It was odd to be back at Hogwarts, Lily thought. She and James walked hand in hand, skirting Hagrid's hut. Every once in a while, she thought to make some comment, make an observation, but the silence was easier, somehow. James's hand was cold, and every few minutes, he squeezed her hand as though to assure himself she was still there.
She was. And always would be. If she had her wish, they would live to be as old as his parents and never know the other was gone.
"Can we go by the Quidditch pitch first?" James asked.
"Of course, love, whatever you want."
He looked at her. Despite everything — despite the grief weighing both of them down — heat flashed in his hazel eyes. There was an answering slash of warmth in her lower belly. It wasn't even six months since they had last been on these grounds together. They had left in June, finally done with their studies, done with Hogwarts (though not, evidently, done with meeting with Albus Dumbledore), done with not being children, really, but here was the place they had become them — and all that entailed.
"Don't distract me like that," they both said, nearly at the same time.
For the first time since Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had slipped away, on the same night, one right after another, a smile bloomed across James's face. Lily blinked rather rapidly. And how is it? she marveled. How is it the sun comes out when he smiles?
"There you are," Lily whispered.
His dimple peeked out at her, and she brushed her thumb across it. Their gazes tangled together for a moment before he started walking again, toward the Quidditch pitch. Lily could tell, just by the grasp of his hand and the change in his gait that he was no longer thinking solely of the loss of his parents. There was that last match Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff, who had been the shoo-ins for the Cup all year, and even Lily — who could not give a shriveled fig for Quidditch — thought they were quite annoying about it. James had played Chaser and scored nearly as many points as their Seeker, and Gryffindor won. That night, after the celebration died down, Lily lured James out of common room and back down to this, his place of victory. There, she'd used her mouth on him for the first time, and he'd sworn it was his favorite moment he'd ever experienced there.
She knew that's where his thoughts had strayed. This new, more solemn James who had emerged after the deaths of his parents was not so different that she didn't know when he was thinking about a blow job.
But, as he pulled her along, her mind strayed from the erotic memory, but to a more innocent time, when she was a third year.
"No, Sirius, listen!"
"I am listening."
"My dad says Gryffindor has about as good a chance of winning this year as the Chudley Cannons—"
Lily winced. Even she knew the Cannons always finished at the bottom of the League, and there were few things she ignored as much as she ignored Quidditch. It was a miracle she was here, in fact, as she hadn't gone to a Quidditch match since the very first one in her very first year. But Severus was ill with some sort of cold, and Marlene and Dorcas had taken hold of both her arms and dragged her along with them, where they'd sat right in front of the rowdy group of third year boys that included James Potter and Sirius Black.
"Is your dad some sort of Seer?" Sirius scoffed.
"No, but no one bets against him," James said, smug. "No one bets against my dad."
"Times like these, I wish my father weren't completely useless, the wanker."
Lily half-turned in her seat. "Clearly not much of a wanker if he had two children."
James let out a peal of unfettered laughter, while Sirius looked at her, gaping, and seemingly without a comeback at the ready. A first for him. No one else had heard Lily's comment but they three. James's mirth was infectious; despite her reluctance to be here, the rain, and the fact she had not yet decided if she quite approved of James, Lily found the corners of her lips tilting upward. A brightness in his eyes invited her to laugh with him.
"Well, it's true," said Lily.
"Good one, Evans."
James had been making her laugh for years, she thought. It wasn't just his laughter that was infectious, it was his humor, his skewed look at the world... his sense of honor. A swell of tenderness had her catching her breath. His laughter would come back, she knew. She would make sure of it.
Author's Note: Man, have I missed fanfiction. I've been trying to write and finish an original "novella" (I say novella because I know I can finish original novellas, but the little beast is 120,000 words, so... it's a super long novella), and I haven't had the resources to write fanfic. I've been yearning to get back to it, and I jumped on the chance to write some drabbles for Jilytober. I can't promise that I'll do one every single day, because the second I give myself homework I tell myself to fuck off, but I can promise there will be more than three.