Chapter 2

Lightning Bolt

Lily was a girl raised on love stories, but she never put much stock in the lessons they taught her.

Her parents were romantics both, a pair of childhood sweethearts who lived the dream instead of succumbing to life's harsh realities. Most first loves, logic dictated, were doomed to fail. The tumultuous space between child and adult saw so much change that it was oft impossible for teenage lovers to keep what they had as time went on, but her parents held on tight. Though they had their problems, like any couple would, they grew always in the same direction, merry flowers stretching their necks towards sunlight, and raised both their daughters to believe that their destinies were bound to the same lucky star.

Petunia fell for it hook, line and sinker, and hastily married the first man to ask her, but Lily was born with a sceptical skin on her soul, and wasn't as easily convinced.

Her mum was a big fan of romantic movies - the gushier, the better - especially the ones where two characters, whose eyes meet across a crowded room, fall madly in love at first sight. "There's the lightning bolt!" she'd cry, excited as a girl, when Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan met atop the Empire State Building, or when Jack saw Rose on the deck of the Titanic. "That's how I felt when I met your dad! That's how you know!"

Even as a child, precocious, irritating know-it-all that she was, Lily knew that such a thing was a silly thing to believe in, but it made her mother happy, which was good enough for her. She'd simply button her mouth and observe the less heaven-sent romances of the world - like Cass next door, always sporting a fresh bruise or a cut lip, or Sev's parents, or the girls at school who cried in the toilets over boys who wronged them and boys who never noticed. Love was not a ringing victory, but often a struggle, often thankless, and often a lesson in perseverance.

Love was a thing she dearly wanted, but not so much that she'd make herself a slave to idealistic fantasies. Stories were just stories, her dear, devoted parents were long since dead, and Lily was standing in a pub in Cambridge, not the observation deck of the Empire State Building, clutching a teddy bear to her chest and waiting for a sweet, cherub-faced kid to arrive and lead her to the man of her dreams.

So when she turned around and locked eyes with him, that guy, the guy, the one who was to befall her like a hurricane at sea, she knew she hadn't fallen in love.

She'd simply been struck by lightning.

Lily whipped back around and fixed Mary with a look of wide-eyed urgency. "Who the hell is that?"

"What?"

"Who is that?"

"Who is who?"

She jerked her head in the direction of the Good Booth with as much discretion as she could afford because he'd seen her, and might still be looking. At least, she hoped he was looking. She also hoped he wasn't. "Him."

"Him?" said Mary, with a coy smile. "Like the goth band?"

"You shouldn't smirk at me when you do that, you know."

"You should make sense when you talk."

"You know I was talking about a boy -"

"Boy?"

"A man," Lily corrected, horrified to find herself blushing. "Whatever, the guy at Remus's booth."

"How the fuck am I supposed to know when I can't even tell you which one Remus is?"

"Because bartenders are supposed to know people?"

"I'm a full-time student who works for her daddy, not Ted Danson in Cheers," said Mary, with a haughty toss of her head. "Which one are you talking about?"

"The one next to Sirius."

"With the glasses?"

"Yes."

"And the antlers?"

"Yes."

"What about him?"

Thump, thump, thump went her hungry little heart. "He's gorgeous."

Mary took a dainty backward step and raised herself to her tiptoes, craning to take a proper look at the Good Booth, but Lily spied no light of agreement in her eyes, which was as much a relief as it was offensive. On one hand, what was wrong with him? How dare Mary look so unimpressed when the bloke she fancied liked to strut about Trelawney's living room in the nude and unironically owned a red velvet smoking jacket?

On the other hand, she didn't want Mary to think him gorgeous. In fact, it would have suited Lily nicely if Mary and every other woman in the room could just back off for a minute while she got her bearings.

"I don't see it," said Mary decidedly. She spun around to swipe a bottle of Southern Comfort from a shelf above her head, and picked up a glass with her other hand. "I mean, he's okay? Decent hair, I suppose, but not for me."

"Yeah, well, I don't see it in Sirius, but here we are."

"Yes, here we are, doomed never to fight over the same man. How unfortunate."

"We wouldn't fight over a bloke, even if we did have the same taste."

"Whatever," said Mary, as she poured herself a generous helping of liqueur. She topped it up with more Coke and took a quick swig, frowning into the bottom of the glass. "Why are you so annoyed?"

"I'm not annoyed, I'm surprised." Lily wanted to turn around and take another look, but she had an awful feeling that he'd catch her staring if she did. She had an eerie feeling that somebody's eyes were boring into the back of her neck. "Remus never mentioned having a friend who looked like that."

"Probably because Remus doesn't want to fuck his friends, but what do I know?"

An irritable sigh escaped Lily's lips.

This wasn't the right time for her to meet a guy. She wanted to introduce Mary to Sirius and go home, and she had work to do and, anyway, she didn't even date. It was one of her rules while she was at university. A one-hour art class or a night at the pub were small, manageable increments in a busy week, but maintaining a relationship took time and effort that she couldn't spare, and Lily didn't do casual flings. She was in or she was out, and that was how she'd always worked.

Assuming he'd even want her, which was a stretch, though a small voice in Lily's head – her mother's voice, in truth - was telling her that the thing she felt when their eyes met was not imagined.

"What do I do now?" she said.

Mary managed to convey great disdain with one flick of her long, curled lashes. "You do exactly what you said you'd do, which is to say, go over there and carry out the plan you made up."

"With him sitting there?"

"He's not going to bite you, he's just a bloke."

"I know, but, it's like," she began, and found herself with nothing else to say, except that she wouldn't mind being bitten – a weird thing to pop up in one's head, and totally untrue. She wouldn't let a man bite her under any circumstance. Even that one. Maybe.

"Like you're mentally subnormal and I hate you?"

"No, I mean like –" She clucked her tongue in exasperation. "Okay, imagine that you're a yogurt."

"Don't know where you're going with this," said Mary, and took another mouthful of her drink. "But sure."

"And Sirius is granola."

"Okay?"

"Imagine that together, you and Sirius make a delicious granola yogurt, which is fine, because I've got the recipe, but then, suddenly, there's a jalapeño in the room."

"What are you, a fucking chef?"

"No, but I can't make a granola yogurt with a jalapeño, it's too distracting. I didn't sign up for a jalapeño."

"It really sounds like you want me and Sirius to threesome with the jalapeño."

"No, I want the jalapeño for myself."

"Obviously."

"Therein lies the problem."

"You've taken one bloody glance at the jalapeño."

"And you'd only seen a couple of drawings of Sirius before you decided to seduce him, so don't even start with that."

Whatever Mary had been preparing to say was forgotten in the wake of the begrudging smile that graced her lips. "Touché, mon cheri."

"Thanks."

"But like, can you please just go over?" Mary implored, leaning across the bar with her best 'adore me' face. "All you need to do is introduce me and give me about half an hour to settle in with them, and then you can go home and study and be as boring as you like, alright? Please? You don't have to start dating the guy."

"As if I'd have the time."

"And, also, isn't he one of the London friends?"

"Probably."

"Well, it's not like he's sticking around anyway, so there's no problem."

That was true, and it rather decided things, should Jalapeño Boy happen to fancy her. Her aversion to casual dalliances extended to one-night stands, in which she didn't partake. She had been raised by a mother who, whilst being thoroughly supportive of all things romantic, frequently regaled her with warnings like 'don't let your body be a trash receptacle for men' or 'they won't buy the cow when they can get the milk for free,' as well as buzzwords like 'self-respect!' and 'decency!' all of which she knew – at least, her logical self knew – was outdated, misogynistic bullshit that didn't apply any longer, but the idea of taking some guy home for a good time still left her with a strange, elusive feeling of shame.

"Fine," she agreed, and did a neat, unpractised little pirouette – a cunning disguise for what was truly a failed attempt to turn around and walk over. "No, I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm dressed like a librarian."

"Substitute teacher."

"Oh god," Lily groaned, and slumped against the bar. "Somehow that's worse."

"I thought you weren't going to go for him?"

"Well, yes," she shamefacedly admitted. "But I still want him to fancy me."

"What've you got on under the cardigan?"

"Turtle t-shirt."

"You're fucking hopeless."

"Thanks. Now I've got the confidence I need to face any obstacle."

"I mean, almost hopeless," Mary amended, and dipped her head to the side to cast a critical eye over Lily's clothes. "Your jeans are fine. Hair, obviously, better than fine. Face is perfection, as per fucking usual. You just need shoes and a top. We can go upstairs and get something of Eliza's."

"Won't she mind?"

"Doubt she'll notice. She's got too many clothes. Anyway, she loves you, so she won't care."

"But she's seventeen."

"And?"

"Aren't her clothes a little young for me?"

"You're twenty-one, not fifty," said Mary, and lifted the hatch to allow Lily to come behind the bar. "Come on, let's get you sexy."

The two floors above the pub housed the rest of the Macdonald clan, including Mary's fashion-obsessed younger sister, whose wardrobe proved itself to be a treasure trove of I Don't Know What I Want to Happen With This Guy ensembles, for the woman on the move who can't make up her mind.

It was a niche market, sure, but it did exist.

Not that Lily, who had naively believed herself to be in control when she agreed to change, had any say in the matter. Mary took charge from the outset and gave her a grand total of two choices – booby or backless, then presented her with a flimsy piece of violet satin when she opted for the latter. Lily then experienced the totally novel sensation of having her breasts taped into her clothes.

"This is silly," she said, while Mary applied a quick dusting of powder to her collarbone. "I want to go home."

She had an equity paper to finish. She had sleep to catch up on. She had a fish pie to chuck in the microwave. She had Horlicks, and chocolate digestives, and a warm, comfortable bed to sleep in. She had a onesie, for crying out loud. She had committed herself to a certain lifestyle, in which she was completely happy and comfortable.

Alas, the onesie was not to be, and Lily was dressed in an outfit which, whilst flattering, made it patently clear that Mary, at least, had plans for her and Jalapeño Boy.

"Oh, shush," said Mary. "You'd rather be downstairs flirting."

"Also, this top is backless and booby, and you said it would be one or the other."

"Changed my mind."

"Go big or go home," croaked Eliza, who was in bed with bronchitis, wrapped in a makeshift tomb of blankets and cushions.

"Fine. I'll go home."

"Not unless you take Jalapeño Boy with you."

"Don't even start -"

"Or just get a snog, even!" cried Mary, defensive but amused.

"Unless he's gay," said Eliza.

"Yeah, gay is the loophole."

"Or if he doesn't fancy me."

"If he's not gay," said Eliza flatly. "He will fancy you."

"You were a model, for crying out loud."

"Jesus Christ, Mary, one British Gas advert when I was nine does not make me a model –"

"But you worked those dungarees!"

"Do not go telling him that I was a model," Lily warned her, and adjusted her cleavage. "It's not true and it's so embarrassing, having to explain that to people. They always think I'm lying to get attention."

To which, Mary only harrumphed, while Eliza gave a wheezy laugh and instructed Lily to ditch the twinset and pearls.

Some friends she had.

Because she was wearing a handkerchief that masqueraded as clothing, Lily felt that she should have been colder, but found herself rather flushed when she returned to the pub.

She couldn't blame the heat entirely on the swelling crowd that surrounded the bar, because there was that stupid, distracting boy over there. Stupid lightning bolts. Stupid, unrealistic expectations fostered by romantic movies that she'd thought she was sensible enough to ignore, but were flitting about in her brain like twittering birds.

And Mary expected her to glide over like a carrier pigeon and facilitate a group hang as coolly as if Sirius wasn't sitting next to the fucking sun.

Mary was a terrible friend. Screw Mary.

Yet, off she flew, fuelled by a sense of obligation, and by the mystery cocktail Mary had thrown together at the bar – one of her own creations – while Lily was changing into a pair of Eliza's heels. She arrived, quite fortuitously, at the precise moment that the rat-faced man sneezed violently into the palm of his hand.

"Bless you," she said, and four pairs of eyes turned on her at once.

"Wow," said Remus, while his sneezy friend blushed redder than a beetroot, and Sirius let out a shrill, appreciative wolf-whistle.

But her guy.

Her guy was even fitter up close, were that possible, and she found herself gazing into his eyes like a deer in a steel trap, or one of those stupid girls from those stupid movies, though she was far less eager to escape the dangers he posed.

She couldn't discern the colour of his eyes behind his glasses, only that they were lovely, sort of mischievous-looking - young eyes, lively eyes – and that his jaw could have cut a diamond, and that when his lips curled into an innocuous half smile, he had a perfect dimple in one cheek, and that she had never seen anything like his hair, which was jet black, abundantly thick, and as chaotic as if he had climbed out of a whirlwind. She would have been sold on his hair alone, but the rest of him was exquisite.

Her heart drummed a staccato beat against her ribs, and she wished that she could hide beneath her cardigan like an awkward hermit, but Mary had nicked it.

"Hey!" she said, once the moment had passed, dragging her eyes away from him with a bright smile that preserved her self-respect. "How are you all doing?"

"Pretty well," said Remus pleasantly, though his brows were slanted in such a way that reminded her, thanks to their year-long friendship, that he knew her well enough to know that she didn't go to bars dressed the way she was dressed. "And you?"

"Half-dressed, apparently."

"And we're all very grateful," said Sirius, with the kind of smirk that would surely get him punched in the dick one day, hopefully by Lily, though she would have been quite content to pay a willing volunteer for a front row seat to his comeuppance.

"What an ironic twist, since I hardly recognise you with clothes on."

"Plenty of people would pay good money to see me naked."

"I do pay, you idiot," Lily reminded him. "The class is £10 a week."

"Then I don't know why you're complaining."

Lily smacked him gently on the back of the head. "May I be introduced to your friends, please? I'm sure they're both a lot more interesting than you."

"I'll leave that for you to decide," said Remus. "Lily, this is Peter –"

"Hi!" said the blushing, rat-faced boy, and practically flung himself across the table in his haste to stick his hand out, splashing the wood with the contents of his drink. "Peter Pettigrew."

Lily almost expected him to follow it up with an 'at your service,' but when he didn't, she shook his hand, and as his moist, warm palm met hers, she abruptly remembered that he had just sneezed into it.

"Lovely," she said.

"And this is James Potter," Remus continued, eyeing her warily.

Of course. James. What a name. What a classic, timeless, handsome-bastard name.

She wiped her hand on the back of her jeans and said, "Hi," in a breathless, Come-Rip-My-Bodice-You-Hot-Stud kind of way that instantly annoyed her.

"Hi," said James, handsomely. As if he was just this handsome all the time. As if it were nothing special, and being handsome was just a casual thing he liked to do.

How dare he?

"It's nice to meet you both," she said.

"I'd, er, shake your hand," James continued, with a pained sort of expression, and pointed at the bowl that sat between him and Sirius, empty but for some clotted barbecue sauce. "But I just ate a bunch of hot wings, and my hands are a bit -"

"He means he's not a pig like Peter," Sirius interjected.

"What?!"

"You shook her hand right after you sneezed into it, Pete," said Remus gently. "I thought we'd reserved that kind of behaviour for people I want to get rid of, not valued friends and classmates."

"I'm so sorry!" Peter cried, aghast. "Do you want a lemon-scented wipe? I could run to KFC –"

"It's fine, but thank you for offering," said Lily, as kindly as she could. The nearest KFC was over a mile away, but the bathrooms were within skipping distance. This kid needed to calm himself down before he gave himself a headache. He was making her feel entirely undramatic in comparison.

"I'm such an idiot," Peter mumbled, and buried his head in his hands – one clean, one, of course, covered in sneeze. Lily almost laughed, but instead her eyes moved to land on James's face, drawn there as if by a magnetic force, and she caught him watching her.

"Hi," he said, and swallowed air. "Again."

Where had he come from? Had he been built in a lab just for her? Sent from space? Had she inadvertently ordered him online in a drunken stupor, and was she objectifying him by thinking such a thing? He was handsome in such an obvious way that it was almost insulting – the kind of beauty that people repeatedly liked to attribute to Sirius, even though Lily had never been able to see it. James Potter had it, though. He had it in spades.

She smiled at him. "How are you liking Cambridge?"

"More every minute," he said, and smiled back. Damn, butterflies exploding. "This place does good hot wings."

"I know the chef personally, so I'll pass on your compliments," she replied, and shifted her cocktail to her unclean hand so she could rest her clean one on Remus's shoulder. Sweet, stabilising Remus, the sedative of humans. "Speaking of people I know, are you cool with Mary and I joining you guys? She's free in about five minutes."

"Sure," Remus agreed. "I think we've got the biggest table here."

"You can thank her for that, and for free drinks, which I'm happy to report are pending."

"Free?" said Sirius, his ears pricked up like a dog's. "I thought you said cheap?"

"I was so happy to see you wearing clothes for a change that I convinced Mary to waive the cost," she sweetly replied. "Also, because you're going to be very helpful and help me get a round in."

"Says who?"

Lily ignored him and smiled around at the rest of the table. She was doing so well on the outside, though all sorts of things were going on in various parts of her body, and baser instincts were telling her to make like Peter and throw herself across the table. "What's everyone having?"

"Gin and tonic," said Remus.

"I dunno," said Peter. "What's that you're drinking?"

"Oh." Lily looked down at her cocktail. She didn't have a clue what it was called or what was in it, save a dash of lime, which was quite refreshing. "It's… um. It's a Jalapeño Boy. My friend invented it."

"What's in it?"

"Oh, you'll have to try one if you want to know."

"Alright, then," said Peter eagerly.

"What about you, hot wings?" she said, turning back to James with a smile that should have known better.

He smiled at her. Again. That was a running tally of three smiles, just for her. "I'll have what you're having."

"Cool," she said, and thumped Sirius on the arm. "Come on. You can help me carry the drinks back."

Sirius grumbled for the sake of grumbling, always keen to be party to some drama or other, but free drinks were free drinks, so he stood up and followed her to the bar. Mary was busy serving a couple of Spice Girls and a bloke with a horse head mask, so Lily bade Sirius to wait with her, and hopped onto an available stool.

"You look very beautiful today," he said, in a bald, clinical sort of way. He was stating a fact, not trying to flatter. "The haircut suits you."

"Thanks."

"And I, of course, am also beautiful."

"You're passable," she wryly quipped, twisting the stool from side to side beneath her bottom. "Actually, I do really like your jacket. You look much better with normal clothes on."

"Not a fan of my fancy robes?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Not really my thing, mate."

"Unlike James," he said, and slipped his hands into his jacket pockets. "Who definitely is your thing."

She stopped twisting and fixed him with a look that she hoped could be interpreted as disbelief, rather than shock. The flush of her skin did not support her in this endeavour. "No, he isn't?"

"He is, though."

"What are you on about?"

Sirius grinned one of his evil grins. Maybe she would be the one to punch his dick, after all. "For some reason, my ample charms are lost on you, so I'm out, and for a second I thought it might be Remus, but no –"

"Sirius, what –"

" – if it had been Remus, or me, for that matter, you would have come in dressed like that, but you didn't. You ran off with your mate and got changed, which means it was someone you saw here, and we can rule Peter out because he's a fucking disaster, which means you fancy James."

"I genuinely don't know what you're on about."

"You don't need to lie to me. We're all friends here."

"Remus is my friend," she reminded him coldly. "You're some bloke whose arse I have to look at once a week."

"James will show you his arse if you ask him nicely."

"Shut up," she snapped, fresh out of retorts, and pretended to be deeply invested in her phone until Mary came over, having finished serving the Spice Girls and adjusted her tank top in such a way that her breasts were more prominent than ever.

"Hey babes!" she blithely sang, despite having never used that word in her life. Attractive men made strange beasts of them both. "Did you say hi to your friend?"

"I did, and I said we'd have a drink with them, if that's alright?"

Mary shrugged. "Fine by me. What's everyone having?"

"Three more of these," said Lily, pointing at her half-empty glass. "Plus a gin and tonic, and whatever this fucker wants."

"This fucker is hurt by your language."

"And could you grab me one of those cloths to clean my hand?" Lily added. "Also a knife to kill him with?"

"A knife?" said Mary, blinking.

"Or any kind of weapon."

"Why on earth would you want to hurt him?" she said, handing over the aforementioned cloth. "He seems harmless enough."

"So very harmless," said Sirius, leaning over the bar with an easy grin. "You must be the lovely Mary, about whom I've heard so much."

"And you must be Sirius," she replied coyly. "About whom I've also heard so much."

"All good, I hope?"

Mary shook her head, pouting. "Sadly, quite the opposite."

"I beg you, don't let my poor reputation influence your opinion -"

The last thing Lily wanted to witness was a Sirius Black in his natural habitat, demonstrating his mating cry, so she glanced over her shoulder as she wrung her hand clean and noticed that James had vanished from the booth.

"I'm going back to the table," she said, turning back to Mary and Sirius with a flat tone to her voice that begged no discussion. "You're finished work in a minute, right? You two can carry the drinks, once you're finished projecting pheromones at one another."

Before either of them could respond, Lily tossed the cloth on the bar, grabbed her half-finished cocktail, and sprang for freedom. Remus and Peter were discussing something in low tones at the booth, but looked up when she slid onto the seat opposite them, occupying the spot which had previously been held by James.

"Well," she said darkly, and slouched back against the plush leather seat, popping her straw into her mouth. "They've certainly hit it off."

"Isn't that what you wanted?" said Remus.

Lily made a noncommittal noise and set about draining her glass. She needed to reach a state of complete inebriation if she was going to survive a night of Mary and Sirius's raucous lovemaking. Mary was loud in bed, and she couldn't imagine that Sirius was a shrinking violet. He was probably a loud masturbator. He probably found himself arousing. "I'd want it more if he weren't such a shit. Where's your other friend?"

Remus's lips quirked upwards. He knew. They all knew. Everybody knew and they were going to torture her. "You mean James?"

"Was that his name?" she said airily. "I hadn't remembered."

"Oh, hadn't you? I was under the impression that you two had also hit it off."

Lily scoffed into her cocktail. "Why? Because I called him 'hot wings' and find him very attractive?"

"It was your admittance to finding him attractive that really tipped me off," said Remus, with an amused smile. Really, there were far too many smug people in Lily's life, and she needed to make new friends. "Though you were a difficult nut to crack, I'll admit."

"That was strictly off-record."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning it's inadmissible in court, unless you'd recorded it, which you'd need my permission to do, or if I'd signed a statement, and that's not going to happen."

"Lily's a law student," and Remus to Peter, whose mouth formed a small 'o' of surprise. "But you still find him attractive?"

"A little."

"It was 'very' a minute ago."

"I grow less interested with each passing minute."

"Lucky he's gone home, then."

Lily sat bolt upright, her straw toppling out of the glass. "Not really?!"

Remus laughed, though Peter looked uncomfortable. She hoped he didn't fancy her. That would have been awkward as arse, especially if James also fancied her but promised Peter that he wouldn't get in the way and then –

What was she doing? She didn't even date. This was a non-issue.

She needed to drink more.

"He hasn't gone home," said Remus. "In fact, he's coming back now. Hey."

"Hey," she heard him say – even his voice was delicious – and stared resolutely into her drink.

"Someone took your seat, mate."

"Oh, really?" he said, and then, "Hi there."

She looked up. He had taken the antlers off.

He had also years off her life, if the way her heart slapped around in her chest was any indication. A trained assassin could not have done a better job at seeing her dead by the end of the night.

"Hi." She hastily put down her drink. "Sorry for taking your spot."

"That's alright. Can I sit next to you?"

"Sure."

He gave her another one of those crooked, dimpled half-smiles, dropped into the seat beside her and immediately held out his hand. "I'm James Potter, by the way."

"Oh." She found herself blushing again. "Remus already told –"

"I know," he said. "But I was having a barbecue sauce situation and I'd rather we be properly introduced, now that I've washed my hands and I'm not going to contaminate you."

Oh god. He just had to go and be charming on top of everything else, as if it wasn't bad enough that Lily was drowning in the blackest depths of her own thirst. Had she ever found another man this attractive? Aside from her five-year-old self's crush on the animated Aladdin, her mind was drawing a total blank.

"If you insist," she delicately agreed, and took his hand, determined to stay cool. "Lily Evans."

"It's really nice to meet you."

"Likewise," she agreed, smiling. "Thank you for being such a gentleman."

"Am I a gentleman?"

"I'd say so."

"Brilliant," he said, grinning. "Since I'm bound to make a fool out of myself in front of you at least five times in the next hour, I'd love it if you could remember that."

"Do you often make a fool of yourself in front of girls?"

"Well." He shrugged. "Only the ones I want to impress."

She had been wrong about him. So wrong. She hadn't been struck by lightning at all.

She'd been hit by an electrical storm.