Author's Note: I originally intended to post this after Filthy Animals was finished, but as I'm taking a (short) break from Filthy Animals, guilt compelled me to update chapter 2 of this little ditty.

Thank you very much to Kristina for letting me have 'the floor is lava,' which I feel improved this chapter hugely.

part 2 - and i, like a bird will fly

Lily wakes up with the sunrise the next morning, feeling excited, and after her shower she creeps downstairs to the kitchen to fix herself an early breakfast.

She eats her cereal on her window seat, accompanied by her books, her damp hair tied in a long, heavy braid. During a particularly fascinating chapter of her Transfiguration textbook, she looks up at the sound of a shout and notices that Sirius and James are outside, playing with a strange, glowing object that looks like a tennis ball but moves with greater speed and deliberation. Instead of tossing it to one another to catch, they're each trying to hit the other with it. Nearby, Algernon lies in a patch of buttery daffodils, basking contentedly in the early morning sun.

James is laughing again, doing all sorts of complex rolls and dives to avoid being hit, even leaping over the stream at one point. When he notices her watching - right after a particularly impressive catch - he stops in his tracks and colours immediately. She waves at him, then at Sirius, who motions for her to open the window.

"Morning," he says, once she's opened it and leaned out, her braid swinging in the breeze like a pendulum.

"Morning."

"Getting a good view of our arses up there?"

She laughs. "It's not your arses I'm concerned about. Is that thing safe?"

"Not really," says Sirius, grinning up at her. "Come down and talk to us, James misses you."

James responds by blushing even more furiously and throwing the ball at Sirius, who catches it with two hands before it can sock him in the stomach, grinning wickedly, and Lily can't do much else other than laugh.

"Alright, then," she agrees. "I'll be down in a minute."

"So, how does the provision work?" says Sirius.

The stream that runs through the Potters' back garden is full of stepping-stones, and Lily, who has always been sure of foot, is hopping from one to the other with her arms held aloft. She's kicked off her shoes and taken her braid out, all the better for her hair to dry in the sun. The two boys are sitting next to the stream, lazing in the warmth, and she is mostly conversing with Sirius. James has gone quiet again, which Lily is starting to suspect is uncharacteristic of him.

"I'm not sure," she replies, with her eyes on her feet, and jumps to the next stone. "They told me that I could do magic here over summer, but that the Ministry says I have to be watched."

"Who's been watching you?"

She looks up at them both, and shrugs. "Nobody. I mean, your father, sometimes," she adds, speaking to James. "But that's just when I'm mixing potions or in the greenhouse. Otherwise, they trust me to get on with it."

"And people wonder why you grew up a troublemaker," says Sirius to James, smacking his back. "This is excellent, Evans. I'm glad you're here."

"Why?"

"Because," he says, with a wide, sly smile. "The Ministry doesn't track individual underage students, do they? They can sense when magic is being performed by an underage student, but not that student's identity, which means that James and I have free reign this summer. Anything we do, they'll assume you're doing it."

"Oh," says Lily. She drops her arms to her sides. "Can they trace the kind of magic you're doing?"

"Yes," says James, who still can't seem to look at her face for more than a couple of seconds, and is pulling the petals from an unfortunate daisy. "They can."

"So if you perform some incredibly complex spell, you think they're going to assume it's the Muggle-born who hasn't had a day's magical education in her life?"

Sirius's face falls.

James laughs. "She's got you there."

"Shut your trap, daisy mutilator," says Sirius, indicating to the petals that are strewn about James's outstretched legs. "Does she love you or not?"

"Shut up," James replies, and then they're shoving one another. Lily resumes her skipping until she's back on the bank, brushing off dust that isn't really there. Sirius, who has James trapped in a headlock, lets go abruptly and climbs to his feet.

"Toilet," he says, and points at the ground. "Here, Evans, sit here and keep James company."

He dashes off to the house and Lily drops into his vacated spot next to James. The sun is warm on her shoulders, and Algernon moves from the daffodil patch to snuggle against her thigh. James spares a perfunctory glance at his cat, then moves on to another daisy.

They sit in silence for a little while, waiting for Sirius to come back, but he never does. Finally, Lily looks over her shoulder and sees him in the kitchen, having a cup of tea with Euphemia.

"Your mum's got Sirius," she says, pointing to the house. James looks up from his work for long enough to take a backwards glance.

"Yeah," he agrees, turning back to the daisy. "They're close."

She can't understand why he won't look at her, and it bothers her that she cares. He got her hopes up last night and now he's retreated back to... whatever this is.

She picks a daisy for herself, and starts imitating him, adding her petals to the pile he's made.

"I must be really ugly," she airily remarks.

His eyes are on hers immediately. "What?"

"You seem really determined not to look at me." Her tone is light, just enough to hide the fact that, on some level, this matters to her. "Is it the red hair? I know it's an acquired taste, but I've always been quite fond of it."

"You're not - no," he says, and sighs heavily. "I don't - I really can't get it right with you, can I?"

"What's there to get right?"

"Not coming across as a total idiot, for one."

"Well, you're maintaining eye contact," she points out. "That's a good start."

James nods. There's something helpless about him, an earnestness, a sweetness of manner that can't be disguised by their stilted conversation, or his inability to meet her eyes for an extended number of seconds. "I don't think you're ugly at all. And I like your hair."

"Well, good," she replies, with a teasing smile. "It's important that the handsomest boy on earth likes my hair, otherwise how would I sleep at night?"

He blushes, but it's alright, because she's blushing too. "Like a top, probably."

"You're probably right. I don't think I've had a bad night's sleep since I got here."

"That's nice," he says. "Like your hair, incidentally. Which I really do like."

"Thank you. Your hair is... nice, too."

He brightens a little. "Yeah?"

"Do you, I mean, do you use anything in it to make it that..." She holds her hands up on either side of her head and shakes them. "Or is it just like that all by itself?"

"You'd think, right?" he says, and smiles. "I mean, my dad's the inventor of hair potion, but no, I don't use anything."

"So you're a natural mess?"

"Yup. Inside and out."

She laughs, and she's sitting in a beautiful garden with a beautiful boy, who may or may not like her hair, and life feels pretty great, actually.

"Hey," she says, after a moment of silence, when they've plucked their daisies bare. He meets her eyes again, immediately, as if determined not to disappoint her again.

"Yeah?"

"Do you still want to teach me how to fly?"

"Yes," he says emphatically. "That I can do."

"So you'll want to grip the handle with your good hand on top," James is saying. "And your other hand below it."

This would be a lot easier without an audience, but Sirius and Euphemia have brought their tea out to the garden, and are sitting on wicker chairs beneath a large parasol, dipping digestives and speaking to one another in low voices. Euphemia's wearing a pair of cat eye sunglasses with her silk dressing gown, like an off-duty film star from the 1950s.

Lily adjusts her hands, and she'd feel sillier about sitting on a broomstick in the middle of the garden, only it's humming with magic. Despite the fact that it is, undeniably, a broomstick, she feels more like she's perched on a cushion, which explains why James can fly the thing in the first place. He's got more to hurt than she does.

"Don't arch your back so much," he says, and she straightens her spine. "Not when you're taking off."

"This feels really strange," she says, and looks at him. "Did it feel strange for you, when you started?"

"Er, no," he admits. "But I've been flying since I was little, so I can't really remember. Are you comfortable?"

"Comfortable enough, yeah."

"Do you feel like the broomstick is anchoring you to the ground?"

She nods.

"Good. Okay, so what you need to do next is push off with your feet – in a minute, not now," he adds hurriedly. "Sort of like you're getting up from a chair, but really gently."

"Is that so I don't shoot off like a cannonball?"

"You'll want to get a couple of feet up, so you're hovering a bit," he explains, and holds his hand chest high. "Around this height, to start with."

"That's fine, I don't particularly want to break my neck on the first try."

He pulls a face. "Unless you want me to die of guilt, please don't."

"I'll try my best," she promises. "Now?"

"Yeah," he says. "Go for it, but be careful."

With great trepidation, she pushes away from the ground with her feet, as slowly and easily as possible - and it works. The broomstick rises off the ground and hovers a couple of feet in the air, and James smiles at her, and she laughs, and it all feels so surreal.

Then the broomstick wobbles, and she lets go with one hand, instinctively reaching out to grab his shoulder.

"You're alright," he says, but holds her arm with both his hands anyway. "I won't let you fall."

"I might fall."

"Then I'll catch you."

She laughs again, nervously this time, both because of the broom and because he's touching her, and since when was she such a girl? "I'm not a coward, I promise. This is just such a weird feeling."

"For Merlin's sake, Prongs," Sirius pipes up from his chair. "Just get on the bloody thing with her!"

"Sod off, Sirius," says James, glancing over his shoulder. "Ignore him, he's just a-"

"Could you?"

His eyes widen. "What?"

"Can you do that? I mean..." She looks behind her. "Is there room?"

"Plenty of room!" Sirius shouts, while Euphemia titters beside him.

"Are you sure?" says James.

"Yes," she says, nodding. "I think I'd feel better, if you were with me. Safer, I mean."

For what seems like the millionth time, he's gone bright red, and like a brilliant flash of light in her eyes, Lily gets it.

Or thinks she does. Maybe she's just hopeful.

"Alright," he agrees. "I'll sit behind you. Lean forward a little, very gently."

She lets go of his shoulder and leans toward the handle, and the broomstick lowers itself to waist height. Quick as a flash, James is behind her, fitting easily against her back.

"Is it okay if I, erm?" he says. "Don't want to assume."

"Oh," she says. "Yes, it's fine."

So he puts his hands on her waist, and Sirius lets out a wolf-whistle, and James makes a low, annoyed sound in the back of his throat.

"Okay," he says. "I'll push off, you steer - it's dead easy, and I'll tell you what to do. If you need help at any point, I'll take over. Got it?"

"Got it," she says, with a firm nod. "Don't let go of me."

"Believe me, that won't be a problem."

"Good. Great." She's glad that he can't see her face, because her rosy cheeks could give him a run for his money. "I'd rather not die before I turn seventeen."

"Don't worry. I already told you," says James. "I won't let you fall."

When she dismounts, a little while later, Lily feels rather breathless.

"That was amazing!" she cries, taking a few dizzy steps towards Sirius, who stayed in the garden to watch them. Euphemia has gone inside. "Amazing! I've never felt so – argh! I can't even explain it!"

Sirius laughs. "You did alright up there, Evans."

"Did I? No, that was all James, I was useless," she says, and she's beaming, and her heart is beating so fast and she wants to do a million things at once, like do it again, or run around the garden, or jump up and down on the spot, or hug James, who is just brilliant, incredible, and flies intuitively, like a bird, as if he had simply been born to it.

James, who didn't let her fall.

"That was the greatest thing I've ever done in my whole life," she enthuses, and twirls around to face him. He's holding the broomstick, and looks pretty pleased with the turn of events. His hair is more windswept than ever.

"I'm glad," he says. "Flying is brilliant."

"Thank you so much," she says, all warmth and fire - Euphemia told her that fire was important. "What that meant to me - you've got no idea."

"It's alright," he replies, and grins at her, a smile she hasn't seen from him before. "Happy to do it."

"I'm going to go and tell your mum," she says, and does a little skip before running towards the house, but turns again at the last minute. "I was really flying!"

"Yeah, you were!" says James, smiling widely.

She runs into the kitchen, and thinks that this was worth waiting her entire life for.

Maybe it's because he's grown used to her presence, or maybe it's because he spent fifteen minutes holding her, quite literally, while they hurtled through the air together, but something restrictive has broken between her and James - that barrier she's felt since she met him off the train - and an easy, instinctive connection has taken its place.

They've clicked.

"I was rubbish."

"You weren't rubbish."

"I was," she insists. "You're just being nice because I'm a ragged little orphan."

"Ragged little orphans can't get changed for dinner," says James, nodding at Lily's outfit. Euphemia bought her so many clothes that Lily has yet to wear the same thing twice. "Nice dress, by the way."

"I'll have you know that I changed because I spilled milk on my top."

"Then you're a clumsy little orphan, but you're not rubbish on a broom."

"What about when that bird flew in the way and I nearly killed us both?"

His lips quirk upwards. "It was a very scary bird."

"It was a sparrow," she says, and points her fork at him, on the end of which sits a crispy roast potato. "You are so full of it."

James, who is beside her at the table, eyes the potato, then takes the fork out of her hand and pops it in his mouth.

"Thanks," he says, through a mouthful, and pats his stomach. Lily gapes at him.

"You just stole food from an orphan!" she accuses, though she's laughing heartily, and she's nearly full anyway.

"Did not," he argues, once he's swallowed his ill-gotten gains. He grins at her as he hands back her fork. "That was payment for taking you up on my broom. My time is extremely valuable, you know."

"So I have to pay you in root vegetables if I ever need a favour?"

"That wouldn't be his first choice of payment," says Sirius, who is also present, as are James's parents. It occurs to Lily that she and James really shouldn't be engaging in such an exclusive conversation in the middle of dinner, but there's something so... blinding about him. It's hard for her to notice anyone else.

"Well, unfortunately, I'm not exactly rolling in cash," she says to Sirius, daintily ignoring James's red face. "I'll have to take up farming."

"Or you could just-"

"Sirius," says Euphemia, with a raised brow. "What have I told you about rushing? It's not gentlemanly."

Sirius spears a piece of chicken on the end of his knife. "I'm not a gentleman."

"You are when you're in this house," says Euphemia smoothly. "Lily, dear, it's lovely to see you getting along with the boys. Have you made any other plans?"

She opens her mouth to say that she's not sure, but James beats her to it.

"I was thinking of taking her to a Quidditch match," he says, as he slices his meat. "The Catapults are playing against Appleby Arrows next week."

"Take her to a Wasps game," says Sirius, and leans across the table. "Quidditch tip, Evans, you'll want to support the Wimbourne Wasps, their defensive line-"

"Er, no!" says James, so scandalised by this that he sets his knife and fork down on the table. "She'll support the Catapults, thank you very much!"

"Why do I have to support the Catapults?"

"Because," says James, and shrugs. "The Potters have always supported the Catapults."

"I'm not a Potter, though."

"Doesn't matter, you're still part of this family."

She laughs at that. "I've been living here for two weeks."

"Mum," says James loudly. "Tell Lily that she's part of this family whether she likes it or not."

"Lily," says Euphemia. "You're part of this family."

James gives her a smug, self-satisfied grin. "That's you told."

Lily is extremely good at Potions.

As a matter of fact, Lily has a knack for everything, but Potions is her favourite subject. She could spend hours whiling away in Mr. Potter's lab, scouring through her textbook and examining the weird and wonderful array of ingredients he's got at his disposal, accompanied by the man himself, who has taken to calling her 'little one' and comments favourably on her creations. There's something soothing about the subject, a preciseness, a keenness, and a focus on detail that Lily enjoys. She's found that there's nothing so relaxing as potion-making, and nothing so satisfying as getting it right.

That is, until the first time James visits her in the lab.

He's been back for eight days, and he's bored - his words - because Sirius got a letter from his family, and he always needs to be alone after reading one of their epistles. While Sirius lies beneath the oak tree reading The Brothers Karamazov, James joins her to offer his own, unique brand of expertise.

"Throw in some antimony," he suggests, while she's sweating over her cauldron. He fishes the little blue bottle from a shelf near his elbow, and holds it up to the light.

"Why?"

He shrugs. "Just to see what happens?"

Lily wipes some soot from her nose, straightens up over her cauldron and crooks her finger at him. "Come here for a second."

He lopes over with his hands in his pockets, and she points a finger at her textbook when he draws next to her.

"Look at this," she instructs him, running her finger along the list of ingredients. "And tell me, where on this page can you see an instruction to add antimony to a Forgetfulness Potion?"

James examines it for a second. "Well, you know what happened here, don't you?"

"No. What happened?"

He looks up at her, grinning slyly. "They forgot to put it in the book."

"That's not funny," she says, biting back a laugh.

"You're such a liar," he happily accuses. "We'll be needing some Veritaserum for you if you keep up like this. How can you see through your web of lies?"

"We're lucky we can see at all, and that you haven't blown up your dad's lab."

"How did any potion get invented if nobody ever threw random ingredients in a cauldron?"

"Oh, I don't know." Lily taps a finger to her chin, and pretends to look confused. "Through careful study and controlled testing?"

"That's why nobody ever has fun brewing potions."

"I have fun brewing potions."

"And we all think that's very cute," says James, and nudges her chin with the back of his finger. "Good for you!"

"What are you doing down here, son?" says Fleamont, who has entered the lab, gingerly carrying a small, wooden box containing a number of glass vials that are filled to the brim with a murky, purple liquid. "Bothering Lily again? Don't you have any other hobbies?"

"I'm inspiring her with my presence," says James, and hops up on the table, swinging his legs.

"Inspiring me towards violence."

"You begged me not to leave."

"Now who needs Veritaserum?"

Fleamont sets the box down on another table, far away from James, which is probably a good idea. "How's your draught coming along, little one?"

"Pretty well, I think," she says, and consults her book. "I've gotten the right level of thickness, and it's got ten more minutes to cook until I add the mistletoe berries."

"Excellent," says Fleamont. "It's nice to finally have a child who appreciates my craft."

"I appreciate your craft!" James cries.

"You appreciate the racing broom your mother bought you because of my craft," says Fleamont, and winks at Lily. "This one, on the other hand, is a true potioneer."

"I take you into this house," says James to Lily, pretending to glare at her, but failing, because he only has to look at her and he's breaking into a smile. "I give you the clothes off my back, and what do you do? You steal my parents."

"I left the world's smallest violin with my last foster family," she says, and gives him a playful shove. He leans forward and musses up her hair, and they're both laughing, and Mr. Potter sighs fondly and goes back to his vials.

James may or may not be stealing something of hers, she later reflects, but it should take more than eight days to admit to losing that.

It weighs on her to be given so much when she contributes so little, even if Euphemia insists that she's no burden on their shoulders. Lily is determined, though, and gets a part-time job in the café in town.

James, who has been home for a little over two weeks, visits her in her room on her first day of work. He throws himself dramatically on her bed, sprawling backwards, and lets out a loud, affected sigh.

"I just made that," she tells him, watching him in the mirror as she braids her hair. "If you need to jump on someone's bed, jump on your own."

"I'm wounded," he says.

"You'll live."

He sits up, all puppy-dog eyes and sadness. "Why do you have to go to work?"

"Because they tend to expect you to show up."

"What am I supposed to do while you're gone?"

She shrugs. "Hang around with Sirius? Torment your cat? Whatever you did before I moved in."

"What if I tell you the floor is lava? How will you get out?"

"I guess I'm condemned to a painful, fiery death."

"I could grab hold of your legs when you try to leave," he suggests. "I'm dead strong. How would you escape?"

"I'd hex you."

He laughs. "No offense, but I've been hexing people for a little longer than-"

"I can use my wand," she reminds him. "And you can't."

She smiles triumphantly at him in the mirror, and he collapses back onto the bed.

"You're no help, Evans," he moans. "I'm attached now, you can't just deprive me of your company without warning."

"It's a four hour shift, and you've known for days."

"Plus the time it takes you to walk there and back, which is almost another hour."

"Thank you, oh great one, for crunching the numbers. Pass me my earrings, will you?" She points to her dresser. "They're sitting next to my headphones."

James gets up and walks to the dresser, where he pauses for a moment.

"Er," he says. "What are headphones?"

"What?"

He turns around. "I don't know what headphones are."

The Potters, brilliant people though they are, are not particularly up-to-date on the Muggle world. They have electrical outlets in the farmhouse, and they function, but there's no other Muggle technology to be found - even the kitchen appliances are magically powered. It took a while to get used to, but Lily barely misses it. She's too distracted by magic, by the excitement she feels when she masters a new spell or perfects a new potion, and by Fleamont and Euphemia, and James and Sirius, and the way in which they've taken her into their lives, wholeheartedly and without question.

It's a strange thing, to know a boy her age who doesn't know these things, but Lily rather enjoys it. James has so much to offer her, like flying, and Quidditch, and the soft, silvery cloak he showed her a few days back, the one that removes him from plain sight when he puts it on.

It's nice to have something he doesn't, something that she can give to him.

"They're these things," says Lily, and crosses the room. She picks her headphones up from the dresser and holds them out for inspection. "You listen to music with them."

"How?"

"You put them in your ears. I'll show you." She sticks her earbuds in and dangles the other end of the wire in front of James's nose. "This part goes in here." She picks up her iPod - which is ancient, and the only gift she's gotten from her sister in six years - and plugs the headphones into the jack. "Then I can play music."

She turns on her iPod and hits play, pulls out one of the earbuds and offers it to James. "Listen."

"Alright," he says, taking it from her hand. He holds it close to his ear. "Oh."

"Can you hear it?"

"Yeah," he says, and smiles at her. "I've heard you singing this before."

"When?"

He shrugs. "When you're doing dishes. It's nice."

"My singing?"

"I meant the song," he says, and laughs. "But yeah, that too. This is cool."

Being around James is so easy, as easy as being alone, only so much more fun. She never has to search her mind for an adequate response or struggle to start a conversation - it's second nature to them, and though his knowledge of all things magical greatly exceeds her own, he's never made her feel inadequate, not once. On the contrary, Lily is brighter, happier, quicker and more brilliant in his presence, but he matches her step-for-step, and it's wonderful, feeling so free to be exactly who she is, and to be with somebody who likes her so much for it.

Sometimes she feels as if... but she can't. Her thoughts can't stray that way.

His parents didn't foster her so she could develop feelings for their son, and she should have more self control.

Especially when they're alone together, like now, when it's just the two of them, her and this blinding, beautiful boy who she thinks she'd like to kiss because his lips look so soft, and because maybe he wants to kiss her back.

So she pauses the song and steps away, dislodging the earbuds from both of their ears. She sets the iPod on her dresser.

"You can borrow this while I'm gone, if you like," she tells him. "I don't have anything recent on it because you don't have the internet, but-"

"What's an internet?"

"It's... difficult to explain." She picks up her earrings and starts to put them in. "You don't know a lot about Muggle culture, do you?"

"Not really. Mum does a bit, because she had a Muggle mother, but she says she's out of touch now."

"Is it not something you're interested in?"

"Oh, no, I am! Dead interested. Like, why do you go running in the forest? Nobody's chasing you, and you're not racing anyone. And what's a meme? Only you can't really go up to a Muggle and ask those questions."

"What about the Muggle-borns at school?"

"Well, you can ask them," he admits. "But I don't really have anyone like that in my group of friends."

She sends him a flat look.

"And, alright, maybe I've become a bit more interested since I met you," he admits, grinning. "This music thing is cool, though. I suppose I will borrow it, if you insist on leaving me."

"I don't have to leave you just yet," she says. "Not if you walk me to work."

"Well, obviously," says James, and bounces toward the door. "That was my plan all along."

Lily doesn't ask again, and James never offers, but regardless, he walks her to and from work for every single shift she picks up. Their wordless agreement is an accepted fact, like the sunset, or the ebb and flow of the tides, or the inevitability of Euphemia setting something of his on fire at least once every couple of days to 'teach him a lesson.'

Most days, she doesn't need to wait until the end of her shift to see him again because he turns up with Sirius – who takes a book with him – to order endless mugs of coffee and plates of chips. The first time this happens, he and Sirius forget to bring Muggle money with them and Lily pays for their lunch from her own pocket. James is so guilty over the whole affair that he buys her flowers, a bunch of sunshine-yellow roses that he presents to her after work.

"You said that yellow flowers were your favourite," he tells her, after she's exclaimed over the roses and buried her nose in their soft, sweet-smelling petals. He looks at his feet and scuffs his shoe against the ground. "They won't ever die, not until you want them to."

"How did you manage that without a wand?" she asks him.

"I have my ways," he says, then looks up and sees the disbelieving expression on her face. He laughs. "It was Mum."

She keeps them on her window seat, and greets them every morning.

She carries on diligently with her studies, and finds herself more comfortable around other people because she no longer fears a random act of magic that she can't control. Her colleagues at the café take to her quickly. Work is fine - a little dull on quiet weekdays, but James has a way of brightening the place up. He even brings Algernon on one occasion, and Lily has to talk her manager out of imposing a lifelong ban, reminding her that James could pay her wages himself with the amount of coffee he drinks.

"No wonder he's wired to the bloody moon," says Charli, with a roll of her eyes. "Fine, he can stay, but only if he leaves that cat at home."

Walking to work and back is always just the two of them, no matter who James convinces to join him for lunch. Most days, they take the scenic route – hopping over an old, creaking fence, traipsing past the playground and following the river until it meets the stream, which winds carelessly into the garden. It takes a good fifteen minutes longer than the straight road into town.

Lily says she only walks that way because prefers the view, and he agrees. She's lying, and can't help but hope that James is lying too.

"Do you have a girlfriend at Hogwarts?" she asks him one evening, once he's been back for a month, and they're walking home together in a dry, companionable heat, another golden day in a beautifully blithe summer. It's a bold question, but Lily mastered a Freezing charm last night on her first try - even though it's part of the second year curriculum and considered too advanced for a novice. She had a good day at work. The sunlight makes her hair gleam like an ember and it makes her feel pretty. Bold is how she feels today.

"Nope," he replies, looking at her curiously. "Why'd you want to know?"

"No real reason," she lies. "Just curious about what you guys get up to."

"Do you have a boyfriend at... any of the places you've been?"

"Where would I keep one of those?" she says, with a laugh. "I've never had a boyfriend."

His laugh, short and disbelieving, mirrors her own. "Seriously?"

"Why's that so funny? It's pretty much a given when you never stay in the same place for more than a few months."

"Oh, it's not funny, just hard to believe that nobody ever - y'know." Words appear to fail him, so he gestures to her, sweeping his hand upwards through the air. "I mean, look at you."

A pleasant warmth touches her cheeks. "Look at me what?"

"Sod off, you know what I mean."

"Well, same here. I thought you'd definitely have a girlfriend at school."

"Why'd you think that?"

"Because," she says, and copies his gesture. "Look at you."

He smiles at her like she's the advent of Christmas morning. "Oh yeah, I'm dead handsome, me. I've actually got too much choice at school. Girls fight over me every day."

"I'm serious!" she cries, giggling, and gives him a light, good-natured shove. "You're clever and funny, and you're a Quidditch captain, and annoyingly good at everything-"

"-and nowhere near as good-looking as Sirius," James finishes. "But all of the other stuff is true. Thanks for reminding me of what a catch I am."

"I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it, honestly."

"It'd be a lot less fat if you didn't keep filling it with compliments."

"When do I ever fill your head with compliments?"

"Just now," he says, and he's grinning, and it's enough to set her heart aflutter - silly, infatuated girl that she is. "When you said I was clever and funny."

"But not as good-looking as Sirius," she slyly reminds him.

"I said that, not you. You might think I'm much fitter than Sirius."

"I wouldn't tell you if I did."

"If you do, you definitely should tell me," he says. "For the sake of my confidence, which is at an all-time low."

She shoves him again, and they both laugh, and then a silence falls between them - a very comfortable silence - as they crunch through the tall grass with the river beside them, the water splashing gently against the bank, and the far-off laughter of children fading in the distance.

"Have you really never had a boyfriend?" he says, after a few minutes.

She shakes her head.

"Nobody at all?"

"I mean, I've kissed someone before, but that was in an old foster home. His sister dared me to do it," she says, frowning. "It doesn't bother me, except-"

"Except what?"

"This is going to sound really stupid if I tell you."

"Half of what I say sounds stupid," James reminds her. "And that's on a good day. Tell me."

She isn't going to tell him, really, but he's got that pathetic, puppy-dog look in his eyes that he puts on because he knows it makes her laugh, which she does, and after that she can't deny him anything.

"Fine," she agrees, with a weighty sigh. "I've never held hands with anyone, and that kind of bothers me."

He doesn't laugh at her, but frowns, the tiniest crease between his eyebrows. "Why?"

"My parents used to hold hands all the time," she explains. "Like, they made a point of it, not just at home but whenever we went anywhere in public. It used to embarrass my sister - she said they were acting like children, but they'd just laugh and say that she'd understand when she was older."

They walk beneath a tree, and she ducks to avoid a low-hanging branch, sweeping it to the side with her arm.

"Growing up, I always had this idea that holding hands was, like, it, you know? I guess it was because of them, because they really loved each other. I don't care about dating or kissing or anything like that, but the hand thing - it'd be nice. I suppose. I don't really know."

"Oh," says James, though Lily is determinedly looking the other way. "I see."

A second silence falls between them. A bird chirps sweetly in the background. She chances a glance at him, her face half-hidden behind her hair, and James kicks aimlessly at an empty can that somebody left in the grass.

"You can hold my hand," he says quietly. "If you want to know what it feels like."

Her heart leaps into her throat. "Really?"

"Yeah, I mean, you're my friend, right? So if you want - as long as you don't think it's weird."

She looks at his face. He's blushing again, staring straight ahead of him.

"Alright," she says. "I don't think it's weird."

He doesn't say a word, doesn't so much as look at her, but his hand swings wide and brushes against hers, so she catches it, lacing their fingers together. It's so easy, one fluid movement and she's holding his hand, which is warm and solid, and fits comfortably against hers. They smile stupidly at each other and continue their walk as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened, but it feels like getting her wand again, like something she's supposed to do, like magic.

She thinks she must be falling for him.

She thinks that's a terrible idea.

She doesn't think she can help herself.