A/N: For Jilytober Fest 2022, prompt 10: "Quick, kiss me, my ex is looking!"
Mild warning for language.
Shit. Shit. Shit. Of course he would be here. Anybody with any connection was here, schmoozing and rubbing shoulders and putting on all the airs Lily loathed. If it weren't for the sum promised at the conclusion of the night's events – well, upon her recount due before five the next morning – she'd be on the couch in her flat, watching Brookside with Marlene (who had, thank God, recently acquiesced to the purchasing of a television set). But ten galleons would be rather handy when it came time to do their weekly grocery shop, and so Lily milled about the Parkinson Wizards in Business Autumn Gala 1985 in a dress that hadn't properly fit her since she'd been a teenager and a smile she'd perfected at fifteen while attending a parade of endless Slug Club dinners. The 'valuable contacts' from there had never followed through, once it became she was a muggle-born with no intention of quietly marrying and pretending she was something else, but at least something from all those long hours proved useful. Except now, she didn't want to smile at him. She didn't want to even look at him. She needed to disappear quickly enough that he would be convinced it had been a trick of the light. And the champagne. But he'd never been much of a drinker, had he? Shit.
It wasn't that they'd ended things badly. Well. They hadn't screamed and cried and thrown shoes at each other and then ended up in detention for a week for hurling hexes (that had been Marlene). But the memory smarted even now. He'd been in seventh year, she in sixth, and they'd sat on a cold bench in the Transfiguration courtyard, snow falling in her hair.
"I even did the dishes," Lily had said, unable to think of anything else, wringing her mittens in her bare hands.
"She just – well, she's right that writing isn't an overly…stable career. And you haven't any family like us… Mum just thinks you're perhaps being unrealistic. Flighty. That you wouldn't be happy with me in the long run."
"I did the dishes. I spent half my money on those charmed hair curlers for her."
"It was a lovely Christmas present, Lily, but that's beside the point."
"What does my family have to do with it?"
Lily ducked through the crowd, his gaze burning on the back of her neck. He was bound to do his whole politeness thing – how are you, what are you doing for work, are you married? It was all Lily could do not to run – she really couldn't afford to, considering she'd borrowed the heels from Mary, who thanks to Dorcas had a much bigger disposable household income than Lily could dream of. Fuck. She needed to find someone to talk to, to get an interview done and get out of here – she'd seen enough to whip up an article. It didn't have to be good, it just had to do.
She scanned the crowd and spotted a bespectacled man standing alone, a hand raised in farewell to someone vanished out of sight. She glanced over her shoulder. Her ex excused himself past people, smiling broadly. She had to act quickly.
"Excuse me!" she called, reaching for her notepad inside her handbag. The man turned, and she caught her breath. Shit. From the side, she hadn't known him, but now it was impossible to pretend otherwise. James Potter, a boy she'd often been at odds with in school, stood before her, taller and filled out, stubble on his jaw, a familiar gleam in his brown eyes. Everyone had fancied him when they'd been teenagers, but Lily had never seen the appeal; he'd been too immature, too much of a troublemaker. Now he wore finely-tailored dress robes and her heart caught in her throat.
"Evans?" he said, surprised, and his lips twisted into a grin. That part hadn't changed. "What are you doing here?"
"Working," she said quickly, looking behind her once more. Her ex manoeuvred around the last group of people dividing them, opening his mouth to greet her.
"Is that-?" James started.
Fuck. "Quick," she said, improvising wildly.
"Lily?! Is that you?"
"Kiss me, my ex is looking!" she said, grabbing James by the lapels. His brows darted upwards, but he yielded, a hand snaking around her waist. He leaned forward and met her lips. Lily squeezed her eyes shut and pretended to be into it. She threw her arms around his neck and leaned into him. He moved gently against her, warm, letting her lead. He was a surprisingly good kisser – though she supposed he'd had plenty of practice. If she had a galleon for every night she'd caught him in some dark corner on her patrols, she'd be rich enough to be here as an invited guest, not a crappy reporter.
Click, click, click, click, click.
At the intrusion, Lily pulled away from James, a little breathless. Her heart raced. She turned her head and saw half a dozen cameras flashing in their direction. Lily dropped her arms at once, stumbling backwards, and James let go of her.
"What the fuck?" she murmured. She looked to the crowd and her ex had disappeared, melding into the sea of faces and sparkling champagne flutes. The white bursts of light ceased, and the cameras scuttled back into the party, beetles retreating after securing a meal. Lily and James alone stood in the middle of the floor, in the parted sea. James let go of her waist, smiling.
"Alright, Evans?" he asked. Lily swallowed a blush and drew herself up to full height.
"Thank you," she said, attempting to retain some dignity. "It's good seeing you. I'll be off now." She had to escape. Why had they taken photos? God's sake. She needed to run. She shot James a weak attempt at a confident smile and turned sharply on her heel. That's where she wobbled, losing her balance, and James' hands once more gripped her waist, steadying her.
"Evans," James laughed melodically. He straightened her and she glanced up at him. His eyes were the shade of roasted coffee beans, and he smelt of dark wood and summer evenings. "What the hell's going on? Was he bothering you?" He glared in the direction in which her ex had disappeared. Lily shook her head.
"No," she admitted lamely. "No…erm. I just panicked."
"D'you kiss people much these days, when you panic?"
Lily huffed. "Bugger off, Potter." He beamed.
"That sounds more like you," he said, ruffling his hair. "I was starting to worry you'd gone and changed." As if he hadn't. James Potter had never been like…this. Lily folded her arms across her chest. She realised that he was still holding her from where he'd caught her, his hands hot around her stomach, the thin, tight dress barely separating them. Their eyes met. His mouth opened softly, and he let go of her. Her skin tingled.
"Says you," she retorted, trying to ignore the curl of her stomach. "You haven't insulted me yet."
"I never insulted you." She raised her eyebrows. "Well, only if it was funny."
"Hilarious." Lily rolled her eyes. "I do have work I need to be doing."
"Yeah," James said. "Something to go with those lovely photos they just took?"
Fuck. "I didn't expect that."
"No," James agreed. "I think it's one of those nights, Evans."
Her mouth twitched. "Yeah. One of those nights."
A/N: If you want to see more of journalist! Lily (meeting Quidditch Player! James) please check out my other story, 'pleasant, poised, polite, professional'.