Once I stood to lose her when I saw what I had done

Bound down and flew away the hours

Of her garden and her sun

So I tried to warn her, I'll turn to see her weep

Forty days and forty nights

and it's still coming down on me

-Hard Sun, Eddie Vedder

…

Once James dressed, they walked quickly down to the Great Hall in search of breakfast hand in hand. Lily's thoughts strayed to her spur of the moment brazen behaviour, equally agitated and elated with herself for thinking that it was a good idea. And it wasn't an altogether bad idea (if his expression towards her knicker-less existence spoke anything less than volumes), but it hadn't done anything. They weren't any closer than they had been the night before, and if sleeping next to him with nothing but a satin nightie didn't get him going, what would?

But hadn't he been interested? Hadn't he undressed in front of her knowing that she might see? Hadn't he declared his love for her, read to her when she asked, listened as she bore her heart to him? And how was that any less intimate, any less important? Wasn't a meeting of the minds just as necessary as any physical expressions of love?

Lily squeezed his hand, and he rubbed his thumb over hers almost unconsciously, seemingly unaware of how little it took to send shivers through her head to toe. Loving James, being with him was unlike any relationship she had ever had before. He wasn't a mystery to uncover, or a goal to strive towards, he was just—just himself. Utterly himself; honest and earnest and flirty. She was comfortable with him, comfortable knowing that he would never put her in a compromising position, never embarrass her, never push her beyond what she was comfortable with. He would kiss her, touch her, reach for her, but never without her express permission. Never without her giving the okay, either by word or expression and by God, she loved him for it.

Never had she been so horrified by her actions when she had kissed him all those months before, when she had taken advantage of his feelings, of his heart to be a balm unto her own. She has gone against her morals, her ideologies, and at the time, it had just felt right. Like it was meant to be, predestined and preordained. And hadn't it been? Haven't they been forced to be better for one another?

By the time they reached the first-floor landing, the corridor and the Entrance Hall were strangely, eerily quiet. The students who walked past them did so with harried steps and without looking up, and James slowed to a stop.

Without saying a word, James' hand tightened in her own, and they walked a little quicker into the Great Hall.

It was nearly empty, as close to first period as it was, but James took a quick running step towards the Hufflepuff table and took an abandoned copy of the Prophet in hand.

His face paled as he read, and Lily sat on the table beside him before he handed it to her to see for herself.

"Death Eater attack in Hogsmeade," she read, the headline bold and terrible. "Fifteen dead, all Muggleborns and blood traitors. Forty-five missing, presumed dead,"

James tangled his hands in his hair, pacing back and forth in front of her.

Lily dropped the newspaper onto her lap, and the Head Table appeared in the corner of her eye. Why couldn't Dumbledore have prevented this? What was being done to counter this gross injustice? And a small part of her mind stopped short— how many of those who died has she known? How many were shopkeepers she had made friendly conversation with, how many villagers she had passed by from all those Hogsmeade weekends?

"The Minister made a statement," James continued, "Look below, the shops have shut down until further notice,"

The rest of the newspaper seemed to fade away as she considered the headline. There were advertisements for broom polish, cleaning solutions, sweets at Honeydukes. Holiday homes for sale in the Canary Islands, reports of a wizard she had never heard of ascending to a new post in the Misuse Use of Muggle Artefacts Office. But none of mattered, all of them were at risk until the war was over.

"Until Voldemort is dead, you mean," Lily said with an edge, folding the paper and tossing it down beside her. "Dead and his wrongs accounted for, "

James took the newspaper back and flipped the page, scanning headlines with his eyebrows scrunched together. He folded the paper carefully and tucked it into his robes' pocket.

"Lily, I can't stop until he's gone," he said quietly, the steel in his voice startling. "Dead and gone, and all memory of him is erased. I can't live with a good conscience in a world that allows people like that to desecrate an entire group of people because of his personal opinions! The second we're out of here, I'll do it, do whatever it takes to get rid of him for good."

"Whatever it takes?" Lily said.

"Yeah, whatever it takes," James said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lily closed her eyes, ignoring the sound of the bell for first-period ringing. "James, he's a psychopath out for blood, we're barely of age—,"

"You won't let me fight?" James said quietly, a tone he'd never used with her before.

"James, won't let you?"

"Yeah, won't let me," James repeated, "I'm of age, and I need to do my bit against Voldemort! I need to prove my worth!"

"You don't need to prove anything," Lily said, her eyebrows creasing in worry. "James, you have nothing to prove to Dumbledore or anybody else!"

"No, you don't get it," James said shortly, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "This is war, Evans. War against Voldemort. He's killed and bewitched and broken up enough families and destroyed enough lives, and enough is enough! Enough is enough! The second I've graduated, I'm signing up, no matter what it takes. I'll fight, I'll do it."

"Good," Lily said, crossing her arms, "we can sign up together,"

"Lily, he's a murderer, I want you nowhere near this,"

"You've got to be joking," Lily said. "if this is some masochistic bullshit—,"

"I want—Evans, I need you safe," James said, taking her hands firmly in his own, and she looked up with a hard expression. "I need you safe; I can't fight if I don't know that you'll be safe, be taken care of if I don't make it!"

"Let's get one thing clear, okay?" Lily said, all else fading away until all James could see was her. "Your death is not any less likely than mine, and if you think that you can stop me now, you're kidding yourself. Look at what happened to my dad! James, life is by the day, not the week, the month, the year—tomorrow is promised to nobody. And if you want to fight, expect me right there beside you. I swore I'd never leave you, and I won't be leaving you now,"

"Evans—,"

"No, you listen, James Potter. For once, here is my vendetta against the world. Voldemort is coming, that much is clear. He's coming, and he's ruthless, and there's only so much we can do. But we can petition, and raise support, and lead rallies and fight battles and if you think for one second that I won't be in the middle of it, by your side, by Sirius' and Remus' and Peter's, and with Marlene and Alice and all of my friends, you've another thing coming. Because there will be a war, not tomorrow, and maybe not the next day, but it's coming. And when it does, James Potter, I won't be holding you back. I'll be right there, always there, right beside you."

...

James went through the day in a haze, his classes past like clockwork, double Potions, Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures. He had lunch, but couldn't remember what he ate, answered questions when McGonagall asked them, but he couldn't say what she taught. It wasn't until dinner had passed that James noticed the way the others watched him out of the corner of their eyes in the corridors, the uneasy steps Muggleborns took, the strange smugness in Yaxley and his mates. It felt premeditated, already planned, but it couldn't have been. Snape couldn't have left; there was no way to leave the grounds. With the increased Auror presence and the perimeter spells, it would take knowledge of the secret passages for them to be able to—to—

"James, cut it out, mate," Remus said, and James spun about, a fork held tightly in his fist. "You're scaring people,"

James rubbed a hand over his face and slowly became aware of his surroundings. The Great Hall was nearly empty, but many of his friends lingered over pudding. He looked down at his plate, unsurprised to see an untouched steak and kidney pie. He dropped the fork and picked up his book bag, standing.

"I need your help," James said to Lupin, who nodded, nudging Peter with his elbow. Sirius was already standing, his face unreadable. "All of your help, we need to know where Snape is,"

"I could've told you that," Marlene said, pointing a finger behind her where a sallow-faced Snape lingered over his pudding, deep in discussion with his mates. "Even without your fancy map,"

"Not where he is, Mar, where he's been,"

"The hell is he on about?" Alice asked, and Marlene shrugged.

"Is it about the disappearances?" Lily asked, and James nodded, his eyes wide. "What could Snape have had to do with that?"

"I don't know, could be anything. Snape could've involved directly, and we'd have never known. He'd cover his tracks,"

"And the deaths," Sirius said, shoving his hands deep in his pockets. "You think that Snape's involved?"

James' mind spun, all the pieces seemingly falling into place. The way Yaxley smirked around him these days. The strange movements Travers made, grabbing at his forearm. The Slytherin's in their year huddling over a table in the library, whispering excitedly to one another.

"And, oh God," James shouted, slamming his fist on the table. "How did I not see this before?"

Alice began to ask a question, but Sirius made a sudden motion, and both James and Alice stopped as if he'd been forced to.

"Prongs, stop. We can continue this upstairs,"

James grabbed hold of Lily's hand, and they ran together towards the sixth floor. Away from listening ears and spies and enemies in every corner. To their dormitory, somewhere they could be alone and not overheard.

Once they arrived, panting and sweaty, Lupin said the password and their door swung open. Not a moment passed before James turned to face them.

"The Room of Requirement, the Slytherin's talking under their breath in the corridors," he said feverishly, "It's all connected! Did you notice Travers and Rosier talking to one another?"

"James, they're dorm mates," Lupin said. "They can't exactly ignore each other, can they?"

"That's not what I meant," James said, "with the disappearances, the missing people, the attacks in Hogsmeade we knew about it. Dumbledore told us, but that's not it either. We're missing something; it's right in front of us!"

"James, slow down," Alice said, "what are you talking about?"

"It's Snape, isn't it?" Lily said quietly, and James pointed his finger at her repeatedly with a broad smile on his face.

"Snape?" Peter said. "What does he have to do with anything?"

"You think they're behind it, don't you?" Sirius asked, and James nodded.

"You can't be serious," Marlene said, her accent thick and voice fast. "They're students; they're our age! They're not—they can't be— you can't seriously think that they're Death Eaters, can you?"

"You think it's Snape who kidnapped Amelia?" Lupin asked. "And who, uh, did that thing to Crouch?"

"What happened to Crouch?" Marlene asked.

"He was in a corridor, trapped, muttering nonsense last night," Lily said. "Sirius and I found him, stunned and bound him and left him there. We haven't—we haven't done anything since,"

"I don't know what they are," James said evenly, a mask falling over his features at the thought. "They could be behind all of it, all of these unanswered questions,"

"He looked mad," said Lily, "Crouch. He wasn't in his right mind. Whatever happened to him was beyond his ability to counteract,"

"Or he's a conspirator," Sirius said. "In on it, so to speak,"

"Come on," Alice said. "He's a Ministry employee; he couldn't have been—he wouldn't have, right?"

"There's always the Imperius," James said. Lily wasn't quite able to meet his eye, but it was possible. It was rumoured that Voldemort and the Death Eaters used the Imperius curse, and it made sense. It made too much sense, but it couldn't be, could it?

"Prongs, come on," said Lupin, his eyes wary. "Sure, Snape's a slimy son of a bitch, but Mars is right. He's sixteen—."

"Seventeen," Lily said, somewhat embarrassed to the promptness of her admission.

"Whichever," Lupin said evenly. "Why the hell would You-Know-Who recruit a student?"

"He could be a mole," Sirius said, snapping his forefinger and thumb in James' direction, a new light in his eyes. "You could be on to something. If Voldemort had spies at Hogwarts—,"

"He'd know that Dumbledore's not here very often," James continued.

"And that mistakes have been made by the Aurors to secure the grounds."

"Not to mention Amelia's attack,"

"And if all of these things are connected—,"

"Then this war you keep going on about is closer than we thought it was,"

…

It was near two o'clock before the last of the buzzed Marauders left their dormitory for their beds, and Lily and James made the sly indication towards a complimentary sleeping arrangement. They brushed their teeth, and he combed her hair and plaited it before heading off to his bedroom to change into his pyjamas. And once Lily was alone, she considered the options before her.

She could wear the nightie she had worn the night before (a slightly scandalous number she had bought after she broke up with Arthur) or the longer, significantly less transparent option she usually wore.

Lily shed her school clothes with a quick dismissiveness, trying to push back how nervous she was, but hadn't they agreed that it was time to take things to the next level? Hadn't they, if not verbally, then with every other method of communication?

Was he as nervous as she was? Did he think through all of his actions as thoroughly as she did? But he must, she thought, undoing the zip in her skirt and kicking it off. He must, because if he didn't, it belayed everything she knew about him. James was methodical, not as hot-headed as she was. He stopped to think things through, if not in the moment, then certainly prior. James knew what he was about, and he wasn't about to play games for his amusement.

She pulled out her scrunchie and shimmied out of her stockings and her knickers. Before she could overthink it, she slid on a nightgown and left her underthings behind.

James was half-asleep by the time she tucked herself into his bed beside him, and she welcomed his warm weight as if they'd been sleeping together for years. She let herself be comforted by his steady breathing and clean smell, by the tink of rain hitting the high windows and the long day she'd had, and not five minutes later was fast asleep.

…

The next morning dawned bright and clear, and after glancing at her clock burrowed herself further into his arms. It was still early; luckily, she had always been an early riser.

They had been sleeping in the same bed every night for just over a week, and she was loving it. She loved how easy it was, how simple it had been to walk past her bedroom for his, to slip on her pyjamas and tuck herself into his arms after a long day. She loved how secure she felt, how cared for she was. How it felt to have his lips on her neck, and his hands on her hips and to kiss him with abandon, without restraint. She supposed that sooner or later, if things were to continue the way they were now (and if both of them upheld the illusion that she only slept in his bed to chase away nightmares) and were to escalate, she wouldn't be altogether opposed. Twice more, she had felt the evidence of his lust for her in the night, and the flush of excitement that coursed through her veins at the sensation wasn't quite the same as it had been a month ago. She wasn't afraid, not anymore. Not of James, not of what this could lead to, not to what they could do together if it should come to it. She loved him, and she trusted him to love her gently. He wasn't about to push himself on her.

And hadn't he been lovely? He had done her hair every morning since that morning when she was late for class, brushing and parting and fixing her hair in different styles every day. She felt his love in everything that he did, in every touch, every word was said with trust and adoration. She ran her fingertip over his jaw, the curve of his neck. She smiled at the sight of his early morning scruff, James Potter had become a man right before her eyes.

It took her a moment to remember the events of the night before, the talks about the war seemed less far off and imaginary than she would have liked. Her conversation with James in the Great Hall surprised her, did he honestly think she wasn't going to stand by him? Him and the others against Voldemort? She was a different person than she was six months ago, aloof and disinterested in all else but school, but things were different now. Lily wasn't as heartbroken as she supposed she would be about Snape's supposed affiliations. He had been leaning towards black magic for years. But she was done making excuses for him, done loving him when she had no business doing so. Snape was her past, and there was nothing but the war in her future.

Lily started when warm arms snaked around her middle and pulled her closer to him. She smiled quietly at the firmness to which James held her, even in sleep. They were pressed closely together, and as he breathed, Lily became aware of the way his form moulded to her own, the warmth of his body, the faint puff of air into her hair as he breathed deep and slow. Gently, she twisted about, so they faced one another. His eyelashes were so long, she thought, relaxed and soft. He looked so small in sleep. Not like a war hero or a freedom fighter. Still so much the boy, but the man James Potter was there as well. In his words and actions, in the way he held her, in the respect he held for his friends. She raised a finger, quietly as to not disturb him, and softer than soft; she mapped his features with her finger in the way she had always wanted to, wishing she was brave enough to touch him this way when he was awake.

His eyebrows were thick, scrunched up at some quiet emotion, and she smiled at the sight of touching him the way she was. How far they had come, even in two months. How far they'd come to not speaking to sleeping together, touching, kissing in their own Common Room. His hair was so endearing, she thought with a sleepy smile. Wavy and wild, with a part in the back that didn't lie quite flat, despite the faint smell of his father's hair tonic. She ran her fingers through his fringe and traced a freckle on his cheekbone with the pad of her thumb. Beneath the sheets, she could feel his legs stretching, sliding deliciously against her own. He woke slowly, and with a sloppy smile, pulled Lily close to him and tucked his face into her neck.

"Morning, Evans," he murmured into her hair, his breath hot, every part of him pressed up against her. She kissed the top of his head, and he hummed happily into her neck. His arm slid over her breasts in his effort to get closer to her, but he didn't quite seem to notice to effect it had on her, the quiet gasp of surprise and happiness from such a small touch, even an unintended one. He kissed her neck with clumsiness and devotion, sliding his hand down her waist towards her hip and froze when he came into contact with bare skin.

Lily started, and James pulled his hand away in a flash, and the two of them stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. He leant back onto his forearms as if he'd activated a bomb. Lily's heart pounded in her chest, staccato, not synchronized but complimentary, a tenor to a bass. One after the other, eyes blown, covers exposed, a hand where it was not meant to be. Not yet, not so soon, not without express permission.

"I'm sorry," James began, shaking his hand as if it was on fire. "I shouldn't have— I didn't mean to—,"

Lily swallowed, trying to steady her heart. She hadn't meant to embarrass, for him to realize what they were working towards. Exposure where it was not intended, she never expected to fluster him, and who was she for doing so? If it was love they were reaching towards, fighting towards where was the exposure in the moment of perpetual ease? What was a fork doing in the middle of the road to happiness?

She had meant for this to be a secret, but her nightgown must've ridden up in the night. She didn't want to embarrass him, to make a big thing of it, but wasn't it a big thing? Hadn't she worn what she was wearing for his benefit, for his enjoyment?

"Don't be embarrassed," she said, feeling quite contrary to her tone despite the steadiness of her voice. "Look at me, James,"

He pulled his gaze towards her, and fear looked back at her. Not a virgin fear, nor a veteran stance but a myriad of confusion and lust and joy and shame. He had done nothing worthy of dishonour, and she needed him to know that.

"Do you remember what I said earlier?" Lily said, not making any moves to pull down her nightgown, taking his hand in both of her own. They were shaking, and Lily steadied them in hers.

"Uh, what?" James said, not quite meeting her eyes.

"Earlier, when you tried to watch me change," Lily said. "I didn't let you, because—,"

"You're joking," James said, rubbing his forehead in embarrassment. "That's it; you've had me for a laugh,"

She shook her head, very aware of how high the hem of her nightgown was and how exposed she must be to him. He still looked afraid, and that just wouldn't do. She made a sudden move, pushing him onto his back and settling herself above him, her knees bracketing his thighs. Her hair was intoxicating, and when she leant down to kiss him, his brain nearly exploded in pleasure.

She tangled her fingers in his curls, and he wrapped his hands around her waist instinctually, pulling her closer. They were shaking, but growing stronger every moment, chasing her with his intentions, with determination, with his blatant love for her. She responded in kind, pulling at his shirt with an intensity that left little room for misinterpretation. He straightened his legs, and she fell to her elbows, shaking the headboard against the posts, and she grinned as she chased after him, with the feeling of his hands on her waist, dipping back towards her hips. Hesitant, but more sure than he had been moments ago.

"Did I frighten you?" James said, his eyes intense and so close to her own. "When I touch you like this, do I scare you?"

"I'm not afraid," Lily said, her eyes lowered, but a smile played at her lips. "Mm excited,"

"Excited," James breathed, his eyes boring holes into her own. "I make you excited."

Lily forced herself to meet his eyes, and he took her hand gently in his. "Did you mean it?" James said quickly, his words feeling thick in his mouth. His lips were swollen, eyes wide and intense and alert. "Yesterday, when you— when you got out of bed, and I was watching you change, did you mean it?"

Lily played with the hem of her nightie, sitting back on her heels, a blush reddening her cheeks.

"Did you dress… did you dress that way for me?"

Lily mustered up all the courage she had and kissed him with intention, with purpose, with no room for misunderstanding. He responded in kind, flipping them suddenly, so she was beneath him. "Well, Evans," he said with a saucy smile. "Now that I know that I can touch you, there's all sorts of mischief we can get up to,"

"Yeah?" Lily said, her heart beating nearly out of her ribcage. Her voice was breathy and thick, and she tried to belay her excitement with a steadiness of mind. But it wasn't working, because his hand was on her hip, on her thigh, inches and centimetres higher than he had ever explored before. Her heart beat madly in her chest, and when he rested his hand on the crease of her hip, she reached for him instead.

Her fingers were on the buttons of his pyjama shirt before she truly knew what she was doing. She undid one after another and kept her eyes trained on his shirt and the new inches of skin she was uncovering, hearing his breath quicken and thicken as she felt his eyes on her. When she pulled away the last button, he helped her pull it off, not particularly worried about where it landed.

Now that he was bare, she took a moment to admire him, to slow down, to savour the moment. In the times she had seen him like this, it was accidental, circumstantial, not intentioned or prepared for. After a shower, that time he had slid in mud after Quidditch and pulled his jersey off in the Gryffindor Common Room. That time in the Hospital Wing in fourth year, the day after exams in sixth year when they went swimming in the loch. But this was different, this was for real, and they were finally both on the same page. They saw one another with intention.

His breast heaved with breath, and his hands shook as they reached for her, and his gaze was raw, full of emotion.

"Evans, I—,"

From beyond the closed bedroom, the wards and the locked front room, she heard a rustling in their Common Room, and the high wailing of the proximity alarm sounded. And they sat in silence with wide eyes while Lily searched madly for her wand, for his wand, for something they could use to their defence. Where were they? Where had they gone? There was a heavy knock on their door, and she shivered in fear, the lust of the moment gone.

"Stay here," James said in the voice he hadn't used since Moody kidnapped Amelia. He took careful steps towards his wardrobe and pulled his wand from his cardigan pocket before walking slowly to the door.

"Who is it?"

"Prongs!" A familiar voice rang out, and Lily collapsed to the sheets in relief.

"Sirius—,"

"James, we need you. Open the door!"

"It has wards on it!"

"Think I don't know that? The damn thing is shimmering!"

"Pads, that's not helping,"

"Why do all your mates," Lily said from beneath his pillow. "Need to barge in just when things were getting interesting,"

James didn't respond, but his lips tightened as he undid one spell after another in rapid sequence.

"Is that Evans?"

"Well, she's not in her room, is she Wormtail?"

"For fucks sake!" James said, finally wrenching the door open to see his mates all wearing a similar guilty expression. "It is six AM on a Thursday morning. Why in the—,"

"There's been another attack," Lupin said, and James stopped suddenly. "Another student is missing, exactly the same as Amelia,"

"What?"

"Who was it?"

...

"Lumos," a voice whispered, walking with quick, quiet steps, keeping his wand firmly at his elbow, which was now out of sight to anyone but him. "Muffliato,"

It was the middle of the night, and the shadows of the castle hid him from prying eyes. But there was always the chance of him being discovered, and the compromising nature of his assignment dictated absolute secrecy. Without it, all was lost.

He looked outside the castle windows as he climbed the stairs leading out from the dungeon, the moon was bright tonight, it's beams stretched out across the stone of the floor like a lazy cat, putting his lank and exhausted face into sharp relief. He took a quick left, then up another set of stairs hidden behind a suit of armour. He reached the Entrance Hall in no time at all, then took another left to the marble staircase, intending to climb it, while not in secrecy, but for speed. It was already a quarter to four, according to his pocket watch. He was almost late, and his tardiness would be inexcusable.

He wiped a bead of sweat off his temple and continued with increased speed, ducking into the shadows and behind tapestries to avoid suspicion. It was late enough that the Prefect rounds had been over for hours, and all that was left between here and his goal were the ghosts and a poltergeist. Once he reached the statue of the humpback witch, he tucked his wand into his pocket and recited the password Yaxley and Malfoy had taught him. Quickly, unremorsefully, he opened the secret passage and slid down the tunnel.

The walk was long, but he had much to think about. His job was important, secret, but its success was everything to him. If he did it correctly, his entrance into the Death Eater ranks would be all but assured. When he knocked, the heavy cellar door to Honeydukes opened with a cloud of dust, and he climbed into the room with silent footsteps. He exited the building, careful to counteract the curfew alarm before walking down high street towards the edge of town.

They had strict instruction on how to proceed, and Snape held his head high, satisfied that he had upheld his end of the bargain.

There were many assembled when he arrived, all cloaked with hoods concealing identities. Many wore masks, some twisted and grotesque, others plain and unornamented. The gathering was immense, much larger than he had been led to believe, but he didn't hesitate, dropping to his knees before his master without reservation.

"Is it done?" the voice rang out, high and cold. Snape kept his gaze to his feet and tried to disguise the way his hands shook in fear.

"The traitor is detained, my lord," Snape confirmed.

"Excellent," Lord Voldemort said, sweeping his arms towards the assembled ranks. "My friends, the Death Eater from near and far, assembled we are at last. And tonight, with Dumbledore gone and the castle unguarded, we are presented with an opportunity, ripe for the taking. May this day be remembered as the day the war began!"