Home, sweet home, or so the saying goes. James has never been more relieved to step foot on the doorstep of his house in Sunbury-on-Thames. It's not that he's travel-weary from a one hour flight, it's that he's spent the last two nights staring at the ceiling of his hotel room. For the life of him, he could not get Lily Evans out of his mind. No matter what he tried, there was no suppressing the guilt he felt about her overhearing him in the pub, or the fact that every time he closed his eyes to sleep, the only thing he could picture was that damned gold bra.

But now that James is home, he is hopeful that he can put Belfast behind him and get down to business. He's only taken one day off to spend time with his goddaughter, but he still dreads the mounds of paperwork that covers his desk.

Upon opening the door, James is greeted by Filius, the butler for his London home and a longtime family friend. Filius doesn't have the standard 'build' for a butler, if one could argue that butlers had to meet a certain stereotype. He's shorter than most, but employs a strong, severe gaze that he isn't afraid to use when unwelcome guests come knocking. James is eternally grateful for Filius, even with his impeccable and unrelenting flair for formality.

"Good evening, James—"

"Hey, Fil. How are things?"

"They're fine, sir. Quiet and uneventful. Your mother called over the weekend. She didn't realize you'd gone away."

"Oh, yeah. I knew I was forgetting something! Ah, well, I'll call her in the morning. Any other messages I should know about?"

"No, sir, but—"

"Brilliant. Has Dora gone upstairs already? She took off as soon as the car pulled up. Said something about FaceTime with her friends." James sets his bag in the foyer so he can slip off his shoes and grab a drink before retiring to his office.

"Yes, she's upstairs, but sir—"

"Fil, honestly, we've been over this. You don't have to call me sir when it's just us—"

James narrows his eyes while observing the butler. Beads of sweat are running down the older gentleman's forehead while his hands fidget in front of his stomach. The demeanor throws James off as he tries to read Filius's body language. It's not possible that someone could actually be calling right now, right? It's nearly eight in the evening on a Monday!

"Filius, please don't tell me we have visitors," James mutters through gritted teeth.

Fillius winces. "I'm sorry, sir. He said he was looking for Sirius, though I assured him Sirius wasn't here, and—"

"Where?"

"The kitchen, sir."

As if three days without sleep wasn't bad enough, now he has to go deal with a caller upon arriving home? James takes a deep breath and tries not to think about the increasing pounding in his head from exhaustion. Perhaps it was wishful thinking that he might accomplish a few things for work tonight. Now, the only plan for the foreseeable future is to get the intruder out of his home.

James stalks through the hall and into his spacious kitchen, where a man with long black hair tied into a bun sits with his arms resting on the blue-grey granite. He's drumming his ring-clad fingers on the counter as he stares at the clock ticking away on the wall. James bites back a groan of frustration as he wonders how the twenty-seven year old can seem so comfortable in a place where he should know by now that he doesn't belong.

Reaching for the dimmer switch on the wall, James raises the lights in the room from half to three-quarters, gaining the man's attention.

"Regulus."

"James! You're home!"

Regulus Black, Sirius's younger brother and James's biggest pain in the arse. He's always managed to weasel his way into whatever plans Sirius and James would make, despite not being remotely interested in anything other than ruining their good time. If they were taking a weekend away, Regulus would be there with his bags packed. Any Potter function? Regulus would clear his schedule—or already have it free ahead of time—to join them as well. James hoped Regulus's tagging along would become less as they've aged, but it's only gotten worse.

"What are you doing here?"

Doesn't he know that it's rude to call when someone's just returned home from a trip?

On the inside, James laughs at the notion. He's met Walburga Black, the matriarch who would do anything in her power to advance her social standing in society. There's no doubt Regulus will follow in her footsteps, especially being the younger brother since Sirius is due to inherit the majority of the Black family fortune. But why the hell does he insist on hanging around—

"Is this a bad time? Sirius said you'd be back by now, and I thought I'd drop by and see how your weekend was."

Regulus pushes himself off the counter, tossing imaginary strands of hair out of his face as he flashes James a winning smile of teeth that have seen the use of whitening strips one too many times. His hands climb up to straighten the collar on his forest green button-up, which is useless considering the top three buttons are undone, revealing curly tufts of chest hair beneath. And that's when it hits him.

You have got to be fucking kidding me.

James has known Regulus for most of his life, and is well aware that he's never been known to hide his true self. He holds a great amount of respect for his best friend's brother's decision to be open about his sexuality in a world that dissects every step they take as English elite. But the recollection of a recent Daily Mail article that suggests James's own sexuality may be in question, given his lack of female suitors lately, clears the fog surrounding the current situation. Regulus follows the latest gossip in the headlines religiously, which means…

But there's no way he could believe that load of rubbish!

After the impromptu long weekend he's had, this is the last thing James wants to deal with. He removes the frames from his face and rubs his eyes before the same hand swipes through his hair, and he returns the lifeline of sight.

"Regulus, now is not a good time. It's common courtesy to reach out ahead of time before coming to call on someone unexpectedly. It's not like we're living in the 1800s with minimal technology."

"Well, excuse me for preferring the intimacy of speaking face to face," Regulus scoffs.

James forces down the bile that's threatening to creep up from his stomach at Regulus's use of the word intimacy. All signs continue to point toward his presumption, though he's desperately pleading for the evidence to be wrong.

"Yes, well, unfortunately, I'm not in the mood to socialize. Please forgive me, but I do need to retire for the evening."

Regulus pouts at James's dismissal while he makes his way around the counter. James doesn't think he's ever seen a tighter pair of black trousers on a man and has to look away for fear they may split from the tension.

"That's a shame. It's not often we hang out together without my brother, and sometimes I think you might be holding some things back when he's around."

Sure I am, but it's not because Sirius is there, you wanker. It's YOU.

"Er, sorry you think that."

James has no idea what to do about the situation. He can't just dismiss his best friend's brother, calling him out on making a move on him like that. Just because he's not interested doesn't mean he's heartless, unlike what Miss Evans thinks.

And we're back to her again. Will this nightmare ever end?

With a dramatic sigh, Regulus brushes past James. "Well, I know when I'm not wanted. Perhaps next time, the butler should tell me it's not a good time instead of letting me in. I'll see myself out."

Yes, because I'm sure you didn't bowl Filius over upon arrival.

"Regulus, please, you've known the family long enough to call Filius by his name. Don't insult him like that."

"Ugh! Always taking the side of the lower classes," Regulus complains as he shoves his feet into his expensive black leather Armani's.

"Again, we live in the twenty-first century. You shouldn't be so insulting based on perceived status."

Ignoring James's comment, Regulus opens the door and looks over his shoulder to add one more jab before slamming the door behind him.

"I'll be back in a few days. Do try to be in a better mood. Euphemia won't approve when she finds out about my cold welcome."

You can bring my mother into this all you want, Reg, but that's not going to change anything.

Once James is sure Regulus is gone, he takes a few strides toward the door and locks the deadbolt.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Potter, I tried to warn you. He just strolled in here—"

"It's not your fault, Filius. The man knows no boundaries. I'm sorry I didn't give you the chance to give me an adequate warning." James pauses, and Filius gives a slight bow. "I'm heading to bed. You are all set for the evening, especially after dealing with that for who knows how long."

"Thank you, James."

With that, James abandons all promises to himself to accomplish any semblance of work for the evening. Instead, he hopes that a night in his own bed will offer him a better night's sleep—one that is free of redheaded goddesses in shimmery gold bras—leaving him fresh to tackle his duties in the morning.

One week later, James finds himself sitting in his study, staring at piles upon piles of paperwork. No matter how much he accomplishes in any given day, it never seems to be enough. He sits back in his chair and ponders what to tackle first.

He could start by managing the bills and payroll for the two estates in the Potter family. The tasks are menial and don't take a lot of brain power, but the dullness is unappealing. His mind drifts to the Peverell Estate—the second property in Gloucester where his mum still resides—and realizes he's already distracted from the mere thought of beginning with that particular task. Checking the date and knowing that payroll isn't due for another week, he decides to save that nightmare for later, and looks to see what else has appeared since he left on Friday.

A thick manila envelope sits in the middle of his workspace with 'Gourmet Gloucester Upcoming Events' written in large, loopy script. James allows himself to think back on the development of Gourmet Gloucester, which resulted from his childhood passion. Being an only child, James grew up with no lack of want for anything, but the one thing he vividly remembers loving more than anything was being in the kitchen. He'd watch Minnie, the family's chef, prepare meals or help her bake on the weekend.

When James wasn't helping Minnie, his mum would teach him how to make family recipes, and by the time he was twelve, he was creating his own dishes based on the knowledge he'd developed. With his parents' help, he applied to be on Junior Bake Off and was chosen to be a contestant at the age of fourteen. James won the series that year, and the title still hangs over his shoulders to this day. He saved his winnings with the intention of using the funds to open a cooking school that was accessible for all kids, and after graduating from Uni with a degree in business and finance, James pursued his dream, and Gourmet Gloucester was born.

His dad helped him secure property in Gloucester and convert it into the cooking school that is now thriving. The envelope probably contains the latest schedule of events and classes, enrollment information, and other details that the board keeps James apprised of. James knows he'll enjoy digging into the tasks in the envelope the most, but holds off on digging in as a reward for later when he's accomplished some other menial tasks.

He finally settles on the last pile of paperwork to the right that contains the investments from his father's former business. Much like James's endeavors with Gourmet Gloucester, his father used the family fortune to follow his own passion once upon a time, and subsequently tripled its value with his creation of Sleekeazy hair products. It's no secret that the Potter men have been known to inherit unruly hair, and while James prefers a messier look, his father Fleamont grew up in an era where it was expected to be perfectly poised and clean cut.

None of the products that were on the market at the time were doing the job, so with his love and knack for science and experiments, Fleamont took an assortment of current products and played around with the ingredients until he found the right combination that would achieve the right hold and texture he was looking for. What started as a hair cream for men gradually expanded into an assortment of gels, mousses, and hairsprays for all hair types. Since the family still owns the Sleekeazy name, James must also oversee company proceedings and ensure the Board of Directors stay true to his father's original intentions.

Sighing to himself as he reaches forward, he begins tackling the Sleekeazy stack. It would be counterproductive to sit there and stare at it all afternoon. The gentle hum of the radiator keeps him company as he sets to work, his eyes drifting every now and then to the large picture window that looks out over the street. The lane is quiet, with few cars that pass by. In the warmer months, residents venture out more to walk, as the lane extends to a small trail that loops around the nearby wooded area and opens up to a path along the river further down. This is the route James takes when he goes for a run or needs to step away from his desk for a while. Maybe he'll treat himself to a walk later on if he can manage to stay ahead of schedule.

But hours pass with minimal interruptions and James doesn't risk taking a break and ruining his concentration. Dora pops in after she returns from school, and Filius brings him dinner around five, knowing full well not to cause any further disruptions when James is focused on the job. Around seven, there's a knock on his door that causes him to check the time and realize he's been working for nearly six hours straight.

"Come in."

The door creaks open, as most do in the older house, revealing a tall, slim man who closely resembles James's unwanted visitor from a week ago, though this version is dressed down and more casual looking than Regulus.

Ebony hair falls loosely at the man's shoulders with a natural tousled look. He's wearing jeans with a lightweight black sweater under his signature leather jacket, and instead of rings adorning his fingers like Regulus, faded tattoos take their place.

"Still working? Seems unlike you, doesn't it?"

"It's about time you came to call. I was beginning to wonder if you'd dropped off the face of the earth," James quips as he sets his pen down and leans back in his chair.

"That may have been preferred after listening to Reg droning on for three days about how you threw him out of the house last week."

"I didn't throw him out of the house, and you know it, Sirius." James rolls his eyes. "He's the one who shouldn't have stopped by like that. It was rude."

"So, should I leave too?" Sirius's tone is meaningful, but the shit-eating grin on his face cements the fact that he's taking the mick.

"You know that you are welcome any time. Your brother, on the other hand…"

"Can be difficult? Stubborn? Refuses to understand the meaning of the word 'no'?"

James's eyebrows shoot straight up on his face. If they weren't attached, he's sure they'd be plastered to the ceiling. "So much for wishful thinking."

"James, how thick can you be? Ever since he saw that article in the Daily Mail, he's been muttering something about 'gathering more information,' whatever that means," Sirius bites back a snigger, but it's an ill-fated attempt.

James groans as he rubs his face with his hands, a gesture he notices he's doing a lot more lately. "That fucking newspaper. God forbid I be on the brink of 31 and not have a wife."

"Mate, you haven't actively dated since Uni," Sirius counters.

"Things have been busy! You know that. I had to jump right into the family business after graduation. Then with Dad passing, it all fell on my shoulders. And just when I was getting the hang of everything, Ted and Andie died, leaving Dora to me...it's been a lot."

"I know, I know. But I'm your best friend. I get that side of you that the rest of the world doesn't see. Cut them some slack."

James knows it's the nature of a newspaper to spread rumors and he prides himself on being able to ignore it. But now that he has to deal with Regulus's own delusional investigation, it creates a whole new nightmare for which he doesn't have time.

"I'll talk to Reg if you want me to. I know he can come on a little strong," Sirius offers, but James waves him off.

"Thanks, but I'll deal with it. Maybe I just need to get out there and find a woman to take home for the evening so the press can run wild."

Images of Evans return with a vengeance, scorching his mind with her dark auburn hair and mesmerizing green eyes. One second she's dressed and glaring at him, and the next, she's writhing underneath him.

For fuck's sake.

His trousers tighten as the image he's worked so hard to put out of his mind shows up more vividly than ever before. Why can't he let her go? A few chance meetings after judging her during a competition, and no matter what he does, he can't seem to shake her.

"Er, you alright there, James?"

It's getting worse. She's just captivated his mind so thoroughly that he forgot Sirius was even in the room.

It must be because you're feeling guilty about what you said and never got the chance to clear the air.

Well, if it'll give him any sense of closure, he's contemplating looking her up and catching the next flight to Belfast to do just that. He's desperate to move forward and leave that harrowing weekend in the past.

"Care for a walk?" James asks, ignoring Sirius's question.

Sirius nods, and James stands for the first time in hours, taking a moment to stretch his limbs and force his blood to start flowing properly again. After notifying Filius that they are going out, James grabs his coat and follows Sirius out the door. The cold air is welcome on his face, and he uses it as a reality check.

"So, how was the competition? You didn't seem to share much when I texted about it," Sirius probes.

"It was as uneventful as any other engagement I've had to make an appearance at."

James isn't usually this tight-lipped around his best friend, but talking about the competition will lead to Evans, and he isn't interested in talking about her.

"That's not what Dora said."

Of course, she texted him. I should have known.

"She wasn't even at the competition."

"Yeah, but you two went out after, and I heard all about your run-in with a…" Sirius makes a show of tapping his chin as he walks slower before pausing under the soft orange-yellow dim of a streetlight, "redheaded beauty?"

"It was nothing, Sirius. One of the entries I judged happened to be made by an attractive woman, whose fiery temper matched her hair color."

"Fiery temper? What'd you do to see a contestant's temper?"

"Called her 'mint cheesecake brownie' and forgot to ask for her name," James smirks at the recollection.

Sirius bursts out laughing at James's admission. "I can see you haven't forgotten how to sweep a woman off her feet. So if Dora wasn't at the competition, why does she know about the alluring Miss Evans?"

Of course Dora mentioned her name.

"Because we went to the same pub where she was celebrating her birthday that evening."

"And?"

He really needed to do something about Sirius and Dora's correspondence. Things might not bode well for him if the two of them begin scheming behind his back. For a moment, James debates not finishing his explanation for Sirius, but considering he's already heard Dora's side of the story, he knows it's not in his best interest to stay quiet.

"And Dora was pushing me to ask her out. I was tired and didn't want to deal with her pestering, so I told her I wasn't interested and that I thought Evans was…"

James trails off as his eye catches something of interest in an upper window of the house across from where they are standing. He doesn't even realize his eyes are wandering around until they freeze on the silhouette that seems oddly familiar to him. The length of her hair and the shape of her slender body matches the woman who has been invading his dreams more often than not.

But there's no way she could be here. He must be seeing things. She lives in Belfast, not London, and even if she were in London, the odds are slim that she'd be in Surrey.

I'm losing my mind if I'm now imagining Lily Evans in the window of a neighbor's home.

"James?"

"What?"

"You thought Evans was...? You just stopped mid-sentence." Sirius's eyes follow James's line of sight, and James does his best to avert his gaze, but it's too late. "Damn, who's that?"

"I have no idea. Let's head back to the house. It's cold, and your feet have clearly forgotten how to walk."

"You were the one drawing me in with rapt interest about this mystery woman. What did you call her anyways?"

James leads them back toward the house. "I called her unexceptional, and she happened to walk by and heard me."

"Oof. Rough one, mate."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter now, does it? She's in Belfast, I'm here, and it'd be great if you and Dora could let it go."

"What would be the fun in that?"

Keeping my sanity?

"Thanks for the support. At least now I know where your loyalties lie." James reaches out and gives Sirius a light shove on the shoulder.

"Well, when you come to your senses and need help tracking her down, I'm up for an adventure." Sirius pulls his keys out of his coat pocket and unlocks his car. "I'll be around later this week, or just ring me if you change your mind."

"Looking forward to it."

He watches Sirius get in his Black Jaguar, rev the engine and pull away before his eye travels back to the house down the street. The light is on in the same window now, and James's breath hitches in his throat as he lingers for a moment, catching another glimpse of the woman before they draw their blinds. He curses his shit eyesight for not allowing him to see more clearly.

He's so lost in thought that he barely registers the front door opening behind him until Dora tugs on his sleeve. "James? Are you done with work for the night? Can you come help me with my maths assignment?"

James turns to follow her inside and out of the cold. "Sure, but only if you promise to stop passing along gossip to Sirius."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dora says with an innocent flair before bounding up the stairs.

James shakes his head as he sheds his coat and shoes and follows her upstairs. He decides not to push the subject. He's already sure he'll be dreaming of Evans again tonight after so many mentions and a hallucination. Bringing her up with Dora will just add more fuel to an unwanted fire, and he's not sure how much longer he can go on like this.