Written for Jilytober 2021. This one-shot is what happened after Liz sent me four of the Jilytoberfest prompts and I started thinking about combining them into one (smutty) story. The prompts are: 1) Prove it. 2) You're in my seat. 19) Taking off someone's shirt because they're injured. 27) Getting caught staring. This is really just PWP with a dash of pining!Lily thrown in for fun.
A NIGHT TO REMEMBER
Saturday, October 1, 1977
James Potter was in her seat.
She'd been coming to Slug Club dinner parties for two years now, and everyone in their small group of regulars—Edgar Bones, Dorcas Meadowes, Evan Rosier, Adelaide Selwyn, Regulus Black, Severus Snape—knew that seat was hers.
Not that it mattered; not that she cared. It was just…the etiquette of the thing. Like the first day of class, when everyone picks a desk, and that becomes that person's seat. James Potter knew this; James Potter enforced this—Merlin help the poor soul who tried to usurp his usual place between Sirius Black and Remus Lupin, because the only thing quicker than James Potter's speed when taking off with the Quaffle was James Potter's ability to think of a hex the instant someone pissed him off.
And right now, James Potter was disregarding this sacred knowledge in favor of smiling at her with that lecherously smug grin—the one that made his dimples pop and his eyes crinkle behind his glasses—and patting the chair next to him.
"Saved you a seat, Evans."
Lily rolled her eyes and set off around the table, conscious of the multiple pairs of eyes following her. She had been the last to arrive, having stopped in another dungeon room down the hall to check in on the Polyjuice Potion they were brewing for class, but Slughorn was just uncorking the wine as he was rambling on to Evan about Slytherin something or other, so she didn't feel late.
Gathering her dress robes expertly in one hand, she slid into the seat next to James and muttered out of the corner of her mouth, "What are you doing here?"
She sensed him lean down slightly—even seated, he was taller than her—before he murmured, "This might come as a shock, mind, but…I was invited."
"Can't imagine why," she sassed, even though she knew very well why. Apparently that mop of messy black hair and mischievous smirk hid quite a magnificent brain, which he'd managed to keep under wraps until O.W.L.s came back the year before. But now that he was in six N.E.W.T.s—all the same as her—the game was up: James Potter was as prodigious as they came, and if it hadn't been so useful having him as a newfound study partner, she'd probably be pissed off.
"Yeah, well," he said lightly, "not really fair to invite the Head Girl without the Head Boy, now, is it?"
Lily snorted and shook out her napkin over her lap. "Like you care about that."
James just chuckled, something low and soft that sent goosebumps up her arm—
No, she scolded herself. The goosebumps were there because they were in a dungeon, where it was cold—not because of anything to do with James Potter. He might be intelligent, and he might be charming, and he might be surprisingly adept at keeping the troop of prefects under their watch in line, and he might even be impeccably dressed at that very moment in black velvet dress robes that somehow highlighted his jawline and made her want to obscenely pet his shoulders, but he was not—not—the cause of the goosebumps on her arms.
Only, he chose that moment to take the proffered wine bottle from Slughorn and wordlessly fill her goblet before pouring his own, and a strange heat stirred in her stomach, something she'd become begrudgingly used to feeling since being back at Hogwarts that year.
Something that required immediate intervention, lest she start having ideas about those hands that she did not want to entertain.
"You know you're in my seat," she hissed as she reached for her goblet.
He smirked and whispered back, "Does that bother you?"
"Everything you do bothers me," she muttered before she could help it.
She thought she sensed a retort ready on his mouth, but just then Slughorn clapped his hands for everyone's attention and bellowed cheerily, "Welcome, welcome, lovely to have you all for dinner. I believe the elves have cooked up a roast for us tonight, and the wine, if you don't know, is a special blend from the Rosiers' collection…"
Lily tuned out as Slughorn waxed on about the Rosiers' wine-making endeavors, a topic that only Evan appeared to be interested in, though Edgar and Dorcas managed to keep expressions of polite attention on their faces. Severus, per usual, looked agitated, his eyes constantly trying to catch hers and swiveling between her and James. Lily focused on ignoring him, knowing he was worked up over the same thing he'd been harping on about last year—He fancies you! James Potter fancies you!—even though Lily had put her foot down after the debacle of Mulciber's attack on a Muggle-born second-year back in April and resolutely refused to speak to Severus since.
Which James knew, because he'd been there when Lily had confronted Severus in the corridor before class and blatantly attempted to hex his balls off.
And which James was now exploiting, as he suddenly ducked until his nose brushed the top of her ear and his breath tickled her skin while he whispered, "I don't think he likes me much."
It shouldn't be funny; it wasn't funny. And yet, an unseemly snort sent the Rosier wine straight up her nose as she spluttered into her hand and James buried his laugh behind his own fist.
"Heavens!" Slughorn exclaimed, ensuring everyone's attention was now certainly fixed on her. "Lily, are you alright?"
She coughed, eyes streaming, face burning, and managed to choke, "Fine, Professor. Sorry."
Slughorn gave her a confused look, but then turned the conversation back to the Rosiers' winery, where Evan had apparently spent his summer. Across the table, Dorcas was trying not to laugh, eyes glittering at Lily above her suppressed smile, Edgar looked horrified at her faux-pas, Regulus and Adelaide wore similar expressions of disgust, and Severus, usually a sickly pale, was about as puce as the wine and staring daggers at James.
Lily sipped her water and dared a sideways glance, finding James leaning back casually in his chair and cooly returning Severus's glare. As if he sensed Lily looking at him, James turned his head toward her, arching a brow with a look Lily had come to understand as him silently asking, you alright? She gave the slightest of nods, returning her attention to the table, then started in her seat as she felt a hand squeezing her leg just above her knee. But before she could register it properly, it was gone, and when she chanced another look up at James, he was looking at the wine he was swirling in his goblet. If it wasn't for the still-sizzling blood under her skin or the increased fluttering in her chest, she might have thought she imagined it.
She probably should just convince herself she imagined it. James had never touched her leg before; had never touched her at all, really, aside from an accidental brush of hands or a passing pat on the shoulder. And yet…
As her eyes passed over Severus, still looking constipated with fury as he split his glare between her and James, she felt filled with something else: reassurance. She might sass James and fight the childish crush she'd never managed to outgrow at every turn, but studying together last year and working together as Head students for the past month had added something to their quasi-friendship: trust. A very particular kind of trust, mind. James Potter oozed mischief like he breathed, so one simply could not turn their back and expect him to behave. But in the hyenas' den? She knew he had her back without question. Though they might snark and tease like normal, they were still two lions in the depths of enemy territory, and in the echo of his hand on her thigh, she felt his message in the energy between them: I'm here.
Lily would never tell him this—was afraid to even think it, really—but the truth was that she wasn't sure the presence of anyone else at her side would make her feel as calmly confident as she did just then.
It was only because he was the best at dueling, obviously. And maybe his being tall. And strong. And athletic. And being a walking encyclopedia of creative hexes rivaled only by her own internal catalogue.
Food appeared on their plates, and from the corner of her eye, she saw an exposed stretch of forearm above the rolled sleeve of a crisp dress shirt as James reached for his cutlery.
Damn.
Lily's sense of foreboding only increased as the meal dragged on. Because through Slughorn's typical bland conversation about obscure goings-on at the Ministry and everyone's (well, everyone except her and Severus's) family connections that could inevitably trace back to his growing collection of Important People; and through a typical excellent meal of roast, mashed potato, and roasted veg; and through a glass of the Rosier wine, and then another, and then a third, Lily couldn't stop the runaway train of thought happening in the background of her mind, which could only be summed up as: James Potter was fit as fuck.
She blamed the wine. Maybe also the occasional accidental elbow bumps, which were then followed by sideways smirks that were too charming for his own good. Maybe also the knee bump, which she suspected might not have been as accidental. Maybe also the forearm that she saw every day but still couldn't stop glancing at.
Damn.
Dessert plates appeared in front of them, bearing slabs of frosted chocolate cake adorned with slender slices of strawberries and dollops of whipped cream.
"And Mr. Potter!" Slughorn exclaimed. "I hear your name is near the top of the League's list of recruits! Might we expect to see you flying in some different colors this time next year?"
Lily stuffed a spoonful of cake in her mouth as she turned her head sideways to look at James, whose cheeks were tinged faintly pink with wine.
"Ah, I don't think so, sir," he told Slughorn in a jovial tone, picking up his goblet. "As much as I love to play, I think going straight into Auror training will be a more practical use of my time."
"Admirable, admirable," Slughorn commended. "I assume you've been introduced to Rufus Scrimgeour?"
James swallowed a drink of wine and licked his lips. "I have, yes."
Frosting melted on her tongue. Delectable.
A new voice, one that made Lily's blood curdle on the daily, floated, "I hear Auror training is incredibly dangerous."
She looked up at Adelaide Selwyn, resting her chin in her palm as she batted her eyelashes at James. Lily was suddenly filled a childish urge to fling her strawberry slices across the table and right onto Adelaide's painted, simpering face.
James, she realized belatedly, was slow to answer because he'd taken a bite of his own cake. But then he swallowed, leaning forward on his elbows, and smiled charmingly as he said, "I think I'm up for it."
Adelaide smirked as she twirled a lock of blonde hair around her finger. "You are the best dueler in the school."
Lily tried to ignore the bubbling in her stomach over Adelaide's flattery; the girl had been shamelessly flirting with James for weeks now, an invitation to the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year obviously in her sights, and Lily was growing more sick of it by the day.
But to her genuine surprise, James deflected, "Nah. I'm good, but I haven't dueled everyone."
Adelaide rolled her eyes playfully. "Like there's anyone in this school you couldn't beat."
"Actually"—James stretched back in his chair, grinning—"I dunno if I could beat Evans."
Lily barely heard Adelaide's scoff across the table, too absorbed in watching James and noticing the juxtaposition of him: the gracefulness of his body with the shit-eating grin on his face; teeth shiny and straight while his glasses were slightly crooked; skin pristine under the mess of hair sweeping over his forehead. And then he popped his spoon in his mouth, pulling his lips briefly under only to lick them free of chocolate and whipped cream with a darting pink tongue, and when he abruptly looked down at her with eyes that danced over her face and that lecherously smug grin again, Lily's stomach dropped.
She'd been so caught.
"Oho!" Slughorn bellowed. "Smart boy! I don't know if anyone would come away from the end of her wand unscathed!"
Adelaide threw her a dirty look and Snape squirmed in his seat, likely remembering the last time he was on the receiving end of her wand, and that combination was all the ammunition Lily needed to turn her own smirk on James and chide, "Maybe you should challenge me sometime, Potter."
His face glowed with pride, but instead of an answer, he just winked and turned back to his cake. Slughorn moved on to another topic, and Lily forced her eyes back on her own plate, determined to get her mind back on track after this bizarre detour. But then, as her next bite of cake started to melt in her mouth, she felt it: the weight of a leg much bigger than her own resting against hers, like he'd given up trying to contain himself inside his cramped bubble of personal space at the overly full table and had let his leg spread in a casual invasion of hers.
Though her body froze, her blood sped up, chest fluttering, mind racing. Was he…flirting with her?
She snuck a glance at him, but he was focused on the table, and Lily turned her own attention resolutely back to Slughorn, determined not to look at him.
But she didn't move her leg away, and for the remainder of dessert, neither did he.
Eventually, the evening wound to a close, and Lily avoided looking at James as she pushed out of her chair, said her goodbyes to Slughorn, Dorcas, and Eddie, and then ducked into the girls' lavatory down the corridor, where she peed a flood and then stared at herself in the mirror, trying to force herself back into sense. What had gotten into her?
Well, that was a dumb question. Wine. Wine is what had gotten into her, what had messed with her head.
Not James Potter.
He'd waited for her in the corridor (because of course he did), and fell in step with her as she emerged, hands in his pockets as he matched his stride to hers.
"Not bad," he opened.
"The food? Agreed."
James chuckled. "At least Slughorn does most of the talking."
"True."
There was a beat of silence, and then his steps slowed. "Are you…okay?"
If okay encompassed barely holding onto her sanity and not being able to talk to him because of her sudden revelation during dinner that he was fit and she liked it, then…
"Fine. Just tired."
A hand closed loosely around her elbow in a gentle prompt, and Lily's heart skittered. Discounting elbow and knee bumps, that was the third—third!—very deliberate touch of the evening. She stared at it, at the way his hand dwarfed her arm, long fingers resting gently against her skin, before lifting her eyes to his. Firelight from the sconces lining the dungeon corridor reflected off his glasses, lighting up his face in stark shadow, but Lily didn't miss the slight furrow in his forehead or the way his eyes flitted between hers.
"Evans, are…we okay?"
Her mouth opened wordlessly, and before she could even begin to process an answer, clicking footsteps echoed around the corner ahead and an oily voice snarled, "Take your hands off her."
James's grip only tightened, but Lily didn't care—she was too preoccupied by her immediate shock and disgust towards Severus, standing at the end of the corridor with his lank hair falling into his face and his wand pointed straight at James.
"Shut up, Sev," Lily snapped. "What the hell are you doing?"
Evan Rosier stepped out from the shadows, the good-natured mask he'd worn for Slughorn dissolved from his face. "Just making sure all the trash got taken out tonight, Mudblood."
James stiffened next to her, but Lily reacted first, throwing her head back in a forced laugh and then slowly clapping her hands. "Wow. Just…so original, I really don't get how you manage to come up with such…repetitive insults."
Evan's eyes flashed in a split-second warning before he brandished his wand from his robes, and this times James reacted first, lunging in front of Lily and catching the red jet of light with a groan of pain as he sent his own blue jet at Evan.
For the next several seconds, chaos ensued: Regulus revealed his presence from the shadows, joining the fray, and after James's hex hit Evan, Snape sent a snarling jinx back at him, which Lily blocked with a shield charm. James steadied next to her, and they faced the three Slytherins side-by-side, ducking and blocking the oncoming attacks while mounting a steady stream of spells back. It was a bizarre scene, Lily thought, because they were all using nonverbal spells yet breathing heavily with all the swirling movement. A wayward spell blasted apart a sconce in the wall, sending the flame bursting into a mini explosion that singed Lily's cheek, but the Slytherins hadn't retreated.
After what could have been seconds or minutes—she really couldn't tell with all the adrenaline of the action—a high-pitched meow cut through the scuffling noise in the corridor, and Lily froze, wand at the ready, as she saw James and the Slytherins all do the same, eyes darting around the floor until, with a flick of her bushy tail and a purr that seemed far too sinister for Lily's liking, Mrs. Norris wound around the corner and sat looking as pleased as if she'd just found mice in a trap.
It only took a single beat of awareness, and then everyone scattered: the Slytherins sprinted back down the corridor that would take them to their common room, and James grabbed Lily by the hand, yanking her around the corner Mrs. Norris had emerged from.
"But Filch—" Lily started to protest.
"Trust me," James cut her off, and Lily, with no better option, figured she might as well.
Somewhere ahead of them, the cackling voice of Filch echoed off the stone. "Where are you, my sweet? We'll find them, yes we will…"
But before they could round a corner and come face-to-face with the caretaker, James pulled her sharply sideways. Lily stumbled after him, eyes blinking furiously to adapt to the sudden pitch-darkness of wherever they were, and maybe James knew her better than she thought, maybe he sensed her about to start rattling off questions, because his fingers pressed against her lips a split-second before his wand lit up, revealing him standing in front of her with an ear cocked, listening.
Lily held her breath, then heard it, too: Filch, grumbling about students out of bed amidst his wheezing harrumphs, and then, eventually, the slow retreat of footsteps.
James dropped his hand still shushing her mouth but shook his head and whispered, "He usually camps out for awhile if Norris hangs around. If I had the map, I could—"
"Map? What map?"
"Oh." He swallowed, his face suddenly blank. "Uh. Nothing, just—"
"Potter," she scolded, crossing her arms. "We're stuck in some mystery location in the dungeons after dueling a pack of Slytherins after hours and running away from a cat. Just tell me what you mean by if you had the map."
He lifted a hand to his ruffle his hair—not an anxious ruffle, she thought, more like a pondering ruffle (she had deduced after spending more amicable time with him since last year that there were indeed different ruffles for his different moods)—and then after a moment of thought, he sighed and slid down the wall behind him to sit on the floor, wincing as he went.
"Potter? Wait, are you hurt?"
He shook his head, though Lily wasn't sure she was convinced as he said through gritted teeth, "I'm fine. Um, the map is top secret, don't let the lads find out you know, but we—well, we made a map of Hogwarts that shows where everyone is."
All thoughts of his potential injury flew from her brain as she stared at him slack-jawed and slumped down to a sit cross-legged opposite him. "Wha—how?"
With a sheepish grin and another ruffle (anxious this time), he explained, "A lot of nights out of bed, my family's invisibility cloak, Pete's drawing skills, and a Homonculous Charm?"
Lily gaped at him. "That's—blimey."
It was stupendous magic, is what it was, but she couldn't form the words to tell him that just then. Which was probably for the better, seeing as his ego was already three times too large for his already towering body.
Her shock must have worked well enough, though, because his grin turned into something shit-eating and his eyes twinkled behind his glasses as he elaborated, "Took us four years of solid work, couldn't get the charm down until the end of fifth. And we don't use it to spy, mind, we could really care less what people are doing, but it's dead useful when we want to get up to a bit of fun."
Lily arched a sardonic brow. "When you want to play pranks, you mean?"
James chuckled as he leaned his head against the wall behind him. "You know you laugh, Evans."
Lily ignored this in favor of asking another question pressing on her mind. "Where are we, anyway?"
"Old dungeon closet," James answered, eyes closed. "We concealed the door in fourth, so you can only get in if you know about it. Reckon Filch has long since forgotten, he never finds us in here."
She shook her head, wondering for a moment if she'd misheard him. "Hang on. You concealed a room inside Hogwarts?"
"No," he corrected plainly, "several, actually—"
"Potter!"
His eyes blinked open. "What?"
"Since when are you lot capable of that kind of magic?"
A lazy grin spread across his face. "Impressed, eh?"
She fixed him with a look, but then the corner of her eye caught on—
"Wait a minute, are you bleeding?"
James looked down, startled, and pulled aside his robes to prod at his shirt underneath, which was singed and mottled with black and dark red.
She pushed onto her knees, scolding, "Potter, you said you weren't hurt!"
"No," he winced, "I said I was fine. There's a difference."
Lily sighed and got to her feet. "Come on, we can go to the Hospital Wing."
James shook his head. "I'm not giving them that satisfaction. I'm fine."
She just rolled her eyes. "It's Rosier, who the fuck knows what he cast. You should have Pomfrey look at it."
James got slowly back to his feet, then started pulling off his dress robes, wincing as he went. "If it's not infected, it's fine," he argued.
Lily crossed her arms over her chest, trying to stay defiant, but as his velvet cloak dropped to the floor and she saw the full extent of the burnt stretch of shirt, she gasped a concerned, "Fuck, Potter!"
He pinched a clean section of the shirt like he was trying to pull it away from his body, but he instantly gritted his teeth with a hiss. "Shit, that stings."
Lily frowned. "You need to get the fabric out of the wound. It'll only get worse the longer you wait."
He nodded, throat bobbing, and looked down as his fingers started fumbling with the buttons. She didn't say anything, feeling a mixture of distinctly awkward and uncomfortably guilty, knowing he had taken that hit for her. When his shirt was unbuttoned, he tried to pull off the side where his wound was, but pain sent him wincing, his arm not able to lift high enough. Though she grimaced, she didn't second-guess herself, just went immediately to him, pulling back the embedded shirt from angry skin as gently as she could and then easing it down his arm—trying not to think about the curve of his bicep under her fingers—until he could slip free of the sleeve.
She knew she should be focusing on the burn slashed across his chest, on the angry red skin already puckering where the spell's jet had met its mark, but as he peeled back the rest of his shirt, all her wandering eyes could see were pectorals (taut), abdominals (rippling), and a trail of dusting hair disappearing into the waistband of the briefs peeking above his trousers. A distant hiss of pain met her ear, no doubt a reaction to his wounded skin pulling with the movement, and she forced herself—slowly, agonizingly—to lift her gaze from the chiseled torso he'd kept hidden and back up to his face.
Which was already watching her with open interest and a too-amused smirk that told her one thing: for the second damned time that night, she was caught.
The butterflies in her chest went wild.
When he spoke, his voice seemed a level lower, softer, almost—sultry. "Alright, Evans?"
No, she wanted to say. She was one hundred percent not alright. She'd just suffered through a Slytherin-dominated dinner party—in which he'd stolen her seat, no less—only to get caught up in a duel with those same Slytherins afterwards, only to run for it at the sight of a cat mysteriously powerful enough to make grown students flee in fear, only to wind up in a secret dungeon closet with a shirtless and injured James Potter.
Emphasis on shirtless.
"Fine," she huffed, averting her eyes back to the line of mutilated flesh interrupting his otherwise flawless skin.
James cleared his throat softly. "Just a stinging hex, I think—only with some extra gusto behind it."
Lily narrowed her eyes at it before nodding her agreement. "If you won't go to Pomfrey, there should be some salve in the store cupboard," she mumbled. "Slughorn keeps it around in case of accidental burns."
"Right."
She met his eyes for only a second before an inexplicable flush started up her neck, and she turned swiftly away, saying, "I'll go fetch it—how will I find this closet again?"
"It's a tapestry on the outside," James told her gruffly. "Of Ulrich the Unclean opening the door to a lavatory."
Despite her better judgment, her eyes whipped back over her shoulder to his, incredulous, but James just shrugged and said, "Sirius's idea."
Swearing under her breath, feeling past her limit of learning those boys' shenanigans, Lily took off down the stone corridor, wand clasped tightly at her side.
To her surprise and extreme relief, she didn't meet anyone on her journey to and from the store cupboard, which was indeed stocked with a jar of salve. Her steps slowed as she approached the tapestry, thoughts of the tension inside whirling through her mind now that the adrenaline of retracing her steps through the darkened corridor had passed. What was going on? Why was she suddenly a nervous, idiotic mess in the presence of James Potter, insufferable prat extraordinaire? Deep down, she knew why—or at least, she knew it had something do with that jaw and that hair and those damn muscles—but she pushed the thought aside. They were partners, now; she supposed he was her friend; and he was injured from a nasty hex meant for her.
She needed to get a grip.
With a fortifying breath, she reached for the doorknob in the tapestry, which solidified under her hand and swung open as a door.
James's hand immediately jumped to his hair, tugging in a way that indicated…nerves? Lily kept scrutinizing eyes on him as she closed the closet door behind her. There was a blotchiness to the skin around his neck that hadn't been there before, and his eyes looked glassy, dazed.
"Alright, Potter?"
"Yeah," he blurted quickly. "Great. Fine."
"Uh-huh."
He just stared at her, hand dropping from his hair to rub at the back of his neck.
Lily pulled the jar from the pocket of her robes and approached him as she unscrewed the lid. "This should work," she rambled. "I'm not sure how much you'll need, that's a nasty burn, though I think Slughorn makes this stuff strong—"
"Thanks. For going to get it."
She only nodded, trying to ignore the tremble in her fingers as she scooped iridescent goo onto her fingers and lifted her hand toward his bare chest.
"This might sting," she warned.
"I've felt worse," he murmured back.
Her hand faltered as she realized she couldn't tell if he was referring to physical injury or that of the emotional variety.
"Potter—"
She heard him swallow, but then he just cut across her with a harsh, "Just do it."
Some emotion she couldn't explain, something like nerves and heat and shame all balled up together, knotted in her chest, but she did as he requested, wincing at the hiss that elicited, despite how delicately she tried to spread the salve over the angry skin. His wand fell from his hand with a clatter, and Lily spared a quick glance down to see him bracing his fingers against the wall.
"Almost done," she murmured, turning her attention back to the last bit of blistering skin in the center of his chest.
He exhaled a shaky breath, his effort in controlling his pain obvious, and Lily paused to review her handiwork before telling him, "It's already healing, but I think you might need another layer so it doesn't scar."
One hand went up to bury absently in his hair as he mumbled, "Yeah, okay."
"Potter." Lily rested a hand purposefully on his shoulder, her own stomach fluttering at the heat of that touch, but succeeding in drawing his eyes down to hers. "Are you alright?"
He chewed his lip as he looked down at her, but then gulped and said, "Yeah."
Lily just frowned. "You can tell me if you're not, we can go to the Hospital Wing—"
"No." He sounded breathless. "It's not that."
Part of her wanted to ask, what is it, then? but she held herself back, thinking she might already know the answer, and that it might have nothing to do with that welting burn and everything to do with her hands on his bare skin and that look he gave her sometimes and that leg pressed against hers under the table and those nagging words—He fancies you! James Potter fancies you!—that she'd tried to ignore but that had only increased their haunting over the past several months.
Wordlessly, she spread another layer of salve over his burn, watched his skin continue to knit and stitch and heal before her eyes, and then she spun the lid back on the jar and set it down at her feet.
"It probably, um—needs a couple minutes to fully absorb."
He cleared his throat again. "Right."
An awkward silence blanketed the closet, and Lily chewed her lip as she looked at his chest under the guise of watching the progress of his healing wound. This was uncharted territory; James Potter was never normally one to stand silence, nor was he ever shirtless in her presence. The combination was unbearable, and when she looked up to find his eyes already on her face, that familiar heat, the one she'd felt at dinner (and in class, and in the common room, and while watching Gryffindor's Quidditch trials) coiled in her stomach, fluttered in her chest, as she realized just how close they were.
And just how much she wanted to be even closer.
James's eyes flitted between hers, so golden in the muted wand light that they seemed to glow, and her breath caught as she saw them flit down to her lips and watched his lips part ever so slightly.
Lily felt out of her body, possessed by some pull she didn't understand but couldn't resist, and in one smooth movement, she pushed up onto her tiptoes, slid her hands around his neck, and whispered, "Is it this?"
He growled, "Fuck, yes," and in the next split second, she knew he understood her return to their prior exchange, knew she'd guessed the answer, knew she was already in over her head by the way his voice sent a shiver up her spine—and then she kissed him.
Or maybe he kissed her; she couldn't tell. She only knew that for a simple press of lips together, it was dizzying, more than a first kiss had ever been, and that his hands scorched a path around her waist and up her back as he drew her closer to him.
She moaned a soft protest against his mouth, breaking away to whisper, "Your burn—"but he just interjected a hasty, "Fine," and recaptured her lips with his.
Lily supposed she really should have expected it—James Potter, after all, was never one to do anything by halves—but he kissed like a man starved, lips bruising, tongue demanding, and it was all she could do to keep up with the fiery pace he set as her chest fluttered and mind buzzed and head tipped for him while her fingers got lost in that sinfully soft hair.
Chest heaving against hers, he broke away from her mouth, leaving her head spinning, only to duck into her exposed neck and suck on her flushed skin between ragged breaths.
"Shit, Lily," he muttered. "Fuck."
Her hand snaked through his hair to cradle his head against her neck, knees going weaker by the second. "Oh, god," she moaned softly. "James—"
His teeth pinched the skin under her jaw, eliciting a surprised gasp from her already-open mouth, as his hands squeezed tighter at her waist.
"You can't—can't say my name like that," he growled into her ear.
Her question floated on a breath: "Why not?"
He rested his forehead against her jaw, his breath coming in hot gusts against her skin for several seconds before he answered, "Because I won't be able to stop."
She slid her hands down to his face, forcing him to lift his head and meet her eyes as she asked, "What if I don't want you to stop?"
His mouth opened and closed, eyes darting between hers, before he managed, "You—you don't?"
Lily shook her head slowly, summoning her Gryffindor out of the racing mess of her heart to finally put into words what she'd been afraid to even let herself think. "No, I—I want this. Want you."
James stared at her dumbly. "Me?"
She rolled her eyes, the tension momentarily broken by the return of their default banter. "I don't know, is your name James Potter? Tall bloke, about six foot three, sexy glasses, great smile, makes me laugh even when I don't want him to?"
James blinked, something softening in his face. "You think my glasses are sexy?"
"Oh, for the love of Merlin," Lily sighed. "Yes, Potter, I think everything about you is sexy—"
His mouth tugged up in a smirk. "I thought everything I did bothered you, Evans?"
"It does," Lily huffed, "because no matter how bloody maddening you are, I still just want to do this."
And she kissed him square on the mouth, hands burying back into his hair, chest arching into him, butterflies swirling over the way he groaned while kissing her back. With a movement so smooth she barely felt it, he turned her around, pressing her spine into the stone wall as one hand cushioned her head and the other wrapped around the back of her waist, lips sliding over hers in an uninterrupted rhythm that gave as much as it took. His heat pressed in on her from all sides, his body encasing her small frame solidly between his hard chest and the even harder wall, and Lily forgot about the wound that had started it all, forgot about the running, the dueling, the flirting, the dining. There was only this: hands and lips and tongue and teeth, all in a synchronized dance that felt more natural, more right, than this dance had ever felt.
Making out with James Potter was intoxicating. She couldn't get enough of him; couldn't stop feeling the ridges of his shoulders, squeezing the flexed muscles of his arms, tracing the angle of his jaw as his tongue plundered her mouth. And when he shifted in front of her to press his leg solidly between hers, she didn't even think before rucking up her dress to feel the smooth fabric of his trousers, taut over his straining thigh, between her bare legs.
James groaned into her open mouth, and instead of returning her hands to his neck, Lily rested them at his waist, brushed her fingers over his abs as she rolled her hips over his leg. Aching arousal shot up her spine, her thin lace barrier creating a delicious friction that she was desperate to chase, and she would have done if James didn't break away from her mouth just then, stilling her movements with a firm hand on her hip.
"Hold on," he breathed.
"What?" Lily asked, delirious in her desperation for him. "What's wrong?"
His forehead rested heavily on hers. "I—Evans, you know I want this."
Her gut twisted. "But?"
He swallowed thickly. "But…I can't just hook up with you if that's all you want. I—fuck, I'm just gonna say it. I fancy you too much. Look, it's already hard enough working together without—"
But she silenced him with her hands cupping his cheeks, thumbs stilling his lips. "You fancy me?"
His eyes searched hers, brows knitting together. "Since fifth year," he mumbled against her thumbs. "Lily, you know this, everyone knows—"
She shook her head, pressing harder on his lips to silence him. "In fifth year, yeah, but…"
He twisted his face from her grasp, eyes suddenly sad as he said, "Well…I didn't exactly stop."
The force of that admission hit her square in the chest and a weak, "Oh," escaped her lips. Had she known? Deep down? All this time? Had her outward denial and the blatant wall she'd thrown up between them been nothing but a coping mechanism, a way to keep him at arm's length until she was ready to fess up to the feelings she'd been pushing down since she was fifteen?
"I'm sorry." He dropped his head with a sigh. "I shouldn't've—"
"Don't—"
"This was—
"Stop—"
"—a mistake—"
"James."
His eyes widened at the sound of his name, mouth falling slack as he peered down at her.
Lily took a deep breath, gathering her courage. "This—us—is not a mistake, and…I should be the one apologizing."
He only looked more confused. "For what?"
She chewed her lip as she followed the line of his collarbone to avoid meeting his eye. "For…being unnecessarily stubborn, I suppose. I, um…I fancied you in fifth too, you know."
His silence pulled her gaze upward, where his mouth had fallen further open and his eyes were wide with shock behind his glasses.
"I didn't want to," she continued with a dry chuckle, "because you acted like an entitled prat, so…I tried to hate you instead. It, um…it didn't work very well."
He arched a brow and asked cheekily, "Why's that?"
She smirked softly as she shook her head. "Because you, James Potter, are a pretty great bloke. When you're not acting like an entitled prat, that is."
There was a new softness twinkling in his eyes. "Grew out of that a bit, I think."
"Yeah," she agreed quietly. "I sort of didn't want to notice."
"And now?"
Her heart skittered against her ribs, nerves twisting her insides, but he was so damn earnest that she knew she had to tell him what he deserved to hear. Holding his gaze, voice barely above a whisper, she confessed, "I didn't exactly stop either. Fancying you."
A slow, dimpling grin spread across his face, and he lifted his hand from her waist to tilt her chin as he asked, "In that case…go out with me?"
Lily bit back her own smile. "You know it drives me mad how smooth you are sometimes?"
"Lily." The sound of her name in his voice like that, low and gravely, sent a shiver up her spine. "Everything you do drives me mad."
"Fuck," Lily breathed. "Just—yes, James, fuck."
She flung her arms around his neck, crashing her lips against his as his hand slid into her hair and his body pressed her solidly back against the stone, radiating warmth that overcame the chill surrounding them. If James Potter was summer, she had just flung open the door, and now that she was here, basking in his light, filling with his heat, she wanted to kick herself for not getting to this season sooner.
A small part of her brain reminded her that was stupid; wasn't that part of growing up, looking back with the wisdom of hindsight's lens? The James standing before her—holding her, kissing her—was not the James she'd known two years ago, or one, or even a month ago when they'd stood facing each other with arms crossed on the Hogwarts Express. This James was the culmination, the best James she'd seen out of six years of knowing the guy. In a weird way, even though they'd been some version of rivals, she'd always trusted him; always known that, when push came to shove, James would have her back, if only because she was a fellow Gryffindor. But this was the James she respected, the James she felt proud to like—the James she could finally admit that she wanted to date.
If only fifth-year Lily could see her now.
In a flurrying shuffle of hands and arms and lips, Lily realized with a gasp that his leg was back between hers and his hands were set high on her waist, thumbs brushing over her ribs through the slippery fabric of her dress.
James pulled back at the sound and breathed a haggard, "Okay?"
Though they were dark and wild, his eyes darted between hers with a furrow, and Lily realized he must have misinterpreted her surprised noise. Eager to reassure him but finding herself rather breathless, Lily rucked her dress back up and slid along his leg, letting her eyes close with the pleasure that friction created. "Meant it," she managed to whisper. "Want you."
His responding, "Fuck," came hot and fast under his breath, and when she opened her eyes, it was to find him watching her progress against his thigh. She followed his gaze, to the sight of her legs framing his, hips wriggling under pooling navy velvet, and then out of the corner of her eye she noticed a distinct bulge outlined in his gray trousers, near where—
"James?"
"Hmm?"
Lily giggled. "Why are your trousers unzipped?"
His eyes shot up to hers, throat bobbing, and through the dim lighting from the wand still lit on the floor, Lily saw his cheeks darken in a flush. Altogether, this made for an entirely unexpected reaction to what she'd intended as a light-hearted tease.
"I, um—"
She prompted him with raised brows, and one of his hands flew to his hair (definitely a nervous ruffle) as he chewed his cheek.
Laughing, she deadpanned, "Merlin, it's just a zipper, Potter. What, did you have a wank in here while I was gone or something?"
She saw the answer written in the guilt all over his face, and her mouth fell open. "Holy shit, you did!"
He groaned, dropping his head as his fingers raked frustratedly through his hair. "I just—fuck, Evans, I was getting hard just from thinking about being in here alone with you, and with you in that dress…I just"—his voice dropped to a grumble—"had to bust one out real quick."
The part of her that was incredulous and amused wanted to laugh, but the other more dominant (and randy) part was somehow even more turned on than she already had been.
She reached for his face, squirming over his leg as she asked, "What did you think about?"
His eyelids fluttered, but he answered, "You."
"Well, obviously." Lily brushed her nose against his chin. "I meant, specifically."
His hands closed back around her waist, breath tickling her cheek as he cleared his throat softly. "Specifically, um…I thought about shagging you into this wall."
Lily smiled, placing a kiss under his jaw. "Mmm, I like this fantasy."
James only gave a soft moan as she slid her mouth along his neck.
"Bet reality's better, though," she added.
His breath hitched. "Fuck, Lily."
"Yes," she murmured, clenching her thighs around his leg. "You should."
That snapped him out of his stupor, eyes blinking rapidly at her. "You—are you for real?"
In answer, Lily leaned her head back against the stone wall, back arching, and pulled his hands up by the wrists until they cupped her breasts. "You already have me halfway there," she told him, giving his leg another slide to make her point, "and I told you before: I don't want you to stop."
His hands squeezed as his hips gave a little thrust into hers, and he dipped his head to kiss her soundly before pulling away to groan, "Fuck, I want you."
Unyielding want consumed her body and her fingers scrabbled into his hair, needing him closer, as she moaned back, "I want you, too."
He kissed her again, and if he'd had any surprise or doubts over Lily's declarations, they seemed to have been assuaged, because his tongue darted with purpose, his thumbs circled with precision, and when Lily rolled her hips against him, he dropped a hand to dip under her dress.
His voice was raspy but controlled as he asked, "This what you want?" while his fingers skimmed over the lace, sending a whole new ache washing over her that propelled her hips to press chase his hand.
"I want to come," she whined, ignoring the part of her brain that questioned Lily Evans ever whining about anything; James Potter obviously made her do things she didn't understand, which apparently included making her so randy she whined.
James only chuckled, lips brushing hers in the faintest of kisses as his fingers pushed her knickers aside and began their delicate strokes around her entrance. "You will," he told her softly.
Her head rested heavily on the stone wall behind her, back arching and hips squirming into James's touch, and she quickly gave up on trying to stifle the whimpering noises rising in her throat. Somehow, in what seemed like a matter of seconds, he was working a symphony out of her body, playing her breast with one hand, her clit with the other, and her neck with his mouth. She knew from the moment it started: she was done for, and the only unknown was how long she'd be able to hold on.
"That's it," he purred against her skin. "Come for me."
Her rational mind protested—it was too soon! Her whole body was screaming for him, and they hadn't even gotten to the good part yet! It couldn't be over.
James must have picked up on her hesitation, because he asked gently, "Is this okay?"
"Mmm." Words were out of the question, then. She reached down between them, groping for the bulge she'd spied earlier, and a fresh wave of butterflies doused her bloodstream as she felt that hard length for the first time. James sucked in a breath at her neck and, encouraged, Lily gave him a squeeze as she found enough voice to mutter, "This."
His chuckle rumbled softly against her skin, and between wet kisses, he murmured, "I'm gonna give it to you, trust me—but if I get—to come twice tonight—because of you—it's only fair you—come twice—because of me."
That effectively cut off any remaining ability Lily had to speak. She'd had her fair share of dalliances with other boys in the castle, even a boyfriend (albeit briefly) the year before, but none of them had ever gotten her off twice in one go. Hell, she'd never even really thought about it, because none of them had ever tried, and the fact that such a phenomenon had never come up in chats with her closest girlfriends indicated they'd never gotten such an experience either.
"Lily?"
She found his eyes with hers, realizing with a slow blink that she'd gone so still she might have seemed immobilized. "Sorry, it's just—no one's ever—I mean, not twice in one go."
His brows climbed in amusement.
"I mean, I'm not even sure if I can…" Now she was just rambling.
"Oh, yes you can." He kissed the corner of her mouth, smiling as he added, "I'll prove it."
Like a man on a mission, he slipped a second finger inside while pressing his thumb back on her center, and Lily slumped against him, moaning sharply into his chest. It was like the rest of the world fell away; she had no awareness of the room around them, no sense of time. There was only pleasure building in her core, only James's free hand squeezing her arse and pulling her against him as her body rode the rhythm of his curling and circling fingers, only his voice in her ear coaxing her along as her legs weakened and her body tingled.
Lips smushed against his healed chest, she moaned a babbling stream of, "There, there, oh my god, ohmygod—" and felt James wrap his free arm tightly around her waist as he applied more pressure, more speed, right where she'd wanted it.
He murmured into her hair, "Yeah, get it, Lily," and something about that made her feral. Maybe it was the implicit permission to be sexual—something that carried an unfair double-standard for girls (especially Muggle-born girls) in the light of day. Maybe it was James's shamelessness in wanting her to be sexual with him. Maybe it was his mixture of confidence and patience exuding from the tone of his voice and the deliberateness of his touch, like he didn't doubt for a moment that he'd get her there and wasn't worried in the slightest over whether she could. Most likely it was a combination of all of the above. And the result was that any lingering inhibitions she may have had disappeared, and she clawed at his chest and moaned with abandon and rode his hand until she came with an intensity that probably made her black out for a couple seconds.
James swore into her hair, a constant of chant of fuck yes as his fingers stilled, and as he bent to kiss her, something deep and heady, her only thought was more. As their tongues tangled together with a renewed heat, her hands made for his belt and James followed her lead, pulling away from her mouth only to quickly suck his fingers clean before cupping her face in his hands, freeing her access to him below.
Through heated kisses, she navigated his belt, trousers, and briefs by feel, tugging them down around his hips before taking that length in her hand. James groaned into her open mouth at her touch, and Lily smiled through their kiss. There was always something powerful about holding a bloke's manhood in one's hands, but something about it being James, who wasa force in any arena he entered, not to mention the only guy who had ever made her blood boil like he did, made touching him feel extra intoxicating.
She swiped her thumb over his tip, finding beading moisture there, and spread it around her palm before closing her hand around him and tugging a few slow strokes.
James broke their kiss with a groan, resting his forehead on hers as he gasped, "Oh, fuck. Fuck yes."
Lily smirked as she tilted her head to nuzzle her nose around his as she teased, "Who knew you were packing, Potter?"
Something halfway between a gasp and a chuckle came out of his mouth, and Lily laughed softly as she stroked him. But James recovered quickly and teased back, "Wishing you would have gotten in my pants sooner, eh?"
"Maybe," Lily whispered playfully.
Behind his glasses, his eyes were starting to flicker shut. "Are you on—"
"The potion, yeah."
He nodded, then opened his eyes and searched hers, a thoughtful look on his face, as he asked, "Do you still want to—"
Lily arched a brow back up at him. "Be shagged into this wall? Yes."
His responding grin split instantly across his face, and he murmured, "Fuck, c'mere," as he reached for her bum and picked her up. It took a few moments of finagling to get her dress bunched around her hips and not caught between them, and then to get her knickers pushed aside and her legs wrapped at the right part of his waist, but yet with James none of it felt awkward, and before she knew it, they were nose-to-nose with her arms circled tight around his neck and his hand underneath her positioning himself at her entrance.
This wasn't her first foray into an after-hours rendezvous—she'd done the whole routine of meeting up with a bloke, opening his trousers, and shagging underneath her skirt, whether she be pinned against a wall, bent over a desk, or astride a lap in a chair—and she knew James had done the same. But for the first time, seeing his eyes focused on hers, watching the pleasure already starting to crease his face as she felt his tip push just inside, sex felt…intimate.
He swallowed hard, throat bobbing. "Fuck, you're tight."
She leveraged her weight and eased herself slowly down onto his length, letting her head fall back with a sigh as she told him, "Gods, you feel good."
His lips pressed softly against her neck, and she turned her head, granting him further access as his hips started a steady rhythm.
"Holy shit, Evans," he groaned.
She knew what he meant: that angle, that tempo, was lighting her up from the inside, hitting a spot inside her that made stars dance behind her eyelids.
"Oh, right there—"
When she was with a guy, Lily had never been afraid to be vocal, but she had gotten used to the selective hearing she was typically met with. So when James lifted his face back to hers and asked, "Like this?" a whole new wave of affection hit her.
"Yeah," she breathed, "just like that."
His fingers tightened where his hands held her up under her arse, hips rocking in the same pace she'd told him she liked, and, suddenly overcome with how much she bloody fancied him, Lily buried her hands in his hair and kissed him. He returned her fire like she knew he would, mouth hot and intense and just the slightest bit sloppy from his split focus, but she lost herself in that kiss all the same. Every piece of the puzzle that was her crush on James Potter—every accidental brush of skin, every banter, every sassy retort, every Quidditch match spent watching him under the guise of just paying attention to the game, every surge of jealousy from seeing him flirt and date that she'd pushed down, every sexual urge she'd had around him that she'd pushed down even harder, every moment catching herself gazing too long at that smile, that hair, those dimples, those glasses—was fitting together and coalescing into this kiss, this heat, this building of something intangible between them.
James shifted, adjusting one arm under her, and then she felt his other hand slipping between them, fumbling through the pooling fabric for a way underneath until he finally found purchase, splaying his fingers against her skin as his thumb ducked under her knickers and brushed over that sweet spot. His mouth still pressed openly over hers, he swallowed the sharp moan that flew from her throat, then groaned back as he started a pattern of little rubs and flicks.
Their lips broke apart, both of them breathing too hard to maintain their kiss, and James huffed, "Alright if I go faster?"
Lily nodded eagerly, touched by that same pull of affection she'd had before. "Please."
He wasted no time, pinning her harder against the wall as his hips sped up their pace, and Lily couldn't help the blissful smile that rose on her face, nor the breathless laugh that followed.
"What?" James asked hoarsely.
"I just"—she gave the slightest shake of her head—"you're literally shagging me into the wall, and I—I can hardly believe this is happening."
He smiled at her, something warm and crooked and lazy that made his dimples pop on only one side. "Oh, it's happening. And it's already better than I fantasized."
Her responding, "Why?" came out on a moan.
James pressed his lips to hers in a hard, quick kiss before answering, "You. You're so fucking beautiful, and you feel—fuck, just—incredible—"
"So do you—"
"I want to feel you come, Evans—"
"I'm getting there—"
"What d'you need?"
"I want to just—" But she cut off, and instead of telling him, she pulled his hand away, pushed her dress as clear as she could get it, and then squeezed her legs tighter around his waist as she wrapped her arms snugly around his shoulders so she could leverage herself enough to grind her pelvis into his.
James obviously understood, because he adjusted his arms to hold her under her legs and boosted her up a little higher; it left his strokes shallower, but all of a sudden she had the room, the angle, to squirm against him.
Her whining moan echoed in the closet around them as she started chasing that building pressure in earnest. If James minded her elbows digging into his shoulders or her hands pulling his hair and scratching his neck, he didn't let on, only supported her with a strong grip on her bum, his own thrusts slowed to accommodate her wriggling.
"Fuck," she gasped, feeling her muscles starting to burn as release teased her, just out of her reach.
"Get it, Evans," James purred into her ear. "Grind it out, c'mon."
The sexiness of those words—in that voice—went straight to her core as her hips kept up their desperate chase, her building ache almost unbearable. His name—first name, which she apparently said now—flew from her mouth in a whimper.
"That's it," he crooned back, dotting kisses on a patch of her neck. "Come on me, love."
It all hit her at once: the sturdiness of his muscles underneath her scrabbling hands; the sharp, piney scent of his hair in her nose; the rapid rising and falling of his chest against hers; the warm rightness of that word in his voice—love; the relief of finally meeting in the shared space of I never stopped; the simultaneous ending and beginning that created; and then, at last, the sweet, sweet bubbling of climax spilling over the edge to drench her entire body.
James moaned, something raw, into her neck as he felt her, and Lily was vaguely aware of him pushing himself deeper inside, pressing his lithe body flush against hers, as if there had been any millimeters of space left. Distantly, she knew they were both making a breathless chorus of fuckfuckfuck as he absorbed her orgasm, but she couldn't open her eyes, couldn't think, could only let her muscles sag as her spasms faded and lips brushed hers. They were soft at first, tentative, but then his tongue traced her lip, slipped inside her mouth, stroked hers, and Lily let him stoke their fire, bringing her back to awareness, back to zinging blood and roaming hands and eager kisses.
His eyes twinkled as he pulled back with a smug grin. "How was that?"
"Like you have to ask," Lily sassed.
He chuckled, but then she heard the sincerity in his voice as he murmured, "This—tonight, with you…I—I'm so fucking happy."
There was a softness to his eyes, an openness to his face, that Lily wasn't used to seeing. The James Potter she had known throughout her Hogwarts years was bold, direct, and unapologetic—never afraid to speak up, always prepared to back himself, and so confident it would be annoying if he were any less talented. But the James Potter looking at her just then was…vulnerable. Like he wanted reassurance. Like he had put his heart on the line.
Only, it wasn't. It was in the same place as hers: I never stopped.
She smiled at him, cupping his cheeks. "So am I."
His grin split his face, but he still kissed her, his hips starting up a deliciously gentle rock. "I'm not—not long for it," he mumbled.
Lily hummed against his mouth. "I want to watch you come, Potter."
A low growl rumbled in his throat, and he switched to a snapping pace that made her groan just as loud as he did. She could feel his body tensing, sense his determination, though whether it was to finish or hold on longer, she couldn't tell. His fingers dug into her arse, hips pounding bruises into her inner thighs, and Lily cupped his neck, voice whimpering as she murmured, "Oh, yes, give it to me."
Another growl, another snap of his hips. Tension locked his arms, flexed his abs, and he gasped, "Oh, fuck—right there—"
She ran frantic hands through his hair, down his cheeks. "Come, James."
His nose bobbed alongside hers, breath hot on her mouth. "Can I come inside you?"
"Yes, please, yes—"
"Fuck, I'm gonna fill you up—"
"Get it, James, c'mon—"
She watched his eyes darken, if it was possible, even more as he thrust faster, breathed harder, beads of sweat starting paths down the sides of his jaw. "Lily—Lily—"
"Yesyesyes," she coaxed as she watched his face scrunch and tightened her legs around his waist.
A second later, the sexiest moan she'd ever heard a man make flew out of James Potter's mouth, followed by a surge of liquid heat, stuttering hips, and more strained, gasping whimpers with each tremor of his climax. Lily moaned softly with him, petting his hair as she murmured soothing yeses into his cheek.
James slumped against her, dropping his mouth to her shoulder, where he chuckled a delirious, "Oh, shit…oh, fuck."
Lily rested her head on the wall behind her, cradling his head as she giggled with him. "Potter, we just…had sex."
"Mhmm."
She sighed contentedly, feeling his breath come in gusts against her skin, and then absently confessed, "I couldn't stop thinking about you at dinner."
His lips curved into a smile against the side of her neck before he murmured back, "The second you walked in, I wanted to rip this dress off you."
"Still haven't."
"Still can."
Without warning, the realization that they had to leave this little bubble and go back to the castle, the common room, where their friends were no doubt still up, hit her with a shock. James must have felt her stiffen, because he lifted his head to look at her.
"What's wrong?"
She toyed with the hair on the back of his head. "You mean…go up to your room with you?"
He nodded. "Yeah. Stay the night."
She chewed her lip as she mulled it over. James knew as well as she that disappearing up the boys' staircase on a Saturday night was akin to a declaration to the whole school that they'd hooked up. But what did it matter, when she would be going on a date with him next weekend anyway? When she had left the land of denial for greener pastures of I never stopped? When she knew, somewhere deep in her bones, like she had always known, that going on a date with James Potter wasn't just going to be one date—it was going to be something bigger, the kind of thing that set a person on a new trajectory, one marked with distinct before and after. Because James Potter had never been one to do things by halves, and really, neither had she.
Maybe any other day, hour, minute before that night, she might not have been ready for that kind of acceptance, to make that leap. But something that night had changed. They had changed. Like they'd finally reached the invisible line they'd been tiptoeing toward forever, the one that marked an ending and a beginning at the same time.
And she was ready.
"Okay," she agreed.
His smile was contagious. "Really?"
"Yeah," she told him, voice soft and teasing as she brushed his lips with hers. "I need more of you."
He rested his forehead on hers. "Lily?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm literally still inside you."
She burst into a delirious laugh, burying her face in his neck, and his body shook with his own laughs as he gave her a squeezing hug and then gently prompted her legs down so he could pull out of her and set her on her feet. James's embrace gone, his hands doing up his trousers, Lily leaned back against the stone behind her for support, feeling blissfully unsteady. Wrapped up in her thoughts—well, replays, more accurately—she might have even forgotten to clean herself up had James not sunk down to his knees in front of her and gathered her dress in one hand so he could move his wand over her legs and vanish the trickling droplets.
While he was low to the ground, he also swiped his shirt and cloak, holding up the former with an appraising eye. "Salvageable?"
"Yes, I think so." Lily pulled out her own wand and cast a few silent mending charms, which sent the stains dissolving and the threads regenerating until the dress shirt looked crisp and white as new.
James looked at her with astonishment, but Lily just smirked and said, "You'd be amazed at all the charms girls have to learn when they start to have periods."
To his credit, James didn't appear flustered, only amused as he swirled the shirt around his shoulders, did up the buttons, and then tucked it into his trousers, a sight which inexplicably sent her heart fluttering and blood zipping all over again.
"Ready?"
She took his outstretched hand with a smile. From now on, her answer would always be yes.
They walked back to Gryffindor Tower leisurely, holding hands the whole way, and when they strode through the portrait hole, the remnants of a winding-down common room party met their eyes.
"Hey," Sirius called from where he lounged lazily in an armchair by the fire, "how was Sluggy's dinner, then?"
Lily glanced up at James, seeking a cue, but he was already grinning like a loon as he held up their clasped hands and answered, "A night to remember, that's for sure."
Every jaw in the room unhinged, and Lily momentarily basked in the gleeful surprise like a cat in the sun before tugging James toward the boys' staircase.
With a smirk and wave aimed at their clump of friends around the fireplace, Lily chirped, "Talk tomorrow!" and then darted up the steps, James's heavy footfalls just behind her, their wheezing laughs mingling in the curving stairwell.
She could get used to this. And as their steps slowed to a trudge up to the highest landing, as James pushed open the door to his dormitory and looped his arm around her neck, pulling her snugly into his side as they crossed the threshold, she felt rather like instead of the start of October, that night was the start of the rest of her life.
fin.