Guys, I've been writing this story for over a year. Can you believe it? And my chapter count averages out to about two chapters a month! Isn't that fantastic? I mean, it's blatantly untrue, but you know what? We'll pretend the numbers don't lie.
On top of that, I've reached a hundred followers! Goodness gracious, what a wonderful surprise to wake up to. So, I'm updating now as promised. I may have pushed it back a little bit to be able to update of COH's birthday, but it was only, like, two days. So I don't feel bad. It's incredible for me that this has gone on for a year- I certainly hope my writing has improved, and my chapters are longer, and my dialogue is more sophisticated. I don't know, I just hope you guys like it more.
Can we try to make it to a hundred reviews in the next couple of updates? It doesn't have to be big- just a quick note about what you think about my story. Which leads to my next point- I'm writing unbeta'd now, so please excuse any errors you find in my writing. I'm really doing my best, so spell-check and Mountain Dew-fueled editing sessions are kinda keeping me afloat. If I miss something, sue me. Sorry, I'm kinda a one-woman operation right now.
This chapter is longer than usual! Are you proud of me? You guys definitely deserve it, for gifting me with a hundred followers, but hey. I just kinda felt like celebrating it. This story's going to be wrapping up pretty soon. I might take a little time off, but I'm already drafting my next idea- I'm really excited to give it a run. I hope you guys will like it, too. And in the meantime, feel free to check out my other stories! I have one that's currently in progress and another that's complete. They're both quick reads, so if you find yourself with a minute, read them and tell me what you think.
Anyways, thanks, guys. This is incredible for me. Thanks for making it happen.
James woke up drowning in a sea of peach tulle.
He didn't remember falling asleep. Last he could remember, he was laying on his back beside Lily, rifling through a shockingly thick book about the Pope, desperately trying to find an instance- any instance- that could smear the Pope's honor so drastically that he would have to challenge Petunia to a duel. The practicality of this- which Lily repeatedly pointed out- was minimal. The insistent redhead frequently noted problems with James's plan, including how to get Petunia to the Holy See by tomorrow, how to get Petunia close enough to the Pope to challenge him, how to get the Pope to challenge her to a duel rather than forgive her sins, and, the most problematic of all, how to get Petunia to agree to their plan.
Sometime between another argument about the deadlier qualities of kale and his rather shocking awakening, the living room had been filled nearly to the brim with frothy peach dresses and large bouquets of sickly sweet flowers. The smell was incredible. Incredibly awful. And on top of it, the air was filled with pollen.
James sat straight up, screwed up his eyes, and sneezed.
Lily sat straight up next to him. "What the buggering hell was- oh."
James started to cough. "Inhaler," he choked out, then dashed out of the living room, nearly knocking Petunia over on the way.
"What's got his knickers in a knot?" Petunia asked, smoothing out a wrinkle on an immaculately folded stack of peach tablecloths. Lily narrowed her eyes and plopped down on the very stack of tablecloths Petunia had just been fixing, but said nothing.
"Your dress came in," Petunia said, gesturing nervously at the poufy stack of dresses. "I decided on a navy sash after you left the fitting, I think it'll be very nice."
"Why are you being nice to me?" Lily said suddenly,
Petunia shifted uncomfortably. "Can't I just be nice to my sister?"
"No. You want something." Lily said.
Just then, James barreled through the doorway, vaulting over a box of centerpieces and knocking over a stack of navy napkins, finally skidding to a halt beside Lily's perch on the tablecloths. Clutching his inhaler and looking like he was breathing easier, he gave Petunia a winning smile and said, "Sorry, weak lungs."
Lily laughed brightly. Petunia, on the other hand, pursed her lips and began stacking the toppled napkins. But to her sister's surprise, he didn't make a sarcastic comment or begin a lecture. She looked over at James in shock, who raised his eyebrows and shrugged.
"So, Tuney," James started, settling down next to Lily. "How was your hen party? How wild was it? Any crazy stories?"
"I haven't had it yet, it's tonight," Petunia said nervously, glancing nervously at Lily. "Actually, that's what I wanted to-"
"You're having your hen party right before your wedding?" James asked, screwing his face up in confusion. "Aren't you afraid you'll be wasted during the ceremony?"
"If I was marrying Vermin, I wouldn't want to remember, either," Lily muttered from her perch atop the pile of tablecloths.
Petunia scowled fiercely, finally shooing Lily off the stack. "There will be no intoxication at my party. Just a group of ladies having tea and enjoying each other's company."
James snickered. "Well, hope it goes well for you, Lily and I are cutting out after the rehearsal dinner to go do something that doesn't sound like it came out of an 1896 Ladies' Circle magazine. Tell me, are you going to hold a séance as well?"
Petunia sniffed huffily. "Unfortunately for all of us, Lily will have already made her appearance at the rehearsal dinner, and as a bridesmaid, she will be obligated to attend my hen party."
Lily snapped up, her mouth wide open and expression skeptical. "You've got to be kidding me."
"The feeling is mutual, dear sister."
"We both know you don't want me there. Why do I have to waste my time?"
"What would the Dursleys think-"
"Who cares what the Dursleys think? If they're going to be around us, they damn well sure better get used to the way things are around here."
Petunia stood up, her pale, bony legs making her tower over Lily. "This is my wedding. This is my new family. I will have you make a good impression on them. And if that means we have to pretend to have a good relationship for the rest of our earthly days, then so be it. I want us to be normal."
Lily looked back at Petunia, her eyes blazing and fists clenched. "That is never, ever going to happen. You know why? Because I'm not normal. I'm a freak. Just like you always say. And I'm done pretending to be what you want."
Petunia looked at Lily with an expression of disgust- but deep down, James could see another emotion- one of envy. But it passed as quickly as it came.
"I'm telling dad," Petunia said, storming out the door.
"You do that," Lily said, stomping off in the opposite direction, leaving James alone in the living room with only his inhaler and his lungs full of flower pollen.
-x-x-x-
"He's making me go."
James had been sitting in the Evans family study, waiting out the storm that had settled over the house on Camden Street. He was buried nose-deep in Jane Eyre when Lily stomped in and sat on the desk in front of Lily.
He snapped his book shut and looked at Lily with an expression of disbelief. "You're kidding."
"He asked me to 'humor Petunia'. He says it's just wedding nerves, and the easier we agree with her, the quicker this'll all be over."
"Well, my condolences on your forced attendance on what seems to be the drabbest hen party in the history of history."
There was a brief silence, then Lily spoke. "I meant what I said, you know."
"Hm?"
"About quitting pretending to be what she wants."
James smiled at her. "That's a noble goal."
"You know what that means, of course."
"Enlighten me."
"The rehearsal dinner, the party, the wedding- we get to do whatever we want."
"Oh, I have some good tricks up my sleeve, believe me."
"I figured you would. Sorry I'm ditching you today, though."
"Eh, it's fine. I'll drive halfway to St. Ives and have the boys meet me with a suit for the wedding tomorrow. Say, what's Petunia's least favorite color?"
"Yellow. Why?"
"Just wanted to get a new tie and was thinking about what would tick her off the most."
Lily threw her head back, laughing. "Pick out the most ridiculous, hideously-patterned tie you can find. Petunia'll have a heart attack." She looked at her watch and groaned, dragging herself off the desk. "Really, who has a rehearsal dinner at eleven in the morning? That's a rehearsal brunch. I'm disgusted."
James also stood up, stretching his arms and yawning. "I'd better get on the road, too. Bertha's calling, she misses me. Want a lift to the- where the hell is this thing happening anyway?"
"They're getting married at the church and having the reception next door."
"Is this the church we were lurking at yesterday?"
"The very same."
"Well, I'm looking forward to seeing how well our snowpeople fared overnight. Now, come on, I've got a drive ahead of me."
-x-x-x-
Lily was having the time of her life. To Petunia's irritation, she had shown up to the "dinner" not in a pretty dress or skirt, per her sister's request, but in James' football jersey and a pair of purple athletic shorts over unapologetically yellow-and-black striped tights. Her red hair was escaping from under her black fedora, and her turquoise sneakers clashed fearfully and wonderfully with the rest of her outfit. She walked down the aisle on the arm of one of Vernon's friends- a man as vile and mind-numbingly boring as the groom himself, who had turned his nose up at her appearance and hadn't spoken more than three complete sentences to her- not that she was complaining.
After skipping down the aisle of the church, sneezing so violently during the vows that Vernon lost his place, and accidentally tripping the altar boy on his way up to extinguish the candles, they finally reached the "dinner" itself. Lily had scarfed the food- lean chicken salad sandwiches, and, to her endless amusement, kale- and was chewing gum with her feet up on the long table at the front of the room, paying no attention to the prim, polite, and proper conversations quietly being discussed around her.
Her phone buzzed, and she opened the device to find a message from James. There was a picture attached, which she expanded, nearly making her choke on her gum. Lined up were four of the ugliest ties she had ever seen. One was a cheap-looking canary yellow tie made of polyester. Another was a pale buttercup with diagonal stripes running down it- a tie befitting a young princess's birthday, or an Easter service at Westminster Abbey. The third was a skinny, wooly mustard yellow number with lemon-colored dots all over it. The fourth was a rather disgusting Dijon-hued paisley silk tie that Lily would have wished on no one. The man sitting next to her scowled at the strangled cough she made. Glaring right back, Lily looked at the message that accompanied the picture.
1:01 p.m: Stopped at a thrift store on the way to meet the lads. Which of these sensational ties do you find the most offensive?
1:01 p.m: As fantastic as those ties are, I have to go with the third one.
1:03 p.m: Oh, the skinny, woolen, mustard monstrosity. I have to say, I'll look rather dashing in it.
1:04 p.m: Well, someone's got quite the ego.
1:04 p.m: It's alright, Evans, you can say it.
1:05 p.m: What?
1:05 p.m: "You always look dashing, James"
1:06 p.m: Oh, over my dead body.
1:07 p.m: I'm trying to decide what suit to have the lads bring. Do you think black or grey would be better with the tie?
1:08 p.m: If you wear brown, you will look absolutely hideous. I will laugh at you, and possibly break up with you.
1:09 p.m: Well, that's a pretty good reason to choose the grey.
1:10 p.m: Or should I pick navy?
1:11 p.m: Good god, man, how many suits do you own?
1:12 p.m: Enough.
Lily looked up from her phone and saw Petunia glowering down the table at her. She put her turquoise sneakers even further onto the table and stretched out, blowing an enormous bubble and popping it loudly, to the disdain of her dinner partner. Her phone buzzed again.
1:16 p.m: Just purchased your tie of choice. The lady at the counter looked like she was concerned for my mental health.
1:17 p.m: Since you picked the tie out, does this count as me wearing your colors?
1:18 p.m: I think that only counts if I give you my handkerchief when you go into a duel to the death.
1:19 p.m: I'm counting it.
1:20 p.m: You're ridiculous. I'm the one about to die of boredom.
"Miss Evans!" Lily jumped at the strong voice behind her, startled. She looked around to see a thick-set woman behind her with a rather impressive mustache growing on her many-chinned face. "I am Marge Dursley, and I have some questions for you."
Lily was on the verge of taking her feet off the table, sitting up straight in her seat, and acting like a schoolgirl in the headmaster's office when she remembered her promise to James, Instead, she raised her eyebrows, settled back in her seat, and took out a copy of The Prince from her bag, passively saying, "Not interested."
"I desire to know more about you!" Marge said threateningly, moving to the front of the table to be in Lily's line of vision. Lily did not look away from her book; instead, she flipped the page with a bored expression on her face.
"I want to become acquainted with a girl I will soon be related to!"
"I doubt we'll be spending a lot of time alone," Lily said disinterestedly.
Buzz-buzz: Lily's phone sounded off, signaling a new message from James. Lily took her phone out of her lap, never making eye contact with Marge, and opened the new message from James.
1:22 p.m: You poor dear.
"Miss Evans has been very vague about your whereabouts and your plans for the future."
1:23 p.m: I'm in the middle of an interrogation with Vermin's sister. I didn't think it was possible for there to be a worse person than him, but here we are.
Fortunately for Lily, dinner was wrapping up. Petunia came over and took Marge by the arm, saying, "Marge, won't you come ride with me to the tea shop? I'd love to get to know you better." She steered Marge away from Lily, eyes flashing and irritation palpable. Lily breathed a sigh of relief.
1:25 p.m: Luckily for me, my dear Petunia doesn't want me to spoil her expertly woven illusion of familial bliss. She's rescued me for her own sake. Now I just have to make it through the tea…
1:27 p.m: Best of luck. I'm heading out to meet the lads, talk to you later.
1:27 p.m: Okay, drive safe.
-x-x-x-
3:46 p.m: I have quite literally never been more bored in my entire life.
3:46 p.m: You're probably driving, so I'm going to people-watch and gossip about a bunch of people I have the misfortune to know and you do not.
3:47 p.m: People-watching starts now. Don't you dare answer your phone if you're driving.
3:48 p.m: In the corner, we have Emily Starr. Such a drama queen. We grew up together. She was in the grade between Petunia and I in grade school. Horrible person. Almost a carbon copy of Tuney. Ugh.
3:50 p.m: Of course, Mildred Alcott is taking advantage of the open bar situation at the teashop. If there was actually alcohol here she'd be in trouble.
3:53 p.m: Just escaped Winnifred Doyle. She was questioning me incessantly about you. Apparently, even though every single one of them hates you, they all find you attractive. Weird.
3:56 p.m: SHITSHITSHIT MARGE ALERT MARGE ALERT WE'RE ON FULL LOCKDOWN
3:56 p.m: NOW WOULD BE A GOOD TIME FOR ONE OF VERMIN'S ESCAPE DRILLS
3:56 p.m: INCOMING
3:56 p.m: WISH ME LUCK
3:57 p.m: IF YOU CAN'T FIND ME YOU'LL KNOW WHAT HAPPENED
Lily scrambled to put her phone away and look absorbed in Machiavelli, but Marge had already caught sight of her. Fixing her small, squinty eyes on Lily, who was wedged in a corner where she had hoped she could escape scrutiny. But it was not to be so.
"Miss Evans!" Marge called from across the room. "Come here, I wish to continue our conversation!"
Oh, I'll go over there over my own dead body, Lily thought. If she wants to bother me, she's going to have to do it at her own inconvenience.
Unfortunately for Lily, Marge found it in herself to heave her body over to interrogate Lily.
"So, where were we?" Marge said, puffing slightly from the toll moving took on her.
"I believe I was in the middle of my book," Lily said, fixing her gaze on her treatise.
"I was asking you about your occupation, I believe," Marge said, ignoring her completely. "I know your father is a greengrocer- fairly respectable, I suppose. And your mother? What did she do? I believe she was a teacher."
"Please don't talk about my mother," Lily said softly.
"But before that, I know your sister said your father was a musician." Marge clucked disappointedly. "Such a shame, such a waste of a life."
Lily found that she had read the same line over for the past minute. ...a man who wishes to act entirely up to his professions of virtue soon meets with what destroys him among so much that is evil… "Musicianship is a terrible career field, after all. A cold, cold door. And the types that go into music- well, I hate to think what they do with their free time.
Lily snapped her book shut, her eyes blazing. "I am a musician. I am, and my father is, and I am proud of it. I know, I know, so shocking. Hold on, actually. I'd like everyone to hear this."
Lily climbed up on her chair in the tearoom. "Everyone, everyone, your attention please! Miss Dursley is less than impressed with my life choices. I know you all twitter about it behind my back, and to my face, but you know what? I'm done with pretending. I'm not going to marry quickly and become a housewife and have nine children and not work. And sure, that's a decent path to take. But you know what? I'm a musician. I'm doing what I love, and I'm following my dreams, and I'm enjoying my life while I have the energy and will to. I don't see any of you doing that. So, you know what? Judge my choices all you want. I'm doing what makes me happy, and that's all that matters. I don't really give a damn what any of you think."
Lily looked down at Marge with disgust. "So, say what you will, Marge. Tell your mother I'm a freak, and tell your father you're going to have a loony sister-in-law, and suck it up. Get over yourself. And when I'm in the London Phil, you're going to be sorry you ever doubted me, because when everyone's raving about my French horn concerto piece, you're going to wish you knew me, to move yourself up in society. Because I'll be better than you. And you'll be sad, and lonely, and live only with your dogs. And I'm going to be successful. That's the type of people that go into music, and I'll thank you to remember that."
She looked around. "This is the shittiest crowd I've ever been in. I'm going to go get drunk, and none of you can stop me. Later, losers."
The tinkling of the bell signaled Lily's final departure from the party. It folded pretty quickly afterwards, with each of the ladies slipping off uncomfortably after Marge stormed out, leaving one slightly and very confused bride-to-be alone at a table in a tea shop.
-x-x-x-
4:42 p.m: Hey, Lily, I'm back.
4:45 p.m: Dear God, did Marge get you?
4:49 p.m: I know you can take care of yourself and everything, but I'm kinda worried.
4:57 p.m: Your dad doesn't know where you are, either. Please answer your phone.
5:02 p.m: Hey, I'm really kind of worried.
5:09 p.m: Just talked to Petunia. Sit tight, I'm coming to get you.
-x-x-x-
"You know, it's kinda pathetic to get drunk before nine p.m."
Lily was sitting at a bar when a man slipped into the seat next to her. Through her slightly intoxicated state, she saw an untamable mop of black hair and square-rimmed black glasses- James?
"How did you find me?" Lily slurred through her third scotch.
James carefully edged the glass away from her, setting it on his other side and signaling the bartender for a glass of water. "Petunia, actually. I came home and you weren't there, so she told me you went out to get drunk and where your favorite bars are." He smiled. "And your lovely choice of clothing really makes you stand out from the crowd."
James looked around. "Nice place. I didn't think it was really your style, though."
"Look, just because I'm a hard drinker with a love for classical music doesn't mean I can't-" she paused for a moment and hiccupped- "appreciate a jazz club."
James smiled. "You're a lady of many interests."
"You can- hic- say that again."
"Alright, now throw this one back and let's have a dance before we go home. We've got to practice so everything's perfect for the wedding, you know," James teased.
Lily complied, drinking the glass of water, then standing on her shaky legs.
"Woah there, Lily," James said, grabbing her arm. He led her carefully to the dance floor, then put her feet on his and danced her slowly around the floor.
"Want to tell me why you're getting drunk at five-thirty in the prevening?"
"What the- hic- hell is prevening?"
"Not evening but not afternoon. Pre-evening. Don't dodge the question."
"Something that cow Marge said just- got under my skin. She told me I was really wasting my life and that I was a disaster and that I- hic- wasn't good enough to be part of her family, and I told her off in the middle of a- hic- tearoom and I just needed to stop thinking about the Wedding and Petunia and Vermin and Marge and-" she stopped, burying her head in his flannel-clad shoulder, then continued, her voice muffled, "I was tired of tea and I wanted something that didn't taste like watered-down grass."
James chuckled quietly, then stood in silence, slightly swaying with Lily.
"I remember, you know," she said quietly, resting her chin on his shoulder.
"Remember what?"
"That night at the Three Broomsticks."
James froze. "Er, what?"
"I kissed you."
James laughed softly. "Yes, I believe you did."
She hummed absently. "It was nice."
'You're telling me."
She leaned up and captured his lips with hers, smooth and soft and sweet and he could do this all day, all night, for forever-
He pulled away. "If you remember that night, you'll also remember that I won't kiss you while you're drunk," he said laughingly. She pouted. He smiled at her. "You know I would, but it has to be completely of your own volition, not of alcohol or anything else. Now, Come on." He heaved her to her own feet. "Let's go home."