"It's a really nice house. You're very kind to let Dumbledore use it," Emmeline Vance said. James poured her some wine.
"I'm happy to let him. He did make me Head Boy in my seventh year, after all -- there must've been a huge controversy among the staff for that to happen."
The Christmas party was in full swing, with a radio playing upbeat carols, drinks and glasses stacked on a table next to another table full of plates, dishes, and bowls of numerous foods brought by his friends and co-workers. James had noticed the only thing that remained untouched so far -- about an hour into the party -- was the plate of cookies he'd made with Sirius, Remus, and Peter. It must have gotten around exactly who made them, and nobody was thick enough to eat something contributed by the infamous Marauders.
"How long do you suppose we'll be working here?" Emmeline asked conversationally.
"Until I get married, I expect." James sipped his wine. "In other words, forever."
She laughed good-naturedly.
"It's extremely useful," James explained. "Dumbledore's friends all know where it is, as it once belonged to Godric Gryffindor, and there was an ancient spell on it that Dumbledore was able to reactivate to protect the secrets that go on in the house."
"Is there? I never knew that. What sort of spell?"
"Well, it's a bit like the Fidelius Charm, only perhaps not quite so secure. You see, only the owner of the house -- that's me, currently -- and those invited by the owner are able to see evidence of the missions and workings of the Order. If someone uninvited tried to sneak around in here, they'd be Apparated against their will. And if they're not ready for it, they're splinched, making them it easy for the Order or one of us to find."
"Is that how Snape's legs ended up in your front yard a week ago?"
James's face twisted with instinctual disgust at Snape's name. "Yeah. Slimy bastard, I know exactly who he's working for. Rumor has it he's changing his mind, but --"
He was cut off by a loud explosion and then a billowing plume of smoke dispersed throughout the room. Its source was Mungungus Fletcher. He had not a glass, but an entire bottle of wine in his left hand, and it was empty. In his right hand he was holding one of James's cookies.
For a moment the guests were all absolutely still and silent with surprise. Then Sirius shouted out, "HA!" and everyone laughed as they fanned smoke away. Everyone except old Mrs. Figg, who was coughing violently and started hitting Mundungus with her purse. "Out! OUT! Foul stuff, foul man! --"
"It en't my fault, they curshed it," Mundungus slurred, pointing accusingly at James as he was ushered out of the house. James nodded at him and saluted. Across the room the other Marauders caught his eye and they all laughed, then came over to stand around Emmeline and James.
"Hey, Vance," Sirius greeted her. "Didn't you have a date tonight?"
Emmeline blushed. Remus elbowed Sirius harshly. "He didn't show up." She shrugged. "I guess he's busy, with her sister, maybe."
"Mine didn't show up either, don't feel bad," James said.
"Yeah, but Evans told you she wasn't --" Peter began, but he, too, earned an elbow from Remus.
"I haven't seen his sister, either," James said. "Perhaps Dumbledore had something for them to do."
There was unspoken doubt. It wasn't like Dumbledore to give missions near holidays unless something really serious was going on, in which case everyone was bound to be aware of it.
In the silence James wondered about Lily. Would she be spending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day alone?
His eyes wandered his guests, some of them talking and laughing in groups, eating, showing off with their wands. And he caught sight of Alice and Frank Longbottom dancing to the slow song now playing on the radio.
Remus took the initiative to strike up a conversation, something about the Quidditch scores in last week's game. James stayed silent, watching Alice lean her head against Frank's chest, his arms holding her gently. There was an odd tugging at James's heart.
He looked down into his glass. His wine was finished. He nodded briefly at the others, muttered, "Excuse me," and went into the empty, bright kitchen to collect himself.
Why now? Why was he thinking about this now? He'd been doing fine, even having fun while talking with Emmeline Vance until he'd noticed Frank and Alice dancing.
Did they know how lucky they were to be married, to have each other?
Judging by the contented expression James had seen on Frank's face, he figured they did know.
James took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. I suppose it's a good thing I didn't buy a ring before we had that conversation, he thought vaguely, remembering that evening in July.
A tap at the kitchen window interrupted his thoughts. He stirred and, slightly bewildered, unlatched it for a dark, almost black owl. The owl gave an unearthly-sounding screech, dropped an envelope on the counter, and swooped out immediately.
His name was on it. James opened it curiously and his stomach twisted as he read the short note: Potter, I'd like to talk to you. Meet me in the park on my street in Surrey? Evans.
A note from Lily! A note saying she wanted to talk to him, not at his house, not at her house, but in a park, where it was dark and late and they were sure to be alone.
He stuffed the letter in his pocket and went back out to the den where the party was and pulled Sirius aside from his conversation with Emmeline Vance. "Listen," he said hurriedly. "I have to go somewhere."
"There you are! Where did you go? Where are you going?"
"Can you just supervise the party for a while? See everyone off if I don't get back soon?" Sirius must have noticed the stress in James's voice because then he complied without arguing, and James exited the house, grabbing his broomstick from the closet.
The black owl that had delivered the letter flew behind a tree at the bottom of the driveway of Godric's Hollow and landed on its master's cloaked shoulder. Severus Snape's bony fingers stroked the owl as he stepped out of the shadows enough to see James's dark figure take off expertly on his broom.
"Good," he murmered, smiling maliciously under his long oily hair. "Good."