The next practice is the polar opposite of the last one - and Lily won't pretend that James isn't a huge part of that switch. Which, she supposes, makes sense; this time around, he's not nursing a collection of barely-held together open wounds under his jersey.
Honestly, with the knowledge of the injury he'd been laboring under, his abysmal performance last practice almost seems impressive, if only because it would probably have knocked most anyone else straight off their broom, if they'd even bothered to mount it in the first place.
But it's nothing compared to this. As if to compensate for how miserably he'd played while nursing an injury, he plays better than she's ever seen from him.
When he puts his full effort into it, James is fucking incredible. He's good, he's always been good, but she can see so much more than just 'good' underneath the surface of it. He flies like it's more natural than breathing, handles the Quaffle like it's little more than an extension of himself.
In a few years, with a little more polish and practice, he might just be the single greatest player in the League.
She doesn't voice any of that while coaching though, simply hits him with the same clipped encouragements she gives every other player when they do something well, but the knowledge has firmly taken root in her mind.
It would be a lie to say that watching James fly like that isn't wildly attractive, because Lily's always been turned on by competence.
But she has no intentions of chasing after him - not after how they left things last time. She doesn't trust him, doesn't trust her own responses to him, doesn't want to get tangled up in that mess.
The things he'd said to her… James has never been a liar, and though there are many things she doesn't recognize in the post-Hogwarts James, she's loathe to believe that that's among the changes.
But it doesn't make any sense. She refuses to let herself spend too long dwelling on it, because Merlin knows she's exhausted far too many hours thinking about him.
And so she keeps her distance at the end of practice, leaves as early as she can, eliminating the temptation of him entirely.
Lily really isn't sure when she stopped keeping track of her own birthday.
It's not like she has any sort of bad memories wrapped up in birthdays - they've all been fairly nice, not earth-shatteringly incredible but never awful either - but for some reason she just… no longer cares much about celebrating them, or even acknowledging them.
It was one thing when she was at Hogwarts, and Mary and Marlene and Dorcas and even the Gryffindor boys demanded some degree of fanfare over the day, but now, without the forced proximity of it all, Lily has no interest in organizing anything herself.
As such, she doesn't even think about the fact that she's turning twenty-two until Mari greets her when she shows up to the compound for practice, grinning broadly.
"Happy birthday, Lily!" she exclaims far too loudly for seven in the morning, drawing the attention of the rest of the players and staff.
Lily dislikes all of the eyes suddenly on her, but she forces a smile on her face and an expression of gratitude when the rest of the room echoes Mari's birthday wishes. It's all fairly perfunctory, and though she doesn't think herself particularly disliked by anyone at Puddlemere, she just also doubts any of them actually care that much that she's another year older.
Harrison is back in town and leading the practice today, which allows Lily to sink back into her more traditional role again, zeroing in on little details and leaving the big picture to someone else. She likes running practices - at least when they go well - but there's something comfortable about merely being an accessory to the smoothly-running machine that is a practice run by their Head Coach.
Honestly, no wonder he's being tapped for the National Team.
She thinks the birthday subject has run its course, not to be brought up again, but it resurfaces unexpectedly after practice ends and the locker room fills up again.
"Got any fun birthday plans lined up?" Ozzie asks her, throwing a towel over his shoulder.
Considering she'd barely remembered the day in the first place, the concept of making plans for it is laughable. "Nah," she replies.
It's the wrong answer, apparently.
"Seriously?"
She shrugs. "I never really do anything for my birthday."
He looks at her like she's grown an extra head - she'd been invited to a birthday party of his a few months back and it had been a whole grand affair, so she knows her mindset is entirely foreign to him.
"We're going to fix that then," he declares solemnly. Then he turns to the rest of the busy locker room. "Oi!" he shouts, and once again Lily feels an entire room of eyes swivel towards her. "Since Evans is too modest to plan a birthday party for herself, I'm taking the job upon myself. Tonight, 8 o'clock, at Younger's - be there."
And that's what brings Lily, several hours later, to the entrance of a bar on the other side of town, the glow of the multicolor lights inside casting flashes of red, blue, and green against her combination of a black deep V-neck top and skirt. Though she's not entirely sure how much she actually wants to be here, she knows Ozzie will absolutely never forgive her if she doesn't show up to the "party" he'd put together, and if she's being entirely honest, she's a bit touched that he actually even cares that much.
What's even more surprising is the fact that, when she walks into the bar, she's greeted with the sight of the entire Puddlemere team and a decent chunk of the coaching staff.
After Ozzie's announcement, Lily had kind of assumed the nods of assent in the locker room were just meant to appease Ozzie, but that a number of them would find excuses not to show. She'd assumed they wouldn't care about coming to a celebration for her all that much.
But instead, she's got this. Corinne is on her feet in an instant, offering to buy Lily a drink, and Lily's still so taken aback by this whole assembly that she doesn't even do anything other than nod dumbly.
The drink that's eventually pressed into her hand is sweeter than anything Lily probably would've ordered for herself, but it's not terrible either, and she finds herself slowly sipping it as she manages to finally enter the general realm of conversation. There's a packed booth consisting of a mix of team and coaches, and Fabian all but insists she take his seat in it, choosing instead to walk to the other side of the bar and flirt with one of the bartenders.
It's the first time she properly notices James, who is dressed in a fitted button-down artfully rolled to the elbows such that his arms are practically a work of art in and of themselves, his hair tousled in a way that she's certain he had to at least spend some time styling. There's simply no way it looks that fucking good on its own.
Both of these observations are ones that she has absolutely no intention of pointing out to him, because Merlin knows he doesn't need another boost to his ego, nor does she feel charitable enough to give him one.
He simply looks over at her and nods in greeting, and she notices his valiant effort (and eventual failure) to only look at her eyes and not any lower.
The top she'd picked out for tonight is one that rarely ever enters circulation - given that most of her more revealing clothes have to be dress robes for that particular audience and the fact that, outside of pureblood social events, she rarely dresses up more than absolutely necessary, the lace-up top with the bell sleeves - a gift from Mary a few years ago - doesn't often see the light of day. But it does suit her particularly well, even if it means she's forced to go without a bra for the night, and it had seemed fitting to bring out for a night like tonight. If she's being forced into celebrating her own birthday, she might as well do it properly.
Lily chats mostly with Gideon and two of the other assistant coaches, but she manages to overhear Charlie - not a difficult feat, given that the Chaser's already-loud voice seems to gain volume with alcohol consumption - in conversation with James.
"I mean, this is probably just the first stop for you tonight, isn't it? You've got some wild plans after this, I'm sure."
Lily doesn't miss the way James' eyes flit to her for the briefest of moments - too quickly for anyone else to notice or make anything of it, but just long enough that she knows it was intentional.
"I hope so," he replies, grinning like a devil.
She turns to the bar just in time to watch Fabian wink at the bartender, trying not to think too much of James' comment. Here, in this bar, James is in his natural element, his 'bad boy' persona on full display. A shiny toy with a price so high she shouldn't even consider paying it.
She won't let herself be charmed by the same tactics he uses on everyone else.
Corinne picks that exact moment to come over and drag Lily out to the dancefloor, and while she would normally rather be anywhere but in the middle of a group of people moving along to the pounding beat of whatever wizard band is responsible for this music, right about now it's a welcome distraction.
As the night wears on, the alcohol starts flowing more freely, and the energy of the bar gradually descends into greater chaos, Lily plots her exit. It's not a particularly complicated endeavor, because it's all too easy to let herself melt into the crowd, gradually moving closer and closer to the door until finally, she can take those last few steps to the exit freely.
Going home from here is the most obvious option, given the late hour and given that she has absolutely no intention of continuing the night at any other bar, but that's not where she Apparates to.
Instead, when she opens her eyes, she's staring up at the Puddlemere practice facility, the familiar building made unfamiliar by the glow of moonlight. Since it's after hours, she has to sneak in through the gate to get to the facility, but the facility's security charms recognize her as an authorized presence and remain silent.
She's only been here at night a handful of times, and she hasn't been alone in any of those instances, so it's hardly given her occasion to admire the facility itself, the subtle beauty of a pitch that houses the sport she's somehow channeled most of her life into.
Her broom is locked in the shed, so she retrieves it, overtaken by the urge to be airborne. Any drink in her system is fully gone now, replaced by the thrill of being here.
She's not dressed for flying, but she's alone in the stadium, so it doesn't particularly matter if her skirt gets blown up a bit by the wind. A Sticking Charm could be useful, she knows that from occasionally flying in her Hogwarts uniform before she'd been issued Quidditch practice gear in seventh year, but she doesn't bother tonight.
As soon as she takes off from the ground, feels that familiar rush of wind through her hair, she feels more free than she's felt all night.
The Warming Charm she cast on her body keeps her from freezing in the January cold, but the icy air still fills her lungs when she breathes it in. It's sharp, feels like it's slicing her from the inside out, and she relishes the sting. It's a painful but somehow lovely reminder that she's so wonderfully alive.
Alone on the pitch, with nothing sounding in her ears but the wind and her own heartbeat, she feels like she's truly coming back into herself. The physicality of it, the precariousness of her position far above the ground, the familiar feel of her broom underneath her - she's aware of every little detail of her body, every single sense heightened.
It's glorious. It's the sort of high she could seek at a bar like the one she just left, were she a different type of person. But she's here instead, chasing a fever dream high in the quiet of the night, through nothing but solitude and pure adrenaline.
Time loses meaning as she laps around the pitch, letting herself drown in the sensation of flying, focusing on absolutely nothing else. It's this, the blissful emptiness, that she's so rarely awarded, that might perhaps be the greatest birthday celebration of them all.
She comes down to the ground entirely ungracefully - while technically correct landings are something she's more or less mastered, there's something about tumbling to the ground and letting herself fall all the way there that just feels magical to her. It feels like the early days of learning to fly, where proper technique was the farthest thing from her mind and James had convinced her to push any ideas of perfection far from her mind.
It's a freedom from control she's so rarely awarded.
Eventually, the cold of the ground starts to seep through her rapidly-fading Warming Charm, and Lily takes that as a sign that she should probably retire for the night. It's late, anyhow - not so much so that she thinks any of the Puddlemere team and staff will have gone home for the night, but late by her own standards.
She takes one more look around the abandoned pitch before walking towards the shed area.
"You left your own birthday party early."
She nearly drops her broom when she sees James come out of the shadows, seemingly out of nowhere. How long has he been here?
Rather than show her surprise, she puts on a mask of casual ease, hiding how hard her heart is suddenly hammering in her chest at his sudden arrival.
"I've never been much for parties," she shrugs, walking past him to drop her broom off in the storage shed.
It's true enough. She gets enough of them from the Order - real life is supposed to be a break from that. And while the Puddlemere team and staff are notably better company than any of the purebloods she's forced to interact with at those events, and she's still grateful to Ozzie for dragging everyone out for the night, it doesn't change the fact that they're just not really her thing.
"That's true, I suppose." He laughs under his breath, like he's got a rather specific memory on his mind.
"What are youdoing here?" she asks, and the words come out more pointed than intended.
She's entitled to that, though. He did just appear out of nowhere - and last she'd seen him, he'd still been at Younger's, deep in conversation with the Prewett twins. Fabian had in fact successfully managed to charm the bartender, and she'd just poured them a round of shots, but Lily hadn't missed the fact that a shot glass was conspicuously absent from James's hand.
He runs a hand through his hair, looking around the pitch. "This seemed like the most likely place you'd run off to. I guessed correctly."
She taps her wand against the broomshed door, unlocking it. "So you did. Still doesn't explain why you're here though."
She's testing him, goading him into saying the unsaid. His words, and the glance that accompanied them, from earlier tonight ring in her ears - she hadn't dared let herself put any credence in them, half-suspecting they were nothing more than one of his games, a knife aimed to cut through the bone, but here he is chasing after her, those words coming to fruition anyways.
"I would've thought it was obvious," he answers, tucking his hands into his pockets. "You can tell me to leave, but - "
She doesn't.
Already, her blood is rushing with anticipation - remembering the feel of his body against hers and the intoxicating taste of his lips. This time, he'd come for her.
Oh, she wants this. She wants him.
He follows her into the broomshed, dutifully standing just inside the doorway as she tucks her Comet into the appropriate spot. His politeness sets off a fire in her to be anything but.
So as soon as her broom is put away, she crosses the room, places her hand in the center of his chest, and unceremoniously shoves him against the wall of the shed.
An almost animalistic growl escapes his throat at that, and a thrill courses through her body at the sound. It makes her feel powerful, knowing that she's got this sort of effect on him.
They pause like that for a moment, frozen in time. His pupils are blown wide, practically searing a hole in her skin as he takes in the sight of her. It's greedy, hungry, and she feels every piece of that starvation in her very bones.
And then he's roughly grabbing the sides of her face and capturing her lips with his own. It's fantastically messy, an endless tangle of lips, teeth, and tongues, and she's pretty sure James bites her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
She doesn't care. Worse, she likes it.
His hands move lower, pulling her so close to him that there's not a breath of air between them, so that Lily can feel him, can feel just how much he wants her already. He's a wall of solid athletic muscle, and his body heat burns her through every piece of clothing they've still got on, every piece of clothing she suddenly wants far gone.
As if James is reading her mind, he's suddenly grabbing the bottom of her shirt, as if to take it off her but not fully committing - at least, not until she pulls her lips away from his for long enough to give a subtle nod, a push of encouragement to yes, please, rip it off. And then he's pulling her shirt up and over her head, and for the first time all night, Lily's intensely grateful that the top necessitates going braless, if only for the look of wonderment that crosses James' features as he takes in the sight of her exposed tits for the first time.
"Fucking hell," he mutters, almost angrily, but with an entirely undisguised desire as well. The words coil in her abdomen, a rush of pleasure in their own right.
Her lips find their way to the side of his neck, and his hands find their way to her breasts. And as she sucks and bites at his skin and ensures that he'll have multiple marks as evidence of their tryst tonight, he teases her, kneading at the delicate flesh and swiping his thumb over her already-hardened nipples.
They're desperate, scrambling, like they're running on borrowed time and have no idea how much longer they have. Though, perhaps based on how their previous encounters have gone, maybe the urgency is warranted.
She lets herself get lost in the sensation of it all, of the taste of his skin against her lips and of the way his every touch makes her feel like she's been set aflame all over again. In this moment, nothing else matters, especially when she pulls his shirt over his head and feels the heat of his skin directly touching hers.
Fuck it. They're going to get farther this time, if she has any say in it.
She wants to watch him come undone, wants to know he's falling apart because of her, wants that rush of power.
Her hands find his belt buckle, undoing it first and then his trousers, slipping her hand under the waistband of his boxers and wrapping around him.
"Oh, fuck," James swears, as she slowly runs her palm up and down the length of him.
"I have something in mind," she mutters in between kisses.
His voice is strained, like even this has him teetering on the edge of control. "By all means, go ahead."
With that directive, she roughly shoves his jeans and boxers down to his ankles, dropping to her knees in front of him. She looks up at him, and the angle is… fuck, it's hotter than it has any right to be. His hair is a wreck, his eyes wide and wild as they take in her change in position, his shirtless body something out of a goddamn fantasy.
With limited preamble, she takes the head of his cock into her mouth, circling her tongue around the tip as James groans.
He starts to say something, but whatever was on the tip of his tongue fades into yet another swear as she takes more of him into her mouth. Every single indication of the effect she's having on him only serves to turn her on more as well, and her hips rock of their own accord, desperately seeking out friction.
"It's your birthday," he eventually manages through gritted teeth, the words seemingly difficult to manage. "Shouldn't this - fuck - shouldn't this be the other way around?"
But despite his words, his hand tightens in her hair.
She continues sucking him off, relishing every single desperate noise and buck of his hips that she elicits, teasing him with her hand and mouth until his head is thrown back against the wall as he comes.
From this angle, he looks utterly debauched, and she feels another rush of pride at the knowledge that she did this to him.
She swallows, not even bothering to wipe her mouth before standing up and kissing him again, just as hard as before. He responds enthusiastically, tongue teasing along her bottom lip as his hand traces up her thigh, under her skirt, and finally dips underneath her knickers.
She's not sure who moans into the kiss first when he touches her. Everything that's been building up in her suddenly finds its outlet, and it's like a lightning strike.
It becomes evident very quickly that James knows exactly what he's doing, knows exactly how to touch her so that her knees buckle underneath her. It's only because his other hand is clamped so firmly on her hip that she stays standing. She'll have bruises there in the shape of his fingerprints in the morning.
He turns around so that they switch places, so that now Lily's the one pressed up against the wall, breathing hard as he sucks on the exposed skin just above her collarbone and slides a finger inside of her.
"Oh fuck," she cries out breathlessly, feeling a familiar heat start to build in her stomach.
It's mind-boggling, how eagerly her body reacts to every little thing he does to her, but she's in no state to question that right now. Her hips rock into his touch rhythmically as he adds a second finger to the mix, his head dropping to her right breast and latching on to it, tongue swirling around the sensitive skin and sending a new wave of pleasure through her. And his thumb, still insistently pressed against that little bundle of nerves.
It's almost embarrassing how quickly she comes.
He rides out the length of her orgasm, fingers still curled inside of her.
When she finally comes to her senses again, finally opens her eyes again, it's to the sight of him with both his fingers - the ones responsible for her current state - in his mouth, sucking them clean of any remnants of her.
He groans. "Fuck. Remind me to taste you properly next time."
She manages to muster enough energy to respond with the necessary bit of snark. "That's a bit presumptuous to assume there's going to be a next time."
He shrugs, fastening his trousers again, doing a shit job of concealing the cocky grin spreading across his face. "I suppose it is, a bit."
It's a level of arrogance she'd find annoying in any other setting, but right now, leaned up against the wall, completely spent from the overwhelming sensation of his touch, she can't help but find it incredibly hot.
She can't say he's incorrect in his presumption either - if Lily has anything to say about it, there will absolutely be a next time.
He steps back into her and presses his lips to her forehead, with a gentleness completely unlike everything else tonight.
"Happy birthday, Lily."
Then he's gone as quickly as he appeared, and she's forced to reckon with the fact that fuck it all, maybe she likes some of the fanfare of a birthday after all.