Lily, truthfully, hasn't spent much time imagining what Peter Pettigrew's living space would look like, but if she'd even given herself a moment to reflect on that, she absolutely would not have come up with this.
For starters, it's immaculate, which is rather impressive for a place holding a multitude of party guests and a fair amount of alcohol. She gets the feeling the spotlessness won't last forever, but the fact that it's held out this long is a feat in and of itself.
The whole place is also decidedly soft - florals and pastels and delicate details that give Lily the sneaking suspicion that Peter more or less let his girlfriend make most of the decorating decisions for their shared space.
Really, if it weren't for the framed pictures of the two of them right by the front door, Lily would doubt this was even his house at all.
"Where do you think the drinks are?" Dorcas asks; she's seemingly less reflective about Peter's living space.
"It's probably safest to just follow the sound of all the people," Lily replies, then does exactly that, with Marlene and Dorcas in tow.
Lily doesn't recognize anyone in the living room at first glance - she's sure she'll see at least a few familiar faces before the night is over, but right now she's more than happy to fade into relative anonymity.
The kitchen proves to be the source of the alcohol, and Lily pours herself a mix of gin and some sort of juice, while Marlene and Dorcas both make themselves a colorful concoction with a heavy-handed pour of tequila.
"Should we attempt to locate any familiar faces?" Marlene asks. She takes a sip of her drink and grimaces.
"Do we want to wait for Mary to arrive?"
Lily had expected their fourth friend to also be meeting up at Marlene and Dorcas' flat before coming to Peter's, but given that the other two hadn't waited up for her, it seems Mary decided to come to the party on her own time.
"Nah, she'll get here whenever," Marlene replies. "And she'll have Benjy to keep her company."
Lily freezes at the mention of Benjy's name. Of all the people she'd thought of potentially running into tonight, all the people she hasn't seen in years who she might be forced to make small talk with and catch up with, for some reason she hadn't even once considered the man now dating one of her best friends. The man who, up until about a month ago, she'd been covertly hooking up with.
Fuck.
It's not that she's concerned it'll be awkward, because there really aren't any feelings there to be awkward about, but she does kind of wish that the first time she'd be seeing him after everything would be in… a somewhat lower-stakes situation. A slightly less public one. Just to feel out how they're meant to interact with each other now.
"You know Benjy, right?" Dorcas asks, seemingly oblivious to Lily's reaction to the mention of his name. "He was two years above us, or something like that - I don't know if Mary mentioned it to you, but she started seeing him a few weeks ago."
"Lily knows Benjy," Marlene answers for her. "I think they actually hooked up once or twice a few years ago, yeah?"
It's not that she wants to lie to two of her closest friends, exactly, but now doesn't seem to be like a great time to reveal that, actually, that one-time hook-up Marlene knows about had somehow spiralled into a fairly regular thing over the past year and a half. So she just nods and goes along with Marlene's story.
"Yeah, I went home with him one of those times that Marlene convinced me to go out with her," she answers.
Even that is apparently news to Dorcas - Lily can't even imagine how much more shocked her friend would be if Lily had actually said the full truth. "How did I miss that?"
"I think that was when you were in Auror training, love," Marlene replies. "You had your hands full with that and I started having to drag Lily to all the happy hours I wanted to go to instead."
"And thank god you finished Auror training," Lily says.
As much as she loves Marlene, having to contend with both going out partying with her and going out as Calypso every week was simply too much for her to handle. Her energy for that sort of stuff is limited, and right now, almost all of it is channeled at her Order work - it has to be.
"Yeah, yeah, Prongs, I'm getting it," someone yells. She recognises Sirius' voice even before he enters the kitchen. And as soon as he walks in, he immediately takes notice of them.
"Holy shit, McKinnon and Meadowes," he says, grinning broadly. "Haven't seen either of you in ages. Pete mentioned you four might be coming, but I honestly didn't believe him."
"Well we're here in the flesh," Marlene replies, grinning. "Tell Peter his alcohol selection for the night is stellar, by the way."
"You can tell him yourself," Sirius says, grabbing two cups and pouring gin into both of them. "We're all upstairs - Pete's got a great little patio up there."
"In that case, we'll follow your lead," Dorcas answers.
It doesn't occur to Lily until they're halfway up the stairs that if Sirius and Peter are out on the patio away from the main party, it's more than likely that James is there too. She sees him from behind before she sees his face, that instantly recognisable messy head of hair thrown back in laughter at something some girl is saying.
God, if she has to spend the night watching him flirt…
She tries to remind herself that she doesn't care, that she has no interest in him anymore and therefore shouldn't give a fuck who he talks to, but that doesn't stop the rolling wave of nausea as the girl rolls her eyes at him good-naturedly, the same way Lily used to roll her eyes at his antics years before.
The feeling comes to a sudden halt when Peter walks up next to the girl and kisses her cheek.
It takes all of a few seconds for Lily to realise that this must be Peter's girlfriend. And that James isn't flirting with her.
She curses her own nervous system for flooding with relief at that realisation.
"Prongs, brought your drink," Sirius says, and James suddenly turns in their direction. Lily quickly turns to Marlene and Dorcas, determined not to meet his eye.
They've had a nice run of completely ignoring each other these past few weeks; she's more than comfortable keeping that running for the rest of the night.
She does, however, feel a rush of satisfaction when she chances a quick glance in his direction and notices his eyes on her legs. She'd specifically picked this dress because of how they look in it - it's nice to know her decision was the right one.
Despite the very obvious rift between her and James, they all settle into the group pretty easily. Lily meets Peter's girlfriend - Alessia, who's exactly as gorgeous and kind as everyone said she was - and she's finally starting to relax listening to her tell a story when the patio's population suddenly expands by two.
Mary is here, and so is Benjy.
Somehow, in the mess of paying attention to and then pointedly ignoring James, she'd forgotten about this additional snag in the evening.
It's not so much that she doesn't know how to act here, that she doesn't know how to slip on a perfect mask of neutrality, but more that she would just rather disappear right now and not have to deal with this situation at all. She lives so many ruses, and right here, trying to enjoy the night, she doesn't want to have to think that hard about how to exist.
Between ignoring James and trying to make it seem like there's no history with Benjy, she's just… overloaded. It's not his fault, and it's not Mary's fault, and the two of them are practically glowing as Mary makes introductions to the group and Lily can just tell how right they are for each other by their body language alone, but god, if she's meant to handle all of this at once, she needs more alcohol than her conservative pour of gin.
She polishes off the drink in her hand like it's nothing. "I'm getting another drink - anyone want anything?" she asks the group, and when no one makes any requests, she leaves for the kitchen on her own.
She takes the long way to the kitchen, almost running into someone that she's positive was a year above them at Hogwarts but whose name completely eludes her, and when she gets there, she makes the same drink as before but with double the alcohol. Lily takes a sip, testing it out, when -
"Can we talk?"
She turns to see Mary standing there just outside the kitchen, sans boyfriend. She looks uncharacteristically timid, shifting her weight back and forth as she waits for Lily's answer.
"Yeah, sure."
Mary bites her lip, and when she speaks, it's quiet. "It's not… weird that I brought Benjy tonight, right?"
Lily suddenly realises, from the look in Mary's eyes, that Benjy probably told her everything. Mary knows. She knows about her and Benjy, about their history, and Lily almost wants to breathe a sigh of relief. At least someone knows. Somehow, the idea of not having this particular secret entirely hidden in her own mind feels like lifting a weight off her shoulders.
"Not weird at all," Lily answers truthfully. "I was a little caught off-guard, because I haven't seen him since we… called it off, but I promise, I'm not at all weirded out by the two of you being here together."
Mary still looks uncertain. "Really?"
"Mare, I promise you, what Benjy and I had going on was nothing. It was hooking up, and not a single thing more. I'm thrilled for him - for both of you. I wasn't ever interested in him like that, and you two look so damn happy."
The words are just as genuine to Mary as they were to Benjy when he'd first broken the news to her. Perhaps even more so now, now that she's seen the two of them making heart eyes at each other and witnessed how much better Mary is for him than anything she could've ever offered.
A smile cracks through Mary's features. "I am so damn happy."
And that's that. Somehow, the stress she'd felt about dealing with Benjy is gone now, because for once, it's not a secret she's bearing all on her own. Perhaps it's a little absurd that this one conversation with Mary has shifted her entire outlook, but maybe Lily's just so used to keeping so many fucking secrets all to herself that it's nice to not be the only one in the room who knows the truth, for once.
She goes back upstairs, and it takes her no time at all to slide back into the conversation. Alessia grins at her when she arrives, like they're the best of friends despite having met only half an hour and a drink ago, and Lily decides that she quite likes Peter's girlfriend.
It's a bit like old times, the way the same group of people migrates and changes throughout the evening, pairs and individuals disappearing and reappearing at random, but the same energy fills the space throughout.
Lily even chances another glance at James, when she's sure he's caught up in a conversation with Sirius and paying her no attention. He's in a fitted black shirt and jeans, a drastically different look than what she's used to seeing him in, but it suits him all the same. Though truthfully, looking like he does, she's not sure there's much that wouldn't suit him.
Marlene and Dorcas leave, claiming that they're off to get drinks and promising Lily a refill, but Lily knows her two drunk friends well enough to know that they're probably making out in a closet right about now rather than pouring her anything. Somehow, Lily even ends up in a completely cordial conversation with Benjy for a little bit, talking to him like they're old friends catching up rather than people who used to sleep with each other as a form of stress relief.
It is, for a while, blissfully and wonderfully normal.
Then someone downstairs starts shouting, and Lily realizes that they're counting down. It's almost midnight.
Lily's never cared much for the whole 'kiss as the clock strikes twelve' phenomenon. The only times she's participated have been with random strangers at bars, and once, when her New Year's was spent undercover, Rabastan Lestrange had kissed her cheek and Lily had had to actively resist the urge to gag.
Despite her general nonchalance to the tradition, however, she immediately realises that she's probably alone in that sentiment. Sirius and Remus are wrapped around each other as they count down, as are Peter and Alessia, and Mary and Benjy.
Three, two…
There's only one other person in the immediate vicinity who isn't clearly preparing for a midnight kiss with a partner. When her eyes land on him, his are already on her. It's magnetic and electric, the sight of him watching her sending a bolt of something straight through her.
There are loud cheers and heartfelt kisses in her periphery, and yet, for some stupid reason, the thing she rings in 1982 with is staring into James Potter's eyes.
The first practice of the new year is one that Lily's in charge of. Harrison hadn't given much explanation for it to any of the other assistant coaches, simply said they were to take orders from her for any of the practices on the schedule where she's listed as in charge, and fortunately, none of them have asked too many questions.
At least, not to her face. And if they're saying anything about it behind her back, then that's not really her problem.
She doesn't hold back; it's a rigorous practice to make up for the lost time of the holiday break, and she nearly takes a bludger from Gideon's bat while trying to run drills.
"Sorry, Evans!" he cries as she rolls, the bludger passing so closely that she can hear it whoosh by. When she rights herself, her ponytail has all but fallen out.
"No apologies, Prewett," she yells back. "That was a damn good shot."
She lets her hair fall fully down on her shoulders, messy and windswept. It'll be a nightmare to untangle, but that'll be a problem to handle later.
She scans the rest of the field to see what the other players are up to. And then she locks eyes with James, who was apparently already looking her way. He's a good distance across the field, but she can see the way he's frowning from here. It almost looks… concerned?
"Eyes on the Quaffle, Potter!" she shouts, and it startles him out of whatever trance he'd fallen into.
For some reason, having his eyes on her feels unsettling this time, an unwelcome reminder of New Year's. She's normally able to completely separate her on-pitch and off-pitch feelings with surgical precision, but they're bleeding together right now, and she doesn't like that one bit. It feels messy, muddled, confusing - all things she'd rather avoid.
She doesn't look at him again for the rest of practice.
But she takes her sweet time helping the other assistants pack up the equipment, and takes an even longer time detangling her windswept mess of hair in the shower, and that's the mistake that ruins it all.
When she steps out into the locker room, wringing out her hair, there's only one person left. The one person who always takes the longest to leave.
She tries to ignore him.
It seems that he has other plans.
"It was strange, seeing you at a party - given how much shit you like to give me for going out, I must admit I wasn't prepared for you to also be out at the same place I was. Seems a bit hypocritical, if you ask me."
She whirls in the direction of the voice, momentarily caught off-guard by the fact that this time, James is the one starting the conversation with her. Although conversation may be too kind a word for it; based on the wicked smirk on his face, he's looking for a fight.
"Well it's a good thing no one asked you then, isn't it?" she replies.
If she had any sense, she'd throw her bag over her shoulder and walk out now - leave it at that and avoid whatever disaster will surely await the longer she sticks around. Nothing good has ever come out of being left to her own devices around James.
And yet, she'll always stick around.
"Come on, Evans, I haven't heard anyone use that line since fourth year. Surely you can come up with something a bit more creative. Merlin knows you like picking fights - you can't just make it that easy for me to win them."
"I wasn't aware this was a competition."
His laugh is low and sharp. "Everything's a competition with you. Everything. Tell me you haven't been keeping score since my very first day at Puddlemere."
She hates that, even after all these years and all that distance, he still seems to know these sorts of things about her without even trying. Because yes, she needs to win. At what exactly, she's not even sure, but every argument feels like a point on a scoreboard, every moment of weakness a penalty shot. Even when they're not speaking, there's still a contest of who can act like they care less.
Her silence is his answer, and his grin turns downright devilish. "That's what I thought. I would ask which one of us won the point on New Year's, but I think the answer to that one might have been neither. I think that title goes to Benjy."
Of all the responses she could have predicted, all the things he could have said that she'd have a perfectly prepared retort for, mentioning Benjy is none of them.
Her relationship - or not-relationship, more accurately - with Benjy isn't public knowledge. Marlene only knows about the first time, and Mary only found out now because of her current involvement with Benjy, but she doesn't think either of her friends would actively give that information to James.
"How did you…?"
"How did I know?" he finishes for her. "Complete coincidence - I was walking through Pete's house on New Year's to get a drink and walked right by you and Mary discussing it."
She narrows her eyes. "You eavesdropped."
He brings his hands up in a gesture of mock-innocence. "No, I didn't. I really was just walking by at the time, and something about your voice is just really fucking hard to tune out."
She can't decide if that's meant as an insult.
"But anyways, how'd that one feel?" he continues, clearly taunting her. "Watching your former fuckbuddy kiss someone else at midnight?"
Her eyes weren't anywhere near Benjy at midnight. And James knows that too, given where his eyes were.
He's just pushing her, she knows that, seeing just how far he can go before she snaps. Just as she gets a twisted sort of thrill from hitting a nerve on him, from saying the exact thing that will get the strongest reaction, so does he.
It's a sadistic, fucked-up game they play, but she'll match his move with one of her own every single time.
"It didn't feel like anything," she tells him. "I don't know what impression you got from your little snooping moment, but Benjy and I were never a midnight kiss sort of thing to begin with. And even if we had been, trust me, I've been through far worse and made it out feeling nothing. Thanks for that, by the way."
There's a flicker of recognition on his face. It's the closest thing she's gotten to acknowledging their history, pushing closer and closer up against the line created by her own self-imposed rule that he'd never get to see just how much he wrecked her.
"Why do you care so much about Benjy anyways?" she presses. "Surely you're not jealous?"
He accused her of jealousy not too long ago - he might not enjoy it as much when she turns the tables back on him.
She expects a denial, but instead she gets: "And if I am?"
"Then you're about three years too fucking late." Her voice is low and dangerous, and she realises that, somehow, the space between them has gradually shrunk. She's only a few steps away from him now.
"I was never all that great at being on time."
The flippant tone makes her blood boil. She doesn't fucking get it, the way he runs so hot and cold all the time, making it impossible to understand what exactly he's feeling. She knows so much more about him than she did when he first reappeared in her life, yet he's no less of a mystery, no less of an unanswered question mark, no less of an endlessly baffling and infuriating presence.
"That's not the exonerating excuse you think it is."
"I wasn't trying to exonerate myself," he replies simply.
She shouldn't be surprised. James has never been anything but shameless.
She sighs in exasperation, running her hands through her hair. "I can't fucking stand you sometimes."
"Oddly enough, I think I'd picked up on that one," he answers coolly.
"So you just decided to throw the whole Benjy thing in my face, thinking you could… what? Hurt me somehow? I'm sorry that me not actually having feelings for the bloke ruined your fun, but - "
He cuts her off. "Oh no, Evans. You don't get to act like me picking a fight with you is so much different than what you've been doing constantly since the day I showed up here." There's anger in his voice now, a clear undercurrent in his previously deadly-calm demeanor. "Not when I know you do it for the exact same fucking reason I did."
"Which is?"
"Fighting with me is the most fun you've had in months."
He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and in a way, it is. There are so many parts of Lily that feel like they've gone numb, like they've shrunk or disappeared or gone dormant, and somehow, these moments with James… they feel like waking up. They feel like coming back to life again, after a long stretch of nothing but going through the motions and doing what's needed to stay alive and afloat.
It's anger, lighting her up, but it's something else too.
"Those are some bold words to put in my mouth," she replies.
"That's a nice change of pace, isn't it?" he taunts. "Compared to you putting words in my mouth all the fucking time. You'd think giving you my whole story for the past three years would be enough to get you to stop that, but apparently not."
She decides not to point out that the story he's given her still has gaps - most notably, a Lily-shaped gap that she still can't figure out how to properly fill. "Why does it bother you so much when I do it? I'm sure at least half our Hogwarts class makes all the same sorts of assumptions about you - why is it such a problem with me specifically?"
If looks could kill, James' glare might as well operate as a Killing Curse to the chest. "You know exactly why."
She raises an eyebrow, a clear challenge. "No, I don't. Spell it out for me."
He takes three steps towards her, a burning look in his eyes. She takes a single step back, before realising she can't go any farther than that. Her back bumps up against the lockers. He's so close to her that she has to crane her head upwards to look at him properly, and she can smell something on him that's always been so distinctly James.
Her anger is tempered by something new, some completely different emotion, and she struggles to put a finger on it at first.
Then, James' eyes drop to her lips for a few seconds, and she instantly labels the new sensation, because she sees it in him too.
Desire. As unwelcome as it may be, it's definitely there.
And then he speaks, and it's both completely unrelated to anything of the argument they were having before this and somehow the most natural progression of it all at once.
"Do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?"
Seventh Year, June 1978
"One last round of patrols, Evans," James' voice comes up from behind her, far closer than she's prepared for. "Are you ready for the end of an era?"
"You make it sound so dramatic," she replies, turning around in her seat on the couch to face him. "Not at all like we're just wandering halls and telling kids to go back to their common rooms."
"That's some awful disrespect for the offices of Head Boy and Girl," he jokes.
"Lily could never disrespect the office as much as you have," Mary chimes in, before turning to Lily. "I'll probably be upstairs when you get back."
"Noted," Lily answers, before getting up and walking with James out the portrait door.
After a full year of patrolling together, they've really got it down to a science. They know the most efficient routes to follow, they know where to go to avoid the trick stairs, and they know how to keep each other entertained for the entire patrol.
But tonight, they're both quieter than usual. For all that Lily had joked about this not being a big deal, she's feeling oddly nostalgic as they walk through the halls. It's the last time she's ever going to do this, the last time she'll ever see this place. In less than twelve hours, she'll be gone.
Hogwarts has been her home for seven years - the idea of leaving it is… a lot.
"It's weird, the fact that we're never coming back here, isn't it?" James tears her from her thoughts. "Like, I keep trying to wrap my head around it, but I think some part of me just expects to come back next September, you know?"
Lily just nods. "Yeah, I keep feeling the same thing. Something about it feels like home, somehow."
They're walking side-by-side, so close that their shoulders are practically touching. It would be almost too simple for her to reach over and grab his hand with her own - she practically has to hold herself back to resist the impulse.
"I've got some of my best memories in this castle," he continues wistfully, looking around. "Remember that time we turned all the staircases in the castle into slides? That was fucking brilliant, if I do say so myself."
She giggles. "And no one could get to class because there was no way to get up from the Entrance Hall once you got to the bottom."
"A truly excellent side effect," he nods, before stopping in his tracks. "Evans, what do you say to a slight detour to tonight's patrol route? Perhaps a detour to the kitchens?"
She stops with him, considering it. "Shirking our responsibilities on the very last night of term, sounds like a good way to go out."
"Now you're talking," he says, winking at her in a way that makes her breath catch in her throat. (God, she's pathetic, isn't she?) "It's not like there's much of a point of us patrolling tonight anyways - I mean, what are we gonna do, take away House points for a House Cup that's already been awarded? Dole out detentions for next fall?"
He does make a pretty good point. "Alright then, a detour to the kitchens it is."
The kitchens are actually relatively quiet - since the term has come to an end, there isn't much cooking that actually needs to be done, so most of the house elves are probably busying themselves in other parts of the castle tonight.
They ask one of the few house elves left in the kitchen if they've got anything sitting around, and are immediately presented with a massive array of desserts apparently leftover from dinner.
They split a massive slice of treacle tart topped with vanilla ice cream, and Lily sighs contentedly at the first bite of the sugary combination. James also decides to conjure a record player, so there's soft music floating through the kitchen as they eat.
"We really could've just been doing this every time we were supposed to be patrolling," she tells him. "And instead, we spent the whole evening treacle-tart-less, witnessing entirely too many fourteen-year-olds feel someone up for the first time in their lives."
"Ah, but you can't forget about all the fights we've had to break up, those were just as fun."
She rolls her eyes. "Oh my god, the group of first years in full-on hand-to-hand combat? What a fucking time."
"This is absolutely a step up from that," he agrees in between bites. "Although let's be honest, you never would've skipped out on your responsibilities like that."
"Neither would you," she points out.
"You underestimate just how many things I've skipped in my life."
"Not this year," she replies, looking into his eyes. "Not when it mattered."
He laughs. "Can you pass that message onto my mum please? She's still giving me shit for that one summer when I was eight and I skipped every single day of Quidditch camp after begging to start going a year early."
Her eyes go wide at that, and she has to swallow another bite of treacle tart before she can respond properly. "James Potter? Skipping out on Quidditch? That doesn't sound right."
"I was caught up in… something or other. Honestly, I can't even remember at this point, but I guarantee it was something absolutely stupid. The Quidditch obsession didn't properly start until I got on the Hogwarts team. There's actually - god, I don't know if we've got it anymore, but at one point I couldn't decide if I was more into Quidditch or Quodpot so I decorated my entire bedroom with magazine cutouts about both. It was incredibly chaotic, and my dad took this picture of me sitting on my bed in the middle of it, looking so incredibly proud of this complete disaster I'd created."
She can picture it… this little kid with glasses in a twin-sized bed, all the troublemaking spirit of the boy she knows now in half the body. She loves when he tells her about his past - it feels like he's entrusting her with these little stories for the future. For their future.
"Your poor parents," she says with a laugh.
"One of them took half the decorations out while I was sleeping one night. To this day, I still don't know which one of them is to blame for it."
She laughs again - god, she can't stop laughing tonight, something about James and this whole experience is making her positively giddy - before the song ends and a new one starts. This one's familiar, the opening chords immediately taking her back to memories of last spring.
"Oh my god, I love this song," she says, letting her eyes fall closed and swaying side-to-side to the beat of the music.
"You know, it's even better if you dance to it," he replies.
She opens her eyes to find that he's watching her. "What?"
He stands up from his seat, extending his hand to her. "Dance with me, Evans?"
Her heart does what can only be described as a somersault in her chest, and she almost falls out of her seat in the process of taking his hand.
Their hands somehow immediately find exactly where they're meant to be, and Lily can't help but marvel at how perfectly, how effortlessly they fit together like this.
She's not much for dancing, but for him, she will.
He leads them around the small space of the kitchen, clearly much more experienced in the art of partner dancing than she is, and she's honestly just happy to be along for the ride, doing her best to avoid stepping on his feet in the process.
Especially when he's smiling at her like this, like she hung the moon and all the stars in the sky and they're shining just for the two of them. In the pale light of the kitchen, his eyes practically glitter behind his glasses.
She could feel ridiculous, dancing with far too much formality for a room filled with pots and pans and humming ovens and dim icebox light, but for some reason, this feels perfectly right. Like dancing around the kitchen is just the most natural thing they could do, like this is the perfect environment for this, like everything about this moment is flooded with romance.
He twirls her around once more, and when they come back together again, they're even closer than before. And for some reason, by some unspoken mutual decision, the dancing stops there even though the music hasn't, and they're just standing there in the low light, hands still intertwined and bodies just a heartbeat apart.
She looks into his eyes behind those thick-framed glasses of his, a brilliant mess of brown and green and gold, and there's something in them that Lily can't put her finger on.
"I think this is the part where I kiss you," he says, so softly that Lily almost thinks she imagined the words.
But she didn't, because a moment later, he's making good on it, ducking his head down and meeting her lips with his own.
And it's… perfect. It's not fireworks and electricity - it's soft and stable and it feels like home. Just as their bodies fit together so effortlessly, like they were made to mold together, so do their lips. He tastes like the treacle tart they shared, but there's something infinitely sweeter about the taste because it's on him.
His hands drop from hers and find her waist, holding her tightly, like she might fade away if he doesn't keep her there. She winds her fingers into his hair, mussing it up the same way she's watched him do for years and the way she's caught herself fantasising about more than once in recent months.
That elicits a soft moan from him and… oh, there. That's the electricity, zipping all the way to her toes and flooding her with affection and desire. In his arms, she's his, he's made her his own, and she wouldn't have it any other way.
Maybe this thing between them could be a masterpiece, she thinks to herself, before she lets herself get lost in him once again.
But if it could've been a masterpiece, if it ever was, James tore it all up. Because that night is where their history ends.
And Lily remembers it all, every second of their story that brought them to this point, all too well.