gryffindor, and they still spent most of their summers flying, though it was real practice now. James couldn't even begin to estimate how many small objects he'd chucked through the air for her to dive after over the years, but it was worth every sore shoulder: Mary had eyes like a hawk and had refined her diving technique so well that other Houses had all started changing their strategy to try to out-score her and force her hand in catching the Snitch while too far behind.

Too bad it hadn't worked; Benjy Fenwick was as good a Keeper as Mary was a Seeker.

Although, Benjy had also graduated, so James was now down a Keeper. Rats.

"Pretty sure she's set on Healer Training," James told Ludo.

Ludo shook his head. "Too bad. Can you imagine? The three of us playing pro together after Hogwarts? It'd be a fucking riot."

James laughed. "Yeah, it would. Hell, this year is going to be a fucking riot. We're winning this again, there's no way we're not."

"Cheers to that, Potter."

Sirius ambled over from where he had been chatting with some sixth-year girls, grabbing a fresh Butterbeer for himself. "Hey, LB. Shack coming to the match?"

Ludo shook his head. "Nah, the Shacklebolts are backpacking in the Himalayas this summer."

Sirius let out a slow whistle. "Wish I had decided to summer with him."

A light female voice said, "You and me both."

James turned to smile at Dorcas Meadowes, a stunningly pretty Spanish girl with light brown skin and naturally curly hair that settled just at her shoulder, and he opened a Butterbeer for her as he said, "Meadowes, you should've tagged along!"

She rolled her eyes. "If it was just Kingsley, I would have, but his parents weren't so keen to bring the girlfriend along on exotic family holiday."

Sirius pulled a face. "Haven't you guys been together for, like, a year?"

Dorcas gave a sly smile. "Officially more like half that, but yeah. I think it's more to do with the fact that I'm in Ravenclaw, to be honest. Omar and Anya were both Gryffindors, I think it hurts their pride a little."

James pulled Dorcas into a friendly side-hug, ruffling her hair; she had always been good friends with the Gryffindor girls, but since she'd started spending more time around the boys by virtue of Kingsley, James had developed a good rapport with her.

"They just need to come to a match and hear you commentate, and it'll be game over, Meadowes."

Dorcas laughed, patting him platonically on the chest. "Thanks, Potter. Tell Euphie to put in a good word for me, yeah?"

James smiled. His parents were friends with the Shacklebolts, as both his mum and Kingsley's dad were on the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and Dorcas and Kingsley had been to the Potters' a lot that summer, it having become the default spot among their crowd to hang out.

"You know she will, she loves you, Meadowes."

"Hey, all."

James looked around to see who was walking up to the group, his arm falling away from Dorcas, and his spine immediately stiffened. Edgar Bones and Amos Diggory, two seventh-year Hufflepuffs, and Edgar's sixth-year sister, Amelia, who was also in Hufflepuff and immediately struck up conversation with Dorcas. It had always amazed James how all the sixth-years girls, across Houses, seemed to be friends; the seventh-year girls, not quite as much.

"Easy, Prongs," Sirius muttered under his breath, and James tried to relax his shoulders, adopt an air of indifference. He had no reason to dislike Edgar. He had always liked him before, respected him even, and in fifth year they had actually become more like friends, having been paired together in Herbology due to Professor Sprout's determination to keep the Marauders apart in class. Edgar was nothing but nice, the natural Hufflepuff leader, a serious student and a solid Keeper. James had always thought of Edgar as sort of like a more goodie-two-shoes version of himself, to be honest. But last year, Edgar had done something James had never seen coming: he started dating Lily Evans.

James knew he had no claim to her whatsoever, but it had stung just the same. It was no secret he had fancied Lily for years, but as he had mostly been an annoying, attention-seeking git when he was younger, he imagined that many people might not realize how genuine his feelings for her had been. Still were? He couldn't be sure. After the events by the lake after their fifth year exams, they had rowed explosively in the Gryffindor common room (Sirius still swore he had felt the floor quake), and James had reluctantly accepted that Lily would probably never forgive him, and that any semblance of House camaraderie they had was gone.

They hadn't spoken all of sixth year. James had devoted himself to getting over his childhood crush on Lily Evans and had determinedly avoided her, which had been relatively easy given that she spent most of her free time away from the Gryffindor common room. But between their shared friends and the cesspool of gossip that was Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he still knew everyone she was linked to, every bloke who was pursuing her, and who she actually went out with. Most of those boys were easy for him to write off in his mind, though he still felt annoying pangs of jealousy at every name, but Edgar had been different. Edgar had been worse. Because he hadn't turned out to be just a month-or-two fling with a couple Hogsmeade Saturdays—he had become her first real, bona fide boyfriend. They had become one of Hogwarts' golden couples, two of the star sixth years, both prefects, making a pair of beauty and brains. James had overheard more than one conversation speculating Edgar and Lily would be named Head Boy and Girl together, which speculation was usually followed by wishes for a dramatic graduation proposal and beautiful, brainy babies.

It all made James rather sick, not least because he never could see how Lily—whose personality was like fire incarnate—and Edgar—all reserved politeness, goody-goody in every way—were compatible as a couple. Something had always just seemed off there to James, like something had to be missing. But he'd tried not to focus on it, because it didn't matter and he was over her anyway, and though he knew he had been frostier to Edgar once he'd started dating Lily, deep down James couldn't blame Edgar one bit for falling for her.

"Potter! Black!" Amos greeted them genially, his cheeks ruddy from the bonfire and, possibly, from a good dose of Firewhisky already.

Edgar, as tall as James but stockier, with clipped brown hair and a boyish handsomeness, nodded at them both but then met James' eye. "Thanks for having everyone, Potter."

James smiled and handed him a Butterbeer. "You'll be cheering for Scotland then, yeah?"

Edgar grinned as he accepted the drink. "Absolutely. No way they'll lose, they have Stewart and Murray."

"Plus the Brazil seeker hasn't been right since that accident in the semis."

Edgar nodded fervently. "Sousa being iffy puts them at a huge disadvantage."

"Oi!" James heard the voice of their friend Marlene McKinnon shout from behind the Hufflepuffs, "you boys going to chat all day, or can the rest of us get some drinks?"

With a smile and a "Cheers, Potter!" Edger drifted off with his friends.

And then she was there, right in front of him: Lily Evans, the absolute last person he had expected to see at his family's tent the night before the Quidditch World Cup. She wore a simple playsuit in solid Scottish blue, its thin straps baring porcelain shoulders James had never seen, and a playful headband, like a thin scarf, was tied off on the top of her head. She had never worn anything remotely like that at school. Her thick blood-red hair seemed longer, falling in loose waves down over her chest, and with a lurch, James noticed one strand was caught at her neckline, laying over swelled curves that he'd only ever vaguely been aware of under layers of button-downs and wool jumpers. His stomach gave an odd swooping sensation that seemed to spread through him as the flickering light from the bonfire illuminated her skin and made her emerald eyes glimmer. She was radiant.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking James from his trance.

"Alright, Evans?" He hadn't been in this close of proximity to Lily Evans in a long time, and he felt clumsy, like he had to relearn how to act around her.

Her expression was unreadable as she shrugged and said, "Fine, Potter," while accepting a Butterbeer from Sirius.

Next to Lily, Marlene stood in high-waisted shorts and a summery blouse that was just slightly too prim for a World Cup party, but that was Marlene. Her glossy chestnut hair was set in her usual styled curls and held back with a playful scarf like Lily's, and she observed James with her delicate features arranged in her signature impish expression.

"Now, now, play nice, children," she scolded mockingly, throwing Lily and James a knowing look.

Sirius pushed a Butterbeer into Marlene's hands. "We're always nice around here, Marly. How's our boyfriend? You've probably talked to him more recently than me."

Marlene's face clouded for a moment. "Not feeling very well this week. His mum's not doing that well, either."

James met Sirius's eye briefly. It was almost the Full Moon, but Marlene didn't know the particular detail of Remus's lycanthropy, even though they had been an item since their fourth year—a rare longevity for a Hogwarts couple. Rather, the story the school (and Marlene) knew was that Remus suffered a mysterious illness that frequently caused him to have spells of fatigue so intense that he would be bedridden for a few days. Sadly, Remus's mother had also been sick for a few years, and James and Sirius had seen very little of their friend that summer as he spent as much time with her as he could.

Sirius looped an arm around Marlene, squeezing her shoulder. "Cheer up, Marly, Reme wouldn't want long faces at our party on his account."

Marlene threw Sirius a rueful smile as Mary came up behind Lily, putting her hands over Lily's eyes and tackling her from behind. Lily burst into half-annoyed giggles, and James's stomach fluttered at the sound, his eyes immediately going to Lily's smile as she accepted a playful embrace from Mary.

"Oho," Sirius bellowed, "and the life of the par-tay est arriveé!"

"You speaking in rhymes now, Black?" Mary asked cheekily, accepting a Butterbeer from James. She was tall and willowy, nearly the boys' height, and her long black hair, usually pulled back in a tight ponytail, fell pin-straight around her shoulders, the flickering light from bonfire casting shadows across the sharp angles of her face. Like Sirius, Mary had an air of aristocratic elegance, a regal beauty that commanded attention; she was also from a longstanding pureblood family, although hers was native to the Scottish Highlands, their family's estate not far from Hogwarts. James had secretly always wondered if Sirius and Mary shared an ancestor in their complex web of family trees, because they were like two sides to the same coin.

"Ouais," said a throaty voice by Mary, "let's get this party started—pour me a Firewhisky, Black."

Sirius let out a low whistle. "Damn, Dahl, you came to play."

James's eyes locked on hazel ones like his own, and he smiled reflexively, cocking an eyebrow. Dahlia Fleur-Peri was a petite girl, but she was half-French and held her liquor better than any of them. Effortlessly posh, she was wearing a casual linen dress that flattered her small frame and showed off a faint tan from spending the summer thus far in the south of France. James's favorite feature of Dahlia's was her hair: white blonde and naturally thick and curly in a tousled sort of way, she wore it cut just above her chin, the effect being a voluminous bob that gave an edginess to her dainty features. Dahlia gave him a coy smile and a wink before accepting her drink from Sirius and turning to talk with the girls.

They had been an item during sixth year, he and Dahlia, but she had called it off at the end of the school year before heading to summer in France. James hadn't even been disappointed, knowing their arrangement was bound to come to an end at some point—because arrangement was probably a more accurate word to describe them than relationship.

He had always found Dahlia attractive in a pixyish sort of way. On any other girl, her dainty figure may have looked frail, but Dahlia, with her elfish grin and her powerful singing voice, had a robustness about her. As two of the eight Gryffindors in their year, they had always been friendly, but that had taken a turn last year after the match against Ravenclaw. It had been a bittersweet day for James, winning gloriously before learning that Lily had ditched Ravenclaw's best Chaser only to go out with Edgar. He had gotten good and thoroughly drunk alongside Dahlia, who was also out of sorts from, as James would later learn, breaking up with the Ravenclaw Seeker, Bertrand Aubrey. At some point, realizing they were in desperate need of some food, they had stumbled down to the kitchens for a late-night nosh and found themselves in an empty classroom on their way back. McGonagall had busted them on her patrol, thankfully before their position had become too compromising, but from then on, he and Dahlia began sneaking off together, finding a new attraction in each other and both eager for the distraction.

But what had surprised James the most was what grew from those private moments with Dahlia and overflowed into their daily routine: a friendship just as deep as what he had with his mates. Dahlia knew him, knew his moods, knew his habits. She knew when to leave him to his friends and when to come find him, knew how to tease him and how to console him. James had found himself confiding in her, and she in him, and he knew that he could trust her completely, that she kept his confidence and, unlike other girls in the school he had been involved with before, she kept the details of what happened between them to herself. It was part of her allure. For all her easy laughter and general popularity with everyone, there was a mysteriousness about Dahlia that also shrouded their relationship to the endlessly prying eyes of the student body. They had put a label on it, a united front against the gossip, but the world "girlfriend" always felt a bit strange when he said it aloud. He felt effortless friendship with Dahlia, felt attraction, even desire, but he never felt longing. He had never had a crush on her, never felt nervous excitement when he saw her, never daydreamed about their future.

No, the only girl for whom he had ever felt like that was out of reach—permanently. Lily Evans hated him, her usual good-natured annoyance flaring to disgust after that day by the lake. James knew he had taken it too far, knew he should have refrained from yanking Snape through the air and humiliating him like he had, but he couldn't take it back now. Besides, Snape had grown even more slimy since then, hanging out with a group of Slytherins becoming increasingly obsessed with rotten so-called blood purity ideals in revolting worship of Lord Voldemort. No, James wasn't sorry, not truly; Snape deserved what he got.

He only wished Lily could see that too.

That, and maybe forgive him for being an annoying git when he was fifteen. And maybe notice he had grown up some. And maybe be as friendly to him as she was to everyone else.

And then maybe ditch Edgar and go out with him.

He watched Lily, standing in conversation with Marlene, Mary and Dahlia. At a word from Mary, she threw her head back in laughter, her hair catching the flickering light from the bonfire, making her look ablaze as her hair swished around her.

James started at Sirius' hand clapping his back.

"You stare at her any harder and I think your eyes might just fall out of your head."

James chuckled, lowering his eyes to open another Butterbeer crate.

"Or Bones will come over here and start acting all possessive."

James glanced over to where the Hufflepuffs had sat on one of the log benches in front of the fire, then looked back to the girls, noticing Lily had shifted to stand with her back to them.

Odd.

"Padfoot, something seem off to you there?" James asked quietly.

He saw Sirius' eyes narrow as he surveyed the crowd, but then Sirius shook his head.

"You're overthinking, Prongs."

Sirius handed him a shot of Firewhisky, and, thinking Sirius was probably right, James took it.

The party thrummed on into the night. James was sitting on a log next to Dahlia, palms behind him, legs spread out in front of him, Mary on his other side. Sneaking a glance over the fire, he saw Lily in animated conversation with Marlene and Dorcas, but noticed that the Hufflepuffs were grouped several paces away. Odd again. Edgar was usually the hovering, protective type. Maybe they had been together long enough now that he was getting over that. James forced his eyes off of Lily and turned back to Mary, who was looking at him expectantly.

"Hmm?"

Flicking her eyes in Lily's direction, she gave him a knowing look. James ignored her, clearing his throat as he asked, "What were you saying, Mac?" Mary also knew how to read James, especially when it came to Lily, but he couldn't keep himself distracted with her prying.

She swatted him, accepting the deflection. "I was saying that our dads are going to have a right 'ole time tomorrow without Euphie and Flora there to supervise them."

James smiled. The Potters, Macdonalds, and Macmillans had shared a box at the Quidditch World Cup since James and Mary were young; he remembered spying with her through the tent opening on their parents' raucous parties while they were meant to be were fast asleep. This year, having more than enough World Cups to look back on, his mother had eagerly given Sirius her ticket, shooing them out the door with the incantation for the tent and a magicked backpack stuffed with provisions and alcohol.

"Flora's not coming either?"

Mary shook her head. "She found out Euphie wasn't going, that's why Dahl's here, she gave Dahl her ticket. I'm pretty sure they're going for a day of shopping in London."

"Sounds like my kind of witches," Dahlia chimed.

"You should have seen Magnus today," Mary continued. "He kept bringing up old stories and talking about the match. I'm honestly surprised he didn't go pick up Flea and crash our party tonight."

James chuckled. Just then, something glowing in the air caught his eye.

"Is that—"

His question was answered as the glowing object, an enchanted Butterbeer bottle, came to a floating stop directly in front of Mary's face. "Black!" she bellowed. "I assume this is your doing."

Sirius grinned lazily from where he lounged against one of the log benches next to Ludo. "I may have started the game, but that's not my dare, love."

Mary surveilled the clumps of people around the fire before taking hold of the bottle, its glow changing to a bright red. James and Sirius had come up with the game last year, combining "spin the bottle" and "truth or dare" with a couple of different charms to invent a version whereby the person who "spun" the enchanted bottle got to assign a dare to the person whom the bottle chose, and once that person touched the bottle, they would not be able to release it, even as it grew hot in their hand, until the dare was complete. ("So it's Dare, Sirius," Mary had said dryly when he had explained it to her like he had just discovered Christmas morning. "It's just Dare but with a charm on it."). To her chagrin, the game had been an instant hit, spreading like wildfire through Hogwarts, to the point where it was not wholly uncommon to see a floating bottle or glass coming at you in the common room, the Great Hall, or even in class, if someone was sneaky enough, which James and his friends usually were.

Marlene's voice piped up from her perch by Lily. "Mac, I dare you to chug that bottle you just opened."

"Aw," cried Sirius, "too easy!"

Smiling, Mac got down on one knee and, holding the enchanted bottle up over her head, proceeded to down the full bottle of Butterbeer in her other hand. She threw the empty bottle into the fire, to the laughter and cheers of their friends, and then the enchanted bottle turned back to a soft, glowing yellow light as Mary released it with a flicking motion, making it spin in the air and sending it to float to its next victim.

On par with the rising noise level of the whole valley, the party's revelry increased as the game went on, with Dorcas impersonating a hippogriff, complete with an incredibly accurate squawk, followed by Ludo doing his best lip sync and choreographed dance moves to a wizarding boy band's hit song, and Lily bestowing a chaste yet lingering kiss on Marlene, leaving an incredulous Ludo clapping and eating his words after being convinced she wouldn't do it. James had seen Lily kiss other boys before, and the experience had never been pleasant, but he found that watching her kiss Marlene didn't stir his jealousy the same way; if anything, he felt almost aroused, wanting more than anything to know what it would be like to be Marlene just then.

Lily and Marlene were both overcome with a fit of giggles as they hugged afterward, and with a quick sweep of his eyes around the bonfire, James noticed that at some point, the Hufflepuffs had snuck away. It was fitting, really. A game of Dare wasn't really their cup of tea. Would Lily tell Edgar about her dare? Did Edgar like this playful side of her? Did Edgar ever even see this playful side of her?

Lily then dared Sirius to do cartwheels in a loop around the bonfire, an exercise that ended up looking like ridiculous, lopsided hopping considering his state of inebriation, and that sent him retching into the bushes, to everyone's howling laughter. James casually slung his arm over Dahlia's shoulders as he leaned down to murmur an inside joke in her ear, which turned into laughing at their private commentary over Sirius' cartwheel attempts. Having rinsed his mouth with Firewhisky, Sirius sauntered back into the circle and released the bewitched bottle spinning into the air. It floated toward James, coming to a hover in front of his face. His left arm still loosely draped around Dahlia, his fit of laughter over Sirius still lingering, he dropped the near-empty bottle he held in his right hand and grabbed the bewitched bottle, holding it out toward Sirius in a salute.

The wicked smile on Sirius' face immediately increased James' suspicion. Sirius waited a moment, playing up the suspense, before saying, "You know, Jamesie, I don't know if you know how to snog."

Everyone immediately sniggered; this was a lie, of course. James had snogged his fair few of girls in public, many the result of participating in plenty of bewitched games of spin the bottle over the years.

"I mean, I've never seen you snog anyone." Another lie. Sirius had just caught him in a very thorough snog by the rosebushes at one of their parties at the Potters' just a week before.

His friend was obviously playing with him, but to what end remained to be seen.

"So I dare you to snog Dahl right here, right now, and show us what you got."

Oh. To that end. James stiffened, an uncomfortable heat swirling in his stomach. The bastard. Despite labeling themselves as a couple last year, James and Dahlia had never actually been spotted kissing in public at school, and outside of casual gestures that looked more friendly than anything, they rarely showed any public affection. By unspoken word, they had kept their physical relationship entirely behind closed doors, which Sirius knew. Now, gathered around the bonfire, James really didn't care what Sirius saw, or even any of the others, for that matter—except for Lily. He forced himself not to look at her, tried to push thoughts of her from his mind. She was with Edgar; it didn't matter. But some nagging feeling in his stomach made him feel like it did matter, though he couldn't explain why he felt that.

"You sly, dirty dog," Dahlia said, shaking her head at Sirius as a smile played on her lips.

James felt the bewitched bottle start to burn in his hand, the charm locking him in to complete the dare. He looked down at Dahlia, feeling everyone's eyes on them, faintly hearing their cat-calls, and raised his brow in an unspoken question.

She smiled and whispered, "Give 'em a show, Jamesie." Still holding her own drink in her left hand, she snaked her right hand up to James' neck, pulling him down towards her. He leaned down to meet her halfway, but paused teasingly right before their lips met, hearing the crowd egging them on. He kissed her gently at first, her lips soft and hot with Firewhisky, and then he lifted his hand from where it dangled over her shoulder, burying his fingers in her hair and cradling her head against his palm as he deepened the kiss. Ever a performer, Dahlia let her drink slip deliberately out of her grasp and clatter to the ground as she turned her body toward him and brought both of her hands up to rake through James' hair, gripping his neck tightly as they increased their intensity. Then, just as suddenly, Dahlia stilled, her teeth pulling gently on James' lower lip, making his spine tingle.

Sirius let out a long, low whistle, breaking the moment, and James and Dahlia pulled apart, their classmates whooping in the background. Dahlia mimed a sweeping bow as she teased, "And there you have it, Sirius Black! Proof James Potter does indeed know how to snog!"

The bewitched bottle no longer burning, James released it, sending it to float to its next victim. Meeting Sirius' eye, he sent his friend a wink, to which Sirius just continued shaking his head in faux disbelief over James' performance of his dare.

James looked back into the bonfire, not wanting to look around the crowd—not wanting to see Lily. The nagging, swirling feeling in his stomach had materialized into coherent thought: he felt strangely guilty, like he was flaunting Dahlia in her face, when that couldn't be further from the truth, and when it didn't matter anyway.

He felt a hand on his knee and bent his head toward Dahlia. Her breath hot in his ear, she murmured, "Is now a good time to tell you I haven't got any knickers on?"

James' breath hitched, his spine gone rigid. He looked at her with wide eyes.

"You wouldn't."

She only gave him a penetrating look, the firelight dancing across her face, her lips still slightly swollen from their kiss.

James swore under his breath, the distraction working, desire starting to pulse steadily inside him. "You bloody minx."

xxx

James blinked his eyes open slowly, the blurry room in front of him unfamiliar. A dull ache was emanating from the back of his head, his whole body feeling sore as he shifted onto his back. The ceiling above him was an enchanted morning sky with three Quidditch hoops in the distance; a special touch by his father when he got this tent years ago specially for the Quidditch World Cup.

The tent. Memories of the night before came back to him in flashes. The bonfire, the party, the dare…the forest.

James took a deep breath, going over the night more thoroughly in his mind. Sitting with Dahlia by the fire, her whisper hot in his ear. Later, when the fire was burning low and the crowd was slowly starting to dwindle, sneaking one-by-one into the Potters' tent and out the back, bringing only a blanket and bottle of Firewhisky into the woods behind the campsite. The pitch darkness of the forest, the moon's light blocked by the thickness of the trees. Dahlia in his lap, good as her word, the blanket draped over her shoulders, falling like a cape around them as they stroked each other slowly, deliberately, getting reacquainted with one another before Dahlia straddled him, his whole body pulsing as she swiveled against him, her hands buried in his hair while he traced circles on her hips with his thumbs. They had kissed hard as they finished, stifling themselves from crying out, and James could still feel her fingers digging into his scalp, his own hands gripping her hips so intensely he thought her bones might snap in his grasp. After, they had sat side-by-side against the tree trunk, talking and passing the bottle of Firewhisky, for what felt like hours before stumbling back to the tent.

James ran a hand over his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Then that must mean…turning to look over his shoulder, he saw her, curled on her side, her thick blond hair askew.

Feeling his eyes on her, she opened hers blearily. "Morning already?"

James chuckled and propped himself on an elbow. "'Fraid so."

Dahlia sighed and stretched, reaching her arms above her head and holding her elbows. James took in her smudged eyes, her swollen lips, the stretch of her pale skin over delicate collarbones, the curve of her small chest, just barely covered by the blanket. She was a beautiful sight—there was no denying it—and he was already aroused from remembering the night before. He didn't even think, just gave in, scooping her in his arms and rolling on top of her, her shoulder blades sharp against his hands, her skin deliciously warm. Her response was automatic, wrapping her legs around his waist, pressing hot kisses to his throat, pulling him into her. Unlike the night before, he didn't waste any time. He needed more of her, more release, more escape, and he moved against her impatiently, hungrily, as he nibbled on her ear and let his teeth scrape against her jaw.

"Fuck, James!" Dahlia's nails clawed at his back, her own movements equally impatient against his hips. They knew each other too well by this point, knew exactly what they each needed, and while they would sometimes ignore it for the sake of prolonging the fun, this wasn't one of those times; he gave it to her, locking into the angle she liked, murmuring dirty nothings in her ear. It didn't take long until he felt her contract around him, heard her cry out his name as she arched and clutched him, and then she was giving it back to him, meeting his rhythm as he sped up his pace, pounding into her now, desperate for his own end, and with a final trace of her finger down his spine, he met it, blood thundering in his ears as he went over the edge and collapsed against her.

"OI!" A loud knock echoed against the door. James groaned, burying his face in Dahlia's pillow, as Sirius banged on the door once more for good measure and shouted, "Adult arrival is scheduled for…ehh, right about now, so if you're done making a bloody racket, put some damn clothes on and get out here."

Dahlia giggled underneath him. "We totally forgot to silence the door last night."

James spoke into the pillow, his voice muffled. "Serves him right for giving me that dare."

She chuckled softly, stroking his hair. "We probably should get up, James."

He sighed, knowing she was right, and pulled out of her, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes. She propped herself up on an elbow, looking down at him.

"You okay?"

The decision had appeared, solidified in his mind, like it had quietly been setting down roots in his consciousness without his realizing it. She was looking at him appraisingly, and they had done enough together by that point that James knew he could be open with her.

"You know I like this—with you. But I—I don't know if I want to, you know. Get back together. Officially."

She didn't appear phased. "Do you want to keep doing this? Casually?"

James hesitated. Part of him obviously did, but the other part, the part that had gotten used to not being tied to her, told him that was probably a bad idea.

"Maybe. Can we just…see how it goes? At school?"

She smiled, then raised a hand to ruffle his hair.

"Of course."

He smiled back. "Still friends?"

She swatted him, then slid out of the bed and headed for the ensuite. "Don't even insult me by asking that, Jamesie. You know you're one of my best friends now, there's no undoing that."

James grinned, leaning back against the pillows with his hands folded behind his head. "Glad to hear it, Dahl, because you're one of my best friends, too."

She flashed him her elfish grin, then said, "I'm also your only best friend you can turn to if you just need a good shag," and disappeared behind the ensuite door.

Really, she made a great point.

Hearing Dahlia turn on the shower, James forced himself out of bed and threw on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt before leaving his room, making his way down the hall and toward the joint kitchen and living space of the interior of the tent. As he stepped through the doorway, he saw Mary and Sirius cut off their conversation, both turning to look at him from where they sat on opposite ends of the giant L-shaped sofa. Sirius was closer to him, arm casually slung over the back of the cushions, looking over his shoulder at James with a sly grin on his face. Mary wasn't looking quite as awake, her eyes bleary and her long hair, pin straight the night before, now rumpled from sleep. She glared at him as she blew at the steaming mug in her hands.

"Mac, why are you looking at me like that?"

She grabbed a pillow next to her and chucked it at him. "Because my bloody alarm clock this morning was the sounds of you shagging." She added under her breath, "As if I ever needed to know you made noises like that."

He grinned sheepishly, tossing the pillow back toward her, and then his eyes fell on the grandfather clock against the wall behind her. That bastard.

Hands set on his hips, he looked pointedly at Sirius, who was still grinning like a lunatic.

"Adult arrival is right about now, eh? Try more like in about three hours."

Sirius laughed, throwing another pillow hard at James' stomach. "Well I wasn't about to listen to that racket all morning."

James rolled his eyes and smothered Sirius good-naturedly with the pillow before walking back toward the kitchen area and pulling pans out to make breakfast.

xxx

Fleamont and Magnus arrived an hour ahead of schedule, too excited to wait until after lunch. James, Sirius, Mary, and Dahlia were all gathered around the kitchen island when the two men barged through the front door, sweaty from the trek from the check-in stations ("Blast their protective enchantments, making old geezers like us actually walk!") but alight with excitement ("Just like the weather in Cairo twenty years ago, innit?").

James grinned and pulled two more Butterbeers out of the charmed ice bucket, cracking them open by hand and leaving them on the counter. There were hugs all around, and then Fleamont conjured some more barstools, sitting at the counter by James. They were nearly even heights now, though Fleamont was slightly taller. James was a spitting image of his father, though he thought his personality was pretty evenly balanced between both his parents. Fleamont had once had the same untidy black hair as James, but it was now handsomely flecked with gray, matching the salt-and-pepper stubble he wore on his face, a perpetual five o'clock shadow that lent him a casual air. He and James also had the same high cheekbones, easy smile, and faint dimples, though Fleamont's eyes were a dark liquid brown where James's were his mother's hazel, and Fleamont's horn-rimmed glasses were tortoise shell, whereas James's were solid black.

Magnus, on the other hand, looked nothing like his daughter, though they shared the same tall, willowy frame. But whereas Mary had hawklike features and shiny onyx hair, Magnus was freckled and ginger, his hair starting to thin near his crown. Magnus also had a boyish ruddiness to him that Mary plainly had not inherited but that somehow translated to her often bawdy sense of humor.

"How was the party last night? Flea and I thought about crashing."

Mary smiled at James. "Told you."

"Party was great," Sirius chimed. "Lot of people here this year."

Fleamont looked between James and Sirius. "Tent still comfortable? Need any upgrades?"

Sirius clinked his bottle with Fleamont's. "James needs soundproof walls, Flea."

James laughed with everyone and didn't miss the wink Fleamont shot him, nor how Fleamont then tipped his bottle toward Dahlia, who tipped hers back, though her cheeks were a bit pink.

Last year, when Dahlia had been at his house for a few days leading up to the Potters' annual Christmas Eve party, his parents had each walked in on them on separate occasions. His dad had seen them first, finding them tangled on a chaise in the library when he had come up to the house from his potions cottage to grab a book. James had never been more grateful that they hadn't taken the time to undress, just unzipping James' fly and pushing up Dahlia's sweater dress. He had been alerted to Fleamont's presence by the sudden screech of the library door swinging open, followed by a "Ho!" He and Dahlia had both froze, and Fleamont had laughed, holding his hand up to his face and making for a far bookshelf while he said, "Okay, pause, freeze, I'm not looking, and I would say I'd come back but I really just need this one book for something that's brewing right now, and then I'm outta here." On his way out the door moments later, he had added over his shoulder, "I was never here, except if you ruin your mother's chaise, then I'm throwing you to the wolves." James had chuckled, heard the click of the door locking, and he and Dahlia had resumed their tryst.

James's parents had always been relaxed about most things, and they put it down to being older when they had him. His mother would say that she had seen enough of the drama of the world to think that they should all just be enjoying the fun even more, and his father would say that someday, he would tell James about everything he had gotten up to at Hogwarts, but he didn't feel he could be called a parent if he indulged such irresponsible information before graduation—though he had entrusted their family's invisibility cloak to James when he was only eleven. No, the only thing his parents were strict about were grades. They tut-tutted at the detentions, rolled their eyes at the girls, gave two hoots about partying—but only if the grades were top-notch. Which, being a smart kid in more ways than one, James generally made sure they were.

Over the past year, he had become especially grateful his parents were so easy going about girls—and about James having sex with said girls—and even though it was gross to think about (them being his parents), he thought it was in large part to their still being so in love. They had been together since Hogwarts and had never wavered in their romance; when he walked the quiet halls of the house at night, James still heard the piano playing distantly from where its room was connected to their quarters, and they generally lived in such open affection that James knew it had molded what he thought an end-game relationship should be.

They all passed the afternoon chatting and playing drinking games, pausing long enough to grill up some late lunch over the fire outside, and then as soon as the sun started to set, they joined the throng of people walking to the pitch.

Fleamont walked in step with James, and they fell a little ways behind Sirius and Dahlia, who were walking alongside Mary and Magnus.

"You and Dahlia back on?" Fleamont asked quietly.

"Nah, we're not—just got caught up in the party last night, I guess."

"You okay with that?"

"Yeah. We're good friends."

"Good friends who need soundproof walls?" Fleamont gave him an all-too knowing look.

James shrugged, trying to think of how to describe it without flat-out saying that he and Dahlia had somehow managed to have great sex without romantic attachment. "Would it make sense if I said our relationship was basically just monogamous friends with benefits?"

Fleamont threw his head back in laughter, causing some of the others to look back curiously.

"Yes, James," he chuckled, clapping James on the shoulder. "Ah, that's good. And it does make sense when you put it like that. But maybe don't repeat that to your mother."

xxx

They were just settling into the box, James setting up a row of shot glasses at the stocked bar in the back, when the unthinkable happened: Marlene McKinnon burst through the door ("SURPRISE!") followed by Lily Evans.

Mary was shrieking, running to hug her friends. "WHAT? HOW? This is amazing!"

James met Sirius's stunned face across the bar counter, then turned back to look at the girls. Marlene was waving her ticket at Mary and rattling, "Macmillans gave my parents their tickets, but my parents gave them to me and Lil because she's never been, and we didn't even know they were the Macmillans' tickets until today when we were actually looking at them to see where our seats were, and we put it all together, so then I knew we'd be surprising you, and I'm just so excited!"

Magnus wandered over to Mary ("Hiya, lassies!"), clearly having met Marlene and Lily before, and Fleamont sidled up by Sirius at the bar counter.

"Who's that with Marly?"

Sirius' grin was far too wide for James' liking. His friend leaned back over his shoulder and told Fleamont, "The girl our Jamesie's been in love with since we were thirteen."

"Wanna say that a little louder, Pads?"

Sirius just waggled his eyebrows at him.

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

"The one and only, Flea." Sirius winked at James, adding, "She's looking fit, mate."

"Very pretty," Fleamont concurred.

James rolled his eyes and went back to pouring Firewhisky into the shot glasses, adding two more to the row. Lily was looking fit, and exceptionally pretty. She was wearing high waisted denim shorts that were more of a cornflower blue color, and though he had seen her in that playsuit the night before, it hadn't prepared him for another continued assault of seeing her legs—milky pale, toned—and since the playsuit had been loose in the back, it definitely hadn't prepared him for the way those shorts fit perfectly over her bum—round, perky—and gaped slightly at her waist, making him think instantly of sliding a hand into those crevices. On top, she had on a summery white blouse, and James didn't feel prepared for what met him there either: a wide stretch of exposed collarbone, the mere hint of curves he now fully appreciated were there, a cinch at her waist telling him exactly where he could circle his hands and pull her against him. Unlike the night before, her hair was tied back in an intricate plait, no doubt an invention of Marlene, something loosely knotted around the back and then twisted into a thick braid that hung over her shoulder, and even that was a sight he was unprepared for, because though she had often worn her hair in plaits at school, this was some sexy new creation that highlighted the way her blouse scooped low in the back, showing just the tops of shoulder blades.

It was only because it was summer. That was why he was noticing these things. Because they were rational things to notice when a girl wore substantially less clothing on a hot summer's eve than she did in a chilled castle in Northern Scotland for the rest of the year. Not that he hadn't seen Lily in shorts before—he had, on those rare June days at the end of terms when the sun warmed the grounds and everyone lazed about, dipping legs and feet into the lake, and he had fully admired them. But something about them—about her—wasn't the same. She was more somehow. More grown into her body. More at ease. More of a…woman.

Okay, he was cutting himself off. That was far too much like something Euphemia would say.

Magnus was leading the girls toward the bar, and Marlene broke from their group to scamper up to James, giving him a side-hug as she said, both to him and Fleamont, "Thanks for letting us crash your box, boys."

James gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Anytime, Marly."

Fleamont asked, "How're your parents?"

Marlene pulled away from James and leaned on the counter, telling Fleamont, "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."

"Hey Flea," Mary said, coming up behind him. "This is our friend Lily Evans, I don't think you guys have ever met her. Lil, this is Fleamont, James's dad."

James stopped pouring shots, stomach clenching in a knot, and watched his dad turn around, smiling, to shake Lily's hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lily. I've heard a lot about you." He must have picked up on the awkward momentary silence around them because he quickly added, "Er, from Mary."

Lily took it in stride, smiling back at him. "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 up at him, meeting his eye, and quirked her brow. James smiled, pushing a few poured shots forwards. "You sit with us, you drink with us, Evans."

She chuckled—chuckled—and said, "Okay, Potter."

James initially put her agreeableness down to her being in the presence of not just their friends but also two parents, yet he couldn't help but notice that she again seemed more laid back than he'd ever seen her. She took her Firewhisky shot with the group after Fleamont and Magnus had done their traditional pre-match toast; she instructed James through making a cocktail for her of Firewhisky, ginger ale, and cold apple cider, which he had never before thought to combine and which piqued Fleamont's interest, leading to a conversation about how Potions was one of Lily's best subjects; and she humored Magnus in talking about football at length ("Da's just as obsessed with Muggle sports as he is bloody Quidditch," Mary grumbled).

When it was nearly time for the match to start, Fleamont directed her to sit in James's usual seat in the front row of the box ("You're usurping James, he's been coming to these since he was five"), and then, to James's mingled amusement and horror, his dad sat next to her. James dropped into the seat behind them, Sirius at his side, where he could hear all of their conversation. Fleamont commentated the pre-match mascot performances and told her relevant pieces of background of the teams, at which point James leaned forward and interjected his own fun facts.

"D'you know," she said over her shoulder, "you're a bloody liar, Potter."

James was confused. "Er, what?"

Fleamont gave Lily a sideways look, brow arched in curiosity.

"You told the whole school you failed History of Magic—"

"I did fail History of Magic—"

(Thankfully, as he had gotten five other O.W.L.s and his parents also had found Binns an utter bore, they hadn't cared as much as he'd expected.)

"—because you said history was boring and useless, yet you just now rattled off three—three!—obscure historical things about bloody Quidditch."

"Well, I—"

"You're a shit liar, Potter—"

"I am not—"

"Just completely gave yourself away for what you really are—"

"And what's that, Evans?"

"A closet encyclopedia—"

"Only for Quidditch—"

"Sure, Potter."

Fleamont interjected, "Ask him how many times he's read Quidditch Through the Ages."

Lily turned to look at him, her green eyes piercing. "How many times have you read Quidditch Through the Ages?"

James chewed his cheek, staring her down, unsure when his father's loyalty had flipped to a girl he just met over his only child. "Don't know."

"How convenient."

"I have it all memorized."

Fleamont leaned toward Lily and said in a faux whisper, "He collects special edition copies."

Lily's eyebrows went high on her forehead. "So he does know how to read."

"I'm taking that as a compliment, Evans."

She turned back to face front, muttering something under her breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Bloody insufferable prat."

Fleamont was smiling, eyes on the pitch.

As the match went on, they proved to be a lively bunch, no doubt helped along by James, Sirius, and Magnus taking turns to keep everyone's drinks refilled. Fleamont passed Lily his Omnioculars, fiddling with the dial and telling her, "Rewatch this move Brazil just did—it's called a Finbourgh Flick, bloody difficult."

"Did he just—but how—?"

Fleamont turned over his shoulder, saying as if he had just remembered, "Didn't you finally get it, James? You've been practicing out back."

Lily turned over her shoulder, face incredulous. "Potter, you can do that?"

James grinned, shaking his head. "Not consistent enough to try in a match, but I've gotten it a couple times in practice, yeah."

Lily turned back to face front, and Fleamont threw a wink back at James and Sirius.

Sirius bent to James' ear, throwing a hand up in front of his face. "Mate, Flea is fucking wing-manning you right now."

James smirked and focused back on the match.

xxx

Scotland came from behind to win gloriously, catching the Snitch moments before Brazil's released shot sailed through one of Scotland's goalposts, making the final score 430-420 before Brazil could have otherwise had a 150-point lead.

"Come on, lads and lassies!" Magnus was beckoning with his arms, waving them on. "We have celebrating to do!"

Very decently tipsy, James set off with their group to join the massive crush of cheering, drunken fans leaving the stadium, setting off toward their campground. They traced the familiar path through the forest with the throng of spectators, Scotland chants and snatches of songs consuming the air. James suddenly felt an arm hook around his neck and swung his head around to see his dad.

"So," Fleamont said quietly in his ear. "Lily."

Through the haze of being tipsy, James sensed his stomach tighten into a knot. "What about her?"

"You don't call each other by first names?"

James shook his head. "Never have."

"Not once?"

"Nope."

"Say her name."

"Evans."

Fleamont jostled his shoulder. "Talk to her tonight."

"What?"

"Talk to her tonight," he repeated.

"Are you trying to give me girl advice?"

"Not trying," Fleamont chuckled, "I am giving you girl advice. You've always liked her. She's a delight. I won't even try to understand why you spent so much time being monogamous friends with benefits with Dahlia—who is also a delight, don't get me wrong—but you clearly like Lily more than you'll admit."

"One, because Evans hates me, Dad. We were civil tonight, but we don't get along. At school we just row."

Fleamont's jaw set for a moment, and then he said. "When was the last time you tried?"

"Tried what?"

"Just talking to her. Like a normal person, and not some puffed-up angsty ox?"

James bit his tongue. His dad just didn't get. No one got it, except probably Lily.

Fleamont broke the silence. "Was there a second thing?"

"Yeah, she's with another bloke."

"Who?"

"Eddie Bones."

"Hmm."

"What?"

"Oh, it's probably nothing. I'm sure you're right."

James scoffed. "Come off it, you have something to say or not?"

Fleamont ruffled James's hair. "It's just that her and Marly are staying in the Meadowes' tent."

"So? They're good friends with Dorcas."

"I know. But they're on trundle beds. The Boneses tent is in the same campsite and has empty guest rooms."

Huh.

"How d'you—?"

Fleamont removed his arm with a shrug. "Seen a lot of people today. Had a nice chat with Lily. Pieced some information together."

"You know, Dad, you really are just as much of a gossip as Mum."

Fleamont winked at him.

xxx

It was the comment about the Boneses' empty guest rooms that pushed him to take his dad's advice. Their little group was milling about the bonfire, his dad and Magnus deep down memory lane with Mary and Sirius, who were laughing raucously, and Dahlia and Marlene were engrossed in their own conversation about some girly nonsense. Lily sat on the ground near Mary, at the edge of their little group, and James took his chance. He got up to grab a couple of Butterbeers, and when he came back, he sat next to her and handed her one.

She looked over at him with surprise. "Thanks, Potter."

"Don't mention it."

She gave him a rare smile. James thought he might be hallucinating.

"You're dad's lovely. Really, he's been beyond kind."

James gazed into the fire. "Yeah, he and Mum are both like that. Love hosting, making friends with everyone."

"You look just like him."

James chuckled. "I know. Have my mum's eyes, though."

They were silent a moment, and James stole a glance at her. She was gazing into the fire, but she seemed tenser somehow, slightly more rigid than she had earlier, and James didn't doubt it was from being one-on-one with him.

"How was it? Your first World Cup?"

She shrugged, the same polite smile on her face. "It's been really fun. I see what the hype's about, I guess."

James leaned forward, resting elbows on his knees, his drink dangling in front of him.

"You ever flown?"

She looked at him sharply for a moment, her eyes narrowing, and then her mouth started tugging up at the corners in a disbelieving smile.

"Wait, wait, wait. Potter, did you just try to start normal conversation?"

He smirked softly, turning back to the fire as he lifted his Butterbeer to his lips. "Yeah, Evans. Guess I did."

"Huh. Who knew you could be civil."

"Who knew you could be fun."

James looked sideways at her and caught her glaring.

"I resent that, Potter. I'm plenty fun."

He shrugged. "Wouldn't know, we're not friends."

Lily gave him a strange look, like she was studying him. "I'm sorry if tonight was weird, I didn't know that's where Marly's tickets were—"

James cut her off. "You don't need to apologize—"

"I wouldn't have come if I'd known I was signing up to crash your family's box—"

"—it was fun."

Lily bit her lip. James really wished she wouldn't, because something about that was unbearably erotic. More for something to do, he ran a hand through his hair.

After a moment, Lily cleared her throat, then turned back to the fire as she said, "To answer your question, just at the flying lessons first year, and it was horrible."

James busted up into a laugh, unable to help himself. She threw him a side-eye.

"Evans, you were barely six feet off the ground."

"Yeah, and that's all the higher I needed to go to realize how bloody uncomfortable it is."

James rolled his eyes. "You get used to that. Did you even get up to speed?"

"Absolutely not."

"Are you scared of heights?"

"No," she retorted. "Just prefer to keep my feet on the ground, thanks."

"Eh, the ground's overrated—"

"Says the one who crashes into it all the time."

James chuckled, remembering the time in fifth year that he got knocked off his broom in the match against Slytherin and woke up concussed in the Hospital Wing. He had taken many hits and falls throughout his years playing Quidditch, but that fall was one of his worst.

"Well, okay, maybe me and the ground just have a love-hate relationship."

Somehow their banter turned into conversation, interspersed by more rounds of Firewhisky shots with everyone to toasts of "Scotland!" and "Our seventh year!" and other random things James couldn't remember, and soon James was finding that all the alcohol was catching up to him, and he was becoming good and thoroughly drunk. And so was Lily.

They were drunk enough that they had started laughing hysterically at things that James couldn't later remember but suspected weren't all that funny. They were drunk enough that Lily swatted his chest repeatedly and James somehow ended up with his arm draped casually behind her across the log they were both leaning against. And they were drunk enough that they didn't notice the rest of their group slowly drifting away from them, giving them shocked space at seeing them actually getting along, though Sirius and Mary would each tell him about that later.

They would also tell him later that when they finally stood up, swaying on their feet, James had caught Lily around the waist, steadying her, and that they had briefly held hands, fingers intertwined, standing close enough to kiss, looking for a split second like they actually were going to kiss, though they hadn't, as Lily had suddenly blanched and set off stumbling determinedly toward the other side of the tent.

That was where James had flashes of memories, sobering up slightly as he followed Lily, and he did remember catching her around the waist that time, pulling her braid over her back and holding her steady as she retched into the grass. He raised his hands to her back, drawing long, slow circles with his fingertips as he murmured, "You're okay, Evans. You're okay. Good news, you shouldn't be as hungover tomorrow."

She laughed weakly between heaves, making her sway on her feet again, and James dropped his hand back to her hip, holding her steady in front of him as she bent over, hands on her knees, all too aware of what that position would resemble if Lily wasn't giving up the contents of her stomach.

Wiping her mouth, she eventually stood up and started trying to turn around, swaying when she moved too fast.

"Hey, hey, slow down."

James looped an arm around her waist, vanished the sick in the grass, then cast a silent Scourgify at Lily's mouth, making her cough and splutter, but being altogether necessary. Her eyes were less glassy then, and she looked up at him strangely.

"Potter?"

"Yes?"

She shook her head confusedly. "But—you're being—nice."

James laughed. "Yeah, Evans. I can do that, you know."

She shook her head again. "But—you're Potter."

"Come on, you need sleep."

He walked her back toward their group of friends, ignoring their appraising smirks, and Dahlia quickly volunteered to help Marlene walk Lily back to the Meadowes' tent, giving James a very elfish and knowing smile as she did so.