Author's Note: I like this new habit of mine of assigning one particular song to a chapter. This time around, it's "Where Is My Mind," by Telepathic Teddy Bear.

Chapter 4

Damn, Girl

Lily woke up late, and groggy, besieged by a hangover, and wrapped up in a man she hardly knew.

A man she'd shagged. Twice.

The second time had surprised them both - he'd spent himself inside her, and they'd both been pretty tired - but as they lay there in the dark, facing one another, laughing at Lily's assertion that Sirius was secretly paying Trelawney to let him pose nude week after week, James had kissed her, and she'd wanted him too much to stop what happened next. Somehow, she'd wound up on top of him, and that was it for another half hour.

That, though, had happened in the dead of night, before whatever she'd consumed at the pub set to work ravaging her insides, turning her guts to bubbling lava and the inside of her mouth to the Sahara desert. It had happened when she was lit by stars, in the presence of a gorgeous man who couldn't hide how much he wanted her, when she was decidedly unlike her day-to-day self.

Her mother would be so disappointed, she realised, and her stomach lurched with shame. Or the hangover. It might have been that.

She'd brought a guy home and fucked him like she'd always sworn she wouldn't.

She'd demanded it, in fact, when he'd tried to kiss her nicely and be decent about it, which must have made her feelings on the matter quite clear to him, and she really shouldn't have been so hasty because she wasn't sure if they were her feelings. James had probably done this with lots of girls. Of course he had, he'd been so self-assured once they were alone, and knew exactly how to make her toes curl, and he was so fit, it wasn't possible that scores of other women hadn't snatched him up when they had the chance. Now, she'd made it known that she was happy to be one in that number. A notch on his bedpost. He'd forget that she existed, perhaps, the moment he stepped out of her flat.

Unless he didn't. Unless he liked her as much as he'd let on. If the way he'd looked at her, or kissed her, or held her - tucked so snugly in his arms as they slipped, finally, into sleep - had been part of some sort of act to keep her sweet for the night, the bloke deserved an Oscar for his efforts, because he'd made her feel special. More special, she imagined, than a person had any right to feel with a one-night stand.

She didn't know what time it was, and it would have been nice to sink into a coma right then and there, with James's arm curled around her waist, his heartbeat slow against her back, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, more familiar and more comforting than he should have been, as if he'd always belonged in her bed but had only just managed to wind up there. She wanted to stay there in his arms for endless, rose-tinted hours, but she had to get ready for work, and she was pretty sure she'd throw up if she didn't brush the taste of death from inside her mouth, and that fear won out over fantasy, in the end.

She slid out from beneath his arm, careful, so as not to disturb him, and winced when her feet touched the floor. The laminate surface felt like ice beneath her toes, and the thought occurred to her that all bedrooms should have had carpets without exception because this was too much for her to suffer. Life was unfair, and she was feeling too fragile to face it with her usual confidence.

Her bathrobe was draped across her reading chair, innocent, fluffy and duck-egg blue, unaware that it was to be used to cover a body that had been thoroughly ravished by a stranger not hours before. She pulled it on, watching James, who was still very much asleep, one leg thrown over the covers - he had muscles in his outer thigh that sent a funny feeling jolting through her lower abdomen - his arm splayed across the empty space where her body had been.

He was so beautiful, even asleep, even with his mouth a little open and his body sprawling awkwardly on her mattress, it almost pained her.

She shouldn't have brought him home. She should have talked to him all night, gotten his number, become something, made something of them both, instead of shame-spiralling in the cold light of morning, instead of letting him think that she was good for a night of sex and not much else.

He might not have thought that, she knew, but hangovers weren't known for casting unfamiliar situations in a positive light.

Her phone - which she found in the handbag she'd left at David Tennant's feet - told her that it was 8:57, and she was due at the museum at 9:30, so any hope she had of staving off a day of nauseated regret with a long, relaxing bath, a greasy fry-up and a hot mug of tea was promptly killed. She opted for a lightning-quick shower and half a granola bar, then returned to her room with wet hair to find clothes, make herself look less like a zombie and somehow deal with the problem of the fully naked man in her bed.

James was still asleep when she came back, so she was able to throw on her work-standard black trousers and the first plain t-shirt she could find in her wardrobe without his eyes on her, but when she was clothed, and had lashed on some foundation and mascara - she didn't want him seeing her in all her ghastly, hungover glory - she had no choice but to wake him up. This was her flat, so walking out and leaving without a word wasn't an option, and she'd considered writing him a note, but that seemed inexcusably rude considering the wondrous, core-shattering orgasms he'd given her last night, even if she was ashamed of them now.

So she perched delicately on the edge of the bed, shook his shoulder and tried not to think of how intimately acquainted she had become with so much of his body.

"Hey," she said softly, when he finally stirred, and turned toward her. "Good morning."

"Morning," he replied, with a soft, drowsy, aren't-you-a-sight-for-sore-eyes kind of smile that made her heart flutter, which wasn't how she had hoped to begin this conversation. He was half-asleep and probably hungover himself, obviously not operating at full strength, yet the way he affected her felt like a sucker-punch to the stomach, keen and painful all at once.

"I, er," she began. "I found your glasses on my desk."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," she said. She set the glasses on the duvet, careful not to touch his bare chest, a process that felt oddly clinical considering how familiar they had been with one another only hours earlier. She had licked parts of him that weren't even on display. "Listen, I've got to go to work—"

"What?"

"I have to go to work, and—"

"They let you work?" said James, and pushed himself up with his elbows, blinking sleepily. His black hair was especially tousled, in part, Lily suspected, because of their wild night, and the overall picture he presented - messy, naked, and lying in her bed - was fairly damaging to her sanity. "The uni, I mean, because Remus can't—"

"I'm not studying at Cambridge Uni," she interrupted. "I'm at Anglia Ruskin, and they're a lot better about letting students work part-time, which I kind of have to do because I need the money, and I don't have a Bank of Mum and Dad to dip into, so..."

"Your parents can't—"

"They're dead," she said, and his eyes widened in surprise, and Lily could have kicked herself. "Sorry."

"No, you shouldn't—"

"I shouldn't have sprung that on you—"

"It's fine, I just wasn't expecting—"

"People usually aren't," she agreed. "Anyway."

"Yeah," said James, and his shoulders sagged a little. "Anyway."

If last night - every facet of it - had seemed unusually easy, this choppy, stilted conversation was anything but. She knew that she had to leave ten minutes ago to even make it to the museum on time, and that Anna would be stuck prepping the café alone, but she also knew that she didn't want to leave because throwing herself at his mercy - though she'd only known him for fourteen hours - seemed so much more appealing than serving coffee and cold croissants to day-trippers and people who had wandered in to keep out of the rain because the Fitzwilliam had free admission. She wanted to kiss him again. She wanted to feel the weight of him on top of her again. She wanted to tell him he could do whatever he wanted to her as long as he did it often - every day, if he could find the time - and with one or two romantic dinners thrown in, perhaps, because she liked him more than was good for her.

Except Anna was so familiar with Lily's fastidious habit of arriving early for everything that she'd probably called the police already, and she couldn't just ask James for a relationship, as if he somehow owed her one for sleeping with her, when that was a gross breach of one-night stand protocol, according to Mary, and when she couldn't even have a relationship in the first place. She had such little free time that one weekly art class outside of uni felt like a luxury, and she'd inevitably spend the rest of her weekend finishing the equity paper she'd neglected last night.

He didn't fit. She had a plan. He wouldn't fit.

But he was so lovely.

So lovely, in fact, that he undoubtedly deserved the kind of time and energy that Lily simply couldn't spare right now. He deserved a girlfriend who would make him a priority.

And who even said he'd be willing to date her? Lily couldn't offer him anything he couldn't get from a thousand other, less busy, much prettier girls in London.

Her head began to throb. Perhaps she was coming down with something.

They stared at each other for a minute, then Lily came to, clearing her throat without much need for it. "So, work."

"Work," James repeated.

"I'm actually supposed to be there by now," she explained. "I've texted to say I'll be late, but they'll still expect me in so I need to run but, um, d'you know how to get to Remus's from here?"

"I can manage."

"You're sure?"

"I visit Remus a lot," he said, and picked up his glasses. He smiled at her, pleasant but impersonal, once he'd pushed them up his nose. "I know my way about."

She wanted to ask him why Remus had never bothered to introduce them when they were so clearly supposed to be together, but that was last night's Lily sending messages to her conscious mind, and everyday Lily knew to ignore them. "Are you staying until Sunday?"

"We're leaving this afternoon, actually. Peter's got a family thing on, and I drove us, so..."

"Ah, I see."

She hated herself for the cold, unpleasant sensation of sheer disappointment that lurched downwards unto her stomach, and she knew it must have reflected itself in her face.

James sat up a little straighter. "But I can always—"

"Have a safe trip back, yeah?" she hurriedly interjected. "Mary's not in her room and probably won't reappear until midday so, y'know, feel free to use the shower and help yourself to whatever's in the fridge, and the front door locks itself when you leave, and drive safe, which I already said, sort of, but it bears repeating—"

"Lily?"

"Yeah?"

"Have I—" He moved his hand as if to touch hers, hesitantly, as if he were groping in the dark towards something dangerous, drawing back at the last second. "Have I upset you or something?"

He was looking at her with such sincerity, such ardent, honest concern - either he meant it or he really deserved that Oscar, and she didn't know which would be worse. She imagined leaning forward to kiss him, climbing atop the bed to plant her knees on either side of his body, his hand winding around the back of her neck, pulling her closer, deeper, and Anna could manage the place for herself if Lily pulled a sickie and missed one day...

"Of course not," she said, with a feeble attempt at a comical eye-roll. "I just really need to get to work, you know?"

He sighed. "Right."

"Right," she repeated, and stood up. "So, you know what you're at and I - right. I guess - thanks for last night, by the way. Really fun."

"Yeah," he said, though he looked as if he didn't believe her. "No problem."

"Tell Remus I said hi."

"Will do."

"And, er, bye then."

He gave an unenthusiastic wave, a remote smile stretched across his face, her duvet bunched up around his waist. "Bye."

And though she probably should have thrown herself at him, or demanded he make Peter take the train, or just been honest with them both and asked if he could return to Cambridge and see her next weekend, she backed out of her room and promptly fled the scene. Ashamed. Confused. Instantly regretful.

What a disaster.

"You just missed Arlène," said Anna when Lily got in, a full twenty minutes late, her fingernails drumming idly on the polished counter-top.

"Shit, did I?"

"I ran into her while I was letting myself in. She was surprised to find that you weren't with me, as was I, and we considered calling Amnesty International, but I decided to give you another few minutes."

"I'm so sorry," said Lily, dashing behind the counter. She threw her bag on the ground, kicked it out of the way to avoid creating a trip hazard, wrestled her coat off and snatched up the apron that Anna had so kindly brought out from the staff room. "I'm so, so, so sorry, I've had such a weird morning."

Luckily for them both, the café wasn't opening for another ten minutes, and the only other person present was Jess in the gift shop, who was eyeing Lily with great interest from behind a tower of postcards. Anna wasn't the only one well-acquainted with Lily's passion for punctuality.

"Relax, you and Arlène missing each other is tradition at this stage," said Anna dryly. "You look like shit."

"Thanks a bunch."

"Are you hungover?"

"No."

"Is that a lie?"

"Yes."

"That's not like you," said Anna curiously, her lips curling into a smile that said, "Gossip imminent!" though her prone position and the way she was slumped over the counter, her chin balanced unsteadily in her hand, told Lily that she was not the only hungover woman at work today. "Did Mary force you outside of your cave?"

"Mary did not," Lily had to admit. "I broke character for a night."

"I see," was all Anna said, before she closed her eyes and started humming under her breath.

Lily wasn't a coffee girl by any means, but had found over the course of two years at uni that a shot of espresso came in useful when one was recovering from a late night, even if her late nights usually came as a result of coursework, not drinking - which reminded her, she needed to text Mary to find out what she'd put in that cocktail before her phone ran out of the precious little battery life it had left - so once she'd put on her apron, she got to work concocting a latte for herself. While her boss would certainly give her shit for coming in late for work, Kingsley was always happy to allow the girls to help themselves to as many drinks and snacks as they wanted, provided they didn't take the piss and clean him out of cranberry flapjacks.

"Get me an orange juice from the fridge, would you?" called Anna presently, while Lily was pumping her cup full of vanilla syrup to mask the flavour of any actual coffee. "I'm dying, and I can't move."

Lily may have looked like shit, but Anna - who always appeared as if she'd skipped in from an enchanted forest, tall and willowy, with soft brown waves curling around her shoulders - was positively gorgeous beneath the unforgiving ceiling lights. Granted, she was more used to hangovers than Lily, and had certainly made more of an effort with her appearance, but Lily had slept at her flat before, and seen the way she rolled out of bed in the mornings looking like an off-duty model. It was annoying, but not so much that she'd refuse to fetch her hungover friend some juice.

She grabbed a Tropicana bottle from the fridge, walked over to Anna and nudged it against her elbow. "Here you go, love."

"Thank you," said Anna, and smiled, in a slow, self-satisfied way, one finger rising to point at Lily's neck. "I knew that was a love bite."

Lily clapped a hand to her neck, her face flaming immediately. "What?!"

"I didn't know people still did love bites, actually—"

"I do not have a love bite!" she insisted, and spun around to examine her neck in the reflective surface of the espresso machine. "It's just - I have a fucking love bite."

"You do."

"Buggering shit."

Sure enough, there it was, a fresh, reddish mark sitting halfway between her jaw and her shoulder, stark and bright against her pale skin, and impossible to ignore, now that her hair only came to her chin. Somehow, in the awkward tangle that had been her escape from her flat, she'd managed to miss it entirely.

She remembered, with such clarity despite her hungover state, how she'd gotten it, and how much it had excited her. She'd been branded, so everyone would know he'd had her, hadn't she? And hadn't she liked it? She remembered how he'd bitten down, at her urging, very shortly before he came for the first time and collapsed on top of her, his mouth warm against her shoulder, dropping grateful kisses on her skin. The thought of it made her burn from the inside out. It had been so good. He had been so good, and she'd basically abandoned him.

"Who did it?" said Anna. "Anyone I know? It wasn't Terry Heaney, was it? I know he's been terribly persistent, but—"

"Nobody you know," said Lily quickly.

"I might know him."

"He doesn't live here, he was visiting."

"Interesting." Lily's secret shame appeared to have shaken Anna out of her stupor; she stood up, cracking her spine, tossing the juice bottle between her hands. "Was he cute? I hope so."

Lily shrugged noncommittally.

"Well, did you take a photo?"

"No?"

Anna made a noise of disgust in the back of her throat. "So, I'll have to waste my break looking him up online? Thanks a lot."

"He was just some guy," Lily lied. Some perfect, beautiful guy with whom she may have been infatuated. "A friend of Remus's, from London."

"Oh," said Anna, blinking. "You don't mean lovely James, do you?"

Surprise, and alarm, seized her throat in a vice grip.

"I mean, please tell me it was, and that it wasn't Peter, he's so strange—"

"No!" Lily cried, offended by the very idea, also a little guilty. Peter couldn't help being unattractive, though she supposed he could help sneezing into his hand and shaking hers with it. "How do you know James?"

"He's up here all the time," said Anna, twisting the lid off her juice bottle. "We usually see the four of them in Shochu—"

"The karaoke bar?"

"The karaoke bar you insist on refusing to come to? Yes, that one. He's done "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" with Arlène, like, twice."

"Oh," said Lily weakly.

"And, remember that time Jenn agreed to go for a drink with that library guy because he asked her in front of a bunch of people and she was too kind to say no, and then he got really aggressive with her when she wouldn't—"

"That was him?!"

"No, you idiot!" said Anna, and took an annoyingly long mouthful of juice, presumably to punish her for her lack of sense. "You think I'd call him lovely James if he'd done something like that? He's the one who spotted it and put a stop to the whole thing."

"James was Jenn Costner's library date hero?"

Anna nodded. "She like, loves him now, but don't tell anyone you heard that from me."

"I thought she liked Sirius?"

"I mean, I don't know, they're both pretty."

"We're talking about the same James, right?" said Lily, on the off-chance that there'd been a huge misunderstanding somewhere down the line. "Black hair, glasses—"

"—an unhealthy relationship with his cat?" Anna continued. "Yes, I mean James Potter. I'm Facebook friends with him, if you need me to check."

"Oh God," said Lily, and wished - not for the first time - that Kingsley had installed stools behind the counter, so that she might sit down and deal with the fact that everyone, save her and Mary, it seemed, already knew the bloke she'd slept with and had collectively taken him into their hearts. "Oh God. Can I see?"

"Sure," said Anna, and fished her phone out of her apron pocket. She started to tap away at the screen. "This is why you need social media, you know."

"It wastes too much time."

Anna handed over the phone with a roll of her eyes. "Whatever. Knock yourself out."

Lily leaned against the counter, picking up her latte with one hand, perusing James Potter's Facebook with the other.

His profile photo was a shot of him, grinning widely at the camera and holding an ornery ginger cat - Algernon, she recalled, from something he'd said last night - whose side-eye game was impressively advanced. Most of his other photos featured the cat in some way, though many others were side-by-sides of him and Sirius in varying locales, group photos of him, Sirius, Remus and Peter, and a couple of him standing between what could only have been his parents. Further digging revealed some candid shots of his mother wearing a face mask, batting at the camera with a manicured hand, what appeared to be a professional photo shoot featuring only the cat, and prints of him and Sirius on various rollercoasters, assuming funny poses, such as one in which James appeared to be proposing marriage while Sirius pretended to cry.

The most recent picture on his timeline had been taken last night, in the pub, while he was still wearing the antlers. He had his arm thrown around Sirius's shoulder and had captioned it, quite simply, with mates.

He had not updated his status to brag about the girl he'd gone home with and banged - in fact, his last status update was from several days back, and discussed the various ways in which Algernon had thwarted him that week - not that Lily had expected him to do something so crass, but she was glad of it, all the same.

"I slept with you," she told his photo, softly.

"What?" said Anna. "Like, fully? The whole way?"

She nodded. "Twice."

Anna laughed, a loud, ringing thing that clattered through Lily's throbbing skull like a collapsing tower of pots and pans. "Jess!" she cried, waving at the gift shop. "Lily had sex with lovely James!"

Jess leapt out from behind the postcard tower like an excitable children's television presenter. "Seriously?!"

"Jess, too?" said Lily irritably, and took a mouthful of her latte, which still, despite her best efforts, tasted too much like coffee for her liking. She pulled a face. "Does everyone know James but me?"

"I think you know him better than the rest of us," said Anna slyly. "Considering what you did last night."

"So, he hasn't - I mean, with any of the rest of you, not you or Arlène or—"

"He's never put a move on anyone that I know of."

"You're sure?"

"Seriously, guys?" cried Jess. "That's all you're gonna tell me?"

"I mean, he's always really nice and charming," Anna continued, looking thoughtful. "But that's the extent of it, and I'm pretty sure I'd know if he'd slept with any of the girls."

"Oh."

"How long have you known him, anyway?"

"Less than a day."

"And you've slept with him twice?"

"Please don't judge me right now—"

"I'm not judging!" Anna insisted, with a laugh. "I'm impressed by your speed, honestly. You shouldn't be ashamed of getting some from a cute guy, and I mean, as long as you were safe—"

Lily stared avidly into her coffee, lips pressed tightly together, and she could feel Anna's eyebrows jump towards her hairline.

"You were safe, right?"

"Well," she began, blushing hotly. "Define safe—"

"Are you joking?"

"We were drunk!" Lily protested, for her own benefit as much as Anna's, because the fact that reason had abandoned her last night was the most upsetting, and humiliating, aspect of this entire debacle. "I didn't - I never thought of it, or maybe I did in passing but I sort of let it go because again, I was drunk, and it's not like I can get pregnant, or anything, I've got the implant—"

"Look, I don't think he seems like the type to be riddled with disease, but if you didn't use a condom—"

"Anna—"

"—I'm just saying, make sure you go and get checked out in a few weeks, okay? If you've got Chlamydia, or something, you don't want to leave it untreated—"

"He doesn't have Chlamydia."

"I'm sure he doesn't, but get yourself tested, anyway," said Anna. "And put some concealer on your neck before Kingsley shows up and hits the roof."

"You're right," Lily groaned, setting down her cup, and swooped to pick up her handbag, which she had shoved beneath the register with her foot. "Not the aesthetic one should present to our guests."

"Unless you'd like to work at an erotic museum?"

"Does England even have those?"

"Probably not, you're all so awfully repressed."

Lily gave a half-hearted laugh and swung her bag onto her shoulder, though her brief moment of mirth quickly turned into another groan. "I'm a fucking idiot, aren't I?"

"No, my heart, you're just a person—"

"A very stupid person."

"—a person who made one tiny, little mistake like all people do, and it's going to be fine," said Anna soothingly. "Go into the back and cover your bite, and don't be so hard on yourself."

"I don't want to go and get checked out at a sexual health clinic."

"And I don't want to go back to Sweden right after I graduate," Anna countered. "But Brexit is happening, and it's honestly not that bad, I get my birth control at Lime Tree and they're super nice, and Mary or I will go with you."

"You're nice."

"You're nice," Anna seconded. "Mary is nice, Jess is nice, orange juice is nice, now go." She pointed to the staff room door. "Nobody's gonna come in this early."

Anna had a quietly commanding air about her at times, and Lily, much like a child seeking help from her mother, felt compelled to obey her, so she shuffled into the staff room and devoted a couple of minutes to covering up the angry mark on her skin, which took considerable effort and a lot of makeup, because she was so ivory white that a mere flick could have bruised her. This was certainly going to bruise, and bruise badly, and people were going to notice, and she would be so embarrassed every time they did.

Beneath the shame, though, something about the bright red oval on her neck felt like she still had part of him with her, carrying him around, and it pleased her. His now. She shouldn't have liked that so much. His now. But she did.

Because she liked him. Only she'd gone and ruined it, probably.

When her neck was sufficiently covered, she sat down on a bench next to the lockers and extracted her phone from her bag. It was running pretty low - 8% battery - but she opened WhatsApp and fired off a text to Mary anyway.

Are you awake? Or alive? Sirius isn't a serial killer, is he?

It took a minute or two of waiting - Kingsley wouldn't be in for another hour, so Lily felt pretty comfortable slacking off - but Mary saw her text and responded in kind.

BARELY alive. Awake just. In McDonald's buying gross breakfast URGH. SO pissed off.

What's wrong?

Will explain later. You at work? Did you bang halapeno boy? Please tell me you did, one of us needs to bring some good news home today.

It's jalapeño, and yes. To both.

Mary's response, predictably, was a long string of exclamation points, which made Lily laugh despite herself, though it was with a more sobering tone that she sent her next reply.

Don't celebrate yet.

Oh no, was it shit?

No, it was lovely. Better than lovely. Mind-blowing.

!

But we didn't use a condom because I'm a fucking stupid idiot and I can't believe I made such a stupid fucking mistake. My mother is turning in her grave at this minute.

Oh stop, you're not an idiot. That happens to loads of people.

It does?

Shit happens, girl.
And you've got your implant, you'll be fine.

Shit happens, or so said Mary. As if it wasn't a big deal, as if Lily had no reason to feel ashamed of herself, but here she was, ashamed anyway.

She rubbed her finger over the tiny lump in her left arm where her implant sat. She'd gotten that because of Aaron, because he'd been her boyfriend for a long time, and it was the sensible thing to do, but she'd always made him wear a condom despite his protests, and they'd fallen apart when uni edged him out. He couldn't handle coming second to her education, and he shouldn't have had to, and Lily wasn't sure if she'd ever really loved him, and that had been bad enough - that she'd lost her virginity to a boy she hadn't seen a future with. She wasn't religious, like her parents, both of whom had been raised by proudly Catholic families in the west of Ireland, and even her mother hadn't expected her to stay chaste until she was married, but she'd drilled into her head a certain mantra, and Lily felt, for a second time, that she had thrown some lovingly-given advice in the trash.

Only this time it was worse, because she'd potentially put herself at risk.

Lily hadn't had a panic attack in a long time - she'd spent a year working with a therapist after her parents' accident and the subsequent anxiety their deaths left her with - and she didn't want to have another now, not when the infraction she'd committed was so minor, according to her friends, and there probably wasn't a thing wrong with her. She was a law student, for crying out loud. She handled an immense workload on a daily basis, held down a weekend job and hadn't once let her academic performance falter, even after her ugly breakup with Aaron. Even after she'd cut ties with Severus, which had been worse.

James Potter was just some bloke, and Lily had dealt with worse in her life than a silly mistake. She just needed to get through her shift, go home, have a nice cup of tea and sleep for eight solid hours, and she'd be fine.

She'd be fine.

"How was work?" said Mary, when she got in later, not feeling much better than she'd felt when she left the flat. It seemed as if everyone in Cambridge had been nursing a hangover that morning, because Kingsley had turned up late and sluggish, and didn't have the heart to lecture Lily for a crime he'd mirrored. They'd subsequently been rushed off their feet for the rest of the day, which gave her something to occupy her mind until closing, but also exhausted her.

"Tiring," she said, kicking off her shoes. Mary was lying flat on the floor with her feet on the armchair. "What are you doing?"

"Contemplating."

"Contemplating what?"

"How best to murder that shit mate of yours."

"Oh?"

"Or," said Mary. "Similarly, should we order Chinese or pizza tonight?"

"Those two conundrums are connected, are they?"

"Vengeance makes me hungry."

"Well, I can't afford a Chinese, or pizza—"

"I can."

"—and you clearly need to get something off your chest."

"What gave you that idea?"

"Your talk of murdering Sirius?" Lily pointed out. "Just now?"

"Oh, that," she sighed, and crossed one foot over the other. "Believe it or not, the fucker's only gone and taken a vow of chastity—"

"What?!"

"Some philosophical thing he's got going on," Mary spat, waving one hand in the air above her head. "He's trying to become acquainted with his inner self, or something, so no sex for six months to keep his head clear, which would be fine, except he told me this after I'd given him a handy."

Surprising as this was, it also seemed like just the sort of outlandish thing Sirius would do. "That wanker!"

"You're telling me."

"The absolute cheek of him!"

"Yeah, I know," said Mary dully.

"I can't believe he waited until you'd—"

"Anyway, I'm seeing him next week—"

Lily blinked repeatedly at her friend's prone body. "Pardon?"

"Oh, I know," said Mary, peeping up at her with 'don't hate me' eyes. "And you were worried I'd judge you for not using a condom."

"I'd argue that not using a condom is worse, actually."

"Oh, please," Mary scoffed. "James looked pretty clean to me."

"Hygienic doesn't mean healthy."

"Maybe not, but it's a good sign." Mary rolled over on her front, moving her feet from the chair and kicking them into the air behind her. "So?"

"So, what?"

She quirked her eyebrows. "Are you going to tell me all about this mind-blowing sex you had?"

"And make you feel worse about your night of virtue? Not right now," Lily retorted. "I need a bath first, and a cup of tea. And possibly that Chinese you were talking about ordering."

"Alright, but you have to tell me over special-fried rice, agreed?"

"Agreed."

"Perfect. Consider yourself dismissed."

Lily mock-saluted her, stalked off, and pushed open her bedroom door to find that someone had tidied her room for her.

It wasn't exactly a spring-clean job, and had clearly been done in a bit of a hurry, but Lily's bed was made, quite neatly, and her curtains had been pulled open to let in what would, at the time, have been daylight, and the clothes and underwear she'd left strewn around the flat had been nicely folded and left in her chair. Even her pillows had been fluffed up to expect her presence.

"Mary?" she called over her shoulder, her eyes fixed on her bed. "Did you clean up in here?"

"I've barely gotten off the floor since I got home," Mary replied.

So it must have been James. She'd run out on him without so much as a backwards glance, and he'd still been considerate enough to tidy up.

That was so sweet.

What business had he to be so lovely when she was in such a tizzy over this?

Folded primly on the duvet was a piece of paper, torn from an open notebook that sat on her windowsill. She picked it up, holding it delicately, like a hanky between her fingertips, and opened it, bracing herself for a rejection, or an awkward scrawling of 'well, that was fun, but let's not do it again,' and hoping - though she wouldn't admit it aloud - that he'd left her some sort of means by which she could contact him.

She found none of those things in the note he left, but the resulting head-rush it gave her was no less effective.

just in case i don't see you again, thanks for last night, was smashing
you're the prettiest girl i've ever met, by the way, i'm eternally grateful that you let me do stuff to you
over and out
james x

She sat down on her bed, hard, her fingers splaying on the pillow where James had laid his head last night, feeling as if she'd had a rug pulled out from beneath her feet, aware of the lingering scent - of him, of sex - on her sheets, feeling as if she'd done something entirely stupid when she walked out of her room and left him there alone.

But she hadn't. She had a plan. He wouldn't fit. Couldn't fit.

She had to put him out of her head.

The problem was, she couldn't put him out of her head.

She tried, she really did. It wasn't as if she didn't have any number of distractions to keep her mind occupied. Unlike Mary, Remus and the rest of her mates, Lily didn't have winter exams to study for, but her workload was as crushing as ever, and every moment spent outside of lectures and seminars was spent reading journal articles – probably more, in fact, than she might have read if she hadn't been trying to forget about the stupid, beautiful boy she'd spent one stupid, beautiful night with.

When she skipped art class, on Halloween day, she'd texted Remus and told him that she had a paper to finish – a bald-faced lie, because she'd finished the essay on Sunday – rather than admit that she was embarrassed by the way she'd acted on Friday night, and that she couldn't face knowing what James had said about her when he returned from her flat. When she skipped another class, a week later, Remus was informed that she had the flu, another lie she'd spun, telling herself she'd spend the night constructing skeleton structures for future essays.

Lily spent that Tuesday lying on the couch with a bag of Doritos and two litres of Diet Coke, signed-in to Mary's Facebook as part of a deal they'd struck, stalking James through Sirius Black's profile, pretending she didn't care that his relationship status was set to 'Single,' and remained as such after upwards of thirty refreshes. London was a busy place, and he was in real danger of bumping into the love of his life on any street corner, or in any tube station, or in a fashionable warehouse art gallery full of pretentious, glass-box installations. She was merely keeping vigilant.

Not that she cared, or cared all that much.

She actually did have required reading to get on with when she missed the third class, which she explained to Remus, and to Trelawney during an angry phone call, along with an ardent promise to return as soon as her workload eased up, lest she suffer as an artist and 'lose her vision,' if one could ever cultivate artistic vision simply from looking at Sirius's naked, tattooed arse and frankly unimpressive – she now had first hand experience of better – penis, every sodding Tuesday.

By the time she skipped the fourth class, she wasn't even trying to think up a lie. She didn't even text Remus, which wasn't fair, because he'd been enquiring after her health, and it was really Sirius she wanted to avoid. Remus was far too decent to say anything, but Sirius - who, according to Mary, had not been speaking favourably of Lily when she was mentioned in conversation - was sure to roast her.

The last thing she needed, or wanted, or felt equipped to deal with, was Sirius Black announcing to Trelawney's class that his best mate had been 'balls deep inside Evans,' while she tried to sketch his spinal cord and get on with her life.

She missed James, and it was so bloody stupid because she'd known him for all of five minutes, and it had been twenty-four days - she'd kept count - since she'd left him in her bedroom and sped to the safety of her part-time job, but he stubbornly refused to leave her befuddled brain, persisted in lingering on her pillow, even if the smell of him was gone and she simply liked to pretend that it was there. She'd even kept the note he left her in her bedside drawer, half-cracked for a bloke she barely knew, and she didn't know what magic he'd employed to make her crazy, but it wasn't bloody fair.

She'd left it too long, though. She knew it, and she knew he'd know it. She could have gotten his number from Remus. She could have sent him a light, breezy text message, something along the lines of 'Hey, it's Lily Evans. Remember me? You gave me three orgasms and I think I'm obsessed with you hahaha lol jk I'm not insane, but do you want to have lunch and also we should get married, thoughts?'

But she hadn't, and it was far too late for any sort of gesture now.

Besides, and of this she often reminded herself, he hadn't made any effort to contact her, which made his position perfectly clear. Why should she be the one to put herself out there for someone who obviously wasn't that interested?

"You're moping again," said Mary coldly.

She wasn't scheduled to work at the pub until the weekend, and seemed resentful of Lily for robbing her of yet another Tuesday evening that could have been spent alone in the flat, just her and the David Tennant cutout, practising kissing, or whatever it was Mary did to him when nobody else was around.

"I'm not moping," said Lily stubbornly, pulling her comforter closer to her chin. "I'm constipated."

This, at least, was true. Clearly, the intricacies of civil litigation were causing undue stress, because Lily hadn't been able to shift a thing since yesterday morning. She did not, at least, thanks to a surprisingly comforting trip with Mary to Lime Tree and a very understanding nurse, have Chlamydia, Gonorrhea or Syphilis.

She also had a handful of free condoms. So that was nice.

"Take some senna," Mary suggested, and handed her a mug of tea before she flung herself down on the sofa.

"Oh yeah, sorry, I'll just snip some leaves off the plant we haven't been growing."

"You're moody today."

"So are you."

"Yeah, but I was moody first," Mary countered. "And you've been moody over the same bloke for weeks, it's getting boring."

"I'm not—"

"Let's not have this argument again, yeah? God knows what kind of orgasm this bloke gave you that's made you such a girl—"

"It wasn't like that!"

"Sorry, I meant orgasms plural."

"No, it's not - I meant it wasn't the orgasms." She took a sip of her tea - Mary always brewed it to perfection. "It was the other stuff."

"What other stuff?"

"You know," she said, blushing faintly at the memory. "All the talking in the pub, and the way he - like, when he kissed my forehead, that was so sweet—"

"When did he kiss your forehead?"

"After we'd... you know."

"Fucked?"

"Mary," said Lily sternly. "Do you have to be so crass?"

"Yes, Jane Austen, I do." She waved both hands in Lily's direction. "Continue."

"Well - yeah, so there was that, and, I mean, I normally hate cuddling in bed because it's so hot and uncomfortable and I want my own space, but it felt so nice with him and I fell asleep like it was nothing, and just—" Mary had started to laugh, and Lily pulled a face at her. "What?"

"Nothing," said Mary, in a sing-song tone that told her that it was far from nothing. "This just explains everything, that's all."

Lily frowned, and pressed her mug of tea to her chest, a gesture she'd learned from her mother that she found oddly comforting. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you amateur, that you did it all wrong. No wonder you're still mooning over him."

"What?"

"You were supposed to fuck him—"

"I did!"

"No, you didn't," said Mary flatly. "Fucking isn't gazing into each other's eyes and having your fucking forehead kissed and being snuggled to sleep afterwards, that's romantic shit, that's making love. You made love, you fucking idiot, and that's not how you one-night stand."

"We did not make love—"

"You did."

"You're just—"

"I can't believe he didn't propose afterwards, honestly," she added, unfurling from the couch. "Pause the telly, I need a wee."

"It's a repeat of Bargain Hunters, what on earth do you think you'll miss?"

But Mary had gone, dashing off to the toilet without so much as a backwards glance, leaving Lily to contemplate the weight of her words.

Was her friend right? Had she and James somehow transcended the tenuous non-bond of a one-night stand and formed something different, something stronger, something that might explain why Lily felt as if she couldn't let him go?

Was it possible that her behaviour, pushing for sex when he'd kissed her so sweetly, and basically running from her own flat the next morning, had convinced him that she wasn't interested in anything more than what he'd given her?

Might he still think about her?

Would it really be so hard to maintain a relationship with someone she wanted as much as she wanted James, still, after just one night together and twenty-four days of total silence? She hadn't wanted Aaron enough, he'd just been there. A habit from her teens. He hadn't made her feel the way James had made her feel, and she wasn't sure what that was, exactly, only that she'd never felt that way about anyone else, and it didn't look as if those feelings were going to let up anytime soon.

Was she a giant bloody fool if she didn't at least try to talk to him again?

She set down her tea and picked up her phone instead, realising as she did that she'd completely forgotten to pause the program they were watching, opened up her WhatsApp chat with Remus and stared at the last message she'd sent, a cheerful, 'Yeah, I'm definitely up for lunch soon, only not this week because I'm super busy!'

She'd need to explain, she supposed, that she'd been battling through a storm of self-inflicted shame, because nobody, from Anna to Mary to the nurse at Lime Tree, had made her feel remotely small for what she and James had done, she'd put all of that on herself. She'd also need to explain that she was nuts, but Remus would understand, she hoped, and give her James's number with minimal fuss.

Hey! she typed. So this is going to sound weird, but I need to

"Lily?" said Mary, shuffling into the living room with her legs pressed together. "Pretty-honey-sweetie-darling?"

She looked up at her friend. "Oh, now you're being nice?"

"I'm always delightful," she said airily. "Also, can I nick one of your tampons? Forgot to pick some up this morning."

"I don't have any."

"Seriously?"

"I only buy them when I'm on."

"Yeah, and weren't you on last week?"

"No," she said, and frowned, because it was the 21st, but she'd been due... "No, I wasn't..."

Her voice disappeared, sucked from her body as if by an invisible vacuum, and the hairs on her arms were standing on end, and something hot, and sick, and terrible, swooped up from her stomach and into the back of her throat.

It was the 21st. The fucking 21st. Lily had been due her period around the 13th.

Eight days ago.

She'd been due eight days ago.

"Oh my God," she muttered, feeling breathless.

Mary's eyes widened like saucers. "No way."

"No," Lily repeated, staring blindly at her friend, utterly frozen where she sat, her voice returned but belonging to somebody else now, growing higher and higher in pitch. Panicked. Terrified. "No. No, no, no."

No.

A/N: Congratulations to the handful of people who guessed this twist. My boy James has gone and done it now.