"I know I've said it already, but you should have told me, you know," James said, nipping at Lily's neck. It was a week before the Christmas holidays, and they were hidden away in a locked broom cupboard on the third floor, as they'd been wont to do regularly since the kiss outside of Dumbledore's office in November. Lily was perched awkwardly on a cabinet, with James standing between her legs; her shirt was rucked up at the back, untucked from James running his hands across the soft skin, and her lips were red and swollen from where they'd been kissing furiously.

"Told you what?"

"That you didn't think I was a total cad after all."

"Well, I was keeping you on your toes, wasn't I?"

James huffed into her neck, and Lily laughed at the sensation.

"No more games then, Evans," he said, straightening up. Lily looped her arms round the back of his neck, looking at him expectantly. "Are you all in, or not?"

"Is that you asking me to be your girlfriend, because that might very well be the worst proposition I've ever heard," she teased. "Then again, I might deserve the worst."

"What do you mean?"

"Because I spent five years being a cow to you?"

"Well," James shrugged, "there were times when I needed it, I suppose. You're not allowed to tell the others that, though," he grinned.

"Never thought I'd see the day you admitted that!"

"Alright, alright! But yes," James said, suddenly serious again. "That is me asking you to be my girlfriend."

Lily was silent for a moment, a sad look on her face.

"Is that you saying no, or…?" James tried to hide the disappointment on his face.

"No, no!" she said quickly. "It's not me saying no."

"Then what's up, buttercup?" James asked, running his forefinger under her chin.

"Well…" Lily paused. "You and I both know what's out there after we leave Hogwarts. I know there's no way you're not going to fight, and they already think you're a… a blood traitor." The words felt awful in her mouth as she said them.

"Well, yeah," James snorted. "You know my family has never been included in that stupid Sacred 28 book like Sirius' has. We're pureblood and we're still blood traitors," he said mockingly.

"Don't you think having a Muggleborn girlfriend is going to make you even more of a target?" Lily spoke so quietly, James had barely heard her.

"I literally don't care," he said bluntly.

"James-"

"No, I literally don't care. I've never lived my life to please those awful, wretched people, and I'm not going to start now."

"If it would be better to wait, I don't mind waiting, I-"

James laughed.

"I waited six years for you," he said, in that carefree, confident way that was purely James. "If you think I'm going to let even Voldemort get in the way now, you're not as smart as you think, Lily Evans."

"You sure? It's a difficult decision." Lily gnawed on her lip, waiting for his answer.

"Easiest decision in the world, actually," he replied, kissing her forehead gently.

There had never been anything easier for Lily either, as it turned out. The night they'd first kissed, they'd stood there in the dark corridor for a long while, arms wrapped round each other. She'd studied his face - clear, grey eyes that sparkled with mischief; aquiline nose and high cheekbones; dark hair that had never, in all the years she'd known him, behaved itself. She'd run her fingers along his strong jaw, stubble showing, and down to his Adam's apple, and James had slipped his eyes closed at the sensation. It was remarkable, really, how right it felt, how easy it was to stand there in the arms of James Potter, of all people, and to walk back to Gryffindor Tower with her hand clasped in his. Yet, here she was - nearly a month later, still with her arms wrapped around James Potter and giddy at the thought of him wanting her.

"You know what we do need to do, though," James said, pulling Lily back to the present.

"What?"

"Finally get Padfoot and Marlene to stop messing about."

"Yes!" Lily said excitedly. "You still think our plan is going to work?"

"Sure," James said confidently. "New Year, a bit of booze and a good game of truth-or-dare. When one of them picks dare, we'll say they have to kiss the person they like."

"What if one of them chooses someone else?"

"Well, I know for a fact Sirius won't. He's not picking Mary, obviously, because of Reg. He won't pick Emmeline Vance, because of Remus," James listed. "Not going to pick you because- well, because I'd kill him," he added with a twinkle in his eye.

"Dorcas?" Lily asked.

"Nah, don't think so, it'd just start rumours and he's not going to do that. No offence to Dorcas, obviously. Amelia Bones is supposed to be coming, but they've hooked up before and-"

"He'll not want to fan any fires there, will he?" Lily added.

"Exactly," James nodded. "I mean, yeah, there are other girls going to be around, but he doesn't really know most of them. All his old flames were older, anyway."

"Didn't he kiss Aoife once?"

"Oh yeah," James laughed, "forgot about that. Talk about a literal old flame! She was holding her wand and set his shoelaces on fire, remember?"

"God, that girl is a total liability," Lily grinned.

"Sirius is pretty sorted out," James said, "so your mission, Miss Evans, is to work on our dear friend Marlene. Sow some seeds, you know the drill."

"Yes, sir." Lily mock saluted, and James raised his eyebrows, pulling her a little closer.

"You can call me that more often, if you like," he said, sucking on her neck again.

"Behave," she said, using every iota of willpower to push him away, "and stop giving me lovebites, I can barely cover up the ones I've got already." She hopped down off the cabinet, and straightened herself out, running a hand through her long red hair.

"You look great," James said.

"Not so bad yourself, Potter," she replied, and pecked him on the lips. "Got to run, I said I'd help Mary with her Potions essay."

With that, she winked at him, unlocked the door, and left the broom cupboard.

Sirius burrowed a little further under the soft, eiderdown duvet that was wrapped round him, and enjoyed that warm sensation of awakening slowly. Stretching out, he allowed himself a couple of minutes to lie there, still in the fog of sleep, before opening his eyes. He looked at the calendar on the wall, and realised the day - December 25th. Christmas.

Arriving home to the Potters' crumbling pile had been bliss. Fleamont, James' father, who insisted on Sirius calling him Uncle Monty, had been enchanting candles to sit among the dense ivy that covered the house, so that it twinkled and shone among the snow when they apparated into the driveway. The first night they'd been back, they'd gorged on roast beef, with hedgerow crumble for dessert, accompanied with plenty of elf-made wine. In the afterglow of the meal, they'd gathered around a huge tree in the hall, and decorated it. Sirius had always had a talent for Charms, and managed to enchant a set of Nutcracker ornaments, so that the soldiers marched in place on the branches, and the ballerinas pirouetted gracefully.

After nightcaps, Sirius had climbed the stairs to the room across the attic landing from James' where he'd stayed in ever since he left his family's house - his room, as James had reminded him a little anxiously. Euphemia, James' mother, had decorated a little for Christmas, enchanting paper snowflakes to hover in the window, and winding greenery around the mantlepiece with little lights. She'd hung some photos of him and James on the wall, and there'd been a new blanket spread over the bed with the crest of the Wimbourne Wasps on it - his favourite Quidditch team. Seeing it had made his chest swell with emotion when he and James had returned from Hogwarts; he'd never mentioned it to Euphemia, and realised that his best friend had to have written home in advance to advise his mother.

All his life he'd wanted a family like James'. Growing up at 12, Grimauld Place had been wretched, to put it mildly. His parents loathed each other; a raging argument between Orion and Walburga was par for the course when in the Black household. If anything, they were the prime example as to why Wizarding families shouldn't marry into each other - sharing a great-grandfather meant they were definitely too closely related, in Sirius' opinion. He'd had often thought it was an absolute miracle he and Regulus had been born as normal as they were. Well, he thought, relatively normal.

Even so, days like Christmas were when he missed them most. Regulus didn't speak to him when they were at Hogwarts; he was already caught up with the Baby Death Eaters, as Marlene called them. Not that they had been close when Sirius had been at home, mind you, but Regulus was a constant reminder that things could have been different. Sirius was glad they weren't - he was glad for who he was, for the friends he'd made, for the roads he had chosen. Still, there was a sting to it, that he couldn't be around the huge ebony table in that foul dining room, surrounded by the Black family tree, and no doubt squashed in between little Bellatrix and her aloof sister, Narcissa, opposite from Regulus. Maybe the sting wasn't from wishing circumstances were different. No, maybe it was from wishing they were different.

"Merry Christmas, Padfoot!"

James barrelled into the room and launched himself onto the end of Sirius' bed, throwing a wrapped parcel at Sirius' head. He caught it, laughing.

"Merry Christmas, Jem, even if you are trying to kill me."

"Go on, open it," James instructed. "The first thing's from all three of us."

Sirius ripped off the brown wrapping paper to reveal the gifts his best friend had given. The first was, what seemed to Sirius, a slightly tatty leather notebook. He opened it, somewhat confused, before the inside took his breath away.

As he opened the first page, messy handwriting that he knew only too well spelt out Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs present to you the Marauders' Chronicles. He flipped from page to page, realising what it was. Photographs had been glued in on each lefthand page, accompanied by magical captions, documenting their time at Hogwarts. On the right, careful drawings - he knew Remus' handiwork when he saw it - brought whole tales to life: the moment the four of them met on the train, the time they'd discovered the secret passage to Honeydukes cellar, the evening when they'd covered Mrs. Norris in magical feathers that multiplied when Filch tried to take them off, and of course - the day they'd become Animagi. Every page made him chuckle, remembering fondly the memories.

"We thought about giving it to your birthday," James admitted, "but it wasn't done by then."

"This is incredible," Sirius replied, finding it difficult to hold back his emotions. "I… I don't know what to say, thank you so much."

"Don't be soppy, you big melt," James teased, punching Sirius on the arm. "Look at the other thing, that one's just from me."

The second item was a bottle, slightly dusty and with a faded label. Sirius squinted at it, just about deciphering the words Puddlemere Distillery. Recognising it immediately, Sirius looked at his best friend, face lighting up.

"Are you serious?! Is this an 1802 firewhiskey, or are you pranking me?"

"It's not a prank," James said, rolling his eyes. "Even I'm not that much of a dick."

Sirius grinned.

"Thanks, Prongs!" He reached down to the bedside cabinet, pulling a wrapped present from behind it. "Sorry about the shit wrapping, you know I'm terrible."

"Never seen much point in it, to be honest," James admitted, "seeing as you're just going to tear it off anyway."

James did just that, and revealed a pair of glistening maroon Quidditch gloves.

"Are these…" James trailed off as he pulled them on, marvelling at their suppleness and fit. "Pads, are these dragon hide?"

"Baby dragon hide, no less."

"How did you get a pair?!" James asked incredulously. He'd been lusting after some dragon hide gloves ever since they'd gone to the Quidditch World Cup and seen Ludo Bagman, playing for England, sporting some.

"I know a guy," Sirius shrugged, pleased at how much his best friend liked the gift. Truth be told, it had taken him nearly eight months to track them down, and had thought seriously about waiting until James' birthday in March to give them to him. He'd ended up cornering one of his second cousins in Nocturn Alley and parting with a hefty weight of gold.

"You're amazing, cheers, Pads!" James grinned.

"Do you smell bacon?" Sirius said suddenly, and James laughed.

"Honestly, all you think about is food. C'mon, I guess Mum's started breakfast."

"Alright, I think we're set," James said, scanning the hall. It was a week later, New Year's Eve, and they were preparing for the party hosted every year at the Potters'. His parents had left the night before, apparating to Godric's Hollow to spend the New Year at the family cottage with their best friends. Conversely, Remus and Peter had arrived that morning. They had exchanged gifts over coffee and cake prepared by the Potters' house elf, Hempy - Remus bought both James and Sirius an elegant new quill set, and Peter presented hampers from Honeydukes - after which they had raced to the garden for a pick-up game of Quidditch. Now, as the afternoon drew on, they were arranging the house for the festivities.

"Booze in the kitchen, right?" Sirius asked, as he emerged from the doorway that led down to the cellar, guiding a crate of drinks in front of him with his wand.

"Yeah, perfect," James said. He felt a pull at his trouser leg, and saw Hempy looking up at him. They'd offered her clothes countless times, and she stubbornly refused them, insisting that she belonged with Mistress Potter, thank yous very muchs, and she wasn't going anywhere. Instead, she wore a clean pillowcase every day, something that his mother washed and mended by hand, much to Hempy's disgruntlement.

James knelt down to eye level with the elf.

"What is it, Hempy, old girl?" he asked.

"The foods is prepareds, Master James," Hempy said squeakily, "and all laids outs. Is there anything else you needs?"

"No, I think we're good. Where are you off to tonight, Hempster? I know you elves like to have a bash on New Year."

"Well," Hempy said, blushing.

"Go on, tell me," James grinned.

"All the elves, Master James, has been invited to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," she said, lowering her tone to an awed whisper, "by Professor Dumbledores himselfs."

"Well, best not be late then, old girl. Go on, have a good time!" James hugged the little elf, before straightening up. She beamed at him, waved, and disapparated. Dumbledore would invite the elves for a party, James thought. What a guy.

"God I love that elf," he muttered to no one in particular, and wandered into the kitchen.

Hempy really had out done herself. Mounds upon mounds of food sat on the kitchen table - tarts and pies of every description, great tureens of stew and soup, all kept warm by that house elf magic wizards were yet to really understand. Just at the front, James could see his favourite sausage rolls, piles of sandwiches, a huge chocolate gateau, and a large plate of what looked like tiny meringues with strawberries perched atop them.

"Your elf is a thousand times better than ours," Sirius said, from where he was standing at the kitchen counter, arranging bottles and goblets on the side. "Kreacher is literally the foulest thing."

"I'd be foul too," James chided, "if I were house elf to your family."

"Good point," Sirius chuckled. "I think we're all good here, Prongs." He gestured to the bottles on the side. "If we need any more, your dad's set aside a whole four more crates down in the cellar, the absolute legend."

"What can I say? Monty loves a party," James responded.

"On that note," Sirius said, checking his watch. "We had better get ready."

Sirius chucked a bottle of butterbeer at James, who caught it deftly.

"What's this for?"

"Drinking in the shower, obviously," Sirius replied.