I’m So Afraid I Sealed My Fate (Even Statues Crumble If They’re Made to Wait)

by tulipslilliesiloveyou

Summary:

Six years ago an owl with Lily Evans’ Hogwarts letter was sent—six years ago, that owl never made it. Until now. Following a great tragedy, with nowhere else to go, Muggle-raised Lily Evans has no other choice but to accept her identity as a witch and enroll at Hogwarts as a seventh-year.

Six years ago, James Potter started at Hogwarts—with just one year left, he already has his future figured out: move-in with his mates, help stop the Blood War, win the Quidditch cup.

But the moment he lays eyes on Lily Evans, everything changes.

A beautiful mystery tangled in a hidden destiny that threatens to break them both—as long as it doesn’t tear down the rest of the world first.

Chapter 1: Andromeda

Summary:

After unusual circumstances and a hidden tragedy, Lily arrives at Hogwarts for the first time. Head Boy Remus Lupin is specially asked to give Lily her tour. Later, he takes her into the Great Hall, where he runs into his friends, one of them in particular becomes enchanted the moment he lays eyes on her, but it seems he's not the only one.

Notes:

New work! So excited for this one! Also all the chapters are named after constellations, a theme that ties in later, take it as little breadcrumbs. I hope you enjoy :)

---

Andromeda 

(The Chained Maiden)

Sixteen visible stars bordering the constellation Perseus.

Symbolizes fate and sacrifice. 

Sacrificed to the sea, bound by fate; freedom comes to those who wait for their savior.

---

Lily took a deep breath. 

In and out. In and out. 

She clenched her eyes tightly, focusing best she could on its rapid rhythm. Pleading her racing heart to slow itself. It was to no avail, as it continued to thrum wildly beneath her ribs. It felt as if the only thing keeping it inside of her body was the cool, soothing weight of gold resting beneath her robes. 

Carefully, she picked up her trembling hand, twining her fingers through the delicate chain. She tangled herself in it, tightly, enough to just barely stop the shaking. 

In and out. In and out. 

Lifting her other hand from where it lay limply at her side, she raised it to shift her collar, smoothing the invisible wrinkles to keep her mind busy, anchoring her thoughts in the simple motions. 

When that became too tedious and the terrible thoughts began to race in sync with her galloping heart, she redirected her attention to the ribbon laid on the dresser in front of her. 

Gently loosening her grip from the thin chain, she grabbed the silk and laid it across her palms. She took a minute to revel in its soft caress, a whisper of softness against her palm. Focusing her eyes on the starkness of the red against her pale skin. But it was red, so red, too—

In and out. In and out. 

Through her deep breaths, she reached to gather a section of her hair, lopping the ribbon around it—once, twice—before letting it fall listlessly with the rest of her hair. She brought her fingers to her scalp, tugging a few wispy strands down rougher than necessary, to frame her gaunt face. She shivered at the tingles dancing up her spine, peering at her palm to find thin strands of auburn and crimson caught beneath her nails.

It’s something she’s done a thousand times before, so why did it suddenly feel so different?

Before she could answer her own question, a soft tap sounded on the door, making her jump out of her skin. This time she was sure her heart leapt from her chest. She placed her palm flat against it, applying pressure to will it back where it belonged. 

“C—come in.” Lily choked out, hoping her voice didn’t sound nearly as shaken as she felt. 

When she met the eyes of the woman stepping in, her heart finally steadied—just a bit. 

Her eyes were the closest thing she’s felt home, warmth— family—in a while. 

“Everything tucked into your trunk, dear?” Minerva McGonagall asked the young girl, as she eyed the wooden chest in the middle of the room. 

Lily looked at the thing, all dark lacquer, polished wood and brass. Her books, her clothes, a few photos, all locked tightly into one small box.

Her throat began to tighten against her will. 

Her entire life was in there now. 

Her whole entire life sealed and tucked away into one measly trunk. 

In and out. In and out. 

She nods as strongly as she can through the sting of tears, her teeth digging into her trembling lip. 

Sensing her unease, Minerva stepped forward, reaching out to straighten the edges of her cardigan, wiping away invisible specks of lint off the warm wool. 

“Everything is going to be okay.” She whispers, meeting the young girls terrified, green eyes. 

It makes her want to cry even more. 

The older woman grasps her shoulders, “you can do this.” She adds with a sense of refined determination Lily doesn’t have within herself. 

And she wants to nod. Wants to agree. Repeat it. Speak it into the world—anything.

Perhaps an old version of herself would have. 

But she has not been the same for sometime. 

Cursed, she thinks. 

Truly cursed. 

So instead, she speaks just as she feels, “I have nothing else to lose.” Her voice is strangled, raspy. 

McGonagall's face softens, the wrinkles smoothing themselves down as her face drops. It was not the reassurance she wanted to hear, but she supplied a small nod, anyway. 

It was enough—it had to be.

Stepping back, she turns to the door, handling Lily’s trunk—Lily’s life—and with a tilt of her head, beckons the girl toward the door. 

In and out. In and out. 

With a final breath Lily tightens the crimson ribbon in her hair, straightens her red-and-gold striped tie around her neck and picks up her wand from atop the old dresser, its weight still foreign in her palm. 

‘This is your life now,’ the old wandmaker told her. ‘Willow,’ he called it, ‘rare and precious, with links to healing and powerful magic.’

The irony is a knife to her gut. 

“Lily!” McGonagall calls impatiently from nearby, the woman’s voice pulling her back to reality.

In and out. In and out. 

With one last look at the now empty room, she shuts the door reluctantly, letting one thought ground her, as it has for the past five months: What else is there to lose?

---

James wakes slowly, taking the time to savor the warmth of his blankets and the quiet behind his curtains. Keeping his eyes closed tightly as he pulls the fabric under his chin. He stays there, lingering in the soft haze—the uncommon stillness. 

Soon enough, a rustling from somewhere within the room forces him to force open his heavy lids and blink the morning sun into his eyes. 

His body works before his brain can catch up, his hand already firm on his night stand, grasping for his thick glasses. He slides them up his nose, the world coming into focus. He sits up slowly, tangling his fingers through his tousled hair—another action engraved into him. 

Through the gap of his heavy velvet fabric, he spots Remus, one knee pressed to the carpet, the other foot flat as he tugs the laces into knots. 

“It’s Saturday, mate.” James mumbles as he peels back the curtains, mindful to keep his voice low as to not rouse a sleep-deprived Sirius.  

Remus stands up, a small smile tugging at his lips, his scars softening as the corners of his mouth crease. “Is it now?” He teases, cocking his brow as he swipes his tie from where it lay at the edge of his bed. 

James rolls his eyes at the response, before he can come up with a smart retort, a small nasally voice chimes in from beside him. 

“Head duties.” Peter says helpfully, eyes meeting James’ over his muggle comic. 

He smiles at his blonde friend gratefully, “why thank you, Pete,” he says primly, performing a mock bow from where he sits against his headboard. After, he turns to Remus, “now was that so hard?” 

Remus chuckles, shaking his head, “you tell me, smart arse.” 

“Eh, what can I say, can’t resist it.” He shrugs, reaching for the snitch on his nightstand, tossing it carelessly as he speaks, “Now, what could the Head Boy be up to on this fine Saturday morning?” James asks. 

The lanky boy shrugs, tucking his tie beneath his jumper, “beats me, I woke up to a tap on the window and what do you know—an urgent notice from Dumbledore.” 

Instantly, James’ grin slips from his face, the air in the room shifting into something more tense—suffocating. Within the past few months a lot had changed, sometimes it felt like everything had changed. 

It was as if each day brought a new whisper of something terrible. A dark looming cloud hung over them and each day it seemed to swirl closer and closer into a storm. 

Whether it be through headlines in The Prophet, rumors from the Slytherin’s or talk down in Hogsmeade, there was an undeniably truth: it was no longer safe for Muggle-borns. 

While James was born a pureblood wizard, he still feels the weight of it all, the heaviness that sits on his chest when he thinks of his friends, his peers, of anyone viewed as any less of a wizard—of a person—then him just because of the blood running through their veins. 

It’s something horrible growing into something much worse—something he can’t quite fathom. 

The thought alone makes his stomach churn—him, a pureblood wizard.

Remus seems to sense his unease and is quick to reassure him, “nothing serious, just mentioned helping out another student.” He clarifies, trying to remain casual. 

The unknown tension wound into James’ shoulders drop at his friend’s words, as he slinks back against his headboard, expelling a breath as he relaxes. 

“You reckon you’ll be long?” Peter asks as he flips through the pages of his comic book—something bold with a masked red boy swinging from webs on the front. 

Remus shrugs, “not sure. I’ll catch up with you lot as soon as I’m through. You think you’ll still be here? Maybe the Great Hall? Common room? Or maybe—”

“Oh, just take the damn map!” Sirius grumbles crankily, voice muffled from where his face is squashed into his pillow. 

At his predictability, the boys burst into laughter, lifting their moods instantly, all while Sirius continues murmuring swears into his sheets, tugging his blanket over his head.   

“Now will you all shut it so I can sleep?” He bites out after the laughter began to soften, though his lips twitched into a half-smile, betraying him. 

Remus shakes his head in silent delight, stepping into Sirius’ space as he pulls open his bed-side drawer, swiping at the weathered parchment. 

Leaning down closer to Sirius, he taps the map against his tousled hair with a soft smile. “Brilliant when you’ve just woken up, not fair to the rest of us, eh Pads?” Remus teases.

“Take the damn thing, Moony, just take the damn thing and shut up so I can sleep.” Sirius grumbles, though a wide grin peeked out from beneath his covers. 

“Alright, alright.” Remus surrendered, biting his lip thoughtfully as he stepped to the door. “See you, mates, don’t get into too much trouble without me. Padfoot, catch up on that beauty sleep, will you?”

Sirius’ middle finger materializes through his curtains. 

James shakes his head at their antics, “see you, don’t work too hard now, it is Saturday, afterall.”  

Remus gives him a mock salute and small wave before disappearing into the stairwell. 

As soon as the door clicked shut, James turned to ask the pair what their plans were today. Before he could so much as get a syllable out, a loud snore from Sirius cut him off, prompting Peter to snicker quietly before settling back into his comic. 

James flops back onto his bed, he supposed they wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. 

It’s not like there was anything interesting going on, anyway.

---

“Lemon drops.” Remus murmurs to the statue.

The stone begins to break with a loud groan, spiraling itself into a swirl of steps. He climbs it slowly, ignoring the babbling of the portraits lining the walls, until he reaches the office—as always in a state of disarray. Through the mess, he makes out the pile of jewel toned robes and streaks of silver hair dancing in the candlelight. 

“Headmaster,” Remus called gently, as to not startle him, “you sent for me?”

Slowly, the older man turns to face him, a look of warmth crossing his features, “now, now, Mr. Lupin, in all my years of knowing you, when have you ever called me Headmaster?” He teases. 

Remus flushes pink, shaking his head in embarrassment. Ever since becoming Head Boy he’s done his best to maintain a more professional demeanor around his professors. However, it seems no title could shake the years of being associated with the biggest mischief-makers to ever roam Hogwarts’ halls. 

“Right—sorry, Dumbledore.” He corrects shyly. 

A jovial grin breaks out on the old man’s face as he flicks his wand to float some papers off a nearby chair. “That’s more like it, my boy, now come join me, would you?” 

Remus settled himself into the old wooden thing, ignoring the loud creak as he did so. Leaning forward, he snags a Bertie Botts Bean from the crystal dish, popping it in his mouth. 

“Odette not joining us?” He asks, doing his best not to pull a face as the taste of mown grass danced along his tongue. 

Odette Harkness was a seventh year Ravenclaw and was named Head alongside him. Their partnership was a bit untraditional compared to past ones. 

When Remus was named Head Boy, while all his friends were happy for him, they were a bit put out to think they wouldn’t all be spending their final year in the same dorm. And honestly—he had been upset about it too. Sirius had insisted he write to Dumbledore asking to make an exception, Remus refused not wanting to come off as ungrateful. 

And Sirius—tactless and wonderful, Sirius—wrote to the old man himself, a surprise to no one. 

He insisted it was for the betterment of his friend, in relation to what he had so affectionately dubbed his, ‘furry problem.’

To his relief and Sirius’ elation, Dumbledore agreed, seeing how his friends had gotten him through dozens of full moons over the years. 

When he told Odette he would remain in Gryffindor Tower, he was worried she would be upset—ask questions he could not adequately answer. However, she did not seem put out by the revelation—not in the slightest. She seemed to care so little, it was almost offensive. 

He supposes he shouldn’t have been too shocked, they barely spoke as is and he reckons that even if he lived in the Heads dorm, things would be relatively the same. 

To put it mildly: Odette Harkness was a control freak. 

Even when Remus tried to do things—outline meeting agendas, organize the prefects rota, even something as simple as tallying house points—she refused him. 

And on the rare, and he means, rare, occasion she accepts his help, she would ‘politely correct,’ just about everything he wrote down. 

“Just you today.” Dumbledore began, tone shifting, “I need your help with a delicate situation.”

Remus straightened his shoulders, his brow lifting with curiosity as he leaned over the desk, beckoning the man on. 

Casually, the Headmaster glances at the large clock on his wall, “within the next few minutes Professor McGonagall will be arriving in her office with a new student, whom I wish for you to escort on a tour of the grounds.”

Remus blinked dumbly at the Headmaster, slack jawed and confused. Both at his words and his seemingly nonchalantness about their implications. 

While it was rare, it was not unheard of for Hogwarts to get a transfer student every now and again. Traditionally, lower-year wizards or witches from Beauxbatons or Ilvermorny or some place or another. Though Remus cannot recall an instance of this in his seven years of schooling—he knows it to happen on occasion. 

What he has not heard of is a transfer student after the term has begun.

Being late into September—practically October, may not seem like a lot, only a few weeks, really. But as a first-year student, it is within those precious first weeks you get sorted into your house, become acquainted with the grounds—each other, with magic as a whole—he can not imagine him at eleven years old being thrust into such a world, a month behind everyone else. 

Dumbledore just sits patiently, watching Remus work out the confusion on his own as he scrunches and re-scrunches his brow several times, mouth continuously flopping like a fish. 

“I—I,” he starts before expelling a deep breath as a way to collect his thoughts. “What about the train? Or the Sorting Ceremony? Or the Welcome Feast?” 

Though it’s not what he wished to say, it’s all he could come up with. Surely a man as smart as Dumbledore understands the implications behind his words: How could a child be robbed of such fundamental magical experiences? 

And a man as smart as Dumbledore, hears exactly that. 

Yet he chooses to ignore it. 

“A private Sorting Ceremony was held, a Gryffindor, if you can imagine.” He tells Remus, eyes twinkling with something he can’t quite place. 

And he can’t imagine it—not really, anyway.

A quiet room, nothing but that old babbling hat sitting on your head, filling the silence. 

No cheers to follow the announcement of your house placement. 

No corner of the room to run to and meet your new housemates. 

He remembers his Sorting Ceremony like it was yesterday. The nerves, the adrenaline—the excitement to follow. 

He remembers Marlene—older, brighter, warm—welcoming him with open arms. 

He’ll never forget ending up squished between Sirius and James, offering Peter a spot not long after. 

It’s a moment ingrained in him—a moment that altered the entire course of his life. 

He shakes his head, as if to tuck the memory back, he supposed there’s no use dwelling on what this kid will never have. He knows better than most, wanting what you can’t have just makes things harder. 

“I suppose it may beneficial to pull a first-year from lessons to join, make things more comfortable, perhaps Tommy Robbins, or—”

Dumbledore abruptly cuts off his rambling, “the student is not a first-year nor is she a transfer, Remus.”

And—What the fuck. 

What in the bloody fuck is this man going on about? He’s finally lost it, hasn’t he? 

Transfer student—unusual. 

Transfer student month into term—unheard of. 

Transfer student a month into term and not a first-year—Impossible. 

“I don’t understand.” It’s all he can manage—all he can bloody think of. 

“The student enrolling will be a seventh-year, just as you are. Previously having undergone a Muggle education.”

It’s a test, Remus deduces. 

Some ruddy test the old man has cooked up because he knows he’s been skeeving off duties. 

Okay—not skeeving off, per-se, just not as hands-on as he should be. 

“This is not a trick, Remus.” Dumbledore says softly, as if he’s reading his mind. 

Probably is. 

“I will admit the situation is most unusual for me as well, but the young lady is a witch, of that I am sure. Received a letter just as you and all your classmates did. Just a bit…” he pauses thoughtfully, as he scratches at his beard, “delayed.” He decides. 

“Delayed? ” Remus repeats incredulously, “did the owl get bloody lost for seven years? Seven years without magic—seven years of not knowing?” He cannot even find it in himself to care about swearing in-front of the most esteemed wizard in the world right now. 

“Remus,” he says seriously, leaning forward, palms flat on the desk, “I understand you are confused, I admit I was as well, but just imagine how she is feeling right now.” He points out gently. 

And honestly, Remus can’t—he really and truly cannot begin to fathom what might be going through her head. 

He feels his heart tighten a little at the thought. Tries to imagine himself, growing up, changing into a wolf every month alone. No Peter, no James—no, Sirius. 

He clenches his eyes shut, the idea too painful to conceive. 

“How?” He says instead, “how does something like this even happen?”

Dumbledore takes a large breath, leaning back to place his hands in his lap, “a horrible miscommunication. A lot of ministry jargon, an investigation into its owlery, the kind of thing both you and I do not know enough about.” He sighs, “an invitation left unseen. Magic left unchecked.” 

And Remus finds his answer odd—well, he finds this whole situation odd. 

But something Dumbledore doesn’t know?   

Odd. 

“Seven years of miscommunication? Seven years of untapped magic? Of confusion—of loss?”

He thinks of his first show of magic. It manifested during a nasty cold when he was barely four years old. Every time young Remus sneezed, the lights in his house would spark. 

Even today, thirteen years later, he can remember his confusion, but even more so, he remembers his parent’s excitement. The beaming smiles on their faces. The tearful pride in their eyes. 

Having prior knowledge within the magical world they knew instantly—their son was a wizard. 

And after that, everything suddenly became clearer. He grew up, his magic with him, part of him. He remembers how it synced up with his body, changed alongside him. 

How Hogwarts helped him hone those feelings—understand them. 

He can’t begin to imagine what this girl felt growing up.

Alone. Confused. Ostracized. Different. Misunderstood. 

He supposes he knows a thing or two about that. 

Dumbledore looks saddened by his words, as if he hears its undertones, “when a student receives their Hogwarts invitation, while it is addressed to them, the owl is sent to their place of residence. The magic in the envelopes has links to whomever may be on the deed where that child resides.” He starts to explain, “though unusual, sometimes parents will dismiss the letter or leave it until a later date. However, for unseen reasons that we did not become aware of until recently—Miss Evans nor her parents ever saw this letter. It wasn’t until at the end of last term did a change in her family home's deed re-trigger the invitation. An unusual manner the Ministry is investigating.”

Remus hears him, trying to process what he’s saying. Trying to imagine how one ruddy mistake done by one owl or one Ministry official could alter the course of someone’s entire life.  

And a seventh-year—six years gone, for what, one year back? 

“A seventh-year,” he whispers to himself, “how can you even catch up?” 

“Miss Evans is a most exceptional young lady, studied all summer under Professor McGonagall and myself. Took her OWLs in July, passed with flying colors. All Outstandings. She is very proficient in charms and potions, dare I say she’d perform circles around this year’s class.” There’s pride laced in his tone, Remus would be a fool not to be impressed himself. 

He continues wistfully, “She is constantly looking to learn who she is— what she can be —I thought it only fair to give her the chance every other student at Hogwarts gets. No matter how late it may be.” His voice drops, nearly a whisper, “There is something about her, captivating, really, you’ll see once you meet her.”

And he could stay here all day—all week, probably—and think about this situation. 

About how unusual and unfair and confusing it all is, but like the old man said, if he’s confused, well, Remus cannot begin to fathom how she feels. 

“Alright.” He breathes, voice eerily calm, contradicting the storm in his head. 

He expects them to get up, to make way to McGonagall’s office in relative silence. 

But Dumbledore remains seated. 

Slowly, he places his palms back on his desk, leaning forward thoughtfully, peering at Remus with gentle eyes through the lenses of his small glasses. 

“Miss Evans has not been dealt the easiest cards in life,” he begins, voice low and serious, “neither have you.” He says, voice softening, “I did not just ask this of you because you’re Head Boy or because you’re a Gryffindor, Remus. I ask this of you, because you know just as well as anyone how it feels to be different and how to overcome adversity in face of those differences.”

He thinks of the full moon. The way his bones snap under it. How he grows into something gruesome and terrible in its light. 

He thinks of his friends.

James, Peter, Sirius. 

Prongs, Wormtail, Padfoot. 

He’s reminded of the support McGonagall gave him. He remembers Dumbledore swearing Snape to secrecy. 

He thinks that despite it all, he still fits. His edges may be jagged and disfigured, but Hogwarts has helped carve a place for him. 

He reckons, everyone deserves to feel that, so yeah, he’ll try his damned hardest to do the same for this girl. 

It’s the very least the world owes to her, anyway. 

“I understand, Headmaster.” He says, deadly serious, a spark of something twinging under the surface—determination, perhaps. 

Seemingly satisfied, Dumbledore stands from his desk, beckoning Remus up with a wave of his hand. 

“Come, Professor McGonagall should be arriving with Miss Evans at any moment.”

---

Lily stumbled to find her footing in the gaping fireplace. Magical travel felt strange—like being pulled and stretched through a narrow tunnel. 

Stepping from its mouth, she begins to frantically wipe at the floo powder clinging to her new robes before it all vanishes in an instant. 

She looks up to find a wand pointed her way, McGonagall's kind blue eyes peeking from its other end. 

“Oh right.” Lily sighs, feeling stupid for forgetting that she can do things like cleaning charms now. 

She’s read an entire library worth charms alone but doing them in practice is a completely different thing. 

Impostor syndrome, she can practically hear Petunia sneering at her, as if she’s right next to her. Echos of freak ringing in her ears and gnawing at her brain, too. 

Thankfully, her discomfort does not seem to have manifested outwardly, as McGonagall turns to the door. 

“Come now, dear, the Headmaster has arranged for our Head Boy—a Gryffindor, like yourself—to give you a tour of the grounds.”

And suddenly, all her nerves, all the anxiety, the feeling of being someone she’s not, comes bubbling back tenfold. It coils in her stomach, wrapping itself around her insides and clenches—tight. 

Because now it’s real. She’s here and there is no going back. 

Nowhere to go back to. 

‘A Gryffindor, like yourself.’

It still feels surreal, even after all these weeks.

She remembers that day in Minerva’s living room as if it happened only moments ago. 

A brown tattered—talking—hat slipped over her red hair as it contemplated where she belonged. 

The ancient thing whispered, muttered and mused, weighing who she was, what she could be. It went on babbling for eight painful minutes, warranting concerned looks from both Dumbledore and Minerva. Whisperings about logic, loyalty and goals. Mutterings about her importance. Notes of the strangeness of the entire situation, until the old thing yelled one word. 

‘Gryffindor!’

Before shutting its eyes and being plucked off her head in silence. 

She feels just as confused about it right now, as she did then—probably even more so. 

And it’s ironic really, of this whole experience—this whole impossible, otherworldly ordeal—the thing she has the most trouble with is not being told she’s a witch. 

No—it’s being told she is brave.  

She remembers the descriptions in Hogwarts: A History , a book she’s already skimmed a dozen times. 

Slytherin: Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends.

Hufflepuff: Where they are just and loyal.

Ravenclaw: Those of wit and learning. 

Gryffindor: Where dwell the brave at heart.  

Brave —She is anything but. 

She remembers protesting, asking for the hat back, but was dismissed by the proud and knowing smiles of the two adults. Like they knew something she did not. 

And right now, she is feeling like everything, but a Gryffindor. 

What would this Head Boy see when he looks at her?—a girl too Muggle to be a witch? Too witchy to be a Muggle?

She can’t remember ever fitting in anywhere. Maybe at some point with Petunia, long before they really grew up. Long before her bouts of magic truly came out. 

Any nice memories with her sister seem to be forgotten now. Any moment they’ve ever had together will forever be tarnished by the last time she saw her. The last time they spoke—the last time they’ll ever speak. 

She can still feel the wetness and rush of tears running down her cheeks. The numbness weighing down her limbs. The shake of her hands. The black inky ribbon, a dark contrast woven into her vibrant strands. 

‘Cursed,’ Petunia spat at her, sharp and accusing. ‘I always knew you were cursed.’ 

“Professor,” Lily says abruptly, stopping in her tracks and causing the woman to turn to her. 

Her face softens at the evident hesitation and fear crossing the girl's features. “I told you, Lily, you have no need to be so formal with me when we are alone. After all, you are the first student to have met my cats.” She says in an attempt to coax a smile from her—this young, resilient, woman whom she’s grown so fond of. 

Lily tries her best to return it, but it feels impossible through the wobble of her lips, “this boy—the Head Boy,” she corrects, “how much does he know about me? About what’s happened?” She asks, voice a wavering whisper. 

“Lily,” the older woman begins softly, stepping forward to adjust the crimson ribbon in her hair with a gentle caress, “it is what you choose. Neither of us are naive enough to ignore the fact that they will see that you are new, they will have questions, but beyond that, the rest is yours to reveal.” 

Her weathered hands work their way down the younger girl's waves as she straightens a few unruly pieces with her fingers. The action calms Lily considerably, as she nods beneath her palms. 

“Remus is a kind young man. I promise you, there is no one better to help you settle in.” 

With another nod, Lily takes a deep breath, calming herself, but seemingly still avoiding Minerva’s eyes. Suddenly, she feels her two hands pressed to her cheeks, lifting her chin so their eyes meet. 

“Nothing to lose?” The old woman whispers gently. 

Lily looks at the softness in her eyes, the true tenderness behind them. Slowly, it warms parts of her she never thought she would feel again. 

“Nothing to lose.” She repeats, more sure, her glittering eyes betraying her confidence.

A bright smile crosses the other woman’s face as she gives Lily one last squeeze before opening the door to the corridor. 

And nothing could prepare Lily for what she sees next. 

Flagstone stretching beneath her shoes. The intricately carved arches lining the halls. The delicately woven tapestries. The bustling portraits, alive with activity. Through the stained glass windows, endless rolling hills of green, a lake catching the sun in all the right places. The shifting of colors in the leaves. 

No books with illustrations or descriptions of the castle can truly capture the feeling, it is just simply—magical. 

Her gut pangs a little at the thought of being robbed of such a place for so long, but it is soon quelled down by the pure wonder she feels at the sight. She’s practically bouncing with anticipation of what else there is—feeling a glimmer of excitement for the first time in months. 

The brief elation is soon squashed by the sound of shoes clacking against the stones. She turns swiftly, met with the sight of Dumbledore accompanied by an unknown figure—the Head Boy, Remus—she assumes. 

Crossing her arms around her chest, she shrinks her shoulders, becoming as small as possible. 

As they come closer, she takes a look at the boy, he’s dressed in the same vein as her, crimson and gold tie, collared shirt tucked beneath the sweater—though he wears it more comfortably, proudly. 

He’s tall—lanky, if she’s being honest. His hair is light brown, almost blonde as it reflects shades of gold beneath the winks of sunlight. He has scars faded and sunken across his face, but he’s still handsome, with a long nose, eyes a mix of greens and browns. 

His hands are shoved in his pockets, but something about him is still inviting—unlike how Lily stands, folded into herself. As he comes closer, she can see a smile slip onto his face. It’s warm. Genuine. 

Before she can even realize, her body uncoils a bit, shoulders easing ever so slightly. 

And Remus—well, he thinks he knows what Dumbledore meant, there’s something about her. Something he can’t quite place, but there’s something there. 

Beneath the protectiveness of the way her arms are wound around her middle, past the sadness evident in her emerald eyes, he sees something—something clawing its way to the surface, but something she has not quite found yet. 

“Miss Evans,” Dumbledore says first with a warm expression, “I trust your travel was good?” He asks. 

Her lips pull into a thin line, a weak attempt at a smile, as she bobs her head to the older man. 

“Lily,” McGonagall begins. 

Lily, Remus thinks. 

And he can’t place why, but it fits her—it really does. 

“This is our head boy, Remus Lupin,” McGonagall introduces, “Mr. Lupin, this is Miss Lily Evans.”

Remus makes the first move, stepping forward and extending his hand to her, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Lily.” He says sincerely. 

Slowly, Lily lifts her own hand to grasp his palm, giving it a gentle shake. 

“You too.” Is all she manages, voice quieter than usual, before pulling it away and returning it to its nook in her other elbow, pulled taught across her abdomen. 

Sensing Lily’s discomfort, McGonagall steps in, “Mr. Lupin is most capable of giving you your tour. You two best be on the way now,” she begins, placing her hand on Remus’ back, turning him to the opposite end of the corridor, “bring Miss Evans back to my office when you’re done, yes?” 

Though it was posed as a question, it doesn’t sound as much, nevertheless, Remus responds dutifully, “sure thing.” 

“All right then,” McGonagall now grabs at Lily beckoning her in the same direction with a gentle hand pressed to her spine, “off the two of you go.”

Slowly and hesitantly, Lily falls into step behind him, just as he is about to suggest taking her to the classroom's corridor, Dumbledore’s voice echoes off the walls. 

“Lily,” he calls after them gently. 

Both she and Lupin turn to the older man, a smile striking his face. One of those ones they’ve both come to expect from him. 

The kind of expression he gives when he knows something you don’t—not quite smug, but something else. 

Something sacred. 

His eyes dance knowingly under the shifting colors of the stained glass windows. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts.”

And just like that, he’s gone in a flurry of robes. 

---

Remus thinks—hopes—the tour is going well. 

Lily is quiet which he would be more concerned about had he not noticed the absolute awe in her eyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone look so enchanted at the sight of the bathroom in his life.

Luckily, still being early on a Saturday morning, the halls are mostly empty. The occasional student trekking to the library, a few younger Hufflepuff’s passing swiftly in their Quidditch robes. 

No one spares them a second glance, no Slytherin’s either—a relief for both his and Lily’s sake. 

He can’t help but wonder if she knows about what’s lurking outside Hogwarts. All the unexplained deaths, the prejudice against Muggle-borns. 

It makes his stomach turnover, his gut clenching at the thought. A part of him—deep and hidden away—curses Dumbledore for so selfishly bringing her here at a time like this, but he knows not doing anything at all would have been even worse. 

The thought is awful, the worst he’s had all day, he thinks—quickly, he shakes his head, willing it from his brain. Instead, he asks her what her lessons schedule is and tries to stamp down the surprise at the amount of NEWTs she’s taking. The fact was indisputable, Dumbledore really was not playing up how brilliant she was.

He shows her each classroom, allowing her the time to revel in each space. Letting her glance at the leftover chalk on the boards or marvel at the discarded ingredients in the potions lab. 

He takes her to the library—listens to her audibly gasp as the books float by and tuck themselves into the shelf. He teaches her the password to the common room, introduces her to the fat-lady, both of them ignoring her invasive questions. Remus is quick to assure that she’s like that with everyone—which is the absolute truth. 

Afterwards, he brings her outside. Shows her the Quidditch pitch, lets her stare in wonder at the brooms whizzing by. He guides her toward Black Lake, spouting tales about the giant squid when she gets too close to its edge. He points out Hagrid’s Hut, boasting about the gentle giant. Before going back inside, he uncomfortably warns her about the forbidden forest, knowing all too well the danger that lurks inside of it. 

She asks a few questions every now and again, simple things like, which lessons he’s taking, which are his favorites. 

He answers enthusiastically, she never supplies more than a nod or one word response, but he can see the sincerity behind her eyes—hidden beneath sadness, cloaked by amazement.

“Over here, this is the Great Hall,” he says, stopping in front of the pair of grand doors, “here’s where you’ll eat all your meals, where we have all the feasts, too” He points out. 

“Feasts?” She inquires, intrigued. The idea was odd to her—she was, after all, a poor girl from Cokeworth. The closest they got to a feast was a small turkey at Christmas. 

He nods, “sure, all the holiday feasts. Halloween, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, Easter.” He counts off on his fingers, “and of course the Welcome Feast, Sorting Ceremony and all that, the End of Term Feast.” He says without much thought. 

Suddenly, her seemingly impassive face drops, she works quickly to tug her lip between her teeth anxiously. 

Remus grimaces—catching his mistake. 

Welcome Feast. Sorting Ceremony. 

He isn’t particularly sure how to address it, does he apologize? Pretend it never happened? 

He’s not sure which is worse. Maybe if he—

She decides for him, voice breaking the tense silence. 

“How long does the Sorting Ceremony normally take?” She asks in a rush, tone octaves higher than it’s been the entire morning. 

“Sorry?” He asks, caught off guard. 

She flushes a deep pink, eyes trained on her shoes as she speaks, the most she’s said since arriving, “it’s just—” she begins quietly, “my Sorting Ceremony, it took nearly ten minutes, is that—is that normal?” At her question, she peers up at him through her curtain of hair. Her arms begin to tighten around her stomach. She looks almost scared. 

He sighs, heart pulling at her question. He hears what she’s asking, even though she won’t say it. 

Do I deserve to be here? 

“It’s different for everyone.” He tells her, deciding to spare her the details that he’s never once seen the hat on someone’s head for more than four minutes. 

Almost ten minutes is surely not normal, but nothing about any of this is. 

Lily’s eyes shift back to the stone, brilliant as she is, she must understand what he means. 

“Look,” he begins, dropping the indifference, “it really is different for everyone. Sat on one of my mates head for no more than ten seconds before he was named Gryffindor.” he begins, remembering young James Potter, all those years ago, “another one of my mates—the hat could barely touch him before he was sorted into Gryffindor. Even though he was the first from centuries of Slytherin’s.”

This seems to grab her attention. The unusualness of it all. Something for her to grasp—to help justify her own experience. 

“For me and my mate Peter, it went back and forth. Tried to sort me into Hufflepuff for a good two minutes. Tried to put Pete into Slytherin before switching at the last moment.”

She stares at him for a moment, contemplating what she really wants to say—not knowing if she’s ready for those answers. 

“Does it ever get it wrong?” She whispers. 

Remus has to strain his ears to hear her, tilting his head toward her. 

“The hat—does it ever get it wrong?” Lily asks louder, voice shaking under the weight of the question. 

“Lily,” he sighs softly, stepping closer to get her attention. 

And he won’t answer that—can’t answer that—because he doesn’t know for sure.

But he does know one thing. 

“If you’re thinking you shouldn’t be in Gryffindor, you’re wrong. The sorting hat got it right for you.” He says with finality. 

Her head snaps up at his words, endless waves of red hair bobbing at the movement. Her crimson ribbon swishing behind her head like it’s suddenly got a mind of its own. 

“How can you be so sure?” She asks, eyes slanted, a spark of something behind her expression.

Lily may be a lot of things—lost, alone—but she will not be placated. 

How can this boy be so sure after just an hour together? 

“Because coming here, after all this time—I think that’s just about the bravest thing I’ve ever heard.” He says with complete sincerity. 

And for the first time in what feels like forever—she feels a smile stretch across her face. It’s not something forced or shaken. 

It’s real. Small—but so real. 

Remus watches as her green eyes soften considerably with gratitude. 

“Thank you, Remus.” She says quietly.

He shakes his head at her, smiling back. 

“Now come on,” he beckons with a tilt of his head, “let me show you the inside.”

He moves to open the door, holding the heavy thing for her to pass through. As soon as she steps inside, the loud chatter hits her, causing her to recoil. In her efforts, she stumbles clumsily into Remus’ chest, his shoes skidding loudly on the stone. 

Heads begin to turn their way from all directions. Lily moves back, shrinking behind Remus. His six feet easily shielding her five-foot-two figure from prying eyes, though her vibrant hair is poorly concealed as he makes a move toward the Gryffindor table. 

“Moony!” A voice familiar to Remus booms from across the hall. 

He cringes on Lily’s behalf as any eyes not previously on the pair seem to find them. 

“Sorry,” he winces sincerely, “I thought my mates would still be in our room.” He explains. 

She shakes her head but edges closer to the door, whispering, “It’s okay.”

Remus glares at Sirius from across the way, causing his friend to throw his hands up in mock indignation, before waving a hand for him to come over. 

And Remus knows Sirius—knows him well enough that if they don’t make their way over there within the next thirty seconds it will be way worse for Lily later. 

“Come meet my mates?” He pleads with her gently. 

Her eyes flash with uncertainty, “come on,” he encourages, “I promise they’re nice, plus they’re all Gryffindor’s too. You’re bound to meet them sooner or later.”

She peers from around Remus, only able to make out two figures. A round-faced boy with blonde hair, shoveling food down his throat and the boy with dark chin length hair—the one who waved them over, looking as if he’s ready to leap from the bench and drag them over there himself. 

That would certainly gather way more attention than Lily would like. 

Weighing her options, she hesitantly nods to Remus. He expels a breath of relief, visibly relaxing at her choice—reaffirming her decision. 

They make their way down the row of tables, Lily’s eyes fixed on Remus’ feet, trailing after him. And if her red hair alone hadn’t drawn enough attention—her clothing made her stick out like a sore thumb. She silently cursed McGonagall for making her wear this uniform whereas everyone else was dressed casually in jeans and sweaters. 

Instinctively, one of her hands reaches to the center of her chest, clutching at the gold chain through the fabric of her blouse. 

As they near, the figures become more clear. The one excitedly waving on Remus with wavy black hair and piercing gray eyes—handsome, in a sort of rugged way. The other boy has small, watery eyes and a pointed nose, a stark contrast to his round features. 

She looks away abruptly when the gray eyes catch her own, as a grin splits his face. 

Remus stops behind a third figure, his back facing her. Affectionately, he claps a hand on his shoulder—broad shoulder, she can’t help but note.

“Prongs.” She hears Remus greet one of them—which one, she isn’t sure—affectionately. 

The familiarity makes her recoil further—solidifying how out of place she is. Slowly, she tucks herself more securely behind Remus’ back. 

“Moony!” the one with the gray eyes exclaims with mischief, “and company.” He adds.

Despite being concealed by Remus’ frame, guarded by her curtain of red hair—she could feel his gaze piercing her, sharp and unrelenting. 

Unbeknownst to her, Remus is mouthing something to Sirius, fixing him with a glare. 

And Sirius—doesn’t care. Instead, he stands from his seat, opening his arms with an exaggerated flourish, silently beckoning Remus to introduce her before he takes matters into his own hands. 

They stare at each other for a few moments, having a silent conversation with their eyes. And Remus knows Sirius well enough to know when to give in. With a shake of his head and a deep breath, he complies—though the tilt of his lips betrays his thinly veiled annoyance.

Smiling smugly to himself, Sirius proudly plops back down. James chuckles quietly at their antics, unable to draw his gaze from Sirius’ ridiculousness to whatever's got him so worked up.

Remus takes a final breath, before stepping aside and revealing Lily. 

“These are my mates,” he begins. 

At this, James finally swivels around to catch sight of what’s got Remus out of bed so early and Sirius so interested. 

And he feels the room go still. 

The chatter becomes a dull monotonous hum, his fork clatters to his plate, his breath leaves his body. 

He remembers his Dad telling him about the first time he saw his Mum. About how it was one of the moments you only read about in stories. 

To which James would snarkily retort—I don’t read romances.

His father would always tut at him and go on to explain how it was one of those moments you get once in your lifetime. The kind of thing that when it happens—you just know, your whole life is about to change. 

His Mum always blushed like mad at his Dad’s words. James would roll his eyes, vehemently thinking such moments don’t exist. 

Until right now. 

Behind him has got to be the most breathtaking girl he’s ever seen. Endless waves of copper and auburn flowing down her back, hanging just above her waist. A crimson ribbon tied into a loopy bow, falling neatly in place with the rest of her hair. 

She’s small—he reckons if he stood up right now, he’d have an entire foot and them some on her. But she’s even smaller with the way she’s curled into herself, like she’s unsure. Out of place. 

Through her veil of hair he makes out her porcelain skin, pale and smooth. Her cheeks, though a little sunken, are tinged the prettiest shade of pink. Her nose is upturned, pert, buttonish—it’s a little adorable. 

And he had no bloody idea he could even think so much about a nose. 

But her eyes—Merlin, her eyes—framed by dark wispy lashes. And well, he thinks it’s the first time he can ever remember finding the color green beautiful. 

Not just green—emerald, rimmed with the color of the pine trees—hunter green—like the ones in the forbidden forest. Just barely, he makes out flecks of sea foam shining as she shifts under the morning sun. 

And when the fuck did he learn so many shades of green? 

But it’s not her outward beauty—no, it’s something else too. Something he can’t quite place. 

There’s a sadness behind her eyes, a sallow beneath her blush, but he sees past it. He sees something deeper. 

A flicker of something bubbling beneath the surface. The fanning of flames waiting to be sparked within her. Something stagnant waiting to be awakened. 

He feels drawn to her. 

He doesn’t understand it. 

But Merlin, he wants to. 

He watches as she slowly lifts her head, the curve of her jaw—somehow both soft and delicate—as she faces Sirius and Peter. 

From the corner of his eye, he sees Remus’ mouth moving, but is unable to make out a word he’s saying. In his periphery, he sees Sirius batting his hand at her wildly. He watches intently as she slowly lifts her much smaller one up in a hesitant greeting.

All the sudden all eyes shift to his—her eyes shift to his. 

And he stares into them and he’s so fucked. Merlin, he knows he’s in so much—

“—Trouble.” He breathes out before he can help himself. 

Remus looks a bit perplexed, as does the girl beside him, or maybe she doesn’t. He has no idea. His brain is really not functioning properly because she’s staring right at him and—

Thankfully, Sirius jumps in, “yes, Prongs, you’re trouble, but his real name is James.”

“Right,” Remus says, looking worriedly between James and Lily. The latter who seemingly can't break the gaze either. 

Lily wanted to look away—she really, really did. But for whatever reason she couldn’t. 

James—as Sirius corrected, was undeniably handsome. Broad shoulders, muscles poorly concealed by his worn burgundy jumper. 

Even sitting, she could tell he was tall, nearly eye-level with her upright. He had a strong jaw too, a thin face and thin nose to match. His hair was unruly, yet tousled in a way that almost feels intentional. It seemed an endless twist of dark curls, one lying purposefully across his forehead, skimming his neat eyebrows. 

His eyes—a brilliant mix of golds, browns and greens—are framed by wiry glasses resting at the end of his nose. 

But it wasn’t just his eyes—but how they were looking at her. 

She felt naked, under his gaze. Like he was looking past what she presented. Like he could see past her act of pretending to be okay and saw something much deeper, something she barely understood herself.

She wanted to shy away, to shrink back into herself like she had so many times before, but for whatever reason she can’t. 

“Like I was saying, these are my mates, Peter Pettigrew, Sirius Black—”

Her head snaps back at this, the one word grabbing her attention. 

“Black?” She repeats before she can help it, having to will herself not to slap her hands over her mouth at the outburst. 

She feels her throat tighten a bit and her hand begins to shake from where it's clutched at her chest. 

She recognizes the name. She remembers it from when she read about the Sacred Twenty-Eight Wizarding family—families of ‘true and untainted pureblooded descent.’

The implications weren’t lost on her when she learned about it. Lily wonders what Sirius Black will think when he discovers she’s a sham of a witch. 

“That’s right, dear, like the color.” He winks at her. 

Remus ignores him, turning straight back to James, “and James Potter.” He finishes. 

Even Remus speaking his name doesn’t break whatever spell she’s got on him. 

“This is Lily Evans,”

Lily—James thinks, mulling it over in his head. Imagining the syllables on his tongue. It suits her, he decides quickly. A pretty name for a pretty girl 

“She’s new.” Remus adds. 

At the latter part of the sentence, Lily snaps her gaze back to her shoes in embarrassment. 

Unbeknownst to her, Sirius smiles and goes to say something before Remus cuts him off with a firm no-nonsense look.

“Well take a seat, won’t you Evans?” 

Remus mouths a ‘stop,’ to Sirius. 

Sirius rolls his eyes, “no need to flash your badge there, Head Boy.” 

Remus ignores his quip, a well mastered art. “We really should be meeting McGonagall—”

Surprising both Remus and herself, Lily shakes her head, “sure.” She responds quietly. 

Like Remus said—this was bound to happen eventually.

Remus doesn’t move, surprised at her agreeableness, until Sirius smiles victoriously. 

“Budge over, Prongs.” Sirius instructs a dazed James, who listlessly slides down. 

Lily delicately folds into the bench, long hair brushing James’ arm as she settles. 

It makes him shiver, causing him to inhale shakily.

He catches her scent—Lavender. Lemon. Parchment. 

A sweet kind of torture. 

“So, Evans,” Sirius starts, leaning forward with a wolfish grin, “Hogwarts, eh? And a month into term no less.”

Lilly’s hands curl into themselves, fingers pressing moon shaped indents into her palms harshly. Her eyes fix on a particularly interestingly swirled pattern of grained wood on the tabletop. 

And, Remus—Remus is going to kill Sirius.  

“Tell me, where was your last school?” He asks next. 

“Abington.” She says tightly, though James is entranced, finds her voice sweet, melodic. As lovely as the rest of her. 

He wonders if she’s part Veela—yes, that must be it. Yet, Sirius, Peter, and Remus seem unaffected. 

What in the bloody hell is happening? 

“Abington,” Sirius repeats curiously, tearing a piece of bacon with his teeth, “never heard of it.” He says through bites. 

And James never has either, he thinks. He honestly can’t be too sure, he isn’t even sure his brain is working properly at the moment. 

Confundus charm—yeah, that makes much more sense.

“Close your mouth.” Remus chides, breaking the heavy silence. 

Sirius cocks his brow and before Remus can control it, a smile tugs at his lips. 

Soon, he tears his gaze from his friend, returning his gray-eyes to Lily. “Where abouts is it?” He asks next. 

She shifts uncomfortably. “Dudley, the Midlands, just outside of Cokeworth—”

“Mr. Lupin!” The shrill voice of Minerva McGonagall rings loudly from across the hall. 

Lily’s shoulders unfurl. Remus grimaces. Sirius smiles—glad it’s not his name being called, for once. 

“Oh, Merlin.” Peter mutters under his breath, ducking his head in fear. 

“Professor McGonagall.” He says, putting on his best Head Boy voice, eliciting chuckles from the pair seated across him. 

“Did I or did I not instruct you to return to my office?” She asks, brow cocked, eyes narrowed to slits beneath her lenses. 

“Yes, but—”

“It’s my fault really, Professor,” Lily steps in, sensing Remus’ discomfort, turning to face her. 

James watches the exchange closely. Lily seems more at ease since she came in. He also does not fail to notice Minnie’s eyes softening considerably as they land on Lily’s. 

Okay, cheers—she’s clearly affected, too. Maybe I’m not barmy. 

“Remus was showing me the Great Hall, his friends waved him over. They asked if we wanted to sit down and I accepted.” She explains hurriedly. 

“Oh.” Is all McGonagall says, “alright then.” 

Sirius balks at her conceding so easily—how did this girl manage to wear the old bat down in one day, when he’s been at it for years? 

“Why don’t you go ahead to my office?” She directs to Lily, “We have some matters to discuss. I just need to speak with Dumbledore first. Do you remember how to get there?” She asks softly. 

Lily goes to agree but thinks better of it. She’d rather be embarrassed now than lost in the castle later. Bashfully she shakes her head. 

James—whose brain seems to have finally done some catching up to his body, thinks to offer to show her the way, when McGonagall beats him to it.

“Wait for me outside. I’ll just be a moment.” She says first, causing James to silently scowl. 

Lily nods, standing from the bench, head drawn down. 

“I’ll catch up with you later, yeah Lily?” Remus asks softly. 

“Sure, thank you for the tour, Remus.” She responds in kind, “bye.” She whispers before scampering off. 

James’ eyes follow her form all the way until she disappears through the door. “Bye, Trouble.” He whispers lowly. 

Remus eyes James suspiciously, whilst Sirius eyes McGonagall in much of the same vein. 

“Don't you need to catch up with Dumbles?” Sirius questions the old woman, as he leans back casually onto the bench. 

“You boys listen to me and you listen to me good,” McGonagall begins, tone deadly, wiping the grin from Sirius’ face instantly. 

Peter gulps as Sirius tries to remember if they’ve done anything wrong this past week she’d know about. James’ eyes go wide at her shift in demeanor and Remus—Remus anticipated this. 

“You leave that girl alone. No pranks. No games. No tricks. Things are different for her. Do not make this any harder for her than it already is.” Her sternness leaves no room for argument, an impressive feat given her crowd. 

And in all the years at Hogwarts, through all the pranks and jokes—even after the incident, fifth year—James doesn’t think he’s ever been as frightened of her as he is in this moment. 

“Do I make myself clear?” She asks, leaning forward, taking the time to stare at each of them through her small glasses. 

They all nod, instantly.

“Very well then.” She says straightening up, glad her tone had its desired effect. “Mr. Lupin, come see me later.” 

And with a swish of her velvet green robes, she’s gone. 

As soon as disappears through the doors, Sirius loosens considerably, “oh what is she on about now? We haven’t even done anything! All I said—”

“She’s right.” Remus cuts him off, tone just as serious as McGonagall's rattling his friends to their core. Remus only gets like this when it’s about his furry problem, “things are different for Lily, she doesn’t need us making things any worse.” He tells Sirius with a pointed look. 

“How do you mean?” James can’t help but jump in, desperate to learn anything about her. 

Remus sighs, raising a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, a nervous habit, “there’s a reason you didn’t recognize the name of her last school.” He says, eyes still trained on Sirius. 

James leaned in curiously, trying to follow where this would go. 

“Because I don’t spend my free time learning the names of every bloody magical school in Europe?” Sirius retorts, crossing his arms. 

Remus rolls his eyes, then fixes them into a glare, “because it wasn't the name of a magic school.” 

Sirius’ face drops. James is in disbelief. Peter is confused. 

“So she lied?” Peter asked partially uncertain, the other half desperate to break the tense silence. 

“No.” James is quick to defend, despite not knowing the truth himself, the action feels natural. 

Thankfully, Remus doesn’t comment on his outburst, just assuming he deduced it on his own. 

“She was raised a muggle.” Remus confirms. 

His first thought is—fucking brilliant, she is, but the swell of pride is short lived and soon transforms into something else entirely. 

Something constricts inside James. A stifling pang in his chest at the thought. He has no issues with Muggles—the opposite, honestly. But the thought of himself, any of his friends or classmates—of Lily—navigating being magical alone, he can’t begin to even fathom such a thing. 

Even as a pureblood growing up in a magical family, he remembers how even both of his parents—Hogwarts alumni—struggled dealing with his earliest manifestations of magic. 

He remembers learning true magic, how Hogwarts and his friends helped shape the wizard he is. How the past six years have shaped who he will become. 

He can’t remember the last time he felt alone. 

But thinking about Lily—he wonders if she can even remember a time she wasn’t. 

“But, h—how?” Peter asks in disbelief. 

Remus sighs, shrugging lamely, “She didn’t mention anything to me about it but it was obvious I knew. Dumbledore was dodgy about the whole thing, said it was a—”

“When is he not?” Sirius scoffs, convinced that man only knows how to speak in riddles. 

“—a Ministry mix-up. Something about a lost owl six years ago. An investigation on the owlery and post. A change of deed on the property.” He offers as much as he understands, which isn’t a lot.

“So she never got her letter because of a lost fucking owl?” James growled. 

No one even questions his anger—all feeling the same. The hot rage at how one careless mistake robbed Lily of what they’ve come to learn is the best years of their lives palpates in each of their chests. 

Remus nods lamely, the feelings from when he first learned the truth this morning washing over him again. 

James was angry—he wonders if his father knows anyone at the Ministry who could answer for this. 

Peter was confused—still trying to sit with such a stifling realization. 

And Sirius—Sirius is uncharacteristically quiet. 

He thinks of Lily and the brief interaction they had. The way her head snapped up when she learned his last name. 

He was born a wizard.

Black’s are only born wizards. 

He was raised a wizard. 

Raised with talking portraits, house elves, moving staircases. Raised with an endless mass of magical relatives. 

The fond memories he has of being a Black grow more distant by the day. The thoughts grow further as the Dark Lord looms closer. But he remembers a time—before he was ostracized for being a Gryffindor, before his little brother valued his blood status. Before Rodolphus Lestrange dug his way deeper into Bella’s head. Before Bella got into Cissy’s—causing Andi to run off. 

He remembers a younger, softer, version of Cissy grabbing his small shaking hands on his first train ride to Hogwarts. He remembers her leading him into a compartment with Bella and Andi as they told how truly magical Hogwarts was, assuring him this would be the best day of his life.

And though it all went to shite—he remembers that day, one of the few precious memories he associates with his estranged family. 

He’ll never forget not feeling so alone. 

“So, you understand now?” Remus breaks his thoughts, voice soft as he nudges his foot beneath the table to gently tap Sirius’ shoe. 

Though Sirius’ nod is grim, he nudges Remus back in apology. 

Peter awkwardly forks his eggs around. 

James impatiently bobs his leg up and down, itching to get up and find her—let her know that he’s here for whatever she needs to help make things easier.

To tell her that she’s not anything less than the rest of them. 

He makes it all of about ninety seconds of tense silence before abruptly standing from the bench. 

“Prongs?” Sirius asks, confused. 

“I just remembered something—Quidditch play, yeah. Back in the dorm. Uh, I’ll—I’ll catch up.” He excuses lamely. 

None of them question it, as James rushes from the Great Hall with just one thought—

Lily.

They all watch James go, tracing his hurried steps all the way out the grand doors. As soon as he’s gone, Peter returns his attention back to his plate. Remus’ eyes linger curiously on where James once was.

Sirius—still a bit lost in his woes—slowly drags his gaze back to the table. As he scans the room, he spots someone from nearby watching them intently. 

He can’t help but scowl at the sight of his long hooked nose, mop of greasy hair and cold black eyes—staring right at them. 

“Something interesting, Snivellus?” Sirius calls out with a sneer. 

Snape rolls his eyes, as if he’d ever answer to one of them. He stands quickly, rushing from the Great Hall in a heap of darkness. 

The remaining Marauders ignore him, chalking up his behavior to typical Snape discourtesy—as if they’d complain about his absence, anyway. 

They return to their meal in silence, though they all seem to have lost their appetite, too preoccupied on the startling events of the morning. 

Unbeknownst to them, they weren’t the only students fixated on the situation. 

Like James, Severus Snape took off to the corridors with a single thought consuming him—

Lily.

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed! The next one sets up the plot and establishes more dynamics. Until then, here's some fun Easter Eggs!
-While Lily's wand is unknown from canon, Willow wands are canonically rare wands with links to healing and powerful magic as mentioned. I thought it was appropriate for her.
-Odette Harkness is someone I made up, but her last name is a fun Easter Egg to Agatha Harkness, another famous witch.
-Not so much an Easter Egg but I wanted to focus on the Lily & Remus dynamic because I adore them and some of the most telling canon quotes about Lily comes from Remus, where he explains her kindness.
Until next time! Thank you xx

Chapter 2: Perseus

Summary:

James leaves the Great Hall in pursuit of Lily, feeling an unexplainable pull. Much to his dismay, a slue of unwelcome interruptions unsettle the pair. Later, James reflects on all that happened in the corridor both with Lily and their guests. His friends notice something is off and offer help best they can.

Notes:

This one sets up the tone, over arching plot and key dynamics. Posting new stories can be hard so any form of interaction goes along way! Enjoy :)

---

Perseus 

(The Hero) 

One of the forty-eight ancient constellations, located in the northern sky; protector of Andromeda.

Symbolizes heroism, protection of loved ones and overcoming the impossible.

A champion rises to defend what they hold dearest.

---

James’ worn Converse slap loudly against the flagstone, echoing noisily off the walls as he keeps a steady pace toward Gryffindor Tower—more specifically to McGonagall’s office. 

He carelessly turns the corner, just narrowly avoiding a collision with some second-year Ravenclaws. He throws a half-arsed apology over his shoulder, making it all the way to the moving staircase before skidding to a sudden stop. 

What was he doing? Did he even have a plan? Was he just going to find her and say—hey, Lily, did you know your eyes are at least three different shades of green? 

He lets out a frustrated sigh, pivoting to return to the Great Hall. 

This was absolutely barmy. 

But then he feels that—the unexplainable feeling coming over him. 

His gut pangs, a pull deep in his abdomen, urging him to do something. It’s an undeniable, transcendent kind of feeling. The kind of thing divination twits wax poetry about. 

Stars aligning, destiny calling, fate—whatever it is. 

Normally James—level headed, mostly reasonable—would brush it off. 

But he can’t seem to shake this.

It’s a force as strong as a bludger to the head, knocking you dozens of feet from your broom. The difference is, no potion in the world is strong enough to remedy this feeling. 

A feeling he’s unsure he even wants to be rid of himself, not when he barely understands it.

It’s too much. Too intense. 

All consuming. 

Merlin, he really fucking hates divination. 

He squashes the thoughts with a shake of his head. Trying to will himself to focus. He’s James Bloody Potter, after all. He’ll figure something out—he always does. 

He takes a breath and leaps from the staircase, starting down the corridor to McGonagall's with a renewed sense of determination. 

And any half-formed assurance of ‘figuring something out,’ disappears the moment he lays eyes on her. 

He feels that again, the clenching deep in his stomach, the flutter of his heart. But as he nears, it turns into something different, something sharper—painful, even. 

Because as she comes into view, so does someone else. 

Severus fucking Snape. 

And he’s standing too close for James’ liking. Talking to Lily—or trying to, at least. 

Somehow, Lily looks even smaller now than she did in the Great Hall. Her back is pressed against the cold stone wall. One arm wraps protectively across her abdomen, the other clutching desperately at her robes. Her chin is tucked into her chest, head downturned as she uses her hair as a curtain to hide behind. 

Snape looms across from her, maintaining what would be perceived as a ‘respectable’ distance—still too close, if you ask James—but still clearly having the advantage as Lily’s backed into a corner. Literally.  

The Slytherin is a mess of dark hair, dark robes and even darker eyes. His gaunt face and beak-like nose cast a shadow over Lily’s face. He leans in closer, his thin, cracked lips saying something in a failed attempt to catch her gaze. 

She doesn’t look up, but he can see Lily move, ever so slightly, bobbing her head in what could just barely be considered a nod. 

But he can’t hear what Snape’s saying—doesn’t care too. He can’t even focus as something comes over him. An animalistic protectiveness surges through him. It’s only comparable to how he feels in his stag form, saving Remus from the others and himself. 

But such a feeling stems from years of friendship—brotherhood—but this, this is just instinctual, raw. Completely out of his control. 

He can feel his resolve harden as each second goes by. He forces himself to take a breath before walking swiftly to the pair, hoping to remain some semblance of calm, on behalf of Lily. Clearly, he’s not as composed as he hoped, because as soon as his shoes scuff against the stone, Lily’s eyes find his own, causing him to grimace. 

Her green eyes are wide, doe-like, in what looks like fear. But as he draws nearer, he swears, they soften into something else—relief? He hopes so. 

He offers her a small reassuring smile, before turning his attention to Snape. 

“Long way from the dungeons, aren’t we Snivellus?” James calls out, cutting through the thick tension. Snape’s eyes roll in irritation at his presence—but much to James’ delight, his presence also causes Snape to take a step back. 

“Potter.” He says, dripping with venom—name spat like an Unforgivable curse. “Impeccable timing as always.” His monotonous voice drones. 

James brushes off his insult, an art he’s mastered over the years. “Alright, Lily?” He asks while turning to her, in what he hopes is a softer tone, though he can’t help the anxiety from bleeding its way in there. 

Her limpid eyes seer into his own and he sees them flicker with something. Whatever it is, he can’t be sure, not when he can’t help but notice the sublet hues of blue rounding her irises.

 He has to wonder if she feels it too—that pressing, nagging feeling. 

Cataclysmic, prophetic happenstance unfolding. 

Bloody fucking Divination. 

“I was just introducing myself,” Snape interjects, breaking the moment. “I hear Lily is quite proficient at Potions.” 

James narrows his hazel eyes suspiciously. His demeanor is way too casual, nonchalant, very non Snape-like. Not to mention the sound of her name on his slimy tongue does nothing but grate his nerves further. 

“And why would that matter?“ He snaps back. It’s not particularly his most clever retort but it serves as a valid question. 

Because why would it matter?—Snape isn’t exactly lacking in the Potions department, if Slughorn’s praise is anything to go off of. 

Whether he wishes it or not, he knows him. Knows he’s not one to go out of his way to speak to anyone , never mind anyone outside of his own House—never mind a Muggle-born. 

Horrible thoughts of Snape and his merry band of idiots pop into his head unwillingly. His traitorous mind tortures him with horrible scenarios of them teasing Lily, calling her names, or worse. 

As if to not make it obvious, he slowly drags the hand not tangled in his hair, down to his side and into the pocket of his jeans. Instinctively, his fingers curl tightly around the familiar feeling of his wand, letting the weight ground him. 

“Anyway, I wasn’t asking you.” James adds, diverting his attention back to Lily, who seems to be watching the exchange with confused—but keen—interest. 

“I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Potter.” Snape responds dully, voice dripping with disdain. He lets his small eyes slide back to Lily. “Goodbye.” He offers her, though there’s an edge to his words. 

“Yeah, bye.” She mutters hastily and flustered, voice just above a whisper.

Snape gives the pair a once-over, flicking his withering glare precariously between two before disappearing down the corridor, dark robes billowing behind him. 

As soon as he rounds the corner, Lily’s body uncurls. Her posture unwinds considerably, as her back becomes a bit straighter. One of her hands drops from where it was clutched tightly at her chest, coming to rest more loosely against her stomach. 

“Hey,” James calls softly, “alright?”

He’s relieved to see her tense body language slacken, but he hates to see traces of the tension still there—hates that there was ever any at all. 

This time, when he watches her nod, it’s more certain. Her lips press into a line as her eyes soften gratefully. 

“Yeah,” she finally responds, peeling herself from against the wall to step out into the corridor.

“He didn’t hurt you or say anything untoward did he?” 

She’s quick to shake her head, helping his shoulders ease from where they sat taught level with his ears. 

“No, nothing like that.” She assures him, though her eyes are downcast. Intently focused on her fingers as they nervously fiddle with a button on her cardigan. “He just said he heard I was new. About the Potions. He was curious is all. Reckon lots of people are.” She shrugs as if it’s nothing at all, though her demeanor betrays her. 

James can’t help but frown, the lines in his forehead deepening with thought. 

Curious, she said. 

When has Severus fucking Snape ever been curious about anything?—Nevertheless, something that goes against his marginal world of pureblood hypocrisy. 

“Curious,” he repeats skeptically under his breath. Taking mental note to file the information away for later. 

His eyes hone back in on Lily. The way her shaking, nimble fingers work at the button he’s sure is a few tugs from popping off. Her eyes are downcast again, returning to that far-off daze. He watches her shoulders begin to fold again, trying to shrink back into some invisible place. He faintly hears a small shaking breath escape her mouth as she tugs her lip in between her teeth. 

“Why would you think he’d hurt me?” She asks suddenly. Her voice is small as her wide-eyes peer up at him. 

And—fuck. 

A hand shoots up into his hair, raking his fingers through his black curls nervously. 

How could he say this? How can he stand here and explain to her on top of everything else going on—that people 

already think she doesn’t belong based on blood status alone? 

How could he tell this to her? The most beautiful and captivating girl he’s ever seen.

How could he add to the unmistakable pain in her eyes? 

“I mean,” she begins again nervously, “I thought Hogwarts was meant to be safe.” 

And Lily isn’t naive to what’s going on in the Wizarding World—regardless of how new she is to it. She spent her summer intently reading through The Prophet with her morning tea. Obsessively reading about the attacks on Muggle-borns and their families. Even prying McGonagall on any information about Tom Riddle. 

Minerva assumed Lily’s deep interest was in fear—a lame attempt to find an out, to justify her sense of not belonging. The old woman was quick to assure things were different at Hogwarts and people like her and Dumbledore and all the other professors know how important it is to teach students against prejudice. Something they pride themselves on. 

Ashamedly, a small exhale of relief bubbles past James’ lips at the implications of her words. The clear indication she has some knowledge about what’s going on. 

Doesn’t make it any more fair. The thought cuts deep against the dread pounding in his chest. 

“It is,” he promises, voice steady, “it’s just, some people here—Slytherins mostly—spend too much time reading the papers and listening to their parents.” 

“But not you?” 

“I—What?” He stammers taken aback by the question. Her words feeling like a jinx to his chest. 

He watches intently as she shifts uncomfortably. Balancing her weight from one leg to the other as focuses thoughtfully on a tapestry behind his head—eyes unfocused and vacant. 

“You and Sirius… you’re Purebloods, aren’t you?”

Sirius Black’s name was not the only one she recognized this morning.

When catching up on her Wizarding Education, Lily had taken a quick liking to Potions. It reminded her of Muggle cooking. Of helping her Mum prepare chicken soup in the Winters. Baking a two-layered cake for her Dad’s birthday. 

Her hand roughly clutches at the necklace around her throat, anchoring her thoughts. 

Mostly, she liked the certainty of it all. The arithmetic. The measurements. No room for error. 

Zygmunt Budge. Parry Pippin. Fleamont Potter. Horace Slughorn. 

Their names were practically unavoidable in all the textbooks she read on the subject. Infamous potioneers, all commended for pioneering the art in one way or another. 

All notable pureblooded men, the text was sure to mention. 

The implications weren’t lost on her, especially when reading names like: Black. Prewett. Lestrange. Malfoy. 

And twenty-four other pureblooded families all important enough to warrant their own chapters in magical history books. 

“Yeah.” James answers dumbly, brow scrunched and voice uncertain as it cuts through her thoughts. 

He can’t understand why that would be important . 

Lily tugs harder at the button on her cardigan.

James seems sweet—if his eyes were anything to go off, the way they seem to soften, the way they draw her in. He seemed genuinely worried when Severus was talking to her, too. Going out of his way to come over, seeming sincere in asking if she was alright. 

Remus must not have told them. She decides quickly, the only thing that makes sense. 

“I’m the only witch in my family. A muggle-born.”

Pop. 

Her button flings from the end of her sweater, bouncing and rolling along the stones before settling itself flat in one of the cracks. 

She clenches her hands into fists now empty and trembling. 

And It's not that she’s embarrassed to be a Muggles-born—far from it. All the people she’s ever loved, two of the greatest people she’ll ever know—Muggles. 

It was all she knew until five months ago. 

It’s ingrained in her. A fundamental part of who she is and how she sees the world—both magical and not. 

So, why is she scared to tell him? 

James seems sweet. But there’s something else—something more to him. 

She’d hate to never find out what that might be if he’s as close-minded as the families printed about in The Prophet. 

He watches her closely. The way she tugs her sleeves over her knuckles, tightening her hands against her sides. Hugging herself close for security. He sees the way her lip is turning white at the pressure from her teeth. The way she can’t seem to meet her eyes. 

And it dawns on him quickly, comes over him like a bucket of cold water—a flush of ice through his veins. 

And he hates it. 

Hates how nervous she seems telling him who she is. 

Hates himself for making her feel like he’d ever care about such a thing. 

He bends down slowly, swooping the tiny button from the ground and pinching it between his fingers. “Oh, Trouble,” he whispers, the name slipping out unbidden. “Me, Sirius, Peter—we don’t care about that.” 

Her eyes snap up, finally meeting his, they’re wide and surprised. And there—he swears he sees it again— relief .

“No, I mean—yeah of course I do. No.” He stops his ramblings, brain too scattered to say what he needs. 

Instead, he takes a deep, calming breath and extends a hand to her. Presenting the small black button like it’s some precious, invaluable object. 

“What I mean to say is,” he begins slowly, more certain, “is of course it matters that you’re a Muggle-born. It matters to who you are and how you were raised, but it doesn’t make you any less of a witch. Anyone who makes you think otherwise is dead wrong, Lily.” He tells her, a fire behind his eyes. “Snape of all people too, he’s a half-blood, went to Muggle school too.”

“He is?” Lily asks in surprise.

And James looks at her strangely. He sees something behind her eyes. Like she’s solving some sort of puzzle. Trying to fit the pieces into how that would make any bloody sense. 

It doesn’t. 

“Bigots like Severus Snape and all the rest of them are just scared that Muggle-borns don’t need to chalk up their talents to old magical blood like they do.” 

Lily shoves aside any thoughts of Severus Snape and looks at James—really looks at him. The way his hair is sticking up in all directions, seemingly sparking with energy. His glasses are askew against his nose. There’s true passion in his tone. The fire burning behind his eyes. 

“You really mean that?” She thinks she already knows the answer. 

“Of course I do.” He says softly, pushing the button closer to her.  

James is sweet —she decides then, the easiest decision she’s made in a while. 

Her small hand reaches out, fingers brushing his own. The touch is brief, featherlight, but somehow scorching. She leaves him tingling in her wake as she gently takes the small button from him. As her hand leaves his, he can’t help but clench and unclench his hand into a fist at the loss, as if trying to shake the feeling. 

“Thank you, James.” She says tenderly. 

First, his heart does a leap at the sound of his name past her lips. Her voice is sweet and melodic, warming the tips of his ears as the syllables float over. 

A moment later, it squeezes a little at the gratitude and sincerity behind her tone. The thought of her being thankful for him doing nothing but the bare minimum. Something as basic as acceptance. 

James shakes his head, “it’s true.” He says earnestly, “I mean, just ask my Dad. I’m absolute shite at Potions. Not a drop of that talent in my blood.” He jokes lightly, hoping to ease the tension. 

He watches as her shoulders shake a little, a small smile stretching across her lips as she lets out a giggle. 

His heart does a leap at the noise. It’s light and tinkling and warm and—and it’s the most wonderful sound he’s ever heard. 

They soon fade into silence as the sound carries somewhere else down the corridor. Briefly, her green eyes catch his hazel ones. She feels the intensity and pull behind them like a magnet. The new and strange feeling makes her blush. She quickly diverts her attention back to the button in her palm, still warm in her hand. 

He watches her blush prettily as she ducks her head to focus on her fingers. Her crimson bow swishes as she moves, the sides cascading against her porcelain cheek. 

“Your ribbon.” It tumbles out of his mouth clumsily, before he even knows what he’s saying. 

Instantly, her hand flies up to it, tugging at the silk fabric, as if to unknot it. 

“No, no, no,” he protests, reaching his hands out to stop her, but thinking better of it, “I was just gonna say I like it—the color, Gryffindor—it’s nice. Suits you.” 

Smooth, Potter. 

He can practically hear Sirius laughing from here. 

“Oh.” Lily says, a bit shocked, dropping her hands, “oh—thank you.” She says kindly, the pink even deeper now on her cheeks. “Something my Mum used to do for me when I was young. A habit I never quite kicked.” She rambles nervously. 

“Like I said, it’s nice.” He says sincerely as he offers her a soft smile. 

She peers up at him through her dark lashes when her eyes suddenly go wide in what he thinks is fear, “oh I’m so sorry! Here I am keeping you—rambling about Muggles and my hair ribbon of all things. I’m sure you have somewhere to be.” She says apologetically, the traitorous blush now creeping up her neck. 

“No,” He quickly soothes. “I have nowhere to be.” 

I was looking for you. 

“Oh,” she says, something unreadable behind her eyes. “Okay.”

“Do you?“ he asks abruptly, stepping a hair closer to her, “have somewhere to be, I mean.”

She shakes her head, “Min—McGonagall said Dumbledore wants to see me and introduce me to the Charms Professor, but he’s busy for the next hour. I wasn’t sure if I should wait here or—” 

“Let me take you on a tour.” He offers eagerly, quickly swiping a hand through his hair nervously. He curses his mouth for being so out of sync with his brain around her.  

“Remus already—”

“I know,” he assures, “but that was the Head Boy tour.” He clicks his tongue, “That badge, it changes people.” He finishes sarcastically. 

She bites her lip to conceal a smile, before briefly peering at the stone statue outside of Dumbledore’s office. 

“I’m not sure, what if Dumbledore finishes early?” She reasons hesitantly. 

He shakes his head, “that man knows where everyone is, he’ll find you. Besides, Remus gave you some proper poncey tour. I’m offering the real thing.”

“Oh?” She asks, cocking her brow, “and what is the real thing?” She teases. 

And he finds he quite likes this side of her—the ease, the lightheartedness. 

“Well you know, some could argue I know this place better than anyone, even could draw a map on it, I reckon.” He smirks at the hidden meaning, “and I don’t just mean all the classrooms, but the secret ones too, passageways—which portraits tattle, which can be bribed.” He tells, his signature James Potter cockiness seeping into his words. 

She laughs lightly, but continues to contemplate the offer. He watches her tug her lip between her teeth in deep thought, “I don’t know…” she hesitates. 

James throws his hands up and shrugs dramatically, “hey I get it, you’re scared, that’s alright.” 

“I’m not scared!” She retorts, eyes narrowing playfully. “I just can’t imagine myself in a situation needing to duck into hidden passageways and bribe portraits not to tell on me.” She teases.

“I dunno.” He responds, scratching his head thoughtfully, “seems to me like you’re scared of a bit of trouble.” He teases, tilting his head with a mischievous smirk. 

Lily turns again, fixing her gaze on the stone phoenix as if willing it to twirl open. After a moment, when it doesn’t move, she sighs, turning back to James. 

“Lead the way.” She whispers back, a small secret smile barely evident on her lips. 

And James—he makes no move to hide the face splitting grin that slides over his features, crinkling his kind eyes as he does. 

“I knew you’d come around, Trouble.” He beams, voice softer than before. 

She ducks her head, but this time it’s not in embarrassment or as a means to disappear. It’s an attempt to hide the flush of her cheeks. The warmth working its way through her body. The way her heart skips at the nickname.

He turns, shoving his hands into his pockets, gesturing to her to follow with a tilt of his head. And as soon as she turns to fall into step beside him, a figure waits for them—seemingly materializing from thin air. 

Staring at them—or Lily, more like—is Sybil Trelawney, the new Divination professor hired at the beginning of this year. 

James can’t even be bothered to conceal his eye roll at the sight of her. 

He dropped Divination—thank, Merlin—as soon as he could. However, his interactions with the last Divination professor, Professor Onai, were seemingly positive. 

When looking past the fact her entire class was a crock of shite, she was a nice woman. 

She was older, wispy—a bit cooky. He remembers her wild gray curls always thrown up in a knot on her head, always dressed in loose colorful robes. She was lenient with marks, he remembers that most of all. 

And despite her joke of a job, at least her claims of being a Master of Divination seemed grounded in something—whether you believed it or not. She had this thing, where anytime you made physical contact with her it would send the witch into some sort of trance. 

Always short lived. Never anything dramatic. Just a spouting of words, seemingly out of place. 

It was usually meaningless. 

“Ravenclaw will lose the match today.” 

“There will be no mashed potatoes at dinner.” 

James fondly remembers the entire week before their OWLs, Sirius kept trying to bump into her to find out if he’d pass History of Magic or not. 

And though his interactions with Trelawney have been few and far between, he’s able to deduce from the exchanges and Peter—a devoted Divination student—that she’s a fake. 

Always walking around, beads tinkling beneath the dozens of layers of loudly patterned shawls. Her glasses make her eyes the size of a Hippogriff as she spouts about things like tea leaves and moon cycles. 

She’s a fraud, no other way to pit it. 

Not one single prophecy, premonition, prediction—whatever. 

Nothing on something as simple as if it’ll rain this week or anticipated Quidditch results. 

She was a sham and James wonders every time he sees her what someone as brilliant as Dumbledore ever saw in her. 

“Professor—” he starts impatiently. 

“You!” She shouts, voice deep, cracked and rumbled. She points a long bony finger right between Lily’s eyes, who visibly startles at the action. 

James looks at the woman, wondering what in the bloody hell has gotten into her. But what he sees is not what he’s come to expect, but something different. Almost scary. 

Her pupils have seemingly disappeared, milky white eyes fogged over and blurred beneath her round glasses. Her shaking finger quivers in front of Lily, jabbing closer until it’s poking her right in the chest. 

“It’s you!” The woman cries out—practically wailing. 

Lily stumbles back both at the physical pressure and shock. Instinctively, James’ large hands wrap around her trembling shoulders both as a form of stability and comfort.

“You’re scaring her.” He snaps, a dangerous edge to his voice.

She jolts her hand from its place at Lily’s chest, moving to wrap her long fingers tightly around both of Lily’s wrists. 

“The Forgotten Witch,” she says brokenly, “they have found you.” As she speaks she sounds frightened—terrified. 

Lily’s eyes widened at her words. Though she doesn’t understand what’s happening, the terror behind this woman’s actions are palpable in the now thick air. The urge to disappear grows by each passing second. The only thing keeping her grounded are the warm, steady hands anchoring her shoulders. The barely evident feeling of hot breath skimming above her head.

Trelawney leans in, invading Lily’s space even further. The movement causes her to stumble back and collide with James’ solid chest. Her trembling lips then move closer to the side of Lily‘s head, her breaths skittering and blowing wisps of her hair. 

As her lips brush the shell of Lily’s ear, the woman speaks one word. Her voice—trembling with fear. 

“Run.” 

Lily pulls back, twisting her wrists in an effort to get away but the woman’s grip is vice-like and unrelenting, much like her pursuits. She tugs her hands, knocking further into the warm chest behind her. 

“Run. You must run.” She insists, tears sliding down her gaunt face as she tightens her hands. “Run. Run. Run…” She begins whispering over and over hysterically. 

“I don’t—” Lily begins, throat tightening at its own accord, she turns swiftly, best she can to meet James’ eyes. “I don’t understand.” She all but whimpers. 

James begins to shake his head fervently at Lily, trying to remain calm but letting her know—he doesn’t understand either. 

She turns back. “Let me go.” Lily whispers, perhaps steadying her voice will have a better effect but her shuddering breath betrays her, “please let me go.” She pleads. 

Nothing. The woman’s whispers continue, over and over again like a mantra. 

“Run. Run. Run.”

“Hey,” James says firmly as he reaches around, grasping at one of the hands on her wrist, “she said let her—”

“Sybil!” A voice roars from the other end of the hallway. 

Both James’ and Lily’s eyes snap to find Dumbledore, who seemingly has also materialized from thin air. James watches the old man curiously as he rushes down the corridor. Normally so composed and impassive, but James hears the edge in his voice. Sees the way his brow is furrowed deeper than usual. 

“Sybil.” Dumbledore repeats as he grows closer, not quite as loud but the firmness remains. 

James watches as his large weathered hand, decorated with rings finds its way atop the Divination’s professors’ shoulder. 

And as if his touch grounds her—she snaps back to reality. 

Her eyes suddenly defog, green and large, magnified like an owls under her large lenses. Her grip loosens until it becomes completely slack on Lily’s wrists. She’s stopped shaking, too, stepping back she looks around the corridor in confusion. 

“Where am I?” She asks first, voice steady but bewildered. “How did I get here?” 

Lily seizes the opportunity to create some distance between herself and the woman. James’ hands fall from where they were cupped atop her shoulders but he remains close. A calming presence in this rather unusual situation. 

“Potter?” Trelawney says confused, before turning to the looming presence behind her, “Albus.” Her voice is calmer.

She then focuses her attention back on Lily, who is rubbing at her sore wrists, “I’m sorry, dear, I don’t think we have met.” She pauses, as if taking in the scene again, “wait how did I get here?” She asks again, “I was resting in my—”

“Sybil,” Dumbledore cuts her off, “why don’t you take a walk? Drink some tea. I’ll find you shortly in your wing.” He says kindly, though he leaves no room for protest. 

She gazes around one more time before slowly nodding, “yes,” she says, “yes, tea sounds nice right now.”

This time when she walks, it’s calm, like a bird gliding above a still lake. James can hear the tinkling of the beads on her shawl as she hums quietly the entire way to the staircase. 

James does another once-over on Lily, making sure she’s alright. She seems okay—physically at least. He can still see her trembling ever so slightly as one hand reaches to clutch at her chest. After getting a good look, he turns his attention to Dumbledore. James’ face is serious with an eyebrow cocked as if to ask: what the fuck was that?

“I am so sorry about that, Miss Evans, that was our Divination professor, Professor Trelawney.” He says, voice calm—too calm. “I’ll be sure to speak with her, but I assure you she intended no harm. Divination is a complex art and oftentimes open to interpretation, these things are not as unusual as you may think. I would not give it much thought.” 

James opens his mouth to protest the claim—the lie. It is unusual. The twit hasn’t made a single prediction since she started here, never droning on about anything other than astronomy charts.

And Dumbledore of all people knows that.

He's swift to cut James off. “I appreciate your help, Mr. Potter, but Miss Evans and I must be off. I do not wish to keep Professor Flitwick waiting.”

Dumbledore places a hand on her back, beckoning her forward and leaving no room for argument. 

He watches as she turns to James, something almost desperate behind her eyes, as she opens and closes her mouth as if to speak, gaze flicking between him and Dumbledore. 

He wants to protest. Wants to demand answers on Lily’s behalf but the old Headmaster sends a look over his shoulder that leaves James no other choice as he scoots Lily down the hall, her feet dragging against the stone hesitantly. 

James watches as she curls into herself, Dumbledore speaking in hushed tones beside her while she supplies what is just barely passable as a nod in acknowledgment. 

He stands at the edge of the corridor, watching them go—frustrated and confused. 

James takes a breath in attempts to ground himself as he runs a hand roughly through his hair. 

Yeah—he decides quickly, no room for argument. 

Fuck Divination. 

---

James makes it back to Gryffindor tower in a daze. Dragging his feet up the steps to his dorm with little effort, moving as if he had stones in his shoes. 

It was with great reluctance that he even decided to head back to the dorms in the first place. For what felt like ages, he remained rooted in front of the stone phoenix perched outside Dumbledore’s office, willing—hoping—for Lily to return. 

She hadn’t. And for reasons he doesn’t quite understand yet, hundreds of awful scenarios ran through his head. Thoughts of Dumbledore sending Lily back to the Muggle world. Snape slithering after her.  Trelawney appearing from the shadows, making work to scare her off with dark words. Each scene played over and over, flickering like a terrible photograph he could not look away from. 

And some rational part of his brain was screaming at him about how ridiculous it all was. But it was like somewhere between the Great Hall and the corridor, he had lost all sense. The only thing stopping him from charging into Dumbledore’s office like a madman was the knowledge that one very handy piece of parchment could ease all his anxieties. 

He soon meets his dormitory, unsurprised to find the door wide open, familiar voices floating out. 

Sirius was laid back in his bed, reapplying a sticking charm to the rubber fluorescent stars that glow above his bed at night—a gag gift from Remus he liked a little too much. 

Remus was hunched over his desk, scratching his quill away in a leather-bound sketch pad. Eyes crinkled in focus, tongue poking beneath his lips in concentration as he worked. 

Peter was curled up atop his blankets, still engrossed in the same comic book from the morning. Small fingers flipping the pages anxiously, eager for what was to come next. 

James stepped a bit further into the room, just as Sirius redirected his sticking charm from the ceiling to Peter’s hand. The latter now shaking where his palm was stuck to the vibrant pages. 

“Padfoot!” James could hear Peter whine, “Unstick me! The Green Goblin was just about to—”

Sirius cuts off Peter’s musings—whatever they meant—the moment he hears the door click shut and sees James lingering beside it. 

“Well, well, well,” Sirius began smugly, “look what the dog dragged in.”

“It’s cat, Pads—look what the cat dragged in.” Remus corrects, placing his quill down as he pushes back, his chair scratching against the wooden planks with the movement. 

Sirius rolls his eyes, “So what? I can’t have preferences these days.” He tuts. 

Despite their light banter, James doesn’t miss the way Remus pulls back from his desk to meet James’ eyes wearily. His gaze scolding, like he’s done something wrong. James shifts uncomfortably, but ignores it, walking hastily to Sirius’ corner of the room, wordlessly yanking open his bedside drawer.

“Oi! Can’t a bloke have some privacy?” Sirius sits up now, a frown plastered across his face. 

James ignores him, tearing through his drawer, emptying the wrappers of his not-so-secret Honeydukes stash onto the carpet as he rifles through the mess. 

“What in the bloody hell—Prongs!” He shouts indignantly as James shifts to shove his hand beneath one of Sirius’ pillows. 

“You had it last night.” He says, rucking up his sheets. “Where is it?” He asks, tugging his blankets back as his hands eagerly search for it. 

Realization strikes Sirius’ as he sits back, arms crossing his chest, back propped against his headboard. A smug grin comes over his face as James fixes him with an impatient glare, just serving to bring his blood to a scalding simmer. 

“I don’t have it.” Sirius states, satisfaction evident in his tone. 

Though his grey eyes betray him, briefly flicking to the end of Remus’ bed.  

James nearly groans aloud as memories from the morning begin to surface. Flashes of a very agitated, tired Sirius insisting Remus take it playing through his foggy mind. 

Turning swiftly, he swipes the familiar parchment from the foot of Remus’ bed—ignoring Sirius’ groan—he mumbles the incantation and taps it with his wand. Soon, the map springs to life, maroon ink bleeding into its center as he hurriedly flicks it open. He sees the familiar banners whizzing about the map. He ignores them all, as he opens the right-hand flap, sights set on one corridor—one name.

He takes a breath of relief when he finds it. 

Lily Evans. 

She was exactly where she needed to be—smack between Dumbledore and Flitwick, McGonagall flanking from behind. 

Now that he feels he can breathe a bit easier, he goes on to check two other names—Severus Snape and Sybil Trelawney.

The former is in the Slytherin Dungeons, while the latter is tucked away in Ravenclaw Tower. 

Everyone is right where they should be. 

He exhales. 

For now—a dark part of his mind adds.

“What’s got your knickers in a twist, mate?” Sirius asks, having made way from his bed to peer over James’ shoulder. 

“Mischief managed.” He says hurriedly, as he drops the map back onto Remus’ bed.

But Sirius’ grin was a little too wide, a little too knowing. Clearly, James hadn’t closed it fast enough. His mate was beaming as bright as the sun as he caught exactly what or rather who James was looking for. 

“Yeah, everything alright, Prongs?” Peter pipes up from his bed, seemingly having given up on un-sticking his hand—suddenly more interested in whatever was going on. 

James anxiously swiped a hand through his messy hair, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. Even with his eyes shut tight, he could feel Remus’ penetrating gaze still fixed on him. 

“Those bloody Quidditch plays, eh? Tell me, did you get lost on your way from the Great Hall to here?” Sirius questioned knowingly as he sauntered back to drape himself at the edge of Remus’ bed, dangerously close to the map. 

James popped his eyes open, successfully averting the piercing looks from his mates as he scratched the back of his head and looked to the floor. He took a deep breath, still struggling to process what had happened in the corridor himself. 

“Look,” he starts shakily, “when I left the Great Hall—”

“—to draw up quidditch plays,” Sirius interjects with air quotes. 

“I ran into Lily—”

“—ran into." Sirius tuts with a knowing smirk. 

James ignores him, Remus now standing from his desk and coming closer. 

“—except she wasn’t alone.” 

“I would think not, once you found her, you dog.” Sirius winks. 

“Sirius.” Remus chides, not liking what Sirius was implying and sensing the sudden urgency in James’ tone. 

He ignores them both and finishes. “She was with Snape.”

The room falls into a tense silence. Any quips Sirius had formed died on his tongue as the grin slid off his face. Peter had gasped from his place across the room—sticking charms long forgotten as his small eyes widened. And Remus—calm and composed Remus—went as stiff as a board, his jaw clenching until his teeth ached. 

“Snape he didn’t—” Remus says first, voice deadly calm, scarily so. 

And James knows what he’s asking, it was the very first thing he asked Lily once he knew she was alright. The word Mudblood is an unspoken heavy presence in the dorm suddenly. 

“No,” James is quick to assure the room, the tension easing considerably at the single remark.

They all looked on imploringly, eyes demanding an explanation. Frustratedly, James tears a hand through his tangled hair, unsure how to explain what he saw when he doesn’t even understand it himself. 

“Snape—he—I don’t know.” James began rambling. “He was just there. With Lily. And I nearly hexed him—”

“But you didn’t, right?” Remus interrupts, expression shifting to something akin to concern. 

James reckons—like him—Remus’ concern is for Lily. Despite the pure unadulterated rage he felt seeing Snivellus doing whatever it was he was trying with Lily, he knew a duel in the corridor was anything but inviting for Hogwarts’ newest student. 

He shakes his head, “I wasn’t trying to do anything irrational—”

“That’s a first.” Peter notes through a mumble, though not snarky.

“—no matter how hard it was. If Lily wasn’t there I might’ve—”

“You wouldn’t have.” Remus cuts off with a shake of his head. His words are firm but his eyes soften for the first time since James returned. 

And the sentiment, though seemingly small, warms James from the inside out. 

He can’t say for sure, but perhaps Remus is right. Sixth-year James would have certainly done it—not even hesitating for a second. Sixth-year James would’ve gone after Snape without thinking, whether Lily had been there or not, had she been at Hogwarts then. But things are different now, he's grown up—at least a little bit, he hopes.

He attributes these changes to three very important things: the uncertainty of the future, his parents and, oddly enough, Sirius, of all things. 

It all started at the end of his sixth-year when boarding the train, the harsh realization hitting him like a bludger. He realized then that the following year, at the same time, he’d be boarding the train for the last time. No empty self-promises to do better the next year. No more pushing things off to a vague and nonexistent later. Next year, there wouldn’t be a later, just an end.

The realization was daunting and a bit depressing for a seventeen-year-old bloke looking forward to his summer. 

But his summer was darker than expected. It felt that with each day brought more horrible news of vicious Muggle-born attacks. The realization and weight crept in on him slowly, filling all his quiet moments with dread. 

The next blow came suddenly, when he loaded onto the platform to meet his parents—well just his Dad. His Mum, as it happened, had been bedridden for days, knocked out by a nasty cold. 

And of course, his initial reaction was concern for his Mum, all his worry for her. But then he couldn’t help but notice the way his Dad didn’t offer to carry his trunk, like he always did. Instead, he watched how his gait was slowing down, how he nursed his left leg into a limp. 

And he reckons he noticed it some time ago but it never hit him until then. The fact was, his parents weren’t getting any younger. They had James well into their fifties, now nearing their seventies. And now, something as simple as the common cold taking his Mum out for days. His dad barely went into the office anymore, just once or twice a week—and the potions lab even less. His Mum spent her days reading or cooking. Gone were the days she helped with Sleekeazy’s financial books. 

So he decided, right then and there. He would step up for them. Make a name for himself outside of his father’s shadow—make them proud that he’s their son. 

And with his future nearing closer, the desire to do his parents proud, it was all good and grand. He felt like he was on the right path, but he hadn’t quite overcome the how.

So, he started with little things—peeking at Ministry openings in the paper, running to Diagon Alley so his Mum didn’t have to. Hell—he even cut down on his Quidditch practice to catch up on a bit of reading. And surprisingly, he found he enjoyed it. Took pride in being helpful, in learning new things, learning what he may want to do. 

However, his how presented itself one balmy night in early June. 

His how was Sirius—unlike he’d ever seen him before. It was Sirius, in the middle of the night, at his doorstep, with nothing but a small leather duffle bag thrown haphazardly over his shoulder. He looked small. Fragile. He was practically swimming in his robes. His cheeks red and puffy, face soaking wet and streaked with tears.

But that wasn’t what startled James most—no it was his eyes. 

There was no light in them. No twinkle. No gleam. No Sirius. 

“I didn’t know where else to go.” James remembers his voice, broken and hoarse. It still haunts the depths of mind at night—keeping him awake and trembling. 

James let him in without a second thought, his parents too. 

He owled Remus and Peter as soon as he had settled Sirius for the night. The pair arrived early the next morning. They then spent a week holed in the Potter’s lavish attic, comforting Sirius. 

They cried, they laughed, they talked about the future—their own, the worlds, how they intertwined, what it meant for the four of them together. 

“It was Reg,” Sirius confessed in the dark one night. “I only ever stayed to protect him and then I saw—” he choked on his words, not able to bring himself to say it, “and then I realized, maybe it wasn’t him who needed the protecting.” He whispered, voice frail and small. 

So, Sirius would live with the Potter’s.

“You’re as good as family to me, that can’t end when we leave Hogwarts.” Peter whispered, eyes misty, right before they all slept for the night. 

So, they’d buy a flat in Diagon Alley together as soon as they graduated.

“I think I wanna be a professor one day,” Remus admitted with red ears, the Head Boy letter just days from reaching him.

So, Professor Lupin he’d become. 

“I’ve been fighting my whole life.” Sirius broke the silence after they passed around The Prophet , an article about a dead family of Muggle-borns on the front page. “Reckon I’m pretty good at it, too and I don’t think I wanna stop.” 

And there it was. His voice stronger. His grin wider. The twinkle in his eye. That gleam of mischief—Sirius. 

James remembers taking the newspaper, looking over the headline, once, twice, before placing it down. 

I don’t want to hide behind my name or my money. I want to help people—I want to be good. 

“I want to be an Auror.” He whispered. 

And Sirius beamed. 

So, Auror’s they’d be. 

And it felt good, it felt right—like he had purpose. It wasn’t forced like it may have been at the start of that summer, now James truly wanted to be better. 

And he was getting there. 

Sure, he was still James—proud, prank-loving, Quidditch-obsessed James. A world without laughter and Qudditch—well, that would be a horrible world to live in. 

But, long gone were the days where he resigned to settle for the league after graduation. He no longer had a desire filling his free time trying to charm the pants off girls whose names he didn’t care to learn just for a quick snog in a broom closet. 

He wanted to spend time with his mates and his parents. He wanted to learn and grow. 

He wanted to be so much more than that. 

“Thanks, Moony.” James says after a long moment, voice soft and sincere. Touched by Remus’ quiet faith in him.  

“So then,” Sirius breaks the tense silence, voice sharp with unease, “what did Snape want with Lily?” 

James pulled a face, something burning in his hazel eyes. “Said he wanted to introduce himself. Heard Lily was good at potions. Said he was curious.” He spat the last word like it left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

“Curious?” Peter's voice rose indignantly, as he crawled forward so his legs dangled from the edge of his bed and onto the floor.

“I knew he was being stranger than usual this morning. Followed right after James.” Sirius recalls, gnawing at his fingernails. 

And James would surely file that away for later. 

“When the hell has Snape ever been curious about something that didn’t serve his own agenda?” Remus whispers darkly, more to himself than anyone else. 

And those were the crux of James’ thoughts too—though he reckons that wasn’t even the half of it. 

“There’s more.” He says, causing Remus’ gold eyes to snap up to meet his, sharp and attentive. “It gets weirder.” 

“Weirder than Snape playing prim and proper with a Muggle-born?” Sirius asks. 

James nods, “then Trelawney showed up—” 

“Okay, you’re right, definitely weird.” Sirius mumbles as he thinks of the barmy professor. 

“—except she wasn’t herself,” he presses on, “it was like she didn’t even know where she was. What she was doing. Her eyes were white. And she was talking mad.”

And that woman was always talking mad, but James’ unease was palpable and they could sense it was something more. 

Peter, a devoted pupil to the Art of Divination (he got an O in fifth year) had a particularly keen interest, currently taking courses this year with Trelawney. 

“Talking mad…” Peter repeated, almost knowingly, but still couldn’t quite be sure. 

James gulps. Somehow saying the words makes them feel heavier. More real. “she was—I think she was prophesying.” 

“Bullocks!” Sirius shouted.

“That can’t be,” Peter added, voice not as loud as Sirius’ but eyes just as shocked. “She hasn’t done a thing all year.” He points out passionately. 

“But she did—she was! You weren’t there!” James insists. 

Sirius and Peter open their mouths again, seemingly to vehemently disagree with him. However, Remus, always the voice of reason, gets them back on track. 

“What did she say, James?” His voice was firm and commanding. His golden eyes flicking quietly around the room, silencing Sirius and Peter with a look. 

James drew a shaky breath. “Well, she came pretty much out of nowhere,” he recalled, a chill dancing up his spine at the memory, “and her eyes—it was like they were just… gone.”

“Gone?” Peter interrupts, though there seems to be some sort of understanding behind his tone. 

James nods, twisting his hand anxiously through his curls. “They were so foggy. Empty, even.”

Peter dips his head, once, twice, in understanding, but the look in his eyes changes in a way that makes James’ gut twist. 

With a skittering breath, he continues. “She went straight to Lily—out of nowhere—something about her being found. She called her The Forgotten Witch. She grabbed onto her, tight and told her to run.” His throat tightened at its own volition, “she kept saying it over and over. She was hysterical. Even when Lily tried to calm her down, asked her to stop, when I tried to get her off—she wouldn’t move for anything. It was like nothing else existed.”

Sirius blows out a tense breath at his mates words. The situation is not only unusual, but sounds quite frightening. He can’t imagine Lily—who’s only got to be a proper witch for a few short months—taking in a scene like that, on her first day, no less.

Remus feels similarly, a surge of protectiveness pumping through his blood. “What happened next? Where’s Lily now?” He asked frantically, though he eases a bit, remembering James' own sigh of relief when he checked the map earlier. 

“Dumbledore showed up and I dunno—it was like nothing happened.” James’ voice changed now, transforming into something less terrified, becoming something darker. Angrier. 

“What do you mean?” Sirius questioned, sitting upright. 

“I mean,” James began frustratedly, diverting his attention from his hair to pace across the room, “he came out of nowhere too and he saw Trelawney and he seemed upset. Frightened even.” 

“Dumbledore?” Peter whispered to himself doubtfully. 

James ignores this, “then he touched Trelawney and it was like it wasn’t her doing those things. Like it was someone else. She let go of Lily, started asking where she was, how she got there—she didn’t even know who Lily was. Said they’d never met.” 

The anguish in James’ tone was evident to everyone in the room. The three other boys flicked each other apprehensive looks, silently weighing which one of them would speak next, willing to risk possibly getting their head bitten off. 

Peter was too nervous and Sirius was too—well, unserious.

“And Dumbledore?” Remus’ voice broke gently, taking a slow step toward the center of the room, “What did he do next?” It didn’t exactly take a genius to deduce that whatever the old headmaster did was partially responsible for James’ disgruntled state. 

“ Nothing.” James spits, “absolutely nothing.” He repeated, a deathly quality to his words. 

And Dumbledore was well—Dumbledore. 

Every Witch and Wizard knows him, Hogwarts student or not. Whether they were in the United Kingdom or not. He was brilliant and powerful. And yeah, he talked ambiguously, always in riddles. But there was always a method to his madness, a greater lesson hidden behind his wise words. 

But James couldn’t see it—not this time. 

James has known the man since he was eleven years old, probably interacted with him more than most given his proclivity for mischief and never once has he seen him how he was today. 

Frazzled. Confused. 

A liar. 

He can feel his skin burning beneath his clothes at the thought—not only in anger, but fear as well. 

What did Dumbledore have to gain to lie to him? To Lily?

“He shooed Trelawney away. Then did the same to me as soon as I tried to ask questions.” His hands curled into tight fists, “he lied to Lily. Told her that stuff like this happens all the time and it means nothing, right before he rushed her away, too.” 

And he thinks that’s the worst part of it—not the fact Dumbledore was scared. Not that he was keeping something from them. But that he lied to Lily. 

It doesn’t sit right with him that he practically used to his advantage the fact she’s never been around so many magical people to convince her of a lie, for his own self-serving agenda—whatever that may be. 

And sure, maybe he had his reasons to lie. Maybe they were really good reasons, too. But he reckons Lily doesn’t deserve to be kept in the dark any longer. 

Was seventeen years not enough?

And maybe it isn’t a big deal. Maybe he’s overthinking it. His mates probably think he’s over reacting but there’s parts of it he can’t put into words. Things he himself cannot yet fathom. 

As he looked into Trelawney’s eyes while she wept to Lily. Her voice a disfigured, scary thing, he got that feeling again. The implications of something larger than him happening around him—but it wasn’t light and warm like how he felt when he met Lily. 

It was dark and heavy. Cold and endless. 

The same unexplainable tug in his gut, but this time it was harsher. Stabbing. 

And his friends—bless them—see something more swirling beneath James’ hazel eyes but don’t push him on it. Not now, anyway. 

“Why would he lie?” Remus whispered, brow scrunched in deep thought. His memory briefly flickers to Dumbledore’s uncanny casualness around the state of Lily’s lost letter from this morning. 

“What in the bloody hell did Snape want with Lily?” Sirius interjected, daring to ask what he’s been thinking for the past ten minutes. 

Peter took advantage of the moment and cut through the tense air too. “What would suddenly cause Trelawney to make a prophecy?” 

“I don’t know!” James bursted, a low growl bubbling in the back of his throat, “I don’t know, to all three of those.” He admitted, miserably and useless as he flopped back onto his bed. 

For a brief moment, Remus grapples with sharing that he too, got an odd feeling from Dumbledore but soon quells it. He knows James—he knows he’s grown up but also knows he’s bloody protective and unthinking when it comes to bigger situations like these. He also knows Sirius well enough to know he’d just egg James on. 

Perhaps he was only now overthinking his interaction from the morning because of James’ unease—right?

And Remus—steady, calm, constant, Remus—breaks the silence first, pushing aside his own fantastical ideas. 

“Easy there, Prongs. Let’s just think about this one at a time. It seems like a lot but maybe it was just too much at once. We need to think logically—”

James sat up to meet his golden eyes, ready to shout his protests. 

“For Lily’s sake.” He finished

And damn—he reckons Remus knows exactly what he’s doing if the glint in his gaze is anything to go off of. 

And damn Lily, too—her emerald eyes and endless waves of auburn and tinkling laugh. 

He’s known her for all of an hour and she’s already disarming parts of him he’s unknowingly kept guarded his entire life. 

“Trelawney,” Remus begins first, “if she really hasn’t made a prophecy all year maybe she only did when she saw Lily because she was a sort of catalyst to her magic.” He began to reason. 

“Catalyst?” Sirius asks. 

The dirty blonde nods, they could practically see the cogs turning in his head. “I mean remember Onai, she could only predict anything when she came into direct physical contact with magic, right?” His gaze falls to Peter, who knows more on this than the rest of them combined. 

He nods eagerly. 

“And Lily is seventeen years of untapped magic. Maybe so much of it trapped in one place drew Trelawney in without even knowing, finally finding that physical link. I mean sure—it’s unusual, but so is Lily’s situation. It could make sense?” 

James thinks about it for a second and it does make sense. The justification is rooted in logic, there’s instances to back it. But it feels easy—too easy. 

And he doesn’t know how to say as much without sounding like a petulant child, though his instincts scream at him to stamp his foot and cry out: You weren’t there. You don’t get it.

Peter senses James’ apprehension and is quick to jump in, “I have her for lessons Monday, I could see if she’s been weird–er, weirder than usual.” 

And that actually sounds okay to James. An investigation of sorts before immediately thinking the worst. Especially if Lily’s involved, he doesn’t want to tangle her into any nonsense. 

He nods to Peter gratefully, who sags in relief at the gesture. However, his sudden agreeableness is short lived as he whips his head back to Remus, “and what of Dumbledore?”

This was perhaps the most baffling part to him. It was one thing for Trelawney unknowingly to walk around the castle spreading dark omens but a complete other thing for Dumbledore to knowingly cover for her. 

“Maybe he didn’t understand it either?” Peter supplied meekly, earning three glares. 

Dumbledore knows everything.

“Right, sorry.” He blushed, shrinking back against his pillows. 

“Maybe he didn’t want to frighten Lily, Prongs.” Sirius says sincerely. 

And fuck—now Sirius has got that look too. Like he knows right where to get James all of the sudden. 

“Doesn’t make it fair!” He protests. 

Remus shrugs, “maybe, but think about overwhelming all of this is for her.” Snippets of his conversation in the office begin to flicker again, but this time his own sadness for Lily rushes back at him, easily outweighing Dumbledore’s peculiarities. “She’ll never have to take a Divination class, she has a thousand other things to think about and Dumbledore knows that.” He points out. “You know that.” 

And damn him. Stupid voice of reason. 

“Who knows what Dumbledore could’ve said to her privately. I reckon I’d feel it out before thinking the worst of it. It’s not like he’d bring Lily here and keep her in the dark, then there would be no point in bringing her here at all.” Sirius reasons. 

Remus nods, “I’d just go gentle with it. If she was as scared as you say, she might not wanna bring it up. Or maybe she will. She should set the pace.” 

And Merlin they’re right—he knows it too. The stupid ache in his abdomen subdued considerably by the pounding of his heart at the thought of how overwhelming this must be for her. 

“So,” Peter begins, “that just leaves—”

“Snape.” Sirius spits out, the name like poison on his lips. 

James averts his gaze back to Remus. His hazel eyes hopeful for some reassurances on this one, too. 

Regrettably, the other boy shakes his head. “Now this one—I’ve got nothing.” 

James groans, making work to harshly tug at his shoelaces for some sort of distraction. 

“Especially considering he rushed out of the Great Hall as soon as she did, it can’t be a coincidence.” Sirius adds thoughtfully, then his eyes gleam with mischief, “you’d know about that, right Prongs?” He teases. 

James tugs off one of his sneakers and chucks it in the long haired boy's direction, “I was getting my Quidditch Book.” He lied, a blush painting his cheeks. “Anyway, Lily said they barely spoke, but it’s the whole curious thing. I mean when has Snape cared about anything besides himself if not for some horrible greater purpose?” 

They all nod in agreement, tension returning to the air, thoughts of the fifth-year incident passing them by. Snape barely has friends—never mind Muggle-born ones. There was no mistake that something was going on. 

“We should keep an eye on him around her—on the map, too.” Sirius suggests, to which they all agree. 

“Nothing overbearing!” Remus jumps in, eyes fixed on James, “I’m keen on making sure Lily doesn’t get hurt, but we don’t want to make decisions on behalf or cause her any unnecessary trouble either.” His gaze then moving to Sirius at that last bit. 

“Oh come on, Moony,” he drones, “I’m just trying to make sure Snivellus isn’t trying to harness her trapped magical Muggle-born blood to I dunno—turn her into an evil box or something.” 

A beat of silence passes before they all burst out laughing. 

“Evil box? ” Remus hollers. 

“What in the fuck is an evil box, Padfoot?” James laughs, finally feeling lighter. 

“Well it’s a box…” Sirius begins, voice fixed and firm, “but it’s evil.” He deadpans. 

A moment later Sirius bursts out laughing too, throwing his head back onto the mattress. 

The laughter begins to fade into quiet giggles and wide smiles. Peter was wiping at tears on his cheeks, whilst James could still see Sirius and Remus’ chests breathing heavily from where they were laid on his bed.

James stood over the pair, eyes trained on Sirius, “you’re ridiculous, mate.” His smile betrayed his words. 

Sirius popped his eyes open, one grey followed by another—as always, gleaming with mischief and light, but also something softer. 

“Maybe,” he agrees with a grin, “but I got you to laugh, didn’t I?” This parts gentler. 

James softens instantly, nodding his head before patting his friend on the shoulder. Next, in what he hopes is subtle, he discreetly swipes where the map laid on the foot of Remus’ bed before walking back over to his own. 

And whether he was covert or whether it was his mates taking pity—they don’t say anything about it. 

The room falls quiet. Peter, who finally managed to unstick his hand, sat against his headboard flicking through his comic again. Sirius had made himself comfortable at the end of Remus’ bed, dozing off, whilst the latter let him, leaning into the pillows himself. 

James sits at the edge of his messily made bed, moving to pull his curtains closed as he goes. Just as his fingers grip the velvet, Sirius speaks up, halting his movements. 

“We’re here for you Prongs, alright?” He says, not even needing to open his eyes to see James’ nod. “We’ll keep an eye on things for you and Evans—just come to us whenever you get worked up. We’ll figure things out.”

James feels a surge of affection at his words. He really does have the best mates. 

“I know we will, thank you guys.” He responds sincerely. 

He sees Sirius smile, “well what I mean to say is—Moony will always figure it out. Won't you?” He teases the taller boy, flicking the leg that rests next to his head. 

The pair begin to bicker back and forth, James taking it as a cue to bow out as he slides his curtains around his bed. Once he’s sat comfortably atop his blankets, he makes work to shove his hand into his pocket, reaching for his wand and where he hid the map. 

Wordlessly, he casts a silencing charm within his personal sanctuary. 

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” He whispers—just to be safe—as he taps the parchment with the tip of his wand. 

The ink begins to appear as he flicks it open, eyes drawn to a singular area. 

Before he can help himself, his fingers are on the spot. Right between Dumbledore and Flitwick. 

Lily Evans. 

He delicately traces the letters, the loop of the ‘L’ all the way to the curve of the ‘s’.

He thinks of dark omens, vague prophecies. Of things like astronomy charts and constellations. And then he thinks of red hair, green eyes and pretty ribbons. 

He shuts his eyes harshly, one hand working its way through his curls, the other steadfast against her name. A whisper over the old parchment as he mindlessly traces the ink, like it’s some delicate, precious thing. 

“Who are you, Trouble?” He whispers to no one but himself. 

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed this one! Here are a few fun Easter Eggs from this one!:
-James flexing his hand after Lily touches him getting the button was inspired by the infamous Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth hand flex scene.
-This chapter was called Perseus and the previous Andromeda. The ancient Greek Myth states that Perseus saw Andromeda in passing and fell in love with her instantly. He asks for her hand in marriage and her parents grant him permission as long as he saves her from the sea monster. Despite all odds, he kills the monster and rescues Andromeda and they fall in love. It felt poetic!
-Not so important to the plot but Peter is reading a Spider-Man comic, I thought it was fun considering the Andrew Garfield/Remus Lupin fancasts!
Bumbling, protective and sweet James Potter is my absolute favorite so expect more sweet moments between the pair. Thank you for all the love xx

Chapter 3: Virgo

Summary:

Lily works through her first day of lessons at Hogwarts as a new witch and luckily, James won't let her go through it alone.

Notes:

Merry Christmas to anyone who celebrates! Lots of Lily background sprinkled in and tons of James and Lily goodness. The authors note has some easter eggs in this one! Enjoy!

---

Virgo

(The Maiden) 

The second largest constellation in the sky; visible from two celestial spheres.

Symbolizes independence, vulnerability and longing for companionship.

The lone traveler finds the world unkind for no journey is meant to be walked alone.

---

Much to James’ dismay, he doesn’t see Lily the rest of that weekend. He tried to ask Remus a few times—not so subtly—if they’d made any plans but his friend seemed to grow defensive at the pass of her name on James’ lips. Something hardening in his normally soft eyes. 

He noticed it when he first came back from the corridor on Saturday, too. The knowing and piercing look that sizzled hot between them. Unbeknownst to James, Remus has shoved it aside when James began spiraling to them, but in the moments thereafter whenever Lily came up—in a much less troubled context, that is—his back would stiffen and he would get that look in his otherwise kind eyes. It was almost sizzling, like lightning striking something fragile. His posture straightens, his tone sharpens and James is just left confused. However, James—for the time being, at least—lacks the proper bandwidth to untangle its meaning at the moment, his priorities elsewhere .

According to the map—not that he was checking, really—Lily, oddly enough, spent most of the weekend with McGonagall. He’s sure it's to help her settle and prepare for classes but lessons on a Saturday and a Sunday? Well that feels almost criminal, if you ask James.

He tries to catch her a few times, lingering longer than necessary during meals, hoping she may turn up. He pays extra attention to what the other seventh-year girls are saying, her new roommates, but it’s not much of anything. Just baseless speculation, most of which he doesn’t even care to entertain. 

He spends the remainder of his own weekend with the map hidden under his pillow. He uses the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday drawing up Quidditch plays loudly and obviously—entirely to both prove a point to and annoy Sirius, though he pretends it’s for the team’s benefit. 

But he finds when he has a moment to think his mind is a labyrinth. Twisted and tangled with such strong emotions he’s never felt. Of ill fated, astrological promises, he’s never entertained in the past. It weighs heavy on his chest, both deeply personal and almost cosmic. 

He spends his nights with the tip of his wand dimmed against the parchment, glasses sliding down his nose as he dozes off with his gaze on the map. It was a security thing, the physical assurance that Snape, Trelawney, Dumbledore—whoever else—was leaving Lily alone. Letting her work through things with McGonagall, whose surge of protection for the young witch was both evident and now, much appreciated. 

And he knows he’ll run into her tomorrow, there’s only so many seventh-year courses one can take, especially within the same house. 

He thinks it’s the first time he’s ever been excited for a Monday.

He falls asleep that night like the one before, mind a dark storm, fingers longing for something. The weight of something greater—something he doesn’t yet understand. 

He wakes up from a dreamless sleep, feeling lighter and less anxious. Something pokes at the back of his brain, telling him it has to do with promises of seeing Lily but he soon pushes it away as he slides his glasses up his nose and swipes his curtains back. 

Sirius is sitting up in his own bed, still rubbing the sleep from his stormy-grey eyes. Peter is already dressed in a crisp white shirt and grey sweater vest with his tie tucked beneath it. He sits criss cross at the edge of his bed, flipping through his comic. And notably absent, is Remus. Nothing but his pajama trousers folded at the edge of his neatly made bed left as evidence he was ever there at all. 

“Moony?” James asks first, gaze flicking between Peter and Sirius. 

The latter turns his head to Peter, seemingly passing the explanation to him.

“Caught him just before he left. He promised he’d show Evans to her first lesson.” Peter says, voice casual and almost bored as he thumbs at the pages of his book, not even bothering to look up. 

James scratches at his head, perhaps his brain isn’t quite working yet. “Our first lesson doesn’t start until ten.” He frowns. 

No better way to start your day like Advanced Transfiguration with McGonagall. 

“Not for Evans.” Peter remarks, finally looking up, “Moony said she starts at eight.” 

“But the only thing offered at eight is NEWT level Charms.” He says dumbly. 

Sirius, who now has his legs dangling onto the floor has clearly woken up a bit. That is, if his grin and boisterous laugh are anything to go off of. 

“Well spotted, Prongs.” He teases before standing to stretch his arms over his head. 

“I—” James begins, feeling like he’s being kept in the dark. Then it dawns on him and he nearly facepalms for not putting it together sooner. 

Lily takes Advanced Charms. 

Lily who didn’t know she was a witch her entire life is in fucking Advanced Charms—arguably and notoriously the toughest NEWT course given Flitwick’s curriculum. 

Fucking brilliant, he thinks. 

Instead, all he says is “oh.” His face awestruck. 

Sirius chuckles, “I reckon she’s one witch I wouldn’t wanna mess with.” He remarks as he makes his way to the loo. 

“Yeah.” Is all James responds dumbly, a bit proud. A faint smile on his lips. “I reckon so, too.” 

---

By nine, the trio is dressed and ready for breakfast. 

By nine thirty, they’re well stuffed and ready for the day. 

By nine forty-five, Sirius is begging Peter for his Transfiguration notes from last lesson. 

By nine fifty, James is growing impatient—for once eager to get to class. 

And by nine fifty-three, they sat at their usual desks in McGonagall's room—for once early. 

Sirius is beside an empty chair, eagerly awaiting its usual occupant. James is beside Peter, the former impatiently drumming his fingers atop the wooden desk. 

“I don’t understand why we’re here so early,” Sirius huffs as he takes out some spare parchment. “This was valuable time for me to go over the notes!” He insists, sending a glare to the small blonde. 

Peter shrugs, a small scowl coming across his lips. “Maybe if you took your own notes, you wouldn’t beg for mine. Why should I share them anyway? You never give up your Potions notes.” He points out. 

Sirius loudly and dramatically slaps his hand on the wooden desk, causing the few students filing in to look his way curiously. “That is because, my dear Wormtail, there is a system. Moony goes over Transfiguration with me,“ he pauses for effect, “and Potions.” 

Peter cocks a brow, “so basically, Remus is passing your classes?” He snarks, though there is a smile tugged at his thin lips. 

Sirius pretends to look offended, “that is categorically untrue!” He insists, “right, Prongs?” 

And James, whose eyes have been hastily flicking between the large clock and the doorway, can’t be bothered to divert his attention. “Yeah, sure.” He mutters distractedly, hazel eyes never drifting. 

“Ha!” Sirius crows triumphantly, snapping his fingers to Peter, who just shakes his head and flips open his textbook. 

James’ attention falls to the clock again, as more students begin filling up the seats. 

And it is exactly when the little hand ticks to nine fifty-five does she walk in. 

She’s unmistakable, her pretty red hair tied neatly with a golden ribbon. Her head is ducked down, the gold in her hair catching the morning sun as it dances in its light. There are—one, two, three—books hugged closely to her chest, her robes taught around her body, as if she’s trying to hide in them.

From beside her, James can see Remus’ hand pressed lightly to her back, nudging her to the back corner as she navigates her way through the curtain of hair she’s concealing her eyes with. She scampers quickly, placing herself into the wooden chair before ducking and hunching next to the desk and rummaging through her leather satchel. 

“Hey look—it’s Moony.” Sirius remakes, twisting around in his seat to look. 

And they’re not the only ones who’ve noticed. The entire room's attention seems to be on the pair—more notably, their newest classmate. James hears the buzz of whispers that begin to zip around the room, but he drowns it out. He watches her hands tremble and fumble around in her bag and perhaps he’s paying too much attention, but it’s unmistakable that she isn’t actually looking for anything other than a distraction. She’s hiding. 

After a few seconds, she gives it up, next moving her hand to press against her chest, almost grasping at something hidden. His heart clenches unbidden. He has half the mind to get up and walk over there, but his gaze briefly flicks to Remus who is having one of those annoying silent conversations with Sirius. 

He sees Remus’ eyes soften and Sirius nodding his head, giving him a reassuring look and a thumbs up. Next, he watches the dark haired boy point to his empty sheet of parchment, pretending to write with one hand and then shrugging. 

Remus rolls his eyes, but nods affectionately. 

“No need to worry, Wormtail. Moony’s got my notes.” Sirius tells the other boy cheerily, though his grey eyes stay trained to the back of the classroom—as do James’. 

“Thank Merlin.” Peter responds dryly, scratching the date atop his parchment. 

James is only half listening—half paying attention—but he sees from the corner of his eye Sirius gesturing vaguely to Lily. This causes Remus to vehemently shake his head. However, his eyes move from grey ones to hazel ones, as he hones in on James. Giving him that odd look he’s been on the receiving one of ever since he came back from the incident in the corridor. 

And before James can so much as shrug in confusion to his friend, he sees a blur of red moving from beside his mate as Lily finally sits up. 

He watches her visibly startle as she finds every student with their heads turned and bodies twisted in her direction—silencing the whispers. He watches her green eyes flit around the room, wide and seemingly overwhelmed. Her shoulders tense and trembling. Something about her demeanor is akin to a frantic animal being hunted in the woods—a doe, he thinks, for reasons unknown to him. 

Suddenly, her eyes land on his own and he swears something changes. 

Like a lighthouse in a sea of darkness. 

Her eyes become steady. Softer. 

The storm within him settles into something calmer. James lifts a hand from his desk, holding his palm out to her as a way of greeting and acknowledgment. A silent message: I see you. You’re not alone. 

To his surprise—and delight—a small, shy smile tugs at her lips. It simultaneously warms something in his chest while chasing away the unease sitting there all weekend. 

Remus is whispering something in her ear, which she seems to nod at—but her eyes don’t leave his. He swears he sees her hand twitch where it’s fiddling with the pages of her textbook, almost as if she’s going to return to the gesture. Just then, the clock strikes ten and McGonagall strides into the room with brisk efficiency. 

At the sound of the door closing, all eyes jump to the front of the room, successfully snapping them back to order. However, James’ gaze lingers just a bit longer than everyone else’s before swiveling to the professor. 

“Today,” McGonagall begins, sharp voice slicing the air, “we will be practicing advanced animal transfiguration. One animal to an object, then to a second animal. Open your textbooks to Chapter Twelve.” 

McGonagall drones on, warning the class about the dangers of transfiguring one live object to another. James dozes off—this was all she went on about last week and he didn’t need to hear about it again. He was an Animagus, for Merlin’s sake. He knows a thing or two about transfiguring living breathing things—never mind a toad into a teacup. Anyway, his thoughts won’t even let him contend with boredom for long, his mind again drifting back to Lily. Who James quickly decides is much more interesting than lessons. 

It’s only after a flick of McGonagall's wand and a fat, slimy toad appears on his desk is he snapped from his reverie. Grudgingly, he finally opens his book to the required incantation. 

And while James was at a practiced ease with Transfiguration—across the room, Lily was panicking. 

She already had two sheets or parchment filled with frantic notes, McGonagall’s instructions scrawled neatly, despite them already being bolded in the textbook. Lily almost hoped the woman would keep talking, further delaying the inevitable moment when she’d have to lift her wand. 

Because taking notes and listening—it was easy, it was what Lily thrived on. Listening and analyzing. 

Growing up the friendless, strange, but intelligent Muggle girl she excelled in her education. She flourished academically, her logic and hard work easily, but quietly outshining her peers.

But this—magic. It was something else entirely. 

At her old school, the most she was ever asked to apply her skills was on an exam or perhaps solving an elaborate algebra equation on the chalkboard for the class.

Now, she was asked to use magic. On the toad that just appeared on her desk, no less, blinking at her almost knowingly. 

For a moment, one silly fleeting moment that she can’t quite fathom, her eyes land squarely on the back of broad shoulders and messy black hair. 

She doesn’t even know why she looked, but part of her—some tiny, ridiculous part of her—was hoping he’d turn around and use that uncanny, surely magical, ability to make her feel at ease. Just as he did in the corridor—the thought of its events still made her stomach churn in confusion. 

Lily shook her head, not allowing herself to be anymore distracted and nervous then she already was. Briefly, McGonagall caught her eyes, giving her a steady nod. 

You know this, Lily, it seemed to say. You worked all summer for this. 

Something in Minerva’s eyes softened. 

In a deeper, traitorous part of her mind she could almost hear her parents’ voices. Her Mum’s lilting laugh, her Dad’s steady words: Show them who you are, Petal.

She took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves, to will away the sting in her eyes.

Show them you’re a witch. 

With a trembling exhale, Lily curled her hand around her intricately woven wand, knuckles turning white to still her shaking hand. Around her she could see the sparks of magic dancing around the room. Bursts of colors exploding atop the wood as everyone’s toad turned into a teacup, then into a small animal of their choice.

Next to her, she sees Remus’ delicate green teacup, with brown chips, mangling itself into a small dove after he’s spoken the right words. It’s white, with a small tint of green on its feathers and cooing softly against his palm. 

Lily smiles at him, which he returns. 

“Your turn.” He whispers encouragingly, eyes warm.

She nods faintly, heart hammering. She shuts her eyes in an attempt to block out the chaos around her. She’s read all about Transfiguration. Practiced it on furniture and small trinkets, even on the mice in Minerva’s gardens. 

She can almost picture the Introduction to Transfiguration textbook.

Chapter Fifteen: Incantations, she thought, her mind combing through what she once read. When practicing Transfiguration both the syntax and pronunciation are essential. A clear intention ensures stability in the transformation. By enunciating clearly you are eliminating the possibility of one object's properties to carry over to another.

She speaks the first incantation, a whisper, but her voice is firm and the words are clear. 

With a tap of her wand to the toad she feels something surge through her. That kind of thing she hasn’t quite got used to. 

The bolt of raw power through her. The feeling like it could be an extension of herself. 

It makes her feel alive. 

She slowly opens her eyes and looks down, the toad has become a teacup. A smooth porcelain with a delicate gold handle.

Lily giggles a little to herself. It’s just as she pictured it. Briefly, her eyes meet Remus’ who seems to be proud as he gives her a strong nod to continue. 

She shuts her eyes again, grip firmer on her wand as she concentrates. The next part would be harder. 

The book is thick and heavy and green and terrifying. The memory of it is an unwelcome presence atop Minerva McGonagall’s in-home office. 

The Dangers & Wonders of Live Transfiguration.

Chapter Four: Memories, Connections and Its Bigger Meaning to Magic. 

The text echoes through her mind: You may find it easier to Transfigure an object if said object is more sentimental or has more value to the Witch or Wizard performing the spell. Such a connection, if any, allows for clearer intention of one’s end goals. Memories and emotion, when harnessed correctly, may sharpen the spell.

Memories flood through her brain before she could stop it. Of foggy days and dead grass. But then she sees it—clear as day—a bunny rabbit as white as snow, stark and beautiful against the grey landscape. 

Swiping carrots with her Dad. Her Mum giggling. A smaller version of Lily mesmerized as the small creature hopped along her decaying lawn, nestling in her lifeless garden.

For a moment she’s worried she’s lost herself. The memory of something good twisting into something painful. 

“Amazing.” She hears Remus breathe in awe, a life preserver in a sea of swirling emotions.

And before Lily can open her eyes she feels something soft nudging her free hand. She looks down and finds the bunny. Small and white, just as she remembered—just as she dared to imagine.

Her fingers deftly stroke between its tall ears, as it burrows into her touch. A moment later, Remus’ hand joins her own, moving to gently stroke its back as he continues his praises quietly.

Across the room, something glimmers in McGonagall’s eyes. 

James Potter is turned in his chair, dumbfounded, looking at Lily just as he did the first time he saw her—Captivated. Enchanted.

But Lily—for once—isn’t paying anyone else any mind, choosing to live in her head for a moment, finally feeling like it is a calm place to be. A small smile stretches across her lips, then, something secret and private. Something just for her and this little white bunny.

Because for the first time in her life, she actually feels like she could be a witch. 

“Alright,” McGonagall's voice breaks, “settle down.” She tells the noisy class as the sound of incantations quiet.

Once it’s silent, with nothing but the occasional croak or chirp, she speaks again, “can anyone tell me what may have gone wrong?”

Lily takes a moment to let her eyes flick around the room, she sees slimy teacups, the same green as their toad with brown warts growing off the chipped porcelain. She also sees hybrid-like animals—like from a science fiction film. A hamster with webbed feet, a croaking, murky colored kitten. 

“Can anyone tell me?” McGonagall asks again, though no one raises their hand. She waits a moment, “no one?” Nothing. “Okay, Miss Evans?” 

All eyes cut to Lily in anticipation. The auburn haired girl looks like a frightened doe staring down a shotgun barrel under the heavy gazes of her new peers. 

She swallows once, twice. Her throat tightening with the movements and her hand trembling against the bunny’s pearly coat. Lily dares to peel her gaze from McGonagall’s waiting one, daring to glance around the room. Her vision is blurred—nerves, she knows—but staring back at her are dozens of pairs of familiar blue eyes. Cold and icy, small and beady, narrowed into cat-like slits, glaring right into her. 

It’s all she sees, all around this suddenly too small classroom, Petunia’s eyes, five, ten, fifteen pairs of them waiting for her to fail.

“Miss Evans,” McGonagall says softly, though her voice is faraway and underwater. Being drowned by her estranged older sisters quips ringing around her head. 

Freak. Curse. Albatross. 

It’s a poem. Her Mum had dozens of books full of them but Petunia always made a special point to let Lily know this one particularly reminded her of her younger sister. 

It’s not about spring flowers or the first glimpses of sunlight. No stanzas about love and sisterhood or beauty. 

It’s seared into her—has been for years—but it rang louder over the summer. It shouts at her now. 

They tried to warn you about me. 

Devils that you know, raise hell worse than a stranger. 

She’s the death you chose, you’re in terrible danger. 

She’s the Albatross, she is here to destroy you. 

She’s not sure why it’s at the forefront of her mind, in this ancient classroom, stroking a rabbit that reminds her of a life she once lived, one born from her magic.  

Her hands begin to tingle, she half expects to look down and find white feathers and long wings where her arms are.

Albatross. Albatross. Albatross.

They want her to fail. Just as Petunia expected her to. Just as she had to her parents and—

Something strikes her then, warm and shining in the sea of blue. 

Green and brown swirled together, a stark contrast to Petunia’s beady eyes. His are soft—framed by thick glasses which do nothing but magnify his gaze. 

Those don’t seem like the eyes of someone who wants her to fail. 

“Lily,” Remus whispers steady and reassuring from beside her, the tip of his fingers grazing her own atop the fur. 

That isn’t the voice of someone who wants her to fail, either. 

She peers up at McGonagall, chest tight—she can feel her breath rattling against her ribs but she is still breathing. 

She looks into the eyes of the woman who knows she is a witch. The woman who watched her wand pick her, watched her wave it and execute her first spell—a beautiful bouquet or black dahlias. 

“It’s the incantation and intention.” Lily finally says, voice quiet and shaking but loud enough to carry around the otherwise silent room. 

Something secret comes across McGonagall’s lips. “Say more, please.” She encourages.

Lily takes a deep breath then, one hand moving to curl at the chain under her robes. “When transitioning from toad to teacup the vowels in the spell must be pronounced as long sounds. Shortening them may destabilize the first transition.” Her fingernails press into her palms as she combs her memories of the thick textbooks. “And… for the second transformation, it is about choosing something personal. It makes for clearer intention.”

The bunny nudges her palm then, as if reassuring her and she nearly cries.

She clears her throat, eyes trained to the wooden desk, “it also helps if the wand flicks resemble the shape.” She finishes quickly, biting her lip harshly after the words tumble out. 

The silence returns but it’s somehow so much louder than before—her nails are biting half moons into her palms and she pushes harder almost hoping the pain will distract her. 

“Five points to Gryffindor for your concise and thoughtful answer.” McGonagall’s voice cuts through the tension. 

Chatter erupts then, small whispers and gasps. 

The professor silences the room with a simple raise of her hand. “And another ten points for your bravery.” She adds softly, coaxing a blush onto Lily’s cheeks. 

At the front of the classroom James balks at this girl—this brilliant and beautiful witch. 

He’s only pulled away by a harsh nudge to his ribs from beside him, “close your mouth, you’ll catch bugs.” Sirius snickers. 

James turns then, opening his mouth ready for a good quip, but McGonagall—all commanding—speaks again. “Class dismissed.” She begins, a swoop of her wand willing away all the mornings work, “A reflection on today’s lesson on my desk before class on Thursday. No less than three feet of parchment.”

Groans fill the room dulling into chatter, as chairs knock back and screech against the old mahogany floors.

“Mr. Lupin, a word?” McGonagall catches Remus, who’s just finished shoving his textbook into his bag. 

James watches as his friend looks to Lily, he holds up a finger and tells her something as she nods before scurrying from the classroom. Remus pushes his way to the front, a wink, salute and nod to his mates. James barely makes out the snippets between him and McGonagall. Something about the monthly prefects’ meeting before their voices are swallowed by the buzz of conversation lingering in the room. 

He sees it then, a flash of red and the wink of a gold ribbon disappearing from the doorway. He works double time to shove his book into his satchel, squashing and stamping down quills and rolls of parchment.

“Come on.” He says to Peter and Sirius, already halfway out of the classroom himself. 

“Merlin, what’s with him?” Peter mummers to Sirius as he fumbles around for his cloak. 

Sirius chuckles and paws at Peter’s tie, leading him out the door with it. “I’ll explain it when you’re older, yeah?” He teases as they round into the corridor to catch up with James—who has never seemed so eager to get to Potions. 

James surveys the long stretch of corridor, looking for that telltale red against the suddenly drab greys and browns of the castle. No bloody way she could’ve moved that fast. She was—

He stops then, school shoes scuffing against the stone with a squeak. Peter crashes into his back with a groan, the feeling and sound dull, because all he’s focused on is her.

She’s tucked into a little stone alcove between two tapestries, her head drawn down as she listlessly slides her black mary-janes against the stone. Her books—several of them—are clutched tightly at her chest as her small hands fumble to arrange them in some sort of order—most likely just as a means to give them something to do. 

“I’ll, uh—catch up with you guys.” He says to the pair, his voice far off and gaze trained entirely on the occupant of the dip in the wall. 

“Oh.” James hears Peter breathe—and if he were looking, he’d see realization wash over his face. 

He takes a step toward Lily, who still hasn’t looked up, but is suddenly halted by a familiar hand clapping his shoulder. 

“A word of his advice,” He turns to face Sirius, brows scrunched, “if you’re trying to impress her, you may wanna do something about that hair.”

James grunts then, shoving Sirius, “bugger off.” He grounds out, ignoring the loud laugh that floats down the corridor as he goes. 

James begins toward Lily, who still hasn’t noticed his presence. And judging by the way her backs pressed against the wall, it seems as if she’s tricked herself into thinking she’s invisible. 

As if—he scoffs internally. 

Though, he does take her deterred focus as an advantage. Taking a second to swipe a hand through his hair and glancing briefly at his reflection in some of the stained glass. He mentally curses Sirius, his hair is fine—how it always is, messy and unruly but deliberately and with purpose. He knows his mate was just messing with him and cheers, because it worked. 

“Hey.” He says coming closer—and hey, all he has is hey?

Nice one, James. He can practically hear Sirius snickering.

Lily looks up then, all green doe-eyes and pink cheeks, but James swears he sees the faintest tilt of her lips.

“Oh, hi.” She says softly, but almost startled. She must’ve really seemed to believe she was invisible.

He gets lost in her for a moment, it happens every bloody time he’s seen her so he can’t pretend to be too surprised. 

“Alright?” He asks dumbly, though he has half the mind to gesture to the nook they stand in so at least she has some idea of what he means to say. 

She flushes deeper, a pretty pink against her porcelain cheeks. “Yes.” She answers, gaze diverting as her fingers begin to thumb at the corner of her textbooks. “Yes, I was just waiting for Remus, he said he’d show me to Potions. I don’t—I don’t remember how to get there.” She admits shyly. 

He sees the vulnerability and embarrassment in the eyes she’s so desperately trying to hide. And he has the sudden urge to curse anyone who’d ever put that look there.

“Well, you’re in luck.” He begins, reaching out his much larger hand out to pluck the three thick books stacked in her arms. She relents easily, as they slip out of her grasp, more in confusion than anything else. “As it happens, I’m on my way to Potions, too.” He smiles at her—it’s the most natural thing in the world, he thinks.

She looks at him then a bit hesitant but at least her hands have stopped trembling, “But, Remus—”

He shakes his head then, “heard McGonagall talking to him about a Head Boy thing, he’ll catch up.” James assures quickly. “Anyway, can’t have you late on your first day, can we Trouble?” His voice smoother, his head cocked to the side. 

She does smile then—no way for him to deny that. “And my books?” Her voice is lighter, much like how it was over the weekend before Trelawney showed up. 

He needs to broach that somehow. 

And the disdain at the memory must’ve shown on his features because Lily’s smile begins to falter, causing him to mentally curse himself. 

“Hm,” he thinks, trying to recover quickly. He grabbed the books because she was honestly making him a bit anxious the way she was picking at the pages. Also, he reckons they weigh as much as she does. It was really to minimize the risk of her toppling over. “Think of it as incentive—now you’ll have to follow me.” He grins then and it’s easy—too easy. 

Lily giggles then, he feels the sound all the way down to his toes. She steps forward, out into the sunlit corridor, a silent invitation to join her. 

“You were brilliant, you know.” James says after he leads her down the long stretch and turns the corner. 

She looks up at him—just now noticing how vast their height difference is. Her head barely level with his shoulders. She notices then too, his legs are about twice as long as her own, but he’s taking deliberately small and slow strides. She wonders if he even knows he’s doing it. 

This unknown yet so familiar boy—with her books hanging in one of his arms with a simple kind of ease. His steps matching her own. Those kind eyes. 

“Sorry?” She asks next, breaking her own daze, trying to figure out exactly what he’s referring to. 

“In Transfiguration.” He clarifies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You were brilliant.” He says one more time. 

And the breathless quality of his words, the way his eyes are intent on her own. 

He seems so sure of it. 

“Oh,” she flushes, “I was just doing what everyone else was.”

And it’s not fishing for a compliment because she reckons it’s true, everyone’s been waving their wands for years. Turning a toad into a teacup was probably child’s play for them. He’s just saying that to make her feel better, she decides. 

“Nah, you were doing it better—Peter’s teacup had warts. Davey Rogers’ toad never even left his desk. Anyway, all of that stuff on the vowels and the wand movements—there’s a reason no one else volunteered.” 

And he’s doing it again. That uncanny, frustrating—yet endearing—ability he seemingly has to read her mind and suddenly come up with the best answer. It’s not just the words but the way he says them too. So effortlessly, like he’s not even looking for them, they’re just natural. The truth. 

It almost makes her believe them. 

“Thank you.” She responds, not knowing what else to say, the idea of compliments and accepting them from someone other than her parents is a bit foreign, to be honest.

“‘Course.” He says, making her cheeks burn hotter, “it’s good advice too,” he points out next, “my gerbil looked just as I pictured her.”

“You had a gerbil?”

They reach the stairs then, he maneuvers down them slowly when Lily’s sure he could’ve taken two—maybe even three—at a time. 

“Nah, Sirius did though, first-year. His name was Mr. Frosty. He let him into the Forbidden Forest one night, all weepy and saying Frosty deserved a wife and family.” James recounts with a chuckle. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but in the Muggle world, gerbils don’t live in the wild. Is that different here?” Lily asks, more at ease and less embarrassed than before—to James’ delight. 

“It’s not different here.” He tells her with a grin. 

She laughs then and he nearly drops all her books at the sounds. 

Thankfully, Lily doesn’t seem to notice James faltering beside her, continuing down to the dungeons with a soft smile lighting her face. “Anyway,” he presses on, “I didn’t conjure Mr. Frosty. I transfigured who I imagine is the Mrs. Frosty—it warmed Sirius’ cold, shriveled heart.” He tells her dramatically. 

She shakes her head in response, though he catches the breathy chuckle that escapes her. 

“What about you?” He asks next, glancing sideways at her. “Pet bunny rabbit?” 

She stills then, steps faltering clumsily. Suddenly she’s grateful he took her heavy books because she’s sure they would’ve tumbled from her arms right about now. 

He pauses a few steps down, turning to look straight at her. They’re about eye level now and his hazels lock on her with a sort of knowing intensity. Quickly she averts his gaze worried she’ll do something reckless if she keeps staring into them.

So instead, she thinks of the bunny. The small white ball of fluff. But not the one from atop her desk in Transfiguration—it’s the memory from years ago. When she was fourteen years old in her too small house. 

Spinners End was a horrible, dismal place. It was grey and bleak and gloomy. It had a river running right through it, dirty and brown—more sludge than water. The air thick, suffocating and disgusting thanks to the nearby factory. It was where most men there worked, her father no exception. Spending his days working too hard to forge large metals parts of dredging boats, for too little of a paycheck.

It was about a year after the accident there—one that left his legs crushed and bound him to a wheelchair. Her Mum was spread thin, juggling caring for Dad and working to help down at the local daycare center to make ends meet. Lily herself, had just begun working at the local drugstore to help out, though she insisted it was for a flat when she graduated. She thinks perhaps her parents knew it as a blatant lie, they did not have university money, but always told Lily she would have her pick of schools with that brain of hers. 

She’d spent all of her paychecks paying off medical or house bills that came into the mail before her parents could get to them. 

Her Dad was miserable, though he tried his best to hide it. Her Mum was constantly stressed and exhausted. Petunia had begun speaking to Lily as little as possible after what Lily knows now to be an episode of uncontrolled magic that resulted in a break-up between Petunia and her then boyfriend. 

And Cokeworth did nothing but match the mood of the house tremendously. Their dead lawn, brown and rotting from the polluted air. Clouds of smoke blocking the sun.  

That is until the bunny showed up, on a Sunday afternoon, a rare occasion in which all the Evans’ had been home and crammed into the living room. 

Lily remembers the childlike glee when she spotted it. Cokeworth didn’t have deer or squirrels or even flowers or green grass and here was this little rabbit, hopping across her lifeless lawn.

“Look at him, Tuney!” A younger Lily cried, voice brimming with excitement.

“Quite a sight.” She remembers Petunia agreeing, her usual detached demeanor slipping for a second. Her blue eyes were transfixed in wonder. 

Lily’s mother returned then, a generously large carrot in her hand before she pressed it into her youngest daughter’s palm. She remembers her Dad encouraging her as he lingered in the doorway—a rare occurrence since his accident, having preferred shut curtains and locked doors. She remembers passing it the carrot, watching it gnaw slowly then ravenously, as if starving. 

It was one of those rare happy memories that were getting harder and harder to cling to lately. A bright spot in an oppressive haze. She remembered how it felt back then, how it felt in Transfiguration. Twenty minutes it was a happy memory but now, on these stone steps on her way to Potions, it suddenly feels different. 

The bunny was alone. It was probably terrified. Dropped in an unfamiliar place. No family by its side. No friends either. Lost. Alone. 

Her gut pangs, her hand clutches her chest. 

She knows a thing or two about that. 

Albatross, Albatross—

“Lily?” He calls worriedly voice cutting through her spiraling thoughts in concern as he notices her glossy eyes. 

She breathes easier. Because there it is—she’s the bunny rabbit and he’s this personified happiness, of warmth and relentless kindness, throwing her a carrot against her dead lawn.

“Sorry,” she begins, and she sees his mouth open like he’s about to apologize, “wasn’t my pet, but had one by my house when I was younger.” She adds quickly.

He hears the shift in her tone, the sadness in her eyes and decides not to press her. Slowly, she starts taking the stairs again and he waits until she’s beside him before leading them onward. 

“And where is home?” He asks next, voice gentle.

That word—home—it causes her stomach to tighten again. She lacks the mental capacity to work through that and pays it no mind, answering simply instead.

“Cokeworth.”

She watches his brow knit for a moment, “Hm, I’m not sure I know it, sounds familiar, though.” 

He wouldn’t know it. No one does.

“What about you?” She diverts. 

“Me? Eh, out in the West Country. Though, we go back and forth between there and London, for Dad’s work. Not so much anymore.” He says the last part a bit sadly. 

West Country and London. 

Potter money—Peverell money.

Lily lived in a house with one toilet and James Potter gets to decide if he wants to use the loo in London or what she assumes is some sort of estate with acres or land—definitely with his pick of toilets. Definitely buzzing with deer and squirrels and bunny rabbits and trees and flowers, too. 

And she’s not bitter or jealous or anything like that, but it dawns on her then—they’re so different.

Categories like Pureblood and Muggle-born seem further apart and separated with a firm line all of the sudden. 

That’s not fair—she soon decides. 

James is sweet and he made it clear he doesn’t care about that stuff. So why should she?

“Is it far from here?” 

“Sorry?” And she feels awful for constantly dissipating to some far off place in her mind. 

“Cokeworth.” He supplies as they turn down a busier corridor, people in yellows, blues, greens and reds walking into a narrow doorway. 

“A bit.” She shrugs, she honestly isn’t sure of the exact distance. 

“Sorry,” he says then, almost sheepish, “I don’t mean to ask too much—”

She cuts him off, soft and reassuring because it’s endearing and now his cheeks are pink. “It’s alright, it’s nice, really.” And she finds she means it, having someone to talk to, who seems to care. It’s different but welcome. “I’m sure we’d have gotten around to it Saturday had we not…” it’s her who stops now, voice trailing. 

She doesn’t know what to say about Saturday morning. What to even think about it—Dumbledore seemed unconcerned. Minerva seemed confused when she recounted it. Lily thought James was a mix of confusion, fear and anger. Much like her.

“I was meaning to talk to you about that.” James halts, right next to the open doorway buzzing with students. Lily can smell herbs and fire and she knows they’ve made it. “About Saturday.” He clarifies next, the hand not full of her books tangling in his hair. 

She gulps, “what about it?”

Trelawney was right Lily—you need to run, run, run, run…

And whatever James is about to say is cut off by a booming shout, “Prongs!” Sirius calls from inside, cutting through the hum of chatter.

Lily watches him grimace and look at her apologetically. “We should probably go in. I promised not to make you late.” He hesitates for a second. “Wait for me after? So we can talk? He asks hopefully. 

Her cheeks warm then, her stress about the conversation suddenly soothed by the soft quality of his voice. 

He beams when she nods, “brilliant.” James breathes before stepping aside for her to enter. 

Her calm suddenly evaporated. Because when Lily walks in she’s met with her worst nightmare—paired tables. Everyone has already broken off, a steady ease and rhythm they’ve probably had all term—if not years. 

James notices her go stiff and dares to brush a hand on her lower back, faint and soft as he gently nudges her to the right. “Come on, you can sit with me.” 

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

He shakes his head, “I didn’t lie, Lily, I’m shite at Potions. You’d be doing me a favor, really. By next lesson you’ll be scrambling for a new partner, looks like mine did, anyway.” James shoots a glance to Peter then, who’s sitting beside Alice Fortescue. 

She peers behind him then relents with pink cheeks, sliding onto the bench. James smiles to himself—it feels like a small victory. James makes himself busy with placing her miniature tower of books in front of her, but then he feels it. A tingling running up his spine, chilling his bones. 

It’s not the warmth he feels around Lily—this is different, cold. Then that feeling returns, the tug in his stomach, the clench in his gut. 

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he turns his head to the far corner and their eyes meet. Surprisingly, Snape doesn’t turn away, like James had expected—like he normally does. His gaze is all dark and beady eyed, he shifts from James’ snarl to Lily. She shifts in her chair, unaware of what’s happening, but James wonders if she feels it too—the shiver, the weight. 

James looks away first, making a special effort to stand and stretch behind her, blocking Snape’s view of her form. The coldness subsides then, leaving a dull sensation dancing along his back as opposed to the pressing pins and needles. Lily looks at him funny, brow adorably scrunched in confusion at his sudden movement, he offers nothing but a small assuring smile in return, mumbling something about a fictitious quidditch injury. 

It’s then that Remus walks in, cardigan askew, cheeks pink and chest heaving. James sees as he peers to where Lily’s sitting, noticing the tension in his shoulder slack ever so slightly at the assurance of her presence. He jolts suddenly, moving toward where he always sits beside Sirius but not without making a point to stare at James. James, who finds the glare he’s receiving isn't all that different from the one Snape threw moments ago. It’s not as heavy with vague implications but it does make James feel odd—embarrassed, for whatever reason—he knows Remus well enough to know if you receive it, it’s for a purpose, though James can’t seem to come up with one at the present. 

Luckily—and he’d never thought he’d think such a thing—Slughorn walks in, causing Remus to shuffle across the room. Snape’s gaze averts to his textbook and James plops beside Lily. 

The professor claps loudly, calling the room to attention. “Alright class, Chapter Sixteen today, open…” Slughorn begins, round belly nearly popping the buttons of his plaid waistcoat and that dopey smile plastered on his face. 

And James finds time goes quickly—for Potion’s that it is—but for some maddening reasoning it’s the best lesson he can remember. 

They don’t even brew anything, just sift through the long chapter on Veritaserum. Slughorn constantly alternates between scratching out and droning on about important points. Sometimes, he leaves them to skim the material themselves. And James can’t really help the glances he passes to Lily as time flicks on—really he can’t—not when she’s so in her element. A kind of quiet confidence he’s yet to see from her. 

And Merlin, she is going to be the worst fucking thing for his already dipping potions marks—but he also doesn’t find he cares much. 

She’s captivating, trimmed brows slanted in concentration, tongue just barely poking past her pink lips as she neatly dances her quill across her parchment. The constant tucking of her hair behind her ear, the effortless motion of her nimble fingers passing through the silky auburn tresses when it falls onto the lines of notes—noticeably more dense and organized than his own. 

He’s not the only one who’s noticed too, at one point Slughorn comes over, fixing his glasses in awe at one of the neatly sketched charts she’s drawn up. The conversation then turns into something on the properties of powdered moonstone which somehow ends up onto the topic of his early works on Felix Felicis and ends with an invitation to his office for a more in-depth conversation.

She blushes pink at the offer, clearly not used to the attention. She flushes even deeper when Slughorn mummers something about brilliance as he walks to the next table. 

James sends her a grin, then. In the short time he’s spent with her, he’s concluded two undeniable facts—the first, Lily is brilliant. It’s indisputable, anyone who heard her speak to Slughorn or peer at her parchment could back it. The second, is that she is absolute shite at taking a compliment. Not even in a humble sort of way, in a more like she’s not getting hearing them kind of way. 

No matter, if the pretty rosy color she turns is his reward for any compliment she gets, he reckons he’ll be unstoppable—helps that she makes it easy, too. 

But as he lets the warmth of her small smile overtake him, he’s suddenly drowned out by a bucket of cold water. The penetrating sting of icy eyes trained on their table. James flashes his own hardened eyes to Snape, who is seemingly utterly unrelenting and transfixed by Lily—he supposes he wasn’t the only one who heard her speaking to Slughorn. A majority of the lesson continues that way, a dance of welcomed distraction and unexplainable fear—the constant shifting of warmth and cold. 

And maybe it’s the way her golden ribbon seems to glitter under the candlelight or the way her doe-eyes shine when she reads the board, but it’s her who wins out over Snape—he thinks maybe she always will. He finds he doesn’t mind that idea much. 

The lesson ends and soon something else is bubbling deep within James’ core. The swell of excitement at the promise of speaking to Lily after—even if the particular subject matter is heavy, he finds he’ll take whatever he can. Especially, if that whatever is working things out for both their peace of mind. 

Slughorn calls her over, before he can get a word in. Lily throws James a glance, a desperate look behind her green eyes. In return he nods assuredly—I’m here, I’ll wait, don’t worry—it says. 

As the professor prattles on to her at the front of the room and his classmates file out, James makes quick work to effortlessly lug her mountain of books back into his arms. They’re thick and heavy, but he finds he doesn’t mind—not one bit, actually.

A shadowy figure is what manages to draw his attention from Lily. It’s Snape, lingering at his bench, hesitant in deciding whether to leave the class or make his way to the front. James already feels the growl about to bubble past his lips—it’s cut off then. The arrival of Remus, Sirius and Peter ending his indecision, their presence enough to send him slinking out the door. 

But Remus has got that funny look in his eyes again, the accusatory glance James can’t quiet place. Something in it darkens when his golden eyes flit to the Charms textbook in his arms. A class James is proudly not taking. 

“Alright?” James dares to ask him, tone hesitant. 

“Waiting for Lily.” Is all Remus says shortly. 

Sirius’ eyes shoot to his hairline at the brevity. 

“‘S alright.” James tries for casual. “I got it.” His tone comes out sharper than attended. 

“Just raise your legs and piss on her, why don’t you?” Sirius murmurs. The pair pretended not to hear him—though the irony of the comment on their dog-like behavior coming from a literal dog, is not lost on them. 

James sighs then, his hazel eyes softening, because that’s not what this is. He’s not trying to lay any stake or claim on her, he genuinely wants to help. It’s not that Remus can’t do that either, he already has. It’s the constant reminder of that pressing, daunting feeling from the corridor Saturday—that’s something only him and Lily understand. 

“We agreed to talk after class.” He pauses. “About Saturday.” His voice dropping into something low, something secret. 

Something in Remus’ eyes softens then, transforming into something much more familiar. 

“James…” he trails uncertainly. 

“She brought it first.” James defends honestly. “You said let her set the pace, yeah?” He’s quick to remind, when Remus’ expression suddenly becomes unreadable. “I could tell it was on her mind. If I can help to ease it at all—I’m going to.” 

He says it with a sort of finality that leaves no room for argument. Remus sighs, but seemingly in defeat, as Sirius claws at his sweater. The taller boy pushes his hands off, making quick to approach Lily, who’s done talking to Slughorn, before she reaches the rest of them. 

James watches with narrowed eyes as Remus whispers something to her, which Lily responds to in kind. Suddenly Remus is flying out the door, Sirius and Peter trailing behind with mumbled goodbyes. 

“You really don’t need to carry my books.” Lily says softly, appearing beside him with her own bag slung over her shoulder. 

She moves ever so slightly, as if to collect them from him, but he swivels his torso and tisks gently, a clack of his tongue against his teeth. “Incentive, Evans, remember?” He teases gently. “Besides, how can you help teach Transfiguration if you’re sprawled at the bottom of the stairs because your books took you out.” 

She giggles then, giving up the useless fight of taking them back—they are quite heavy, anyway and with muscles like those, he seems to have no issue with the weight. Not that she’s noticed them. 

They step into the corridor, “want to go to the Great Hall? Reckon, it’s been a long day, you’ve already had three classes.” He points out. 

She shakes her head then, metallic ribbon swishing behind her. “I have Ancient Runes at noon,” she moves to tug her lips between her teeth, “mind showing me the way?”

He masks his surprise because four NEWTs—four!

“‘Course.” Effortlessly, he pivots to the left, going to climb the stairs, making sure to measure his normally wide strides so she can keep up. 

“Sorry,” she says first, “I feel awful making you show me around, I promise I’ll get the hang of it.” Her voice is quiet. 

Fervently, he shakes his head, “please don’t say you’re sorry.” he begins first, gentle but firm. “My first two months here I only knew how to get to the Great Hall, my dorm and the Quidditch pitch.” 

“You’re just trying to make me feel better.” But she’s laughing, so he must’ve done something right. 

“No!” He protests, smiling. “I swear it. Lucky for the both of us—I befriended the smartest bloke of my year, got me everywhere.” 

“Lucky for the both of us?” She repeats. 

“Yeah. Remus is still the smartest and best bloke to show you around.” James shrugs easily. He sees her nod from his periphery as they begin to climb another staircase. “Everything good with Slughorn?” He asks next, seemingly avoiding the topic of Saturday. Perhaps if he keeps putting it off he’ll have more excuses to speak to her—and to get her to smile.

“Oh, yes, he just wanted to see if I was taking Herbology, seeing how relevant it is to brewing.” 

And this time he can’t mask his surprise, “you’re taking Herbology?” 

She nods, misreading his confusion, “yes but don’t worry—I remember where the greenhouse is and Remus said he’d meet me after, to take me to Defense Against the Dark Arts.”  

His first instinct was to assure she's no burden but his mouth runs away from him, speaking his secondary thoughts loud and clear. “Defense Against the Dark Arts?” He squeaks slack jawed. 

And Lily seems unaware of his turmoil—of how impressed he is—and continues, almost nervously. “Yes, I admit I wasn’t too keen on taking it. McGonagall insisted I get real life defense practice. Same with Charms and Transfiguration, I was decent enough she thought real applications of magic would do me good.”

Mentally, he begins counting them off—Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Ancient Runes, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts—Six. She’s taking six NEWTs. 

She squirms under the silence, tucking her hair behind her ear and filling the air with nonsensical ramblings, “we’ve got things like Arithmancy and Astronomy in the muggle world, it didn’t quite make sense for me—”

“You’re taking six NEWTs?” He asks abruptly, just to make sure he understands correctly.  

James turns to her as he speaks. Lily tilts her head at the question. He watches her delicate throat contracting against a harsh swallow. Her knuckles tightening white on the strap of her bag, holding it like some sort of lifeline. He could practically feel the nerves radiating off her.

Had he not been so distracted by her sheer brilliance, he’d have scolded himself for seeming like an arse. She’s misplaced his shock—assuming the surprise is rooted in the fact that as a newly minted witch she’d be allowed anymore than two NEWTs. Or any NEWTs at all. 

It was quite the opposite, really. 

“Yes.” She says slowly, quietly, almost ashamed? One thing was clear, she was bracing for disapproval.

When James just continues to balk at her, glasses askew on his nose and hazel eyes wide in surprise, she shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. Teeth working at her lower lip. “Is that—is that okay?” 

James blinks. Once. Twice. Before the world seems to fall back into focus, un-blurring and dulling the buzz in his ears. He notices Lily’s eyes then, wide and afraid. Posture tense and lips trembling in tandem with her words. His heart sinks a little at what he’s done—even if it was accidental. Now he does take a proper moment to curse at himself. 

“Yes!” He blurts loudly, causing her to flinch at the sudden insistence. He clears his throat, lowering his voice. “Yes. I mean—yes, of course! It’s just…” His brain begins to scramble again, mouth moving faster than his thoughts. 

“Just?” She repeats, tipping ever so slightly toward him on the balls of her feet in anticipation. 

He scrubs a hand down his face. Fixes it to tangle in his hair. Blows out a breath.

“It’s just, that’s bloody brilliant! You’re bloody brilliant, Lily.” He beams.

Now it’s Lily’s turn to blink, green eyes and dark lashes batting at him confusion. 

He thinks for a second, about those ridiculous romances his Mum reads but his Dad asks her to fondly recount to him over dinner. He thinks of one of the stories she summarized over the summer, about the sailors lured to their death by an enchanting song and otherworldly beauty. 

Siren—he remembers—yeah, that must be it, but what does that make him? A man drifting at sea?

The silence continues to stretch and he realizes that as her brows furrow deeper, she’s waiting for his explanation. “Lily,” he begins, voice more leveled, dipping his knees to properly catch her eyes. “Most people take three, maybe four NEWTs. I mean I only take four because—” I want to be an Auror. He bites his tongue and goes on. “The Head Girl? She takes the most and that’s five. And here you are, taking six. Six Bloody NEWTs. You’re mad.” He shakes his head then, “absolutely fucking brilliant, but rather mad.” He finishes fondly. 

She turns his new favorite color then. A glowing and rosy pink under his words. One of her fingers moving to fumble nervously with her ribbon.

She shrugs, her face modest. “I had a lot of catching up to do.” 

It breaks his heart a little. Makes it pang noisily and harshly against his ribs. Thoughts of Lily feeling she needs to prove herself—prove that she belongs. 

“Maybe.” He agrees softly, because he sees where she’s coming from. He would never want to dismiss her feelings. “But you and I both know Dumbledore and McGonagall would’ve never insisted or let you take on such a heavy load if you were nothing more than capable.” 

He says it with such certainty. The kind of thing she’s come to expect from him in the short time she’s known him, but it still surprises her each time. Even now, it knocks her back a little on her heels as something warm begins blossoming in her chest. 

Before she can get a word in edgewise, thank him, even, she sees his eyes begin to widen in panic. 

“Lily, you take six NEWT classes.” His face blanches then. 

She starts to giggle, “well spotted, James.” 

Suddenly, he’s fumbling around, trying to free one of his arms from her mound of books and nearly sends them tumbling to the stone. He’s got one hand shoved deep in his pocket, another keeping her books from sliding around.  “Hold these for one second, yeah?” He thrusts them just in time for her to keep them from falling, but continues to hold them quizzically. “Thanks, love, just a moment. Should be just here.” He mumbles, the endearment slips out unbidden, a quiet breath of air beneath his lips as he continues to wrestle with his robes. 

Lily bites the inside of her cheek at the word. It’s so casual, so off-hand. So, why is her stomach doing the same tumbles it does every time he calls her Trouble?

“Fuck.” He says, half-curse, half-groan and successfully pulls her back to reality.

“James, you okay?” She asks concerned and a bit amused at his tousled state. 

He takes the books back from her easily but not before running a hand through his hair for good measure. 

“Yes,” he says, though defeatedly. “I normally carry Droobles in my robes. Peter must’ve nicked my last box.” He mutters dejectedly. 

Lily thinks it’s silly that he’s so put out on missing a few pieces of candy, especially when he’s due for lunch as soon as they part, but keeps that to herself. “You can always grab some between lessons, right?” She tries to rationalize. 

Realization washes over him, Lily can see the exact moment his expression changes from frustration to something a bit worried, but also softer. 

“No, Trouble, the Droobles were for you .” He says fondly and a bit exasperated. “Bloody barking, brilliant, girl taking six NEWTs. You probably haven’t had a meal since breakfast and won’t again till at least four.” 

He’s started walking again, leading her up another staircase. They halt as the thing maneuvers itself around. 

And thank god for that, because Lily think’s if she wasn’t gripping the railing so hard she’d be a puddle at his feet. The sincerity and concern making her chest ache. 

“You’re sweet but you worry too much.” She decides then, because despite how long she’s known him, it’s one thing she could say as much for certain. 

He tuts, “I’m very good at it. Ask anyone.” 

He’s grinning, throwing in a wink for good measure. Soon, it fades into something softer, he nudges into her hip with his shoulder from where he stands two steps down. “Ask Remus for a piece of chocolate when you see him, yeah?” He looks almost sheepish. “He always has some on him, it’s not much but it’ll hold you over.”

Her stomach grumbles then, unbidden, loud enough for them both to hear, making her face burn hot. 

“It’ll make us both feel a bit better, I reckon.” He rubs a hand against the back of his neck. 

Lily looks at him, eyes soft and sparkling and nods. “If it gets you to stop fussing.” She says light heartedly. 

And to both their surprise, James doesn’t joke back. Doesn’t match her banter or let that cocky grin ease onto his features. 

And it hasn’t got a thing to do with anything Lily’s done. Lily is warm and light and beautiful. But something about her when she thinks no one’s looking—something he’s not sure everyone could spot, even if they were paying attention—is immensely sad and seemingly lonely. 

He saw it that day when she walked into the Great Hall, masked by her undeniable beauty, but it was there. It returned this morning in Transfiguration, flickered while they walked to Potions. It was impossible to miss it Saturday in the corridor. Practically seeped from her, leaking out onto the stone and all over the walls of the castle while Trelawney spat false promises and dark omens at her. 

“I don’t think I can stop fussing. Not about you.” Is what he admits quietly. Seriously. “What I mean is, Lily, I won’t lie—I’ve been quite worried since Saturday, since…” 

He sees something in her shift, watches her gulp. “The Divination Professor.” She answers for him, a throaty, fragile whisper. 

James nods, weakly. He hates this. Hates what’s happened. Hates that it’s him who’s upset her. He hears Remus, a gentle reprimand in his head. Echoes of warnings he gave this weekend: “She should set the pace.”

“I’m sorry, I—” 

She shakes her head, “Please, don’t apologize. I brought it up first, didn’t I? Walking to Potions.” She assuredly reminds. 

He breathes a little easier, the knot in his chest unfurling ever so slightly. 

“I don’t mean to upset you or scare you. It’s just—I want to be honest.” He says sincerely. 

She nods, beckoning him on. 

Before he speaks again, she suddenly feels something snake into her hand. It’s warm and soft. She looks down to see his pinky wrap its way around her much smaller one, tugging her gently to a small bench outside two large mahogany doors. Doors framed by ancient looking stone and carved with runes, meaning they’ve made it. 

He places her books down beside him, turning his much longer legs into her space as his trousers brush her bare knees. 

“I think you knew it then—I did too, I wanted to tell you. I tried to right after.” He began a bit panicked, free hand tangling in his hair. Tone dipped in guilt. 

He thinks of Lily, of the confused and terrified look on her face. Of Dumbledore silencing James with a pointed expression before whisking her away. He can still feel his hand reaching for her own, only to meet the heavy, tense air of the corridor. 

“James?” She says gently, drawing back.

He shakes his head sharply, as if willing the memories away. “What I mean to say is, what happened in the corridor on Saturday—the prophecies, the dark omens—that’s not normal.” 

Lily’s face doesn’t show shock as much as recognition. He could tell she suspected as much but saying it aloud makes it all the more real.

He feels something clench harshly and almost painfully around his pinky. It takes him a moment to deduce it’s her clenching her fist, digging her nails roughly into her palm. She seems to realize he’s noticed and immediately flinches, moving to pull her hand away apologetically but before she can, he tightens where his pinky lays against her own and brushes the tips of his other fingers against the angry red indents. 

“I told my friends.” He admits after a moment. “And I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think it was important. But Remus is absolutely brilliant and Sirius can read people better than anyone and Pete knows more about Divination than the three of us combined. I know that—” He begins to ramble.

“James,” she interrupts, soft and steady. “It’s okay.” 

And maybe she should be upset. 

She already feels like some outcast, freak. An enigma to her new classmates. The Muggle playing pretend witch.

But for whatever reason she doesn’t feel betrayed or even embarrassed—perhaps if it had been anyone else she would have been, but it’s not anyone. It’s James. 

James who has been nothing but kind and inviting. James who makes her stomach feel funny. Makes her feel things she doesn’t understand. 

James who looks at her as more than The Forgotten Witch. 

“What did they say?” Lily asks quietly. 

“Trelawney, she hasn’t made a prophecy since she began teaching here.” Panic strikes her face. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Remus—he had an idea about it.” He soothes quickly. 

She nods for him to continue, face pale and hand shaking beneath his own. 

“Divination, it’s supposed to be kind of like some strong, cosmic, sort of attraction to magic.” 

Not his most eloquent, but Lily seems to understand. Her mind drifts to crystal balls and tarot card readings at school dances. She wonders now if it wasn’t all performative. If there was some truth to it. 

Images circle her brain, she’s just started secondary school and her parents all but forced her to the start of term dance. There’s a woman with unkempt grey hair flipping cards. She can still picture it—the blades piercing the dead man’s back, the blood dripping off them. 

The Ten of Swords.

“And Lily,” James luckily continues, cutting off her thoughts. “You’re a lot of years of a lot of magic that Remus reckons—me too—is just waiting to get out. We thought that maybe, your energy, or whatever, was so strong she felt a sort of physical pull to it she hasn’t with anyone else here. That you were a sort of catalyst.”

And it sounds reasonable, she supposes. She skimmed the chapter on Divination during her studies. Though, she didn’t get very far. Minerva wrote off the subject for something more substantial like Charms work. 

“But what about what she said? About me? About needing to leave and being forgotten?” She presses. “I mean it can’t be a coincidence, in some ways, it’s true, I was a forgotten witch.” She speaks the title sadly, like a scar plastered for the world to see. One she’s tried desperately to conceal but is resigned to carry. 

“Lily,” he breathes, voice strangled and hoarse. “She doesn’t know the first thing about you.” He speaks it like an oath. 

“And you do?” She asked, though not unkindly. Her eyes stay trained on a particularly interesting swirl of granite beneath her shoe. 

“In the short time I’ve come to know you, I know you’re brilliant and you’re interesting. And yeah—I don’t know a lot and I’d like to know more, but there is one thing I’m certain of.” 

She lifts her head curiously, doe-eyes meeting a swirl of hazel and brown and gold. His gaze is unyielding, sizzling and something she doesn’t yet comprehend. 

“You, Lily Evans, are the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met—and it hasn’t got a single thing to do with how long you’ve been a witch for.”

He says it with such conviction but it’s somehow still soft. Breathless. He seems almost embarrassed by such an admission. She hears him swallow loudly, eyes wide and cheeks pink. She’s sure hers are a similar shade to his own as she feels the welcome warmth bloom across the apples of her cheeks, her neck, her chest—all the way down to her toes. 

Her fingers are tingling, none more so then the pinky wrapped around his own. Her pulse point thundering against the pads of his fingers.  

The sentiment may seem like nothing but for whatever reason she finds herself peeking out the window behind him. She expects to see the world tilting on its axis or standing still. It feels like something’s changing and yet everything’s the same. 

“Thank you.” Is all she says—all she can say. She has half the mind to protest such a statement but something about him is so compelling. 

Anyway, she can’t very well explain everything else she’s feeling without seeming very mad, can she?

He smiles gently, scanning the pretty blush on her cheeks, reveling in her now steady hand resting against his own, setting his skin alight. He notices she accepts the compliment too, a small victory. 

“Of course, Trouble. I mean it.” He adds for good measure. “Anyway, Divination is a crock of shite and I’m not just saying that either. Pete takes lessons with Trelawney, though. He says he’ll let me know if anything strange keeps happening.”

“Thank you.” She says again and this time he swears he feels her hand flinch against his own, like it’s fighting the urge to curl around him. Like she’s trying not to unravel the fortress she’s built so sturdily around herself. 

He shakes his head meaningfully, “please don’t thank me.” Not for something like basic human decency. “It just wasn’t fair the way everyone was seeming to lie to you about it. It’s nothing and—” 

“It’s not nothing.” Lily says, tone firm but without any edge to it. “It’s kindness, which is something that is harder and harder to come by. Something that's become valuable to me lately.” She finishes softer, though he notices it again—the tinge of sadness he doesn’t fully understand. 

Part or him wants to ask—ask who or what hurt her. What kind of life she led before this one. What it was like that made her think she doesn’t deserve kindness. He’s got that urge again, one he can’t ignore either, the need to make things better. Brighter. For her. 

He decides against it though, if they don’t get a move on, she’ll be late. He also can hear Remus nagging in his ear, telling him he’s probably overwhelmed Lily enough for one day. Best not to rehash whatever got her upset. 

So he leaves it, for now. Until she’s ready. He’ll wait. 

“Get used to it.” He says affectionately, nudging her shoulder with his own.

He twists his body around then, feeling the loss of her hand in his own as he moves. He soon fills his suddenly cold hands with her books. 

“Looks like people are filing in.” He says, nodding to the students walking through the double doors. “Ask Remus about the chocolate, yeah?” He reminds gently as he passes the books into her outstretched arms. 

She nods and he hopes it’s not just to placate him, but he takes it. 

“Thank you again James, for all of it.” 

He shakes his head, a lopsided grin plastered on his face. “Have a good class, Evans.” 

She turns ribbon flicking behind her, hair swishing around her shoulders. She begins to walk toward the double doors, shoulders hunched and looking much smaller than she was moments ago. 

And it feels wrong, something about it just isn’t right and before he can help himself—

“Wait!” He calls rather loudly, turning several heads, but only one matters. 

Her emerald eyes are wide in confusion, but she halts. Then, she pivots, her fingers working deftly to smooth out the pages of her book nervously as she faces him.

“I’ve—I’ve got Quidditch practice later. Do you?” 

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. 

She looks confused, “not something I signed up for. Or would be very good at.” 

James shuts his eyes tightly, scolding himself as he runs a hand harshly through his hand. “What I meant to say is, do you have anything? Later—I mean.” 

“Oh.” Lily breathes, taking a minute to think, “well, I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’m taking six NEWT classes. Reckon I have a fair bit to catch up on.” She steps closer then, a subtle smile quirking her lips. 

James sighs in relief. The teasing. The sarcasm. This is what he thrives on. Hopefully he can save himself just a bit. 

“Six classes?” He gasps dramatically, hand over his heart. “I hadn’t heard!” 

She giggles. “I would assume after lessons I’ll start on my Transfiguration essay.” She says a bit more seriously, though amusement still graces her face. 

He steps forward, hands shoved deep in his robes. “I offered you a tour on Saturday, before—” he stops. “I just thought if you’d like, it still stands. Maybe later, around seven?” 

And he’s nervous. So nervous. 

Suave. Smooth. Heartbreaker of Hogwarts —reduced to nothing but a bumbling idiot. 

It’s a bloody tour, not a marriage proposal, you twat. Take it easy. He tells his racing heart. 

Lily trains her eyes on the cover of her book, but begins to nod slowly. “Yes. I—yes.” She flicks her eyes to meet his, “If you’re not too busy or—” 

“No!” He says too quickly. “No, not too busy.” For you. “I offered anyway.” He shrugs, aiming for casual. 

She closes her eyes tightly, nose scrunching. he can practically hear her scolding herself. “Right, yes. You just did that, sorry.” 

Merlin, she’s adorable. 

“I’m not sure if I’ll be in the library or the common room or my dorm room or—”

“I’ll find you.” He says quickly, thinking of the map.

Her brow furrows. 

“I’ve got my ways, Trouble.” He tells her smoothly, throwing her a wink. Luckily, some of his patented Potter Charm returning. 

“Okay well, I’ll see you later then. Or well, I’ll see you for Defense Against the Dark Arts. But after that too, I suppose.” She flushes at her ramblings. 

Yeah, definitely adorable. He notes fondly, as her cheeks turn the color of rose petals. 

“See you soon, Lily.” He says softly.

She smiles once more before turning to walk away but then she pauses. When she looks back, he’s just as she left him, a little awestruck and with a dopey look on his face. Though, she’s too caught up in her own nerves to notice. 

He scrunches his eyebrows as she steps back to him. “Lily?” 

“I just wanted to tell you,” she starts, voice shaking and throat suddenly tight. “I think you’re interesting too.” She blurts out, voice trembling. “And it hasn’t got a thing to do with how long you’ve been a wizard for.” 

She turns away and disappears before he can so much as come up with a coherent thought. When he finally does come to, it isn’t until the door to Ancient Runes are firmly shut and the lesson is well on its way, leaving him standing alone in the corridor, a stunned and grinning fool. 

He doesn’t stop smiling the entire way to the Great Hall. 

Notes:

This one is a bit longer then the others, I'm considering combining 1/2 and 3/4, I wanted to initially but decided against it. A few Easter Eggs in this one:
-The white rabbit in this story is a reference to Louis Carroll's use of it as a representation of an escape for young Alice in Alice's Adventures in Wonderland but also of running out of time.
-The Albatross poem are lyrics from Taylor Swift's The Albatross, which is a song based on The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, about a sailor who kills an Albatross and then becomes cursed. Albatross' represent burdens, bad luck and curses in literature.
-Lily's first spell with her wand was transfiguring Black Dahlias, which is important later!
-The Ten of Swords, which Lily mentions, is a tarot card that means painful endings, loss and bad luck ahead.
-James hearing Sirius teasing him with the "Nice one, James," is a direct reference to Sirius' last words from Order of the Phoenix.
While these were just things I had placed in, this chapter is partially as long as it is to establish my version of Lily, who in this universe is quiet and reserved, for good reason. All will come to light but I would love to hear any guesses! However, this was also so long because I love writing her with this version of James. I think they're the sweetest (and the pet names are just gonna keep coming)! Look out for the next one, thank you guys xx

Chapter 4: Auriga

Summary:

James finally gets to give Lily her tour of Hogwarts, where they both learn things about the other.

Notes:

Sorry for the wait but I hope you enjoy 12,000 words of these two being so gone for one another. I also ended up writing my favorite scene ever. The balcony-stars scene, I hope you all like it!

---

Auriga 

(The Charioteer) 

The constellation of the crossing of points between the Earth and Moon’s orbital waves. 

Symbolizes the joining of heaven and earth. 

The line of destiny; fate. 

---

Dark Arts is regrettably a boring affair. James doesn’t get the chance to speak with Lily again but it is certainly not for lack of trying. 

He spends the duration of Professor Dearborn’s lecture on ward breaking sneaking glances at Lily. His attempts to ignore the old man’s drones are wildly successful—it’s not his fault Lily’s easily more interesting than whatever he has to say. His efforts are rather wasted, though, as they go unnoticed by her. 

Lily—who is the ever devoted student, dutifully writes down every single thing Dearborn spouts. Part of him feels guilty—almost privileged—for so easily being able to afford to not pay attention without missing a beat. His brain contends with himself, occasionally forcing himself to scratch down something, but he’s constantly pulled back to her. It’s difficult when she’s so captivating. 

There is a rare moment of silence. A lull in the lesson whilst Dearborn scrambles for his wand for a demonstration. It’s in the halt that James is able to catch her eye. 

And once he gets over the twinkle in her emerald orbs, he notices that she’s nibbling on a square or chocolate, lips curled upward, passing him a secret kind of smile as she does. And his heart does a flip, a funny flutter. It’s as if the ground has slipped out from beneath him—

It makes him feel like he’s floating. 

He’s having one of those moments now, the ones he’s yet to understand but constantly confronted with when in Lily’s presence. The silly notion that things happen at certain times for a reason. That their paths were meant to meet, right here, right in this moment. 

Like his entire life is a long, rich tapestry and suddenly Lily is being woven into it, but now that she’s there, it’s difficult to remember when she wasn’t. Like she was inevitable. 

All this for some fleeting glance—he must be insane, truly. 

Remus’ golden eyes soon slice through the moment, pressing and sharp, forcing James to turn back to the board.  The lessons concludes not long after that, without any looks passed between both Lily and Remus. As soon as they are dismissed, he almost instantly catches the flash of her auburn hair and golden ribbon as she scurries from the room. James hopes she’s moving with such haste to the great hall for a meal, but he has a sneaking suspicion she has every intention to hide away in the library. 

He stamps down the urge to do something foolish like check for himself, knowing if he doesn’t get a move on he’ll be late for Quidditch—though, he finds for once, he’s actually dreading having to go. 

Quidditch is meant to start everyday straight after lessons at four-thirty, though four-fifteen is more accurate (thanks to the Gryffindor captain's punctuality and insistence). It runs for about two hours or is meant to, anyway. More often than not, the team is lucky to be done by seven o’clock. Admittedly—most days they’re doing drills until seven-thirty. Even eight-thirty during the weeks before a big match or following a poor showing. 

James—ever the dedicated captain and teammate—has taken it upon himself to lend both his time and skill to those who could use the additional practice. Particularly, a third-year named Theo Baddock, a young lad who has got a passion for being a chaser and a bright future at it, if James has anything to do with it. 

Tonight, however, a little more than half past six, James calls practice, leaving his teammates slack jawed and whispering amongst themselves but it’s something no one dares question aloud. This is a once and a lifetime kind of thing and the Gryffindor Quidditch team will take a well-deserved break. 

As everyone files away to the locker room excited for the early night, Theo bounds up to James—as he always does—broom in hand and toothy grin plastered across his face. 

“Ah, Theo.” James begins as he comes closer, “what do you say we take a night off. The both of us?” 

The little third-year looks around like this is some sort of trick. His small eyes are wide in confusion as he fumbles around for a correct response. James, however, is left eagerly tapping his foot, anxious for his evening plans which for once do not involve Quidditch. 

“Night off?” The young boy squeaks. 

James nods, running a hand through his windswept hair. “Sure, mate. You’ve been working rather hard and the terms picking up. Go do your homework, pull a prank, rest—whatever you want.” He encourages. 

It’s not a complete lie, of course. Theo is nothing if not dedicated and hard-working. James reckons a little praise is long overdue and if the little bloke just happens to have caught him in a good mood, no harm done. 

“Really?” He beams, smiling bright enough to light the entire pitch.

“Really.” James nods. He moves to ruffle the boy's blonde hair and smiles fondly. “Rain check, yeah?” He says beginning to walk back to the locker room. 

“Yeah!” Theo yips excitedly as he leaps back to the castle. 

James watches him go, smile fading as he heads into the locker room. He takes a quick shower there, a rare and painful feat he often avoids (the water pressure does nothing for his hair). After, he changes into a pair of jeans and soft grey jumper he keeps in his locker. Normally, it’s reserved for full moons, when he needs to rush away, but he finds it comes in handy now, too, though for a completely different purpose. 

Glancing at the clock, it’s about seven, which is perfect, really. Mentally, he gathers he’d find Lily by seven-thirty and they’d hangout for about an hour, leaving plenty of time before the nine o’clock curfew. 

A stupid boyish part of him begins to half-plan their conversations in his head. The things he’ll show her. Jokes that may coax a smile—even a laugh from her. 

As he works out a good Peeves joke, he mindlessly goes to reach for his bag. He pushes his hand past the crumpled up bits of parchment and between a pair of textbooks, feeling around for the map. 

“Fuck.” He huffs, after a moment. 

He left the damned thing under his pillow. 

With a sigh, he starts to his dorm as quick as his legs can carry him. Thankfully, this is the time of day Remus spends locked away and working diligently in his Head Boy office—Sirius spends this time dedicated to annoying the life out of him. That, at least, saves James from the impending interrogation from the latter and sour looks from the former. Peter, who usually is in the dorm at this time of night, happens to be occupied working on a hefty group assignment for History of Magic. Though, he wasn’t likely to ask questions, anyway.

Whistling idly as he goes, James pushes open the door to his room—only to freeze when he finds it already occupied. 

“What are you doing here?” He asks before he can help himself, all but giving himself away. 

“I could ask you the same thing. Doesn’t Quidditch run until seven-thirty?” Sirius asks a little too knowingly as he places down some magazine he was reading on motorbike parts. 

“Quidditch is two hours.” James responds stupidly. 

Sirius scoffs, one eyebrow raised. “Yeah, maybe in some parallel universe.” He remarks, moving to sit up. “And you’re showered and changed.” 

“So? Maybe I smelt.” James retorts, a tad too defensive to be perceived as casual. 

“But you hate the shower pressure in the locker room. Can’t charm in the way you like to get your hair to look…stupid.” 

Instinctively James’ hand flies up to his scalp, fluffing some of the decidedly dull curls. “My hair is not stupid, it’s—” he glances at Sirius, who is grinning mischievously and stops. “Aren’t you meant to be bothering Moony right now?” 

Sirius' grin only widens. “One of his prefects is sick and he has to cover rounds later. He was nice enough to slot me in during dinner.” James rolls his eyes, as he continues, cheeky and unbothered. “I got Pete during Dark Arts—not that you’d have noticed. So, that just leaves you, but would you look at that? My Prongs seems to be in a hurry.” 

“Your Prongs has something to do.” He huffs, making a move to his bed and pulling the map from beneath his pillow. 

Without missing a beat, Sirius moves to sit at the edge of James’ bed. 

“And say, does this have something to do with a certain bird?” He asks with knowing amusement. “Say she’s new. Red hair. Muggle-born. Name rhymes with silly ?”

James blushes an intense shade of red but continues trying to play it cool. “What are you on about?” 

“I mean, I think it’s cute, really.” Sirius begins. “But if this is your pick of birds to start wasting your time snogging tarts in broom closets again, I’d advise against it. I mean sure, you’re fit, you’re good at Quidditch, you’ve got money—”

“Bugger off, that’s not what this is about.” He snaps tersely. “I haven’t snogged—or even shagged, for that matter—anyone since way before I even knew Lily, anyway.” He adds for good measure. 

“Ohhh,” Sirius coos delighted. “So this is about Lily?” 

James rolls his eyes, trying to mask his growing frustration. “I’m meant to be meeting her and show her around a bit. However, this completely useless conversation seems to be keeping me.” He grits out whilst he studies the map. Suddenly, he stops. Wand drawn over the parchment as he squares his shoulders and turns to his friend. “Do you really think this is just about shagging her?” He asks quietly, a twinge of sadness leaking into his words. 

Sirius sighs, grin slipping off his face. “No, mate. I was just messing with you. I know you stopped all that at the end of last year.”

And sure, James used to have a bit of a reputation. He could charm the pants—literally—off any girl in the castle. It was never serious. Always mutually agreed to be beneficial for all parties involved. No strings attached. Just some good old fashioned fun. 

However, with the existential crisis that came with the conclusion of his sixth-year and all that transpired over the summer, he found he had little time and interest to chase skirts for nothing but a quick bout of pleasure. Along with his unmatched arrogance and ego the size of the sun, this was one of his past behaviors he was happy to shed with his growing maturity. Thinking about it now, he was almost ashamed. He knows his Mum would be mortified if she ever found out what her baby boy used to be like. It plants a seed of guilt deep within his ribs, blooming into something suffocating if he reflects on it for too long. 

“Because I’m not interested in that anymore. Especially not with Lily.” He says leaving no room for argument. “Not because there’s anything wrong with her or because she’s not pretty. She needs a friend and I—”

“I get it.” Sirius cuts off before he can dig himself a bigger hole. “Really, James, you’ve grown up a lot and not to give myself any credit—”

“Which you surely will.”

“But I reckon it’s got a thing or two to do with me… or rather what happened this summer.” Sirius says quietly, a little darkly. “We all see it, alright? Don’t be too hard on yourself. I know that’s not what you want with Evans.” He finishes more firmly. 

“Are you sure?” James asks, question laced with uncertainty. 

“Yes I am, I just—”

“No, I mean, are you sure you all see it?” He emphasizes, hoping Sirius will read between the lines. 

He blinks confusedly, but answers “yes,” again. 

“I just—” he begins, teeth biting into his lip in thought. “Do you think Moony likes Lily?” James blurts out, the question lingering heavily in the room. 

Something on Sirius’ face falls. Just for a single moment, his eyes dull and his lips falter, before he begins snickering. 

“Remus? And Lily?” He repeats between chuckles. 

James huffs and rolls his eyes, willing his friend to be serious for just one moment. 

Once he’s calmed his breathing and wiped his eyes, Sirius begins speaking. “Look, mate, I know you look at Evans like she invented Quidditch—”

“I do not.” James defends. 

“But I don’t think she’s Moony’s type.” Sirius finishes, tone light but with a renewed sense of finality behind it. 

And okay—that’s fair and James, of course, considered the possibility. Lily is objectively beautiful, anyone with working eyes could see as much but James wasn’t very good at reading romantic situations, especially when it came to Remus. 

Remus—who was often closed off and difficult to read when it came to personal manners, was always tight lipped when it came to relationships. And despite Lily’s beauty, part of James knew the thought was far-fetched. He honestly wasn't sure if Remus was even attracted to girls. 

It wasn’t something they spoke about but it wasn’t something they didn’t not speak about, either. 

After the incident with Snape at the end of fifth-year, things between the foursomes dynamic was in shambles. Namely, the atmosphere between Sirius and Remus. Remus, during this time had gotten closer to Grant Page, a Hufflepuff he was prefects with whom he later admitted to liking. James knows that the two never made things official, for fear of scrutiny from others, but spent a lot of time together after the incident. 

James never pressed Remus on it, knowing that time was particularly rough for all of them, but mostly him. And while James is inherently good with people. He has always been, well, stupid—for lack of a better word—when it came to things like relationship advice. It wasn’t that Remus was embarrassed or never brought it up, either, but Sirius was much better at that kind of thing and considering they were on the outs at the time, it hadn’t come up again. 

Sure—Remus has commented a few other times about other boys he thought were cute since but James wasn’t sure if he exclusively liked guys or not. 

Lucky for him, he supposes, it seems like Sirius did know. 

Bless him for being so damn nosey. 

“Oh.” Is all James says. “I mean I kind of thought it was a long shot too—” Sirius scoffs, as if to say, you think? “But I don’t know why else he seems to be so upset whenever I’m near her or even mention her. I mean, even he acknowledged I’ve been better, the other day with Snape, right?” James begins anxiously. 

Sirius shrugs, “I wouldn’t think too much into it. Full moon’s coming up.” He tries to reason, unable to come up with a more sufficient reason himself. 

“But you noticed too? I’m not crazy?” James presses, eager for the validation. 

Sirius nods reluctantly, “yeah, I noticed.” James’ face falls but he continues in attempts to lighten the mood. “But hey, he’s just like that sometimes. Part of his angsty teen werewolf charm , I suppose.” 

James sighs tensely. “I’m serious.” 

“No, I’m Sirius.” He can’t resist

James groans and thumps him on the head with the map in frustration. 

“Okay, okay.” He relents, hands thrown in mock surrender. “Look, have you tried, I don’t know… asking?” Sirius suggests like it’s a wild idea. 

James again, rolls his eyes, decidedly unimpressed. “What am I supposed to even say? Hey, Moony, why do you act like I shoved wolfsbane up your arse every time I’m near Lily? ” He finishes with a cocked brow. 

“Well maybe not that exactly.” 

James huffs, left unsatisfied and frustrated “Look, I gotta go, I’m gonna be late. Cover for me? Please?” He says with wide pleading eyes, hoping his mate will cut him a break. 

“Fine.” Sirius grumbles. “Go on your secret rendezvous. See if I care.” He teases, walking back to his bed and picking up his magazine again. 

James beams, tapping his wand on the parchment as he scans it for Lily’s name. 

Library—he should’ve known, honestly. 

“Love you, Pads.” James says blowing exaggerated kisses his way as he backs out of the room and shuts the door. 

As soon as it closes Sirius flips open his magazine and laughs to himself. “Boy, does he got it bad.” 

---

James strolls into the library, hands shoved deep in his pockets, looking and feeling wildly out of place. He can’t recall the last time he was in here—if ever, honestly. 

James wasn’t a dumb bloke by any means—far from it, actually. He excelled in magic, whether it be luck, genetics, whatever you wish to call it, he does know for a fact he didn’t come by these skills with a nose buried in books. His talent wasn’t learned, it just was. 

Throughout his years of schooling, he and his mates have established a steady rotation, a kind of system, if you will. Remus, ever the good student, sought out their books for essays or projects and the rest of them would just pass it around, pulling from different passages on assignments requiring citations. Though not something he’d ethically feel comfortable sharing with his Professors, it’s pretty efficient and has gotten him this far. Bonus, that it has cut the library from his life completely. 

Well—until now, that is.  

And his presence seems to garner some attention because heads from the nearby tables begin turning his way. Whispers begin rising at the tables, heads bowed and brows scrunched. Eyes lingering on him a moment too long as he passes. 

He nods at a few of his stunned-looking teammates and tosses a dull smile to a group of whispering seventh-year Ravenclaw girls. Otherwise, he keeps his head down and scans for red amongst the rows of shelves. 

He finds her tucked away in a quiet corner, hidden away from the rest of the world. She’s surrounded by a fortress of books, stacked taller than her. She hasn’t changed from her uniform but she’s discarded her tie and her sleeves are rumpled and rolled at her forearms. Her golden ribbon, looser than before, dangles from her auburn hair, which falls in a sheet around her shoulders. Her green eyes are sharp and intent as she scribbles mercilessly on a piece of parchment. Her tongue poked slightly past her pink lips in concentration. There’s ink staining her fingertips. 

James freezes at the sight of her and for a moment all he can do is stare. She looks so damn adorable that he takes a minute to curse to himself under his breath. Because fuck—if Lily Evans looks this cute doing something as simple as concentrating he may find himself in the library more often. 

Merlin, help him, he is absolutely doomed. 

“Lily.” He calls gently, pitching his voice somewhere between a whisper and normal volume as not to disturb the other students. 

She doesn’t do much as flinch. 

“Trouble.” He tries again, this time stepping closer. 

Still nothing. 

Gently—so gently—as not to startle her, he places a soft hand atop her much smaller shoulder. “Lily, hey.” 

She flinches slightly at the contact but it’s enough to gather her attention. Her green eyes blink up at him, her dark lashes casting shadows against her flushed cheeks. 

“James, hi.” She says quietly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were there.” She admits, a lovely shade of pink spreading across her cheeks. 

Yeah, he is completely, utterly fucked.

“‘S alright,” he reassures her, voice warm. “I just hope I’m not interrupting?” He says, gesturing vaguely to the quill still clutched in her ink-stained fingers. 

“Oh, no, you’re not!” She says quickly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just making some revisions. I’m nearly done. Would you mind terribly waiting a moment?” She asks shyly, beginning to wring her hands together nervously. 

James fights a grin, trying not to show the fact her bashfulness is making his heart gallop like a hippogriff. 

Luckily, he gathers his senses, if only for a moment. “Course not, Trouble.” He says easily. He then maneuvers around the table, plopping into the chair across from her and stretches like he owns the place. One arm lazily resting on the back of the chair beside him, the other drumming idly against the wooden tabletop. “Take your time. I’ll just be right here.” He tells her with a grin. 

She spares him a final glance, blush deepening and a smile playing at her lips before she delves back into her work. And just like during lessons today, he’s transfixed. Don’t get him wrong—he’s quite certain there isn’t anything Lily could do that wouldn’t captivate him. But this—her, so in her element. Well, he thinks he could sit in this library forever if this was his view. 

He watches her for a beat longer before letting his eyes wander idly to the grand expanse of books hovering and shelves lining the wall. The atmosphere is quiet—peaceful, even and yet his thoughts are anything but. As much as he tries to act nonchalant and uninterested, he is continuously drawn back to her. 

Time seems to stretch and warp in these moments, but Lily remains true to her promise and after five minutes, sets her quill down. He only snaps out of his daze when she announces the fact.

“Done.” She states with a small smile. 

Luckily, her undeterred focus seems to have been in his favor because she doesn’t seem to notice that he was staring at her like a total creep. 

“Perfect.” James replied, springing to his feet. 

Lily does the same, grabbing at one of the dozen books at the table and piling them into a neat stack. “Don’t worry. These ones live in the library, so you don’t need to offer to lug them around.” She teases quietly as she gathers one of the heftier texts and walks toward a nearby shelf. 

James hovers beside her, watching as she extends the old thing forward. He jolts when she lets out a small, gleeful squeal as she watches in awe as the book hovers before floating and tucking itself back in its place. 

She turns to him and beams. “I think that’s my favorite thing about this place.”

And the wonderment and excitement. The pure joy radiating from her. He marvels at it. It’s raw and honest and entirely enchanting. He thinks he’d be the luckiest sod alive to be able to see the world through her eyes in this way. 

Lily continues on with grabbing the books and letting them be charmed away. Eventually, James’ body catches up with the rest of him and he assists her. The pair fall into an easy rhythm and soon enough, there’s one book left. 

“Pride and Prejudice?” He asks, holding up the simple forest-green book embossed with gold lettering. 

She lets out a noise between a squeak and a yelp before grabbing it from his outstretched hand. “That one’s mine.” She says quickly, cheeks flooding with color as she presses it protectively to her chest. 

James grins down at her like he’s just won the Quidditch cup. James wasn’t lying earlier—Lily is fascinating and he wants to know more about her. Lucky for him, an opportunity seems to have just fallen into his lap. 

“I’ve never heard of it. Muggle book?” He asks, moving to sling her bag over his shoulder despite her protests. 

She sighs exasperatedly—and appreciatively—at the gesture. “Yes, it’s… it’s a favorite of mine.” Lily admits bashfully, fingers tracing over the worn cover. The pages are frayed and yellowing, the spine creased with use. 

“Well, I reckon we should drop off your things and grab your cloak before we set off.” James says, beginning to step from the row of shelves. “How about you tell me about it on the way to Gryffindor Tower?” He offers, glancing at her over his shoulder with a grin. 

“I don’t think you’d be much interested. It’s a romance.” She responds falling into step beside him, cheeks pink under the candlelight. 

“And I don’t strike you as someone who reads romances?” He teases. 

Lily just flushes deeper. 

“You’re right, Evans,” he lets up, “but you said it’s your favorite, yeah?” She nods. “So, I wanna know more about it. If you love it, it must be good.” James tells her both earnestly and definitively. 

Lily ignores the silly little flutter in her chest at his words, curling her fists as to stop herself from hiding a smile behind her hands. Instead, she does just as he asks. 

“It’s about Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. She’s the daughter of…”

The walk to her dorm goes on much like this. With Lily explaining the intricacies of the plot and themes throughout the novel. It’s the most enthusiastic and animated James has seen her since she arrived. She’s rambling in a completely adorable way but yet still sounds so composed, so brilliant.

James, for his part, finds himself genuinely invested. Maybe it’s because of the way she speaks or maybe it’s because it’s her but he can’t help asking his own questions every so often. Simple things like, “what are the names of Elizabeth’s sisters again?” to “Darcy proposed how many times?” He thinks of more complex questions too, one particularly ignites a fire in Lily’s emerald eyes when he asks, “if Darcy loves Elizabeth so much, why couldn’t he just say it?" 

This has Lily in upheaval. Spiraling and spluttering and then tripping across the flagstone before launching into a passionate explanation. “Because he needed to grow! To become the man he knew she deserved! Because he feels so much for her he doesn’t even know what he’s doing half the time!”

And James considers her words for a moment, before he realizes this all sounds vaguely familiar. Perhaps him and this Darcy bloke had more in common than he thought. 

Just as Lily wraps up reciting Darcy’s final monologue, they reach the steps to the girls’ dormitories. 

“… how ardently I admire and love you.” 

She finishes, chest heaving and cheeks pink. Before James can so much as respond, she bounds up the steps quickly, appearing a moment later, sans book and cloak tossed over her shoulders. 

James asks a few more questions about the novel as he leads Lily out the portrait hole but the conversation soon dwindles as their attentions are focused elsewhere. With his chest puffed, a large grin across his lips, James begins what he so confidently has claimed is the real tour of Hogwarts. 

He leads her through the labyrinth of corridors and up and down winding staircases, pointing out hidden treasures only a troublemaker of his caliber would know about. 

On the third floor, he shows her Barnabas the Barmy, lighting up as she giggles at the twirling trolls. He leads her to the woven tapestry of unicorns—that while is shimmering with beauty—cleverly hides a staircase. He brings her down to near the kitchens, encouraging her to tickle the bright green pear painted onto one of the portraits. She squeals in delight when it swings open the doorway to bustling house elves. 

At one point, he even drags her into a potions storage closet when he makes out the yellow slits of Mrs. Norris’ eyes at the edge of the corridor. With her hand firmly in his and squashed together in the small space, he shushed her amused questions half-heartedly as they successfully evaded the old cat. 

Lily smiled through it all—even when his jokes are awful and he shows her the most ridiculous things imaginable. She asks insightful questions, with a certain depth of curiosity James can’t help but marvel at. It makes him wish he could better answer her. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, her laughter remains light and her joy is infectious. 

It makes him feel like he’s on the precipice of something greater than himself. It sends a rush through his veins that rivals the excitement of avoiding Filch or discovering a hidden passage. 

For his grand finale, James leads Lily down a strip of open archways and to a small secluded balcony that overlooks Black Lake and the distant rolling mountains. The air grows colder as he leads her into the open but neither notice, too focused on the serenity before them. 

Their shoulders are brushing as she grips the stone railing, leaning forward as much as she can to better take it all in. Her eyes flicker with wonder and lips part in awe at the sight. 

James has come on more than one occasion to this balcony. A small place of refuge and sanctuary. Somewhere he can just sit and think, to dream or to just lose himself for a while. It brings him a sense of calm like nothing else. 

It hits him then: he’s never brought anyone here. Never even told anyone about it. Not Sirius, not Remus, not Peter. 

No one. 

He led her here without thought or questions. His subconscious clearly decides Lily deserves the small slice of solace. He finds now that his thoughts have caught up with him, he doesn’t mind sharing it with her. 

“It’s beautiful.” Lily breathes in wonderment. 

And it is. The night air is chilly but the breeze carries the scent of the forest. All that can be heard is the wind rustling the trees. Leaves of golden-browns, burnt oranges and vibrant reds swirl and dance under the light of the moon. Its white glow bounces off the dark lake, making it look like long inky silk ribbons, rippling under the night sky. Behind it all, are rolling hills, vast and endless.

But it’s the stars—the stars that are smattered across the sky twinkling proudly and brightly over the landscape. Like cut diamonds and rare gems glittering just for the two of them. 

“It is.” James agrees, though he’s not looking at starry night. Her beauty puts it to shame. 

He doesn’t think he’d be able to look away from her, even if he tried. 

“I’ve never seen so many.” Lily murmurs, completely oblivious to his gaze as she stares upward. She turns when he says nothing, just to find his brow slightly scrunched. “Stars, I mean.” 

“Really?” He asks softly, tone free of judgment but full of curiosity. He wishes to know everything about her. 

“There was a factory near where I lived—the air was horrible. Only on very clear summer nights could you just barely make out a few stars.” 

He leans down and crosses his arms over the railing beside her, elbow knocking into hers as he looks at the wide expanse above them. 

“Stars are a bit of a big deal in the wizarding world.” He begins. “Some people believe that the first magical being was born from the night sky—spawned from the heavens and blessed by the Seven Sisters.”

“The Seven Sisters?” Lily asks, turning to face him fully. 

He nods. “The Pleiades. The daughters of Titans and nymphs. Orion—the hunter—pursued them relentlessly. It’s said that they were turned into stars by the gods. But Orion was immortalized too, sealing their fate again. Orion was bound to follow them forever and now they’re trapped in an eternal chase.” James says, gesturing to the cluster of seven off to his right. 

“That’s quite sad.” Lily whispers, gaze drifting to stars. 

James shrugs, “maybe so, but they have each other. That’s what matters, I think.” 

Briefly, Lily thinks of her own sister, the one who left her behind to deal with the demons of her past that race to catch up with her. 

Unlike the Seven Sisters, she runs alone. 

She finds though, that out here on this balcony, hidden from the world at James’ side—they cannot reach her. She can be still. She feels safe.

“What does it have to do with Magic?” Lily asks. 

“The sisters—it’s said that their tears are what mortals perceive as rain. That their cries of anguish is what falls from the sky on dark nights. Some believe that their tears have magical properties—something descending from the heavens and onto a mortal plane is a rare and powerful thing. That their tears alone blessed the first wizard with magic. That he was saved by their grief and sadness.“

“How so?” She can’t fathom something as beautiful as magic to be born from grief, though it is ironic.

“There are different stories.” He admits. People believe different things, but my mother used to tell me that there was a man who was—like the sisters—being hunted by some great evil. Only when he was about to be caught did it begin to pour and as the water washed over him he suddenly could do things no mortal could do. Things that only those born in the heavens could do.” 

“Magic.” Lily states. 

“Magic.” James nods. “The sisters did not wish for anyone, man or mortal, to suffer as they had.” 

Lily leans forward, propping her chin in her hands and elbows on the stone edge as she peers up at the night sky. 

“I’ve never heard that before.” She sounds wistful, touched even. 

James’ cheeks heat under the chilly air as he cards a hand through his hair nervously. “‘S nothing, really. I think most kids brought up in this world know all the constellations before they even get to Hogwarts.” He shrugs. 

“Sirius.” Lily says then, it catches him off guard as she turns to him. “I don’t know nearly as much as you but I know Sirius—the dog.” 

He nods, understanding what she means. “It’s quite common, especially for original Pureblood families. All the Black’s are named for stars and constellations—Sirius, of course, his father Orion, his grandmother, Cassiopeia.” 

He hears her soft hum as she turns her attention back to the heavens, emerald eyes glittering as she takes it all in. The wind picks up, ever so slightly and he sees her shiver—even beneath her cloak—and he’s about to suggest they go inside, when she speaks again. 

“Which is your favorite?” She whispers, like it’s something private and personal. Like she means to ask something else but can’t find the words. 

He considers it for a moment—it’s not something he’s ever given any thought to. But then he looks at her. At her doe-like eyes, the way they shine under the moon and stars, the way her hair dances like a flickering flame as it tousles under the whistle of the wind. 

And then he just knows .

“Auriga.” He blurts out, the word spilling from his lips before he even realizes. 

She looks over, silently imploring him to go on. 

“You can see it, just beyond those hills. It’s tip above that tree line.” He says, scanning the skies and pointing to the horizon. 

“There?” Lily asks, finger pointing a little too far left to be entirely accurate. 

Carefully, he stands tall and comes behind her, his chest brushing against her back. One hand steadying her waist as the other dances down her forearm until her hand is grasped in his own. He curls his fingers around her much smaller hand, guiding it to the proper spot. 

“There.” He corrects, leaning down as he speaks. Breath skittering above her ear. 

Smoothly, he maneuvers where she points, silently guiding her as he outlines the constellation and draws invisible lines with her finger. 

“There’s its highest point,” he guides her diagonally, “Capella,” he tells her. Another line. “Hassaleh.” He swoops their hands around. “All the way to Mahasim.”

Together they trace the night sky and she swears that the stars only get brighter as he speaks. 

A silence falls over them when he finishes and James thinks even the heavens hold their breath as it watches the two of them. He suddenly realizes how close he is. His hand warm and strong around her own, her back molding into his chest. Her hair tickling his lips. 

He moves to pull away—apologize—but as soon as he shifts she curls her pointer fingers and weaves it through his knuckles, wrapping it around his middle finger. She tugs on it ever so slightly, sending a silent message. 

Stay, it says. 

“What does it mean?” Her voice is hoarse and throaty. She turns to face him as she speaks but doesn’t dare let him go. 

His nose skims the crown of her head at the movement. The scent of lavender and lemons and ink fills his brain, making him a little dizzy. His hand is still in hers as his other arm falls from her side, reaching out to grip the balcony as he cages her in. 

“It’s the line point between the Earth and the Moon.” He says. 

She scrunches her brow, her eyes dance under his gaze. 

“What does it mean?” She repeats, leaning closer. 

He hears what she’s asking and he swallows roughly against the tightness in his throat. Fights against the hammering of his heart. Trouble—he thinks fondly. Absolute Trouble. 

“It’s the point where the heavens and the earth are said to meet. It’s said to represent fate.”

Lily’s brow furrows, reminded of his constant assurances that Divination was something for fools. She’s honestly a bit surprised she can remember anything right now, though. Not when his hand is wrapped around hers and she can feel his chest move with each stuttering breath. 

It makes her feel warm and safe and something else she can’t name. 

She’s reminded again of their interaction in the corridor, just hours ago. When he asked her where home was and she was left with nothing but a lie past her lips. 

It wouldn’t make any sense to say this feels a bit like coming home—right? 

She shakes away the thoughts, which is decidedly easier than normal, given her mind is scrambled and burning with his touch. 

“I thought you didn’t believe in fate.” Though her tone isn’t accusatory. It’s as soft as the silk ribbon in her hair. 

He licks his lips. “I didn’t.” 

Not until I met you.  

His gaze is heavy and pressing as it burns into her. Golden-brown honey seeping into her bones and warming her against the night air. Her chest is constricted by the pounding of her heart and the weight of words left unspoken. Lily turns back to the night, putting some distance between them because these feelings she’s having—the ones she does not understand—are unsustainable, because fate isn’t real. 

Fate cannot be real, because if it is, fate is cruel and it takes and it takes from Lily until she has nothing left to be stolen from her. 

And she will not let James be tangled up in such things.

But another part of her can't help herself. She thinks she could duck and hide and run and he would always find her. So unlike Orion and the Seven Sisters he spoke of. She knows their chase would not be eternal, it would be over before it begins. 

Tangled webs weaved together. Strings tied and threaded by hands greater than what they can conceptualize. 

“I’m meant to be a witch now,” she starts. James’ face falls ever so slightly at the implications she does not think herself a witch. “And if the stars are so important to Magic, perhaps you can teach more about them and then I’ll be able to pick a favorite, too.” 

And maybe it’s because she’s always been weak or maybe it’s those invisible hands nudging her forward, but she can’t help herself. 

She’s rewarded with a smile that splinters his face. “Of course.” And it’s a promise—and he hopes it conveys all he cannot speak. 

Of the fact that he would stand on this balcony and point to every single star in the sky, until there are none left. That he would fall to his knees and beg the heavens above to create new ones just so he can share them with her. 

“I will, love.” He swears. “But not tonight. You’ll freeze if we stay out here any longer.” He says, squeezing her trembling hand. “And it’s getting late.” 

Her hand disentangles from his own and he feels the loss instantly, but her eyes are hopeful and she’s clearly heard his promise and suddenly some of the warmth has returned. 

He leads her back down the corridor, his hands stuffed in his pockets and her own hands fisted in the folds of her cloak. 

“Thank you, James,” she says softly, voice carrying a quiet gratitude. 

He looks over one eyebrow raised as to say, what for? 

“I can say I learned a lot.” About Hogwarts. The stars. Him. “Though I’m not sure how often I’ll need to know the best spots to hide from Filch are.” She teases as to lighten the mood as they begin walking back to Gryffindor Tower. 

“You never know, Evans. If I’ve said it once, I’ll say it a hundred times, you look like Trouble.” He jokes with a grin, a stark contrast to the complexities of their earlier shared moment, but the warmth remains just the same. 

She giggles softly as they turn a corner, the sound breaking any remaining tension. Her laugh is soon cut off and replaced by a sharp gasp as she collides with a dark figure. Instinctively, James’ hand finds the base of her spine, steadying her as she stumbles back.

“Sorry.” She squeaks quietly, eyes downcast in embarrassment. 

If she dared to look up, she would’ve seen one of two things: the hateful sneer across Severus Snape’s face. Long pointed nose framed by dark eyes. Or, she’d see the deep scowl set on James’ lips. A storm behind his hazel eyes. 

“Evans.” Snape drawls, voice dripping with disdain. “And Potter.” He finishes, eyes drifting from Lily to James—almost as an afterthought. 

“Snape.” James spat, tightening his grip ever so slightly on Lily, trying to gently maneuver her around the Slytherin. 

“Out and about so late, are we?” He says next, one eyebrow raised. 

James’ temper flares. His jaw clenches. “Last time I checked it’s well before curfew and you’re the one outside of your dungeon.” 

“Hm.” Snape tuts, disinterested in what Potter has to say. His mouth suddenly curls into a steely smirk. It’s enough to send a shiver up Lily’s spine. “Maybe I should tell Dumbledore that the Head Boy has begun making exceptions for his friends.” 

And James knows what Snape’s trying to do. It’s been his play the past seven bloody years. Say or do anything to get under James’ skin. And it works, every time. 

Don’t hex him. Don’t hex him. Don’t—

He fights the urge, curling his hand into a fist to keep from grabbing his wand. His other hand clenches against Lily’s back—not painfully—but enough to let it steady him. Her presence anchors him. 

He speaks through heavy breaths. “You can’t say shite about Remus to Dumbledore and you know it.” James all but growled. 

One of Snape’s eyebrows twitches ever so slightly and James knows he’s won this round. 

He softens his tone. “Come on Lily,” He says, calming just a bit. “Wouldn’t want you to be out past curfew.” He finishes bitterly and fully directed at Snape. 

Lily, who has otherwise been quiet, glances briefly at Snape, ignoring both the rush of coldness and odd sense of familiarity as they make eye contact. She flinches under his cold stare and begins letting both James’ guiding hand and her feet carry her away 

“Careful who you spend your time with, Evans.” Snape calls from behind her. Cold. Calculated. 

It feels like a warning. 

Lily hates this. Hates that it feels like Snape has taken something from her. A lovely night—the first in god knows how long—and ripped it away with his sour mood. The strangest thing too, is that for whatever reason, this doesn’t feel like the first time he’s done it to her either. 

“Ignore him.” James grits out, hand tightening against her. 

Despite the evident frustration in his tone. He still grounds her. 

Safe—she is safe. 

Once they’ve turned the corner to a now Snape free corridor, he releases his grip on Lily’s back and drops his hand to his side. Soon enough he instinctively redirects his fingers to comb through his hair as he lets out a tense breath. 

“You lot really don’t like each other, do you?” She asks quietly, crossing her arms over her chest, trying to fill the loss of his touch. 

“No, we really don’t.” He responds with a dark humorless chuckle. “But I am sorry you had to be in the middle of it—again.” He stopped walking then, turning to face her fully.

Lily waves a hand lazily as if to say no worries and brush off his apology. 

But James wasn’t convinced as guilt began to gnaw at him.

“Look, Lily, the last thing I want to tell you is what to do or who to talk to but just promise me you’ll be careful around him, alright?” His words are earnest but there’s an obvious edge to his voice. Hardened and riddled with anxiety. 

Lily visibly startles at the shift, stopping to fully face him, to look into his golden-brown eyes only to find them shining in fear. 

She averts her gaze from his own; it suddenly feels too heavy. Too tense. Instead, she focuses on ringing her suddenly too still hands together. 

“Has something happened?” She asks hoarsely and hurriedly. “Has he said or done something? Is he going to do something to me or—”

“No, no, no.” James is quick to soothe. This time, unlike in the corridor on Saturday, when he reaches out his hands to lay on her shoulders he doesn’t hesitate. 

Perhaps their shared moment on the balcony gave him the courage or just the primal urge to protect her. But, she doesn’t pull away either. Almost instantly, she’s melting under his strong yet gentle grasp as he cups the tops of her shoulders, his fingers idly rubbing small circles against her collar bone.

“He’s just—he’s always gotten under my skin.” James admits. “But a few years ago he did something to Remus—and I’m sorry because I can’t say much more but it could’ve ruined his entire life and Snape didn’t seem to care at all.” 

“And you’re worried he would do something like that to me ?” Her voice is small and trembling ever so slightly. 

He feels his anger begin to bubble and fester deep within him at the idea of Snape using Lily to get to him. 

But then he feels the soft rise of Lily’s shoulder with a shuddering breath. He sees her green eyes glinting up at him, apologetic, sincere and so lovely.  

It grounds him. 

With a deep breath, he calms considerably. Deciding to neither confirm or deny her fears. Both for her sake and because of his own cowardice—how can he stand here and tell her that she’s broken him down in less than a week?

“I just don’t want to chance something like that happening to you, love. Ever.” 

And yeah—Lily’s not a werewolf. She’s not at risk of getting that kind of secret exposed but Lily is a bit of an anomaly. Something he knows bigoted twats like Snape and his housemates thrive off of. 

A Muggle-born witch in this day and age was already a target. A Muggle-born witch who didn’t know she had magic for seventeen years? She may as well walk around with a large bullseye on her back. 

He wishes he could say more to explain where his anxiety is stemming from but he wouldn’t expose Remus like that nor can he find it within himself to explain to Lily why people wouldn’t think she belongs. The thought of both makes his chest ache something awful. 

“You deserve the best experience while you have it, alright?” He gives her shoulders a gentle squeeze and it manages to coax a small smile on her pretty lips. 

Slowly she begins to nod slowly, pulling her lip in between her teeth in either nerves or thought—James can’t quite place it. Not for the first time though, he finds himself fighting the urge to smooth it down with his thumb. Instead, he pulls his hands off her shoulders to run through his hair before he does something stupid like actually run his finger over her lips.

He’s a fucking tosser these days. 

“Okay, I’ll be careful.” She agrees, looking at him through hooded lashes, green eyes sparkling under the moonlight flicking in from the windows. 

There's a hint of hesitancy in her tone. Her shoulders curl ever so slightly, in that way where she’s trying to sink into herself and hide. 

Panic begins to swell in James’ chest. “I’m not trying to control you or your choices or even—”

Lily shakes her head, successfully cutting off his nervous ramblings. “I don’t think that.” She promises, voice steady. The hesitancy stemming from the unexplained familiarity around Snape and nothing James has done. “I know you’re worried and I appreciate it. I think.” A small grin tugs at her lips for reasons unknown to him. 

“You think?” He repeats, not for the first time intrigued to know what’s going on in that brilliant mind of hers. 

She nods, almost shyly as her cheeks flush in front of his eyes. “I think it’s sweet,” she admits, “but you could stand to do it less. You’ve got—”

Lily’s words falter as she reaches out a shaking hand toward him. He holds his breath in anticipation, feels the world still as her nimble fingers—soft and scorching—touch his brow. She uses her thumb then, smoothing out the wrinkles from the brow he previously furrowed in worry for her. 

She runs her thumb gently over it. Once. Twice. 

It feels like she’s fanning flames. 

Her touch is gone just as soon as it comes but the feeling lingers. Small pin pricks dancing along his skin. 

“You’ll get wrinkles.” She teases. Though she clenches her hands into fists as if scolding herself for touching him. 

James doesn’t even notice. He feels dazed—drunk, even. Between this and the way she allowed him to wrap around her on the balcony, he must be the luckiest son of a bitch at Hogwarts. 

When he continues just staring at her like she isn’t real and it’s impossible a mere brush of her skin on him could make him feel like this, she just flushes harder, suddenly embarrassed. 

“I’m sorry,” she begins, head down, eyes hidden. He couldn’t have that. “I was just trying to lighten the mood, I shouldn’t—”

“You don’t want my pretty face to be ruined so early, eh, Evans?” He responds, voice light.

Look up. Look up. Look up. 

He nearly sags in relief as her fists uncurl and her eyes find his again. 

He grins—because what else is there to do? 

“That’s why we’ve got glamour charms, love.” He winks. 

Lily giggles, hoping the sound will drown out the hammering of her heart at the endearment. The sound floats down the corridor and into the night air. 

Not for the first time since being around James, everything feels all consuming. But it’s not like the guilt and sadness that eats at her day after day. It’s something she wants to be absolutely devoured by, like him—this boy—is her only way out. The only way left to go. 

It’s been there since she first saw him. It swelled only moments ago as he taught her about the stars. 

It’s unfamiliar. It’s too much—Unsustainable. Unfathomable. Nonsensical. 

She’s known James all of three days. It’s impractical. 

She remembers once, when Petunia grew out of her favorite dress. It was a gauzy, lavender sundress, with small white polka dots on it. She remembers Petunia, though younger, was reluctant to do Lily any favors, holding out the garment and telling Lily she could have it. 

And Lily was so happy that daisies began blooming from her little palms. 

She remembers Petunia’s harsh gasp followed by her shrieks. She remembers wailing in confusion, on how something that felt so right to Lily, could be so scary to someone else.

She remembers falling onto her knobby knees, tears streaking her red cheeks and begging Petunia not to tell their parents. Begging Petunia to please help her. 

“People are always looking for a way to be saved,” Petunia had responded, nose upturned, sneer on her lips, “the only person who can save you, is yourself.” She had said, before slamming Lily’s door, lavender dress rumpled in her fists. 

And though it was harsh then and it still stings now, Lily considers it. James has shown her kindness when he had nothing to gain. Perhaps through all Lily’s sadness and loneliness he had become a beacon of light but he wasn’t her savior. He couldn’t be. That job was hers to bear alone. 

That’s the reasonable answer—though something nags at the back of her brain. Reminders of Minerva’s and Dumbledore’s care throughout the past few months. Though tender, it felt immeasurable next to what James has made her feel in a matter of days.

She thinks of the soft breeze and glittering stars. Of Auriga—fate—he called it. 

That means something, right? Her traitorous thoughts argue. Ones of a girl who used to believe in things like pretty poems and knights and princesses. 

No—she reasoned. The young woman she is now affirms. The one who knows the world isn’t a fairytale and life isn’t fair. 

“Let’s get you back, Trouble.” His voice, silky and calming against the maelstrom in her head. “Detention on your first day is a bad look. Trust me, I would know.” He laughs. 

And the sound, it seems to melt away all of her doubt as she falls into step beside him. 

“Tell me about it?” She asks, voice small and hopeful. 

He smiles at her and he makes it look easy. 

And so he did, the whole way to the portrait hole, he regales her with stories of his younger self. Of a first-year James Potter who thought it would be clever to put stones in his housemates shoes—his very first day at Hogwarts, no less. 

She smiles when he says goodnight. She smiles right back, without even thinking. She finds herself smiling all the way up to her four poster bed, too. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it until she’s in front of the mirror, dressed in her pajamas and brushing her teeth before settling down for the night. 

She supposes he makes smiling easier for her, too. 

---

James steps into the dormitory feeling as though he’s been simultaneously hit with weightless charm and downed an entire glass of firewhiskey. He can still feel the spot between his eyes tingling, right where Lily’s fingers laid. He can still feel her warmth—buzzing and electric—pressed against him. Her touch, gentle and fleeting, it lingers beneath him, etched into his soul and as clear as the constellations they mapped out in the night sky as he held her. 

It makes him feel dizzy—completely undone, though, he has no desire to shake this feeling.  

He walks into his room, dopey look on his face, only to be hit by a heady dose of reality by the sight of his roommates. 

And bless them—really—he loves them, but they’re way too intrusive and he wants this to be kept to himself. Wants to chase this euphoria a bit longer. 

Sirius, who already knows too much, is the first to notice him. He looks up from where he’s lounging on his bed, grinning like the cat in the coal mine. Wait— or is it cardinal in the coal mine? Canary? Whatever. He’s grinning in the way that always means troubles ahead and makes Remus mutter the muggle expression. 

“Lads.” James greets with a smile, hoping he’s managed to reel it in a little bit and looks considerably less dazed than he feels. 

Remus—who’s still dressed in his uniform—looks toward James first, an easy smile gracing his lips, a stark contrast from the sharp looks he’d worn earlier. 

“Prongs,” he nods, “Baddock keeping you busy again?” He teases, reaching for his cloak as he speaks. 

The words barely register. James is still halfway in the corridor beside Lily, her laugh echoing faintly in his ears. 

“Hm? What?” His brows knit together in confusion. 

Remus looks at him as if he’s sprouted an extra head. Sirius is just barely containing a chuckle from behind his magazine. 

“Theo Baddock,” Remus emphasizes each syllable slowly, as if talking to a child. “Little bloke you swear will be the next best Chaser once you leave. Ring any bells?” There’s a teasing edge to his tone, but the confusion is evident in his narrowed eyes. 

Oh, right—Quidditch, yeah—that’s where Remus thinks he was. 

He clears his throat, a hand flying to his hair anxiously as he does. “Right, yes—sorry. Little bugger knocked me off my broom. I'm all out of sorts.” He lies smoothly. 

Sirius laughs from his bed, as if saying: sure, that’s why you’re out of sorts. 

James sends him a subtle glare and in return the grey-eyed boy does his best to conceal the sound with a half-hearted cough. 

Thankfully, the room pays him no mind. Instead, James shifts his focus to Remus, who’s pulling on his cloak. “You’re on rounds tonight, Moony?” James asks as a means to shift the conversation. 

“Yeah,” he answers, fastening the clasp, “one of the Slytherin prefects says she’s too sick to patrol. Think that’s true?” 

A laugh rings from the other side of the room, “definitely not.” Peter pipes up. 

James blinks, having just noticed the blonde's presence. Peter had been otherwise unassuming lately, nose always buried in his comic books. Speaking of…

“Hey, Pete, I’ve been meaning to ask where you keep getting your comics from?” James asks suddenly. 

Peter—like James and Sirius—comes from a pureblood family. He lives in a small wizarding village just outside London. While both Peter and his parents support Muggle-borns and Muggles, James knows from firsthand experience that when you’re born into a magical community it’s a bit tricky for a wizard to blend in elsewhere. Even to do something as unassuming and simple as comic book shopping. And if that fact alone wasn’t enough proof to James that Peter had someone getting them for him, it was also the notion that a new comic book seemed to materialize into his hand each week without a singular trip to the owlery. 

Peter drops the glossy pages and lights up with enthusiasm. “You know Aaron Johnson? The sixth-year bloke in Ravenclaw?” James nods. “His parents are Muggles, they run a bookshop not too far from here. He gets loads of books from them and I just throw him a galleon and he’ll write to send the ones I want.” He explains excitedly. “Why are you interested? If you want a comic, Kraven’s Last Hunt is really—”

He feels his pulse quicken. He hesitates under the waiting gaze of Peter’s watery eyes. “Er—What about Pride and Prejudice? Jane Austen?” James finally asks before losing his nerve.

Peter furrows his brow in confusion. Beside him, Sirius throws his head back and laughs.

Canary—that was it. 

“And pray tell, Prongs, why are you fishing for romances?” He asks with a cocked eyebrow and knowing smile. 

He can feel his cheeks heating by their own volition. 

“You know Jane Austen, Padfoot?” Remus asks half-amused, half-incredulous. 

Sirius just rolls his eyes. “What, you think I was just born romantic?” He quips. 

“You haven’t got a romantic bone in your body.” James interjects before he can help it. 

“That’s not true!” He protests indignantly. “Right, Moony?”

Remus flushes ever so slightly, “you haven’t got a romantic bone in your body.” He repeats flatly, though there’s a trace of a smile there. “But I am curious James—where did you hear about Jane Austen?” 

All eyes find him and maybe James is paranoid but their gazes feel almost knowing—pressing. 

“Oh,” he almost flinches, “Muggle Studies thing—came up in class. You know my Mum, she loves her romances and her birthday’s coming up and I just thought…” he trails, hoping it’s believable enough. 

There’s a brief silence and James can practically feel the sweat building under his jumper. 

Finally, Peter breaks the silence. “Alright,” he says with a nod, “just write it down and I’ll ask Aaron tomorrow. I’m due for a new comic, anyway.”

Relief floods James so quickly he nearly sags. “Thanks, mate. I’ll cover yours, too.” 

Peter looks as if he’s about to protest but thinks better of it, they all know James has got more money then he knows what to do with and is often adamant about spreading the wealth. Literally. 

“Well,” Remus breaks the silence, pinning the badge to his robes. “I’m off to patrol, you coming, Wormy?” 

Peter jumps up, “yep! Better get my pudding before curfew.” He explains to James and Sirius over his shoulder. 

“Wait, Peter—” James starts, causing him to turn. “Throw that comic on my bed, won’t you? The hunting one? I’ll give it a peak.” He tells his friend, who was so thrilled at the idea of sharing it with James earlier, he thought to give it a try. 

Peter smiles brightly, rummaging through the box next to his bed before handing it to James. 

The pair start toward the door, “Gents, see you later.” Remus nods with a salute, Peter waving to them, too. 

Both James and Sirius throw their goodbyes before the door shuts. And as soon as it clicks, Sirius’ magazine is tossed aside as he perches himself on the edge of his bed. 

“Okay, out with it Prongs, why’d you lie?” Sirius asks, wasting no time with any preamble. 

“What do you mean?” James asks, though Sirius sees right through him—as always.

“Well for one, your Mum’s birthday is in June.” Sirius points out smugly.

James stamps down the urge to groan and instead tries for a casual shrug. “I meant Christmas, then.” He supplies weakly. 

“Two—” Sirius starts, wagging his pointer and index fingers in the air. “I sit next to you in Muggle Studies, you berk. All we’ve talked about is electricity.” He finishes, a pleased smile on his face as James visibly blanches. 

James curses himself for the stupid oversight on his part. In fairness, it’s not all his fault—not really. His brain is still on that balcony with fingers wrapped around hers and eyes glittering under the stars. It was maddeningly distracting, that unique ability she seems to have. The one where she can scramble his brain into absolute bits. He finds he doesn’t mind though. 

Sirius’ smugness. Remus’ suspicions. Snape’s coldness. 

Not even they could take it from him. 

The silence stretches between them and Sirius—never one for missing a beat—presses on. “Evans has been here, what? Three days? And she’s already got you reading romances.” 

“It’s not like that.” James all but growls before sitting on the edge of his mattress. 

Sirius places his hands in front of him, practically leaning off his own bed with keen interest. “What’s it like then?” Though the dark haired boy still has that look on his face, his tone is something softer. Genuine, even. 

James takes a breath, both to steady himself and to try and collect his thoughts. 

What is it like?

He can’t very well tell Sirius everything—not the dizzying pull, not the way her laugh seemed to make the air around her crackle or how the simple brush of her fingers had left him feeling untethered to his body. He couldn’t explain that standing under the stars with her beside him, it felt infinite. Like Lily was thrust into this life, at this exact moment to fulfill some greater destiny that intertwined with his. That’s just barmy— right?

So, instead, he’ll settle with what he does know. What he can admit to himself and now Sirius, too. 

“It’s just—Lily—she’s new to all of this. To Hogwarts, to Magic, to the people. Can you imagine how overwhelming it all must be for anyone? Never mind that she’s the only Muggle-born seventh-year Gryffindor, too. I mean, it’s not like people ‘round really care, not like the Slytherin’s anyway.” He sneers, before taking another stuttering breath. “I heard Delilah telling Anastasia that they haven’t even spoken to her yet and don’t really care to try. That she keeps to herself. I mean, have you got the impression that Lily’s, I dunno—sad? Lonely?”

“I clearly do not spend half the time you seem to in Lily’s business,” he begins lightly, before his face drops into something stoic. “But, yeah, I noticed how she reacted when she heard my last name the day Remus introduced us. It was like she expected me to be awful to her. Like she thought she was less than me.” He admits in a whisper, raising a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. 

James’ jaw tightens. He nods slowly before continuing. “I mean, she’s so quiet most of the time. It’s like she’s trying to hide but, Sirius,” his grey-eyes bore into James’, who is now smiling to himself. Something secret. “She positively lit up when I asked her about the book. It was almost like she was someone else.” He pauses then, because that’s not true, she wasn’t someone else. “It’s almost like she was really herself and it was—”

He stops abruptly and bites his lip in thought. No words seem adamant to describe her on that too short walk to the tower. 

She was radiant. Incandescent. All encompassing—purely, Lily.

It wasn’t the sadness or loneliness that drew him in. No obligations or sense of pity, just purely her. The real her. The one she has tried to hide but becomes poorly concealed with each passing interaction. 

“I just thought maybe having someone else to talk to about something she’s familiar with might make her feel better.” He shrugs as if it’s nothing. 

But it’s not. 

And Sirius seems to figure it out because the soft smile that was on his face is soon washed away as the realization dawns on him. Sirius begins grinning, teeth bared and practically vibrating with excitement and James knows he’s said too much. 

“You like her!” Sirius practically squeals. It’s not in an ‘I told you so,’ kind of way—he almost seems giddy. “Good and proper like her.” He reiterates. “Flowers and romance like her!”

“I’ve known her, what? Three days? ” He reiterates, throwing Sirius’ words back at him.

His best friend remains unfazed, continuing to bounce above his sheets with joy. “Oh my little Prongs !” He cries, rising from his bed to pinch James’ pink cheeks. “I never thought I’d see the day!” 

James knocks his hands from his face and rolls his eyes. “Knock it off, it’s not like that.” 

He’s barely convinced of the claim himself. 

“I just…” he pauses, averting his eyes to the carpet. “I think she needs someone to see her for who she is. Not what people think she’s supposed to be. So, I just want to be there for her, in any way that helps. And right now, I think she needs a friend more than anything else.”

He suddenly feels bare. Vulnerable, even. It’s the most honest he’s been with himself since meeting Lily. It was the truth. Perhaps not the entire truth—because that, he is yet to understand—but this he does know. 

A warm pat on his shoulder forces him to raise his eyes from the ground. “Prongs?” Sirius says, grey eyes soft, corners of his mouth smooth. “You’re a good bloke.”

James smiles back at his pseudo brother, appreciative for the assurances instead of what he thought would be the impending—you’re barmy, mate.

Sirius moves back to plop on his bed, still facing James. “And a real gentleman too. Evans won’t be able to resist you. ” He winks. 

James groans—there it is. 

He flops back against his pillows with a loud groan. “Shut up, Padfoot.” He mumbles, though his cheeks are pink and his lips are tugged upward. 

“Oh, James! You’re so handsome and so sweet and so good at Quidditch!” Sirius starts, voice turned up several pitches in a poor imitation of Lily’s. 

“Stop.” James protests, but his chest begins to shake with laughter. 

“Oh, James,” he starts again, voice taking on a more sultry tone, “you’ve read my favorite book, how can I ever repay you?” He flutters his eyelashes for added effect. 

“Alright, you’ve had your fun.” James says, rolling over to look at Sirius, who’s wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, way too pleased with himself. 

“I have a few ideas, Trouble. ” Sirius mocks, dropping his voice several octaves now, fingers pressed in circles around his eyes in what James thinks are supposed to be his glasses. 

Suddenly Sirius puckers his lips and begins making exaggerated kissing sounds, stopping occasionally to let out a poor imitation of a female giggle. 

James rolls over and grabs one of his pillows, throwing it at Sirius without so much as a glance over his shoulder. 

And when he hears the soft thump and the ceasing of the imaginary make out, James smiles to himself. Despite skeeving off a few hours of Quidditch today, it’s nice to know he’s still got his touch. 

Moments later, James feels the pillow return, weakly hitting his back before knocking onto the carpet. With a sigh, he rolls back over to face his friend. 

“Your secret’s safe with me, mate, don’t worry.” Sirius promises.

“There’s no secret to keep.” James emphasizes stubbornly. 

Sirius laughs, laying back against his pillows and swiping his magazine. “If that’s how you wanna play it.” He winks over the pages. 

James rolls his eyes. For a brief moment, he considers divulging the interaction with Snape in the hall, to help sort out its implications, but he thinks better of it. The whole fifth-year incident was a sore subject for Remus and Sirius and James doesn’t want to reopen the old wounds. Not now, anyway, Snape’s already tried to take one good thing away from him tonight. He won’t allow him that satisfaction again. 

Anyway, he’s pretty positive Sirius would manage to sneak in more questions and jokes about his feelings for Lily and James has had his fill of that too. 

Instead, he rises, opening his drawer for his tartan pajama pants, slinging them over his shoulder and starting for the door to brush his teeth and get ready for bed. 

“Prongs?” Sirius breaks the silence just as James begins twisting the brass knob. 

James sighs, turning to him, “yes?” 

Sirius places his magazine down, stoic look on his face as he speaks. “My feelings will not be repressed.” He begins, “you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.” He finishes with a shit-eating grin. 

James furrows his brow, “I don’t understand.” 

Sirius looks pleased with himself, “oh, don’t worry, you will. Now off you go.” He says shooing him away as he flicks to the next page of his magazine. 

James shuts the door and lets out a breath as he makes his way to the loo. 

He wisely made the decision not to share with Sirius; he knew exactly what he was quoting, having heard the words from Lily only an hour ago. 

He liked them much better coming from her lips, anyway. 

Once he’s changed and brushed his teeth he heads back to his room. A small rush of relief washes over him when he finds Sirius’ curtains drawn for the night, clearly having had his fun and granting James some peace. 

James settles into bed, sinking into the comfort of his mattress, letting the thrill of the day and his heavy thoughts drift away as exhaustion creeps into his bones. Almost on instinct, his hand slips under his pillow and he pulls out the map. A routine he’s fallen into the past couple of days. But as his fingers graze his wand—the one he’s been using to discreetly check for Lily’s name each night—he pauses. 

Not tonight, he decides. 

Instead, he reaches into his bedside drawer, suddenly hoping the book that he’s neglected for months is still where he last remembers. His fingers find it a moment later and he’s suddenly glad he’s kept it so close the past several years as he pulls it into his lap.  

The book is as worn as he remembers. The deep purple leather cover is creased and withering. The silver embossed stars are dull with age but no less beautiful than he remembers. 

It had been a gift from his parents on the eve of his first ever departure to Hogwarts. Back when he was just eleven years old. Nothing but wide eyes, endless dreams and a boy who didn’t want to say goodbye. 

“Whenever you miss us, just look at the stars.” His mother had told him that night, voice thick with emotion and eyes glistening . 

“We are right there with you, son.” His father had promised. 

His fingertips dance over the faded stars before they move to trace its title, The Celestial Atlas: Myths and Maps of Stars. 

He hasn’t read it in years, but tonight it feels right. 

James hopes to learn and relearn and learn it all again—every story, every star, every constellation. Just so, one day, he can share it all with Lily. The thought makes his heart do a little skip, causes a smile to creep onto his face. 

Until Pride and Prejudice reaches him, he’ll read this with her in mind. Part of him hopes that perhaps under the same stars, Lily may be lying awake and thinking of him too.

Notes:

These two being absolutely gone for each other is my favorite thing ever. Fun fact, this entire chapter was done and I went to edit one line saying James showed Lily a balcony and it turned into the 2,000 word balcony scene and it has become my favorite thing I've ever written, I hope it was worth the wait.
For the Easter Eggs (not too many in this one)!:
-Lily being a Jane Austen girl just felt so right to me. I think Lily and James are very Lizzy/Darcy reminiscent in some ways, hence the throw away line by James about what they have in common. The line Lily (and later Sirius) recite is Darcy's final confession from the novel: "In vain I have struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
-The Pleiades is a real constellation and myth. I altered the later parts about their tears making the first wizard to fit the narrative. The bits of the Seven Sisters turned into stars to be protected by Orion who was hunting them, who was later immortalized into a star is a Greek Myth.
-Lily growing flowers from her palms as a child was an idea inspired by The Deathly Hallows: Part Two flashbacks between her and Petunia. My head canon is a lot of Lily's earlier magic is linked to flowers and their meanings.
-Aaron Johnson (much like the Spider-Man references) was a fun Easter Egg to the famous young Aaron Taylor-Johnson fancast for James. He also just played Kraven in Kraven the Hunter, which was why I had Peter pick Kraven's Last Hunt to give to James (though it is also an amazing work).

That's all for this one. I'm so happy with how it turned out. The next one will be centric around the conditions that sent Lily to Hogwarts and unraveling the truth. It's a sadder one for Lily, but she has people there for her. Thank you for reading! xx

Chapter 5: Ras Elased Australis

Summary:

The circumstances that brought Lily to Hogwarts finally come to light. The truth causes a rift between two friends and brings Lily closer to James, who is the one who holds her together as she unravels.

Notes:

This is a heavier and more emotional one, but important to the story and James and Lily's development. The end note includes an upcoming story I'm working on** and would love feedback. Enjoy!

---

Ras Elased Australis

(The Scythe)

An asterism of the Lion; the southern star of the Lion’s head.

Symbolizes endings, the reaping of what has been sown and death stalking quietly. 

Those who stray low may escape the harvest’s blade.

---

It’s a warm night—too warm for the beginning of October in Scotland, Lily decides. Almost uncomfortably so. 

She looks up to the dark sky, brow crinkling in confusion when she’s met with no stars. Instead, she sees a solid sheet of dull grey hanging above her. Smattered with heavy clouds concealing the moon behind a shroud of fog. 

She glances down next, surprised to find a navy blue dress brushing softly above her knees, a matching cardigan hanging off loosely one shoulder. Her fingers brush the old and familiar knitted thing—soft and warm, with silver stars embroidered at the elbows and small delicate moons stitched onto the pockets. Her chest tightens—she doesn’t remember putting it on. She loved it once, though and yet her stomach turns at the feeling of it against her skin. Briefly, part of her brain contends with the idea that for whatever reason she’s sworn the cardigan all together. 

Her silver flats—ones she’s expertly matched to the ribbon in her hair—pad against the pavement as her feet carry her by their own volition. It’s as if something’s pulling her along, some silent force guiding her. 

“Good evening, Lily.” A voice calls from nearby. 

She turns, eyes scanning over dead grass and crumbling pathways to see Mrs. Hollis—a kind old woman who lived next door to her back in Cokeworth.

A jolt of confusion surges through her, both at the yellow decaying lawn and the sight of a woman she once knew. 

Hogwarts is so green, so lively, and Mrs. Hollis—is she a witch too? 

“Good evening.” Lily calls back politely, her mouth out of sync with her body. 

A chill dances up her spine, the world around her is so familiar but warped. Like she’s watching through a fogged window, like her body is untethered, floating down a road it remembers, but one her mind has long forgotten. 

She stops—though it doesn’t feel like it is her doing—as she feels the small patter of rain against her skin. 

It sets her in motion faster. Each step just constricts her chest more and more. 

Despite Lily’s confusion and uncertainty, something about this all feels so familiar. Like she has lived it before, despite not knowing what it is. 

It’s different from the feelings she has around James—it’s not so otherworldly or promising, it feels dark and oppressing. Like she’s teetering on the edge of something awful. Like walking on the edge of a cliff, knowing she’s about to fall and it is powerless to stop it. 

Something terribly inevitable. 

As her legs begin to pump her forward the sudden movement causes something to continuously knock into her hip. She just now notices the canvas bag slung over her shoulder. It’s heavy and full at her side, when she looks down she can make out green leafy stems of vibrant orange carrots poking out the top, a bundle of green beans, a fat white onion and a few potatoes. Her eyes catch the bottom, a large chunk of marbled red bleeding meat. 

Prime rib—Lily realizes suddenly—bloody and dripping. 

But Lily hates meat. She detests the taste and it’s expensive—too expensive for her family to waste money on. And if that wasn’t enough cause for confusion, Lily’s Mum was adamant on keeping her father off high cholesterol foods, stating he has enough health issues as is. 

In fact, the only time Lily can ever recall it being served at her house was the first time Petunia ever brought Vernon over. She begged their mother for a week to make a prime rib roast, saying it was his favorite. 

Lily’s curiosity soon dwindles when she notices her silver flats clicking up old and crumbling stone steps. 

Looking up, she sees it. Small and old. Thin windows with peeling paint. Shingles astray on the roof. Gutter crooked. 

But this was her house—this was home . 

She doesn’t remember getting here or why she’s even here but she squashes that down as overwhelming happiness floods her veins at the sight of the old thing. 

A dream, she postures. The past five months have been nothing but a dream. 

It makes sense honestly. Witches and wizards. Magic wands and floating trays of food. A hidden castle in the Highlands with babbling portraits and little elves —James. 

She had conjured up the entire thing in her mind as a means of escape from her rather drab and monotonous life Cokeworth. 

It was a nice fantasy for a bit and reality may be cruel—but it’s hers and god has she missed her parents. 

Her Mum’s perfume wafting in the hallway. Her father’s favorite coffee lingering in the kitchen. She missed every single part of them. 

Pushing open her front door with a newfound giddiness, it soon falters when she’s meant by a dark entryway.

It’s dark. Too dark. Her parents always leave a light on for her, they always try to stay up no matter how late Lily’s shift at the pharmacy runs. A quiet, small, but meaningful gesture, that they’re thinking of her. 

And maybe it’s because her sight is dulled so her other senses kick into high gear but she can just barely make out the faint noise of the telly—the news, based on the sound. Her father hates the news, says he lives in Cokeworth he doesn’t need to know just how bleak the world can be. He always turns it off after his trivia show on weeknights and he always flicks the channel before it can even start. 

Her first thought is maybe he fell asleep watching it, it wouldn’t be the first time. But she knows her Mum would never leave him downstairs on his own, he needs help using the chair lift and she wouldn’t have left him to head to bed. 

Maybe she fell asleep too? 

Something uneasy and cold curls up her spine, but she pushes it away. 

“Mum? Dad?” Lily calls out, voice small and trembling as she slips off her metallic flats, leaving her in pristine white socks. Dainty and bright with lace bunting and little bows on them. 

Slowly, she pads toward the sitting room and again—maybe her vision is dull. Maybe she’s on high alert because something just is not sitting right, but she sniffs once, twice. 

The air smells odd. A tangy odor fills her nostrils, something a little sweet mixed with what Lily can only associate with coppery—similar to old bits of pence you find rusted beneath the furniture. 

She walks down the corridor, which suddenly feels too stretched for her little house. She can barely make the ominous glow of the television when her foot lands in something wet. 

It’s thick, almost syrupy and congealed, coloring her white socks a deep shade she can’t quite make out in the darkness. 

She ignores it and keeps walking. 

Her heart stops when she reaches the sitting room. 

She suddenly knows what this is. She’s seen this before. She’s been here— she’s lived it.  

And just like the first time and all the other times her brain has tortured her with this moment she feels nothing. 

Her knees hit the wood with a harsh thunk, her porcelain skin becoming wet and soaked and sticky and stained. Her hands are red as she begins to crawl around. Her throat is straining before it rips with a sob. Guttural and ear piercing screams pass her lips. 

She is alone.

The world crumbles beneath her feet leaving her adrift in a sea of red. It’s drowning her. Warm, vicious and suffocating. It’s everywhere —filling her nose, her ears, her mouth, as she chokes on it. As her lungs burn she almost wishes it would take her, like it’s taken everything else. To finally free her from the pain. 

But then she hears it, a voice, far off and muffled, piercing through the liquid flooding her ears, it calls her name, faint and desperate.

“Lily!” it yells. 

It’s barely evident over her own screams. Mouth opened wide and filling with liquid until it pools in her lungs making them heavy and cumbersome as she sinks deeper and deeper. 

“Lily!” It shouts again, closer than before. 

Her body begins to tremble and then shake roughly. 

Back and forth back and forth. 

The world begins to slip away, the scarlet washing into shades of darkness. Of blacks and whites and a beacon of light twinged blue. 

Color begins to flood her senses vivid and sharp. She looks around for the red—and there is none. Yet, she keeps scratching at her skin, rubbing her arms and hands raw. But her hands stay dry. Her fingers clean. 

“Lily, please.” 

She blinks a few more times, the world becoming a bit clearer through her blur of tears. Though, it’s hard to focus over the shrill sound echoing off the walls. 

An awful scream—only when she clutches her palms to her ears and feels the strain of her jaw and the rattle of her brain does she realize it’s coming from her. 

It dies off into something strangled and garbled leaving her throat feeling utterly torn and destroyed. Her hands fly to her neck next, worried the tendons may have snapped at the force behind her wails. 

“Lily.”

It’s Minerva’s voice, so gentle and familiar. She’s sitting beside Lily, eyes wide, her long and thick grey hair is woven into a braid. Gone are her usual stiff robes and tall hat. Instead, she’s wrapped in a forest green cardigan, concealing a long nightgown printed with tiny sweeping dandelions. 

“It is alright, dear, you’re okay.” Her soft weathered hand reaches to push some of the hair matted to Lily’s forehead back. 

Lily goes to respond—say anything—but her mouth still feels garbled and choked with thick liquid, her throat like sandpaper and stuffed with cotton. 

“Breathe, Lily, please.” McGonagall says next, moving her hand to press to Lily’s heart as it beats frantically against her palm. 

Lily’s own hand lifts, shaking and trembling as it presses against her chest. She can feel her rib cage rattling and crashing against the graze of her fingers. Her heart beats faster than prey when it hears a gunshot ring through a still forest. 

Through the hammering and the shaking, just barely can she feel the coolness of the gold chain laying on her collarbone. It quells the heat rushing through her body, slows the stuttering of her heart and the skips of her breath. Her fingers stop rubbing away the invisible reminders she feels on her skin, ones she feels imprinted in her soul but no longer bared to the outside world. 

Lily’s eyes flicker across the darkened room, illuminated by the tip of McGonagall's wand but even through the blur of tears and dim lighting does she see Anastasia and Delilah exchanging whispers from nearby and Dorcas across the room standing rigidly and looking shaken. 

“Come now, dear,” Minerva murmuring, tone sharpening as she shoots a stern look to the pair lingering beside Lily’s bed. “Let’s get you somewhere quiet.” She finishes softly. 

Minerva gently guides her up as Lily’s own legs shake and nearly give out beneath her weight. The older woman’s firm but guiding hand keeps her upright, leading her out of the dormitory.

She feels like she’s floating as they go down the stairs, like one of the ghosts that haunts the castle. It isn’t until her foot catches against the open portrait hole and the chill from the long stretch of the corridor hits her does her body begin to feel like her own again, but in the worst kind of way. 

Her limbs feel heavy, like someone’s tied anvils to her feet and is asking her to sprint. Each step is a challenge and her head pounds, feeling as if her skull is knocking against her skin and begging to jump out of her body. She opens and closes her hands into fists as they begin to feel sticky once again.

The sensation spreads, crawling over her spine, dancing down her neck, her face, her legs. She stops moving, then—it was too hard, anyway—and begins wringing her hands together ferociously, trying to chase away the feeling. 

Anxiety surges through her and suddenly. It feels like her knees are still scratching against her old hardwood floors and she’s being carried away somewhere she doesn’t want to go.

“Not the Hospital Wing, please don’t take me there, I can’t. Please. Please, don’t—” she pleads with McGonagall, the thought alone more suffocating than her nightmares.

Strong hands clasp over hers, stilling her frantic movements. McGonagall, who has a few inches on Lily ducks her head to catch her glassy emerald eyes. 

“No Hospital Wing. I promise.” 

And even in her haze, Lily doesn’t doubt that she’s telling the truth because Minerva is the only one who knows.

She leads her down the long expanse of corridor, up a winding staircase, she’s leading her god knows where, but at least Lily’s steps begin to become lighter. Less of a struggle once she realizes it’s nowhere near the Hospital Wing. Eventually, she recognizes the door she opens as the one to her office, she watches as her professor mummers a few unrecognizable words and swishes her wand. The stones begin to protrude and rearrange into some sort of archway and had Lily not been so shaken, she would have marveled at such a thing. 

With a gentle and encouraging nod, Lily follows behind Minerva. She’s greeted by a clean but homey space. Books lining dark mahogany shelves, a velvet green couch facing a gaping fireplace. 

Something soft brushes Lily’s bare shins, she jumps in surprise but the feeling is a welcome contrast to the sensation of something disgusting coating her skin. She looks down to find Mim—McGonagall’s beloved grey tabby cat that became quite fond of Lily when she was staying at her house over the summer. 

Lily bends down, gently scratching between her ears as she purrs in pleasure. She continues this way for how long—she can’t say. Eventually, she ends up crisscrossed on the floor, focusing solely on the kitty, her slanted golden eyes and swishing tail muting the horrors swimming in Lily’s own head. 

In fact, she’s so lost in her own world, she doesn’t hear the incantation being spoken beside her as the green velvet couch transforms itself into a full sized bed, packed to the brim with lush pillows, downy sheets and a plush comforter. 

“Lily,” Minerva calls to her, “it’s late, dear, you have lessons in the morning. Try to rest, please?” 

Lily nods, standing on shaking legs as she finally notices the bed, sending her a grateful smile at the gesture. “Could I use the loo before?” She asks quietly. 

McGonagall points to one of the doors off the small, warmly lit kitchenette, with a solemn smile. Lily thanks her quietly and shuffles toward the door. 

It’s dark when she gets in there as her hand deftly reaches for the light switch, only to be meant by the small grooves in the embossed wallpaper. With a sigh, she pulls out her wand and with a shaky breath, casts a lumos charm, something she’s not quite used to still. 

She’s able to prop it against the porcelain sink, casting a glow around the mirror. Lily leans forward and holds up her palms to it, just to be sure her mind isn’t playing tricks. 

Her hands are clean, porcelain, pristine and untouched. She blinks a few times to be sure, even runs them under the water. 

“Lily?” Minerva calls through the door. 

She sighs, grabs her wand and shoves it into her waistband before whispering a “nox,” she tucks her hands back to her side and nudges open the door. 

When she walks back into the comfort of the unfamiliar space, she finds McGonagall seated on the bed beside Mim—who is nestled herself amongst the pillows and falling to the dredges of sleep. 

“Mim here will keep you company, if you need anything I’ll just be in the next room, alright?” The old woman says gently, moving to pull the comforter back. 

Lily slips beneath the covers and nods as her head hits the silky pillow, “thank you.” She says hoarsely. The sentiment carries more weight than a simple thanks for tucking her in. 

“Always, dear.” She says, pushing some of Lily’s hair back with a sad kind of smile before she rises from the mattress and starts to what Lily assumes is her own bedroom. 

Deftly, she reaches her fingers to stroke Mim’s fur beside her, the company a comfort and distraction from the tingling of her fingers. 

Her mind remains a storm—as if every time she closes her eyes she’s back on that winding road, groceries slung over her shoulder, metallic flats clicking as she walks. 

She can still feel her hand on the cool brass door knob, she can hear the creaking of the hinges of the rusty door her father swore to fix before his accident. 

She can still smell the tang in the air. 

Sees the glow from the television reflect red— everywhere . 

She pulls the chain from beneath her cotton t-shirt, as her fingers squeeze the pair of golden bands as if willing them to bring her the comfort she wants. The presence of the owners she so desperately craves. 

But the exhaustion begins to creep in, her body winning the battle against her thoughts, offering what she hopes is a bit of peace or at the very least, a dull, dreamless sleep. 

She presses her hands beneath her cheeks as tears silently dribble down her fingertips. The sensation is startling, just enough for her to peel back her heavy eyelids to look down at them. And before sleep finally sweeps over her, she swears in the darkness, the moon above casts a faint glow on her hands. But they’re not glistening with crystal tears—instead, she sees red, vivid and bright liquid dripping down her hands. Blood staining her palms. 

---

James slept terribly the night before, though he can’t quite figure out why. It was the strangest thing, really—he kept having this dream of him in an unfamiliar place, walking up and down cobblestone roads looking for something. 

He could feel, deep within his bones, that he was searching for things unknown to him but the tug in his gut was screaming to give up. Something about it—even in sleep—felt deeply unsettling, having roused James multiple times throughout the night. 

The sky above him was vast and dreary. The air suffocating and thick—foul tasting and tinged with something metallic. And yet, he kept moving, each step echoing loudly against the still air. 

His body screamed at him— turn around. Go back. Like, whatever he was searching for wasn’t meant to be found. 

But he kept going, peering at broken houses, ducking into dark alleys. A cold prickling sensation danced up his spine, goosebumps rippled across his skin with each step. 

The dread was all consuming, wrapping around him like dark plumes of smoke. Squeezing him tight and making it harder to breathe as he faced the endless row of unfamiliar houses. 

They were unrecognizable. Dreary and hollow. Something within them felt deeply haunted. Wrong, even. Like he was walking through a life that wasn’t his own, a corrupted and distorted memory. 

He knew he was looking for something—someone—but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what. But he knew this was wrong, all of it. The way the shadows stretched too long, the darkness curling around his ankles and tugging him along. 

It jolted him awake, time and time again. Leaving him restless, trying to shake the feeling, but it just wouldn’t leave. Like it was clinging to his very soul. 

He tried to go back to sleep, but each time, he was back on the crumbling stones, searching for something he’d never find. 

And each time, he’d wake up again, heart racing, skin prickling. Half expecting to find something stained against his skin, something slick and warm and reflecting the palpable dread. 

Eventually, he gave up on sleep, clutching his wand as the tip lit with a soft glow as he skimmed the comic Peter had lent him, something to fill the void until Pride and Prejudice arrived. 

He was excited to read it—a notion he can practically hear Sirius cackling about in the dredges of his mind. He knew it wasn’t so much the idea of the novel itself. He doesn’t find the prospect of courting and love matches particularly interesting but the way Lily’s eyes lit up as she spoke about it was surely a feeling he’d gladly chase for the rest of his days. 

He thinks of her as he lays awake, the way her emerald eyes glittered beneath the vast and endless curtain of stars. The way her skin felt beneath his own, warm and otherworldly. 

He falls asleep, thinking of her. A common occurrence he hasn’t been able to shake since they first met. 

However, not even waves of auburn and beautiful doe-like eyes can divert his unconscious mind to happier thoughts. Because he’s still wandering the dark road. Looking at each dull and drab house for something. 

It feels like time is working against him but in what way—he doesn’t understand. He just feels this heavy, oppressing feeling that something awful is swirling in the bleak and balmy air of his dreamscape. 

“Prongs.” He hears as the cobblestone road fades away and his chest feels a little lighter. 

“James.” It’s Sirius’ voice he knows. 

Slowly, he peels his eyes back, the tossing and turning he did all night evident as purple bags hang beneath them. “What is it?” He croaks, wandering why his mate would be waking him, knowing how much Sirius values his rest. 

His eyes flicker to James’ palms. “You were wringing your hands together like mad, like you were trying to get rid of something. Are you okay?” 

Only when he speaks does James feel his hands rubbing against each other, warm with the continuous friction. He stills then, grabbing his glasses and pushing them up his nose to look down at his palms. 

Nothing. 

He shakes his head, hoping to get rid of the dredges of the dream that still cling to his brain in his morning fog. 

“‘M fine,” he mumbles, “weird dream is all.”

“Alright.” Sirius relents, though his grey eyes linger for a moment. “Up and at ‘em then. I’ve gotta eat soon or I’ll combust. I’m a growing boy, you know.” He grins, his usual lightness returning and easing anxieties James didn’t know he had. 

James lets out a shaky laugh, the sound rough with sleep and a bit hollow. But it begins to ground him back to reality and ease the shadows still looming. With a shaking breath, he pushes back his covers and wills away any thoughts of cobblestones for the rest of the day. 

Once he’s dressed haphazardly in his uniform, having neither the energy or patience to do up his tie properly, he loosely knots the thing around his neck, precariously leaving his top buttons undone and uncaring for his rumpled pants. He just hopes McGonagall won’t notice that he couldn’t be bothered with those stuffy dress shoes today, opting for his converse through his exhaustion. 

He walks to the Great Hall, laces nearly undone. Just barely making out the muffled bickering of Sirius and Peter from beside him. 

“—Sirius I told you a hundred times, I wasn’t farting, I had a bad dream!” James hears Peter’s voice float in exasperatedly as they open the large double doors. 

“Whatever you say, mate. I know what I heard. And smelt.” Sirius retorted. 

And James, who was too tired to pay them any mind, began toward their usual bench, hoping some food might give him so much needed energy. They sit down in relative silence as they begin grabbing at the floating trays and piling their plates high. And with some sustenance in him, James’ mind begins to feel a bit clearer. His eyes become less heavy and oddly enough–his hands don’t feel slick anymore. 

With the lifting of his exhaustion, he realizes suddenly someone’s missing. “No Moony?” James asks between bites of eggs. Remus normally joined them before Transfiguration. 

“Probably with Evans, I reckon.” Peter says casually around a mouthful of toast. “He waits for her after Charms.” He adds. 

And James—who is anything but casual about Lily—knows for a fact that Charms lessons don’t run on Thursdays. 

Something like unease begins to flare within his chest for reasons not known to him. 

And it seems like it hasn’t gone unnoticed by Sirius either, who's grinning from across the table. “Something to say about Sweet Lily, Prongs?” He asks knowingly. 

And before James can do something stupid like recite Lily’s schedule and find himself at the end of Sirius’ teasing for the rest of breakfast, a shrill voice chimes in from beside them.  

“Oh it’s just awful about Lily, isn’t it?” Delilah Abernathy inquires, voice smug and dripping with faux concern. 

James feels his heart drop to his shoes. 

“What is?” He asks too tensely and too quickly as he leans toward her. He’s so transparent but can’t find it within himself to care. 

Delilah, who looks far too pleased with herself at gathering James’ attention, slides closer. 

She was a notorious flirt, but also notoriously awful. James is convinced all she knows how to do is gossip and he thinks she may be the only person he’s ever met who admired Rita Skeeter, of all people. 

She is also mildly obsessed with James and absolutely keens at any attention he gives to her—though minimal. 

James once made the terrible mistake back in fifth year of letting her kiss him during a drunken game of spin the bottle after a big Quidditch win and ever since she’s stared at him like a prized piece of meat. He knew he would regret even entertaining whatever she had to say, but this was Lily.  

“Last night, she woke up screaming bloody murder—she was inconsolable. Poor Dorcas was so frightened, ran and got McGonagall. She took Lily away and didn’t come back.” Delilah said, though there didn’t seem to be an ounce of sympathy in her tone. 

James felt his heart begin to gallop and pound against his ribs. 

“Is she still here? In the castle?” He asked urgently, already half standing from the bench. 

“Well, Amos told Mary who told Anastasia who told me that last they saw she was walking around Black Lake with Lupin.” She exclaimed before leaning closer. “They spend a lot of time together, the pair of them. Makes you wonder if—”

James leapt from his spot, effectively cutting her off, “thanks for the help.” He says dryly, voice distant. 

Delilah—clueless as ever—didn’t seem to sense the sarcasm and had the nerve to blush. “Of course, James.” She said with a giggle. 

He didn’t even hear her. Nor did he acknowledge Sirius calling after him as he walked swiftly front the Great Hall. 

He knew something was wrong—deep down, in his gut he just knew . 

That seems to happen a lot with Lily and perhaps if his heart wasn’t aching for her, it might’ve fluttered at the thought that perhaps they may be connected in some way. 

---

Lily walked silently around the lake. The air was cold and biting, but she had left her cloak behind, welcoming the feeling. It helped ground her, just the slightest bit. She would opt for the cold over the phantom feeling of blood dripping down her skin any day. 

Beside her was Remus, a quiet and steady presence. He had found her first thing this morning, a quiet concern striking his features. Lily soon deduced McGonagall had probably sent him—or it was her roommates, who were likely still whispering about what happened, that sent Remus on his path. 

He didn’t push her to speak about it, hadn’t even mentioned it, or tried to ask questions, something she was immensely grateful for. Instead, with a gentle voice he asked if she wanted to go outside, simply stating fresh air always helps him. And with a hesitant nod she followed him outside. 

She swallowed with difficulty as they began on a stone path Remus had quietly started leading down. McGonagall had offered a cooling charm for her throat this morning, her voice hoarse from screaming the night before. But she declined. 

A sick and twisted part of her likes the pain. Likes the constant physical reminder of all that she’s lost and the ways it still haunts her, in more ways than one. A reminder of who she once was. Who she’s become now. 

It’s why when she opened her small intricately carved wooden box this morning, the bright ribbons mocked her. The array of soft pastels and vibrant shades laughing at her somber mood. 

Her hands still shake from when she wove the black silk into her red hair this morning. A deep contrast from its vibrancy. Something she’s strayed from since the last time she wore it. 

Today, it felt like her only option. 

Lost in her thoughts, she just then notices Remus is leading her to Hagrid’s—the gamekeepers—hut. Leading her toward an open area before Remus lets out a low and well practiced whistle. 

Distantly, she sees a small black blob bounding toward them with an excited yip. As it comes closer Lily notices its big paws and drooping face. Its tongue sticks out in small pants as the dog jumps on his hind legs and begins licking at Remus, who just laughs and pats its large head. 

“This is Fang.” Remus introduces with a grin, ruffling the boarhound’s ears as he speaks. “He’s Hagrid’s. Sit, boy.” Dutifully, Fang does as Remus says, almost submissive to him in some ways, but with a kind of quiet respect Lily has only seen amongst animals. 

Remus crouches, scratching his ears and avoiding Lily’s gaze as he speaks. “The animals—they always calm me after a rough night.” He says gently, the first acknowledgment of what happened. 

Lily’s head snaps to his, expecting to see pity, but she’s shocked to find a withdrawn, silent understanding across his face. The pink scars etched against his skin somehow look deeper as he speaks. 

“I get them too.” He whispers softly. 

And Remus has no idea what haunts Lily. What shadows may plague her in sleep and cling to her waking brain. 

He may not be awoken by his own desperate and chilling screams, but he heard her own. Breaking the dredges of his own sleep and picked up by his wolfish ears. And even so far away, there was an undeniable and raw agony behind the sound.

His own nightmares have gotten better overtime, only now syncing on nights before full moons. When he wakes with a cold sweat clinging to his brow and terrible images of razor sharp teeth ripping into a stag, a dog and a rat like it’s nothing. Until they are nothing but bloodied prey at his feet. 

It’s on those nights his fear is just as strong as he feels Lily’s to be right now. 

“Thank you.” Lily says quietly and sincerely, taken aback and appreciative of his vulnerability. 

She knows how hard it can be. 

Quietly, she kneels beside Remus and sticks her hand out for Fang to sniff. After a moment, he calms and nuzzles against her palm affectionately, an invitation as she strokes his soft fur. A gesture that begins to dull the memories, even just for a little while.  

They stay like that for a while, kneeling in the dirt, petting the massive dog as he contentedly rolls onto his back, legs kicked up happily as he groans for more pets. The simplicity of it all helps her breathe a little easier. 

“Alright, buddy, you’ve had enough.” Remus says with a small smile before turning to Lily. “Just through the forest, there should be some bowtruckles, if you wanted to see?” 

“That would be nice.” She says back, grateful for the distraction. 

Remus moves with a practiced kind of precision into the depths of the Forbidden Forest. He seems unafraid and all knowing as he guides her over twisted roots and fallen branches. There’s a quiet kind of confidence as he navigates them through the thick waves of trees. 

“You know Lily,” he begins softly, “I’m not here as Head Boy or even a fellow Gryffindor. I’m here as your friend. As someone who understands.” 

She stops then, digging her maryjane's into the dirt as she bites her lip. “Understand what?” She asks, voice scratchy and tense. 

Remus sighs, turning to meet her empty eyes, so dull and distant. “How it feels to be in a room with dozens of people—even people who love and care for you—and still feel utterly and entirely alone.” He admitted with an unguarded vulnerability. “I see the look, Lily. It’s the same one I see in myself.” 

And it would be easier—smarter, perhaps—to be offended. Storm off in upheaval, accuse him of not having clue what he’s talking about, about what she’s been through. 

But he’s right. And as Lily stands in the quiet forest and looks into Remus’ golden eyes, it’s like looking into a mirror. 

A tear dribbles down her cheek before she can save it from falling. She’s surprised to find she doesn’t feel embarrassed, instead she feels like maybe here, in this forest, with someone who understands she can feel everything she’s been pushing away. 

Before Remus can speak, there’s a rustling from nearby. The sound of a twig snapping and the patter of something across the otherwise still earth. 

His eyes snap in the direction of the sound easily, suddenly on guard and Lily feeling his presence more than she ever has. Something about him is strong, but dangerous, so unlike the soft openness she’s come to expect from him. Through the blur of Lily’s tears, she makes out a small figure, fumbling on legs that seem entirely too big for its small body. When it steps into the sunlight, it’s unlike anything she’s ever seen.

Fragile. Beautiful. Hauntingly so. 

It’s one of those moments that makes her believe in something greater, in the magic she’s said to possess, because only of magic could something so ethereal be born.

She steps past Remus, who quietly calls after her and seems to still be looking around for any sign of danger. But Lily has a hard time believing such a small creature could be the cause of such alarm. 

She falls to her knees in front of it, not caring if the dirt is staining her socks. 

“Lily, what are you doing?” Remus whispers urgently, voice low and cautious. 

She ignores him, instead offering a hand for the small creature to sniff. 

Its snout wiggles and huffs against her palm before it drops its head and presses its cheek to her smooth skin. A small smile graces her lips at the warmth and fragility of the thing. It’s bones jabbing and jutting against its thin and leathery grey skin. But its wings—thin and gossamer dancing beneath the streaks of golden sun, makes it look otherworldly. 

It whinnies gently beneath her touch and a laugh bubbles past her lips at the horse-like creature's innocence and yearning for attention. She turns to Remus, who still looks alarmed and confused. Though she barely notices, too enamored by the little creature keeling its hooves at her knees. 

“What’s this one, Remus?” She asks softly, as not to startle it. 

His face drops then into something darker. “What’s what , Lily?” He asks, stepping closer, poorly concealing his panic. 

She frowns, shifting her weight to her heels so he can see its small body fully. She pats its head gently and raises her eyebrows as if to say, see?

He shakes his head slowly, a frown slipping onto his face. “Lily,” he starts carefully, holding his hands up like he’s approaching a frightened animal. “There’s nothing there.” 

Lily’s own lips pull into a frown then, not appreciating whatever he was getting at. “Yes, Remus,” she begins, frustrated, standing slowly, and pointing to the creature. “The little grey horse with wings.” She states with an eye roll and cross of her arms. 

Lily watches as Remus looks thoughtfully at the spot, before he begins mumbling her words over and over. Lily briefly catches things like “horse,” and “wings,” as he begins to pace. 

He stops and looks at Lily for a long moment. But, not just at her—like he’s finally seeing her. 

Something washes over his face, realization strikes his eyes and he looks at Lily like he’s seeing her for the first time.  Remus is staring at her like he knows —like suddenly everything makes sense. 

The guarded look in her eyes, the way she’s so withdrawn into herself. How Lily has never once talked about her life before Hogwarts. 

There’s other things too—how she lived with McGonagall all summer, something Remus originally chalked up for easier access given the constant tutelage and catch-up. 

Flashes of Dumbledore’s words echo into his muddled mind, “a change of deed in her family’s home,” he said with a casual wave of his hand. 

“It’s a Thestral,” he says, voice shaking as he steps even closer. “I can’t see them.” 

Lily’s brow furrows at both his words and the sudden shift in the air. “Why can’t you see them?” 

She watches him swallow tightly, sorrow flashing in his eyes. The Thestral nudges into her knees again, desperate for her attention, but something is clearly gnawing at Remus and it’s begun to set her on edge too. 

“Remus?” She prods gently. 

“Only people who’ve seen death can.”

---

James circles the lake a least a dozen times, eyes frantically searching for the slightest glimpse of Lily. Something heavy and tight sits on his chest as he thinks of Delilah’s words, no matter how much she speculated one thing was abundantly clear—something was wrong. 

After a half hour his hope has dwindled and he’s about to call it quits when he realizes—he’s ten minutes late for Transfiguration. Under normal circumstances, this would be no wish for him, but it strikes him like a bludger, he has Transfiguration with Lily . 

Attentive, studious, six bloody OWLs, Lily. 

With a sudden rush he begins his way back to the castle, cursing himself the whole way there for such an oversight. He enters the classroom in a huff throwing a haphazard apology to McGonagall, who just rolls her eyes as he clambers toward his desk. However, he stops momentarily when he notices not one, but two empty seats. 

His heart clenches painfully at the reality of it. No Remus. No Lily—something is definitely wrong.

Panic flares, sharp and blinding, but he forces himself to breathe. To think, if even for a second. The small—just barely there—rational part of his brain is telling him that if something were really wrong McGonagall would’ve canceled lessons. Especially considering how much she seems to care for Lily. And if Remus is with her, like he thinks, he’ll take care of her and that means she hasn’t left the castle. 

It’s logical, sure, but does little to quell his anxiety. His legs are shaking, his palms sweating and his eyes are constantly darting to the door. Even Sirius asks if he’s okay because his stress is so palpable. 

He says he’s okay, but he’s not, not really. Every nerve in his body feels like it’s being stretched painfully and taut. His senses feel like they’re in overdrive. 

It’s about midway through the lesson that something shifts. It’s like there’s a string tied around the confines of his heart and he feels a pull toward the door in the very same moment McGonagall pauses in her teachings and glances in the same direction. He swivels in his chair before she even speaks, because there in the corridor—a flash of red hair and the familiar silhouette of his best friend’s lanky frame. 

“Read over the passage. I’ll be right back.” McGonagall says, voice deathly serious but with a small unease—a shake to it. 

Whispers break out as everyone begins speaking amongst themselves, but James’ eyes stay trained to the doorway. There’s a moment, small and quick, that he manages to catch Lily’s eyes just before the door shuts. 

She looks different. 

Her face pale, emerald eyes dulled to a lifeless mossy green. There are shadows hanging beneath them and they’re red-rimmed. Swollen, too. She looks like she’s seen a ghost or is about to become one herself. 

Sure, there’s always been that unexplainable something around her. The way her smile never quite meets her eyes, how her shoulders are always curled into herself like she’s invisible. There’s an undeniable air of something profoundly lonely.

He’s felt it before, in the corridor that first day and later walking to Ancient Runes. Even in the most tender of moments when they spoke of the stars—when she herself sounded so heart achingly broken at the thought of the sisters who ran their entire lives. 

That feeling always hung in the air when she was around. It was something James did his best to suppress in his moments with her, hoping he could help it shrink into nothingness and provide just a few moments of calm when he was around. To help her feel like she had someone. 

But here, all the way from his seat, he could feel that loneliness radiating from her tenfold. So real and suffocating, he could choke on it. 

He feels his chest tighten at not only the feeling, but of the brief glance at the look on her face. 

She looks haunted. 

So beautifully and tragically haunted. 

But he has to wonder—what is possibly haunting her?

He feels his throat tighten as he swallows roughly, suddenly feeling like his mouth is stuffed with cotton. 

Sirius’ voice cuts through the grim fog, a hand on his shoulder. “You alright, mate?”

“‘M fine.” He mumbles, swiping a hand across his face, hoping to shake the hazy feeling that’s suddenly come over him. 

Sirius cocks an eyebrow, unconvinced, but before he can question him, McGonagall re-enters. She doesn’t miss a beat, walking to the front, picking up her wand and a piece of chalk as she delves into the complexities of human transfiguration. But it’s the way in which her hand is shaking as she scrapes nonsense onto the board. Her voice duller and eyes dimmer. 

The worry comes back ten-fold then, this time, no rational part of his mind can dredge through the thickness of his worry. 

The lesson drones on like that, suddenly feeling way too long, his body too uneasy and his thoughts a swirling maelstrom threatening to destroy. When they are eventually dismissed, he drags himself to Potions. Not even Sirius’ quips can pull him from the depths of his mind as he walks to his bench with little expectations of seeing Lily and Remus, or getting any answers. 

Yet, something awful is still bubbling within him; he can't seem to just shove the feeling aside like he can with most things. Instead, he sits at the bench, glancing over to Lily’s empty spot every so often as he gnaws at his nails. 

Students file in, chatter buzzing about the room. He can hear Sirius laughing at something—a groan from Peter, but no matter how hard he tries he can’t seem to be present. It isn’t until he hears a voice from beside him does he manage to come back to the room.

“Hi.”

James’s head snaps at neck break speed at the single syllable. Her voice is hoarse and rough, it's quiet too, more so than usual. Like speaking any louder would cause a physical strain. And up close he can see the despair clear as day. Pale cheeks look ruddy and hallowed. Her emerald eyes are framed by dark bags clinging beneath them. They look red and irritated, like she’s been crying. Right after she speaks, she sniffles softly and just James knows.

“Lily—” 

“Alright class,” Slughorn’s voice booms James grits his teeth, frustration boiling in his chest. Of course, now. 

His eyes stay trained on Lily, who has resigned herself to gathering her parchment and quill for the lesson. 

“Today we will finally be brewing Veritaserum. Remember what we discussed, you want it to be clear and odorless. Undetectable. Now, go gather your cauldrons.” He says with a wave of his hand. 

James brightens just a bit, sure he’s fucking awful at Potions but, Lily is his bench partner, after all. Maybe, it’ll allow him a moment to speak to her before the end of the lesson. 

“Oh,” Slughorn says, halting everyone’s movements. “This will be a solo brew today. It’ll help me gather who has been paying attention.” He says with a small smile. 

And of fucking course it is. 

James has half the mind to stamp his feet and groan loudly. Not because it’ll surely drag his marks down—he really couldn’t care less—but because it was his chance to speak with Lily.

He hauls his cauldron slowly to the station beside her. He’s never really been one for rules, so what if he finds his way closer to her. Just as he’s opened his textbook, he’s made his choice. He turns to her, opening his mouth ready to say anything—to ask if she’s alright, to tell her she can talk to him. That’s she’s not alone. 

But he stops. 

Moments ago he was so sure, so confident that this what would calm him, but more importantly what she needed. 

But as he watches her—her brows furrowed slightly and tongue peeking past her lips in concentration as she crushes some moonstone, he silently thanks himself for not being so impulsive for once. 

Because she has this quiet kind of confidence about her, that he so rarely sees. She thrives in Potions and it’s able to give her the kind of solace something like Quidditch is to him and he’d be damned to take that away from her. He knows when things become too heavy sometimes distractions like these are necessary, the physical act of focusing on anything but your thoughts. 

He leaves it for now, taking a breath, his heart settling into the calmest it’s been all day. As bad as he wants to reach out, he can see so clearly she needs the peace, so he gives it to her. There’s always after. He’s not planning on going anywhere anyway. 

Despite deciding to wait until later to speak with her, he can’t really help the way his eyes seem to drift to her actions. The stillness and preciseness of her movements. It has absolutely wrecked his own potion, which sits in front of him, tinted a sickly pale yellow-green, bubbling noisily and smelling like dead grass. 

Lily, however, has created what James is sure is the textbook definition of Veritaserum. It’s clear as glass, he’d think it was empty if he didn’t know any better. There’s no signs of carbonation, even as she stirs her flask around. He’d also bet anything it’s odorless, too. 

He watches her look around with a bit of uncertainty, as she peels off her goggles. He can see her hesitation as she picks up the vile. 

“‘S alright,” James whispers softly, letting her know —it looks perfect, don’t doubt yourself. Go up there. 

Her eyes melt in what he thinks it’s gratitude but her lips remain in the same place, like even today she can’t bring herself to fake a smile. 

Her maryjane's click loudly against the stone as she walks up the row and to Slughorn’s desk, where he’s reading a book. James watches closely and sees Lily say something quietly. He watches the old man grab the flask, bring it to his nose. Then he swishes it around and holds it up to the sunlight. 

“Brilliant, Miss Evans. Superb.” He praises loudly. 

James smiles to himself, for the first time since he’s woken up, his chest isn’t aching with despair but rather, it swells with pride. 

He hears her distant voice whispering something about simmering instead of boiling when Slughorn begins to ask more questions. 

James deftly stirs his own creation, which he’s long given up on as his gaze stays trained on her. From the corner of his eye, he sees another figure making their way up to the front. A Hufflepuff named Daniel Brownsburrow—and if the flask in his hand is anything to go off of, he must somehow be worse at Potions than James is. 

In his glass is a deep red liquid. It looks thick, almost like syrup, as it coagulates under the air of the room. James glances to his own workstation, realizing they didn’t even work with anything remotely red. And yeah—James sucks at this but at least his potion is semi-clear. 

He winces in sympathy as the poor bloke walks up clearly embarrassed and completely lost. 

But before he can reach Slughorn, he trips. 

Whether it’s over a cobblestone, the strap of a bag or even himself, it doesn’t change the inevitable. The shattering sound of glass into hundreds of small pieces echoes off the wall. The liquid splatters everywhere, leaking into the cracks of stones and to James’ absolute horror, all over Lily’s front. 

“I’m so sorry, I’ll just—”

But whatever Daniel says next, James doesn’t hear. His focus is solely on Lily whose somber eyes seem to shift to panic. To something far-off, like she’s not really here. 

He watches her hands shake as she runs her fingers over the red liquid that's drenching her pristine white shirt. He sees as she pulls them away, just to look down at them, finding her palms absolutely coated in red. 

A pained sound rips from her throat as tears begin to well in her eyes, frantically searching the room for something—anyone. 

“Miss Evans,” Slughorn begins panicking as he notices the sticky substance staining her uniform and bare skin. 

A tear runs down her face as she bites at her lip. 

James can’t take it anymore, standing abruptly from his seat, but before he can so much as move a flash of grey races past him. 

Remus places his hands atop a devoid looking Lily who seems to have no idea where she is or what’s going as she begins to swipe at her palms, her clothes, her legs—everywhere—like she needs the feeling gone . Like it’s seeping into her very bones and dissolving her into nothingness. 

“I’ll help her, Professor.” Remus says, not bothering to wait for a response, as he pushes a numb Lily up the row. 

She moves listlessly, her limbs look heavy with her movements as her salty tears drip onto her stained hands. 

“To Madame Pomfrey, Mr. Lupin.” Slughorn calls with concern. A standard practice for brewing mishaps, but his affection for Lily is clear. 

Slughorn says it just as she passes James’ bench and it’s as if something in her snaps to life. A horror and dread, a full blown panic takes over her. 

“No, no, no.” She cries out, causing the class to break out in whispers. She turns on her heel, facing Remus. “No hospital. Please, please.” She begs him hoarsely, red hands curled into tight fists. 

And unlike James, whose confusion and anxiety seem to be bubbling by the second, a look of understanding passes over Remus’ face as it softens into something James can’t quite place. Sadness? Empathy? 

“I promise.” He whispers resolutely, moving to guide Lily to the corridor. 

Just as Remus is within James’ grasp, he lightly touches his back. 

“Remus—” he starts, unsure of what to say but he can’t just do nothing. He can’t let Lily fall apart and not even try to help. 

But whatever he was going to come out with is firmly cut off with a piercing glare and a coldness he’s never come to associate with his good friend. 

“James, leave it.” Remus all but growls, before disappearing out the door.

---

James hadn’t even bothered finishing his Veritaserum. Slughorn didn’t seem to mind much, too caught up in cleaning the disaster Brownsburrow left behind. He evacuated the lab, spending the period casting the proper cleaning charms as to not disrupt any volatile chemicals. 

And despite the worry gnawing at him, the ache in his chest, he just manages to keep his wits enough to grab both Remus and Lily’s bags on the way out. 

It’s a Thursday, so there’s no Defense Against the Dark Arts. James spends the beginning of the would-be period pacing outside of the Hospital Wing. 

Nothing. 

The realization causes his heart to sink in his chest as he makes haste back to his dorm. Once inside, he begins silently ripping apart his mattress in search of the map, desperate for any reassurances. It’s only in the midst of his panic that he remembered—Remus had asked for it last night. 

His mood begins to fester into something sour and almost angry as he prepares for Quidditch practice, though his mind is anywhere but on the pitch. 

Worry for Lily is at the forefront of all his thoughts and nearly consumes him. But between flashes of her haunted eyes and hallowed expression, is Remus. His golden eyes glaring at James—and not just today, either, but anytime Lily was involved. The shortness and brevity in his words, the tensing of his shoulders. 

Sirius was right—it was ridiculous to think Remus liked Lily in a romantic way, he sees now it’s something else. A friendship, yes, but the undeniable fact is that Remus doesn’t seem to trust anyone else around her. Especially James . And he was determined to find out why. Perhaps unraveling that mystery would help him better understand Lily better. Maybe Remus knows something James doesn’t. 

The thought makes him circle right back to where he started—Lily. 

The anxiety and panic ebbing through his brain. Making his heart jump and flip and dip. His ribs tighten and his hands sweaty. His worry is so visceral and so apparent in ways he can’t begin to understand—like watching whatever is eating at her has begun to eat at him, too. 

There’s a quiet, resolute, kind of way about her. Silent, but strong. Even when James thinks she seemed her loneliest, when she seemed lost, he still admired the way she carried herself. Kind and soft. 

But today—today had been different. 

No signs of strength or hope. Just hallow nothingness. Pure, raw fear radiated from her, sadness so suffocating it clung to the air. 

It’s odd to feel something so deeply for someone you barely know, especially when you don’t know it’s going on. He’s noticed it too—everything about her, really—he’s seen it in small glimpses, the way she tenses or how her breath stutters the few times he’s asked her about her life before. The way she never speaks about any family. How she tensed when Sirius asked her about her last school, the same way when James inquired about having a pet rabbit. 

At first he chalked it up to her outward embarrassment at discovering her magic so late—a sentiment completely out of her control and ridiculous, if you ask James. Like everyone bringing up the past reminded her of the years she missed out on. James wonders now, if maybe she was missing something else entirely. 

It’s strange, to find out that maybe a piece of your heart might belong to someone else only when you feel it begin to crack in your chest. Like Lily has parts of him he didn’t even know give—didn’t know they were hers to take. 

And yet.

The vicious cycle continues. Frustration at Remus, subsiding into confusion and blossoming into sadness. It circles, round and round, all throughout practice. 

And unfortunately, it’s his teammates who bear the brunt of their captain's emotional spiral. James groans and yells and throws and hits bludgers more harshly than necessary. He works his teammates to the bone, shouting “again,” even when the plays are near perfect. Everyone notices the change in him, the aggression and anger. And sure, maybe it would be normal if they had a poor performance the last match or had a big one coming up, but they’re playing Ravenclaw on Saturday for merlin's sake. A team who James has described as ‘light work,’ on past numerous occasions. 

He calls practice with a frustrated sigh, after MacDonald nearly falls from her broom and looks pale with exhaustion. 

He stomps back to the castle, not even bothering to stop by his dorm before showering. He lets the scalding water beat down on him, hoping it may wash away some of the bitterness and frustration. When he steps out, he feels more refreshed and a bit calmer. It seems to have doused away the anger, but the worry still lingers. 

With damp hair, he pushes open the door to his dormitory to find Sirius and Peter both lounging on their beds, talking quietly. 

“Where’s Remus?” James interrupts, not caring for pleasantries at the moment. 

“ Hi, Sirius. Hi, Peter. How was your day? ” Sirius mocks as he rolls over and huffs, clearly put out but James’ abruptness. 

James is unimpressed. Rolling his eyes and tapping his foot impatiently. 

“I’m good, thanks for asking Prongs.” He answered himself. 

“Sirius, I really am not—”

“He went to get some dinner. He should be back soon.” Peter interjects, hoping to diffuse some of the growing tension.

James nods in acknowledgment, moving toward Remus’ desk, seeing if he’s left the map out. Just as he moves to pull open one of the drawers, familiar footsteps sound from behind. 

“Ah, just in time.” Sirius mumbles. 

“What are you doing?” Remus asks, ignoring Sirius and walking to James, voice guarded. 

“The map. I need it.” He responds sternly. 

And there it is—with slanted eyes and crossed arms, Remus looks at James like he’s about to commit some sinful act. 

“What for?” He presses. 

James, who is sick of being the receiving end of this treatment lately, stands firm. “What does it matter? It’s mine just as much as it’s yours.” 

“Oh, boy.” Peter whispers to no one in particular, eyes flicking around nervously. 

In response, all Remus does is lift his brows as to say, ‘I’m waiting,’ and James, not in the mood to waste time, just relents. 

“I have Lily’s bag from Potions, I wanted to make sure it got to her.” 

Briefly something flickers in Remus’ eyes. His brow quivers ever so slightly as he pulls his lips into a thin line. “I’ll get it to her.” Remus says with a finality that makes him think James won’t push back. But James is tired and worried and done dealing with this. 

“No.” 

“No?” Remus repeats, expression hardened. 

“No.” James doubles down. “I’d like to give it to her.” 

Remus takes a step closer, scrutinizing James for some sort of explanation. “And why would you want to do that?” 

Sirius, who suddenly becomes interested in what James has to say next, sits up and crawls to the edge of his bed. 

“Because Lily’s my friend.” He starts, though Remus looks unimpressed. “She’s my friend and I—I care about her. I want to make sure that she’s okay.” He says, voice softer than before. 

For a moment he thinks that Remus will take it. That he’ll hand over the map and that it’ll be done. They’ll continue this weird dance and awkward tension, but he’ll have satisfied Remus just enough to get him to leave it. 

Instead, Remus laughs. A cold, bitter and humorless laugh. “You’re the last thing Lily needs right now, James.” 

A chill rattles in the air—red-hot anger flares in James’s chest.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Voice a low angry growl. 

“It means she’s going through a lot—more than you can imagine,” he starts, tone hardened. “And the last thing she needs is someone pretending to care about her for a snog in a broom closet or a quick shag.” Remus finishes bitterly. 

Sirius, always ready for a quick quip to lighten the mood, goes still at the jab. He knows the guilt James has been carrying, how hard he’s been working to be better. And Sirius knows that Remus does too, that he twisted the knife just where it would hurt. 

James, meanwhile, has a deathly calm, almost scary quality to him. He’s not shouting, not red in the face. His body shakes a little with anger, but other than that he seems composed. 

The accusation hangs in the air a beat longer before James goes rigid and his hands curl into fists. 

“Is that all you think of me?” He asks after a beat, voice strained with sadness. “You know I’m past that. You know I’ve been trying, you told me yourself. Was it all just a lie?” He asks. 

Remus’s face falls suddenly flashing with remorse. “James I—”

“I care about Lily,” he cuts off firm and honest. “I care about her, not because I’m after something else or because of how she looks. I care because she’s my friend .” He swears. “And I’m worried about her and I want to help anyway I can, because she’s my friend.”

And there’s so much more James could say. He could push back. Fight with Remus or even try to show he’s being honest. But he’s done trying to prove himself to someone who’d rather see something else entirely. The furthest thing from the truth. 

Remus’s mouth is flubbing open and shut, clearly trying to find the right words to rectify the situation. Maybe even apologize. 

“I don’t know what I’ve done to you for you to treat me like—like I’m an awful person ever since she came around, but I’m done taking it. I would never hurt Lily and I thought you of all people would know that.” Remus stays silent, but James isn’t finished. “Lily is my friend.” He says strongly and meaningfully. “And I thought you were too.” He finishes, pain bleeding through his anger. 

With that, he turns on his heel, striding to the door. Needing to be anywhere but here. 

“James I didn’t—” Remus pleads as soon James has one foot out the door. 

“Screw you, Remus.” Is all he says before slamming it shut.

---

James is simmering with anger as he walks out of his dormitory. He takes labored but practiced breaths trying to calm the raging storm within him. But despite all the anger and swell of betrayal in his chest—something else nags at him, louder than the rest. 

Worry for Lily. 

It persists, sharper than the pain of betrayal, deeper than the wound left raw and bloody from Remus’s accusations. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. James had always been there for him—for all of them. When Sirius showed up on his doorstep, broken and lost and nowhere left to go. When Remus revealed his darkest truths and fears about being a werewolf and in turn, James learned to become an Animagus. When Peter had come to him with watering eyes and quivering lips, confessing his deepest fears about feeling small and insignificant. It was after James took extra care in letting his friend know he mattered. 

James was there. He was always there—steadfast and present. 

Even when he was an egotistical jerk. A player by his own doing. A spoiled prat. Even then, one thing was always true, he was there for his friends. 

He wonders now if that meant anything to Remus. 

The thought stings, but he pushes it aside. His sharp exhales and shoes against the stone are the only sounds ringing through the empty corridor. His feet carry him listlessly to his tiny slice of sanctuary, somewhere he knows no one will come looking for him. 

The cool night air carries from the outside and he’s briefly thankful that in his haste he grabbed his cloak, as he pulls it tighter around himself and prepares for the chill to hit him full force. 

But when he steps onto the small balcony, he’s not struck by a breeze or even overcome by the beauty of the night sky. No—instead he’s met by the very thing he’s been looking for. 

He wonders briefly if that invisible string knotted around his heart and wrapped around her finger is what brought him here.

“Lily.” He breathes, like she’s not real. 

He says it soft and quiet, like if he speaks it any louder it might shatter the delicate image before him. 

She certainly looks ethereal—otherworldly, even. 

For the first time James has known her, she’s outside of her uniform. A thick and knitted cream colored cardigan hangs loosely on her small frame, swallowing her hands. Beneath it, he can see a knee-length deep green colored dress swishing in the wind. It’s her hair that catches his attention though, free of the signature ribbon normally looped around a few strands. And though he’s come to appreciate the small touch, her hair is in shimmering red waves under the moonlight. 

Like a siren sent to lead him to his death. 

She turns instantly at the sound of her name and any prior transfixation of her beauty is soon doused as the anxiety surges through his veins again. 

Her green eyes are sparkling with fat, wet tears. Her porcelain cheeks are blotchy and tear stained. Her lips quivering and hands shaking. “I’m sorry,” she croaks, voice hoarse and choked. “I didn’t think anyone would be here. I’ll just—”

She turns swiftly to flee, but instinctively James’s hand shoots out and gently grasps her wrist. It’s not rough, but a featherlight kind of thing that makes her sad eyes peer into his worried ones, making his heart twist beneath his ribs. 

“You’ve been crying.” The words tumble out before he can stop them. It was stupid and obvious, but all he can think to say.

Her cheeks flush in what James only thinks can be embarrassment as she swipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her cardigan. 

“I’m cold.” She offers lamely, voice buckling. 

And even her body betrays the lie, as a single crystalline tear dribbles down her cheek. 

Without even thinking, he unclasps his cloak, shucking it off and reaching to pull it over her shoulders. His fingers linger, gently smoothing her hair free from the collar, with a featherlight touch. 

“James…” she trails, biting her lip. 

“Better?” He whispers, low and tender. His fingers still wound in the ends of her silken hair. 

She nods ever so slightly and her eyes are so heartbreakingly sad as tears fall from them like the first fall of snow in winter. Chilling, but somehow still beautiful. 

Tenderly, he moves his hand from her hair to gently slide up the side of her neck, watching as her skin breaks out in goosebumps and a sigh passes her lips. So gently, as if coaxing a scared animal, his thumb rests just under her eye as he wipes away the wetness, making gentle passes back and forth. She melts into his touch, her eyes fluttering shut, wispy lashes sparkling with unshed tears against her cheeks. Her chin tips instinctively upward, trying to feel all of his warmth. For a moment, she seems to melt a little, her body sagging as if his thumb against her skin is all that’s keeping her upright. She had no idea how badly she was longing for such affection until this very moment. 

“I can go, if that’s what you want, love. But not until I know you’ll be okay on your own.” 

And he’s giving her the choice. Lily feels like he has been since she met him. Always checking-in, never pushing her. He’s tentative, but in a sweet kind of way. Something she’s never appreciated more until right now. 

She shakes her head underneath the pressure of his palm. “This is your spot, if anyone should leave it’s me.” 

He huffs out a small laugh, “don’t even worry about that, Trouble.” He reassures softly. “It can be ours, if that’s what you want.” James says a bit more tentatively, like he’s toeing the line of something bigger. 

Her eyes open at his words glittering beneath the curtain of stars. 

“Stay.” It sounds like a plea. 

The look in her eyes tugs something painful in his gut and he nods without a single thought. Moving his hand from her cheek and tangling her trembling fingers between his own. Slowly, he leads her to the stone railing, turning to the vastness of the dark night, hoping the stars might bring her the peace he so desperately craves on her behalf. 

A silence lapses over them. He uncurls his fingers ever so slightly, an invitation for her to let go if she wants. 

She doesn’t. 

She squeezes his fingers every so often, he wonders if she even realizes she’s doing it. Small sniffles sound from beside him, too. Each one making his ribs tighten. He wants to ask what’s wrong, how can he help fix it—but he stays quiet. He can feel the tension in the air, can practically hear the cogs turning in her head as she seems to wrestle with staying silent or sharing her emotions. 

Minutes pass before she finally speaks. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you.” She begins, barely audible. James turns his head to look at her but her eyes remain fixed on the stars. “I don’t want you to think I don’t want to. It’s just…”

“Just what?” He coaxes gently. 

A sigh leaves her lips and her fingers tighten in his. Her teeth dig into her bottom lip, a silent conflict stirring within her. 

It would be easy to lie. Smarter. Sensible. If Lily wanted to avoid the pain that’s been consuming her then she’d stand on this balcony and tell James she doesn’t want to talk. And James—sweet James—would probably reassure her. She would leave, go to bed. But even in sleep, she knows she would be forever forced to face all the horrors she’s been hiding from for so long.

But how long can she run for?

She’s tired, so so tired. And somehow, with James beside her, it feels a little less impossible to face those things. 

“If I tell you, I’m scared you’ll look at me like everyone else does.” She admits quietly. 

She feels his hand, warm in her own, curl gently into her own. “And how is that?” He asks softly. 

“Like—like you feel sorry for me. Like you pity me.” She says a little bitterly. 

“Lily,” James breathes sadly. 

“No,” she starts, turning to look into his eyes, tears burning in her own. “Everyone looks at me like I’m some sad pathetic thing. Like they all know how much I missed out on. Like I don’t belong.” 

“I don’t think that. I’ve never thought that.” James responds without missing a single beat. 

Lily’s eyes soften briefly because he’s never given her a reason to think otherwise. She huffs a little in frustration. “I know that,” she starts swiping at her under eyes. “But if I—”

“Hey,” he cuts off sliding closer, fingers tightening around hers. “I’d never think that. No matter what.” 

The breath leaves her body because the look in his eyes, the vulnerability. The honesty. She really has no choice but to believe him, which makes what she’s about to do that much more difficult. 

She searches for words. Of how she can articulate the greatest pain of her life to make him understand, but she’s left empty. 

But, his golden eyes are gleaming beneath the stars and she thinks he’s looking into her soul and she knows—to her very bones—whatever she says doesn’t have to be particularly articulate or perfect because it’s James. And for whatever reason, that makes all the difference. 

“Have you ever heard of The Rime or the Ancient Mariner ?” She isn’t sure why that’s what tumbles past her lips, but it’s a start, she supposed. 

James looks thoughtful for a second before slowly shaking his head, eyes never leaving Lily’s. He hears her let out a soft sigh from beside him as her eyes drift back to the horizon. 

“It’s a poem—short story, really. My Mum had all sorts of them, she always liked to read. She read to me and my sister all the time when we were younger.” Lily begins. 

It strikes James suddenly, this is the first time he’s ever heard her bring up her family. Her mother. Hell, he had no idea she even had a sister. 

Hundreds of questions pass through his mind—is she older? Younger? Are they close? Where is she now? Why had Lily never spoken about her?

But he bites his tongue, sensing that answers would come. Unbidden and heavy.

“It’s about a sailor,” she starts, voice distant and haunted. “He was known for his good luck, never losing a battle to the sea. But one day, he and his crew were caught by a terrible ice storm. They were certain they’d die, when from the fog a bird—an albatross—guided them to safety.” 

The way she speaks sounds like she’s read it hundreds of times. Though, her eyes are dim, so unlike when she spoke of Pride and Prejudice to him.

“In thanks, the crew praised the bird, fed it, cherished it. But the sailor felt differently. He shot the albatross, straight through its heart. He called it a curse. He said it brought them misfortune. That it hadn’t saved them.” He hears her voice shack, watches as she swallows thickly against the strain. “Soon after, the ice melted, the sea calmed and the air became warm again.”

He watches her shoulders begin to tremble—feels them knocking into his own from beside him. Her fingers begin to twist beneath his own. 

Her voice wavers when she continues, “but as soon as they turned on the albatross, the wind howled—it was merciless as it drove the crew back into dangerous waters.”

Lily thinks of Petunia and the first time their mother told them the story. Lily remembers feeling so terrible for the bird, for the death and violence brought upon it as repayment for a good, selfless deed. And Petunia—thought just as the mariner did. Saw it as a curse. A burden. Something to be rid of. 

She sniffles harshly, hoping to ease her breaths. “The crew blamed the sailor. Says the storm was punishment for his actions. They made him wear the albatross around his neck—a constant burden and physical reminder of the suffering he caused. They’d hope it would be some kind of penance.” 

“And was it?” James asks. 

She shook her head. “Death came for the crew, but it left the mariner. It cursed him to a fate worse than death. He was left alone, watching the life leave their bodies and as everyone else fell, he just couldn’t seem to die. No matter how hungry, thirsty or frail he became.”

A heavy silence fell between them for a moment, James considered breaking it, but he could see she wasn’t finished. Rather, she was looking for the strength to go on.

She seems to get there eventually, though. “He wished for death, day after day. The pain—it was too much and the guilt was eating him alive. A storm came and he thought death was finally being merciful and just when he was sure he was going to die, he woke up. Washed ashore. Because that was his curse. To wander the earth forever, burdened by his sin. Forced to send warnings about the bad luck albatross’ bear.”

James' eyes found her own, an ache behind them like he’s never seen. His own brow furrows in confusion as he considers the tale in full. “But was it really the albatross that brought them bad luck?” He asked. “Or was it the universe punishing him for the senseless killing of an innocent creature?” 

The question hung in the air, with a certain weight to it, before Lily’s broke the tension as a bitter laugh left her lips. “That’s what you’d think right? That’s what I thought, too. I would think as a little girl, how could they blame all their misfortunes on the albatross? How could they so senselessly blame all their misgivings on this one bird?” She begins thickly. “But Petunia… she saw it differently.”

“Petunia?” James repeated curiously.

Lily cleared her throat, “my sister.” James watches her lip quiver. Feels her hand tremble in his. “She used to call me that all the time. She thought of me as a burden. Some sort of curse sent to ruin her and my family’s lives.” 

James shook his head, his heart breaking at the confession. “That’s not true, Lily. You’re not—that’s not right.” He says searching for the right words and praying his conviction is enough. 

“I used to think so, too. I thought maybe she was just afraid and that was her only answer to what was happening.” 

James knows she’s speaking of her magic. When it was an unknown foreign concept to her and those around her. 

She thinks of the flowers that bloomed from her palms. Sparks flying from her hands when she was excited. Frames banging and crashing to the floor when she was angry. 

Even once when she was only fourteen and Petunia’s boyfriend at the time, three years older than Lily, had tried to kiss her one night after dinner. She remembers pushing him roughly and nothing but fear and anger pouring from her. She watched as dark purple dots began to bloom all over his cheeks, his neck and arms. 

He ran from their house screaming in fear, telling Petunia her sister was a freak. And Petunia refused to hear Lily out—instead, she looked at her like she was some sort of monster. 

After that, Lily can’t remember a time they ever got along again. 

Lily sighs, trying to collect her jumbled thoughts. “But now, I know she was right.” She admits brokenly. 

James acts instantly, turning to her and grabbing her other hand. “Don’t think that, Lily. Don’t ever think that.” He almost begs. 

She shakes her head, the tears blurring his frame as she’s thrust back into the worst night of her life. “My Dad, he—he wasn’t well.” She begins brokenly. “He had an accident at work and he couldn’t walk anymore. Money was always tight, even before. It just got worse when he had to stop working and the medical bills began piling up.” 

It dawns on James this is the first time she’s mentioned her father. It dawns on Lily, too. It feels like a punch to her gut. 

“My Mum,” her voice broke over the syllables, “she worked so hard. She worked morning care for children, taught all day, she did afternoon care, too, before closing up the library a few towns over. And she still found the time to take care of my Dad—of me.” Her eyes clench shut at the thought as she tries to control her breathing and slow her tears. It was to no avail. “I took a job at the local pharmacy, selling candy and snacks, after school. My parents thought it was for a university fund, but I knew I could never go. I used it to pay off bills and buy groceries when my Mum was too busy. I had to be there for them like they always were for me.” 

Two thoughts strike James. The first, is that he’s suddenly grateful for his Muggle Studies education specifically on Muggle medicine and healthcare so he doesn’t interrupt with something dumb like— what’s a pharmacy? 

The second thing—which hits harder than the first—is how big Lily’s heart is. He feels as if he’s seeing it bared for the first time and it’s big and bleeding. Though different, he has some idea of what it’s like to look after your parents, but even then it feels incomparable. Struggling with funds, dealing with health issues. And yet, she persevered. 

“They always left the light on for me,” she whispered, the sentiment clearly holding more weight beneath the surface. “No matter what time it was, no matter how late it became. Even if my Dad felt awful and my Mum was exhausted, they always waited for me to come home.”

And James hasn’t been able to tell where this is going—not really. But the way Lily’s voice seems strained with physical hurt, the increase of the shaking of her hands and the tears dripping onto the balcony, he knows she’s on the precipice of something bigger. Of whatever is causing her hurt. 

“My sister moved out as soon as she could. She met her boyfriend—Vernon—at work, not long after. Even when she left, I knew she still hated me. That she was happy to get away from all the abnormalities I was causing.” 

Lily turns from James, facing the night sky as tears splash down her cheeks and descend into the nothingness beneath them. One hand stays in his own but the other clutches the stone edge like a lifeline. Knuckles white and elbow buckling with force.

“All my parents ever wanted was for us to get along.” She whispered brokenly into the air, like she’s speaking to something greater. 

James shifts then, standing beside her and looking out into the vastness. He doesn’t move beyond that, but lets her know he’s a warm calming presence as she navigates her way through the tangled labyrinth of her emotions.  

“She called on a Thursday night.” Her voice evens out, becoming an empty, hollow thing. “She said she was coming over that Saturday for dinner—with Vernon—and that she had something to tell us. She said that Vernon would like a prime rib and hung up the phone.” He hears her inhale shakily. “And they were so happy—so hopeful. But my Mum, she had taken on an extra shift the next day and my Dad stopped leaving the house all together after his accident. And money—it was tight, so she said she hoped that the chicken would do instead.” She took another deep, stuttering breath. “But I knew—I knew that it would cause a fight. That the night would end before it began if Vernon didn’t have his prime rib and it would somehow become my fault and my parents would be devastated. And I just wanted them to be happy.” 

James can hear the emotion return in the last sentence. Lily’s voice cracking over the words roughly. 

“I wasn’t even supposed to work.” Lily’s voice goes quiet now, something almost bitter and angry. “I wasn’t supposed to—I begged to take someone’s shift the next day. I worked until closing and I was already out late, but I knew we needed the prime rib for dinner or it would be a disaster and I also knew my Mum would’ve tried to stop me if I told her my plan.”

James can feel her shaking beside him. Eyes trained on the landscape with an impenetrable force, despite the fact he knows she can’t see a single thing through the blur of tears. He watches her move her trembling hand from where it clutched the balcony, to beneath the folds of her—his cloak. He watches her fingers knot and loop into a fragile gold chain as if it’s grounding her to reality. He watches them curl and tighten and clutch at it so hard he’s afraid that it may snap. 

And as her fingertips toy at it, brushing the links back and forth methodically, he sees it there—just barely. Under the light of the moon and the twinkle of stars, he sees two golden rings glinting beneath the night sky. 

He looks on curiously, watches as she sticks her fingers into the too wide one and twisting the second one—which seems to fit just right—in a soothing kind of motion. 

“When I got home that night, the lights were off.” She says so quietly, he can just make her out over the breeze tickling his ears. “I knew something was wrong—they never shut the lights off.” 

She turns to him then, a desperate kind of look into her eyes as she tries to make him understand. Like with one fleeting gaze, he may be able to understand the terror she felt in that moment. 

And he does—nestled deep in his chest, in the confines of his heart it’s like he feels everything she’s pouring into him. And it’s painful and a little scary, but he wants to help shoulder her burdens. Lily looks as if she has the weight of the world on her delicate shoulders most of the time—but right now James thinks he can see the world crumbling over her. The ruins laid bare at her feet and he’s left to pick up the pieces. 

“I called their names and they didn’t say anything.” She closes her eyes, as if remembering. “And when I walked into the sitting room…” 

She bites her lip harshly, like some part of her won’t allow herself to say it. Though she’s grappled with the reality for five agonizing months, like speaking it will make it all the more real. Like there is no coming back, something she’s always known deep down but has been unable to accept. 

“Lily.” James whispers so tenderly, it nearly slices through her pain. 

Slowly, she feels something warm dance over her shaking and cold palm. His own presses against hers, mapping out every single indent and vein with his fingers as he silently knits them together, hoping his touch can give her the strength she needs. 

Somehow, it does. Even if just a little. 

“There was blood everywhere—so much blood.” She chokes, squeezing his hand to the point of pain, keeping her eyes downcast to her shoes. “It was everywhere, on the floors, the furniture, the walls, on their—their bodies.” She cried. 

James gasps at the confession, his own throat tightening as grief pours out of her. 

“And I was screaming,” she cries, “I was on my hands and knees covered in their blood and I was screaming . I was just—I was thinking this is some terrible, awful nightmare and I wanted to wake up. I wanted my parents back.” She sobs then a broken and awful thing and James knows he can no longer stand idle as tears prick the back of his eyes as she becomes hysterical beside him. 

Swiftly, he turns, reaching for her and pulling her into a tight  embrace. 

At first, he thinks it was the wrong thing as she continues sobbing stiffly against him. But then, he feels her nose press into his chest, just below his heart. Her hands clutch the front of his shirt like he’s the only thing keeping her grounded. She melts into him, her rigid posture crumbling as one of his arms winds itself around her waist. The other tangles into her hair as his fingers brush the base of her neck, gently scratching at her scalp with soothing strokes.

“My neighbor, Mrs. Hollis, she heard me screaming,” he can hear each word drip with anguish despite begging muffled against the cotton of his shirt. “She called for help, but when they came, I couldn’t move—I couldn’t even speak. And there was so much blood that they took me to the hospital, thinking I had been hurt, too."

“Oh, baby.” The endearment slips out before he can stop it, his lips warm against the crown of her head, breath skimming her hair. 

It should feel strange to call her that—so tender and vulnerable—but for whatever reason it doesn’t. Not now. Not when Lily is falling apart as she relives the worst moment of her life. As she spills unimaginable and unfathomable pain to James on this small balcony under sparkling stars. A setting too beautiful for such a tragic and heartbreaking reality. 

He feels like everything should be bleak. Like the sky should be grey and colorless and the heavens should weep for this girl and her pain. Like the world should still and just be still to give her time to grieve. 

Through the fog and the misery, as his fingers work their way through her soft auburn waves, he briefly recalls her earlier reaction in Potions. The thick, blood-like substance that coated her uniform, her skin. The way she froze and then desperately pleaded to Remus to spare her from The Hospital Wing. 

James also remembers his incessant worry and need for answers but he almost wishes now he never found out. Like somehow his ignorance would have spared her from the pain that’s vibrating through her whole body, making her feel so small and fragile in his embrace. 

“After, they told me—the police, they told me that they were sliced so deeply. Unlike anything they had ever seen before. That even if I had found them sooner, they would’ve never made it because the slashes were so deep.” She explained shakily. “Someone did that to them—someone murdered my parents.” She wails, the sound ripping from her like it’s been clawing at her chest for too long. Begging to be let out. 

James tightens his hold on her, solid and unwavering. He doesn’t know what to say. What is there to say? That it’s okay? That everything will be alright? 

How can he? 

How can anything ever be okay again when someone so senselessly and so callously hurts the people you love. When someone kills innocent, good people. People who raised this brilliant, brave and strong girl falling apart in his arms. 

“Breathe, Lily, just breathe.” Is all he can say, as he feels her gasping for air against him. One hand rubs her back soothingly. “Just breathe. I’ve got you.” He whispers. 

He takes purposely airy and deep breaths, hoping the movement and rhythm of his own chest will serve as a guide for her to match.  

They stay like that for a while, as she hiccups and gasps against him. Her tears soaking through the fabric of his shirt. James remains steadfast. Whispering soft assurances, keeps his hand steady on her back and woven in her hair, hoping it’ll ground her. 

Her tears don’t slow, but luckily, her breath does as she wills herself to finish the horrid tale. “The day that my sister was made executor of the wills, the day that the deed to our house changed to be under her name… that’s when the owl came. I was getting ready for the funeral and there it was—on my window, letter in its mouth.” She peels away from his shirt then, eyes green and bloodshot, looking into his own glasses honey colored ones. “And the worst part?” She starts hollowly, “is that my sister didn’t even look surprised when she saw it. I thought it was some sort of joke—some sick and twisted prank, but she—it was like she knew. And I—I wondered if maybe it was her. If she was why I never got my first one.” 

Anger flares hot and sharp in James’s chest. Anger at her sister, for her cruelty and heartlessness. Not just in the way she’s forced Lily to shoulder and navigate the world on her own after their parent’s death, but in the way such callousness seems to be an overarching theme in their relationship. He swallows down the frustration because this isn’t about his anger. It’s about her pain. 

Instead, he moves the hand from her hair to begin to glide down her face. His thumb working softly to wipe away the tears that fall too quickly for him to catch. She leans into his touch, eyelids fluttering shut and a broken sigh escaping her at the tenderness. 

She sniffles. Once. Twice. Before going on. “It was at the funeral she told me that she was coming over for that Saturday dinner to tell us she was engaged.” Lily whispers throatily. 

Her own hand moves deftly to grip James’ wrist where it lays against her cheek. A silent plea to stay. That it’s his comfort that’s grounding her and giving her strength. 

“She said—she said that she didn’t want me in her life. That it was my fault that they were dead—that it was probably someone coming for me and they paid the price.” She admits brokenly.

He moves to cup her cheeks with both hands, fingers cradling her jaw steadily. He bends his knees, forcing her to meet his eyes. His voice steady and unwavering. ”No, love, this—this is not your fault.” He says with such conviction that for one painfully long moment Lily wants to believe him. 

But then that word—the one that Petunia called her. The last thing she ever said to her begins to rattle loudly. A shrill echo in her ears. 

Albatross, Albatross, Albatross—

“But it is.” She says urgently and desperately, head shaking fervently beneath his palms. “Dumbledore came to me the next day. He explained everything. The letter, the things I couldn’t explain—magic. And I’ve thought every single day since, that maybe if I was there, if I was home. I could’ve stopped it. I could’ve done something .”

And James doesn’t make her say more. He understands what she’s saying. Emotions fuel magic. It doesn’t matter the age or skill. Things like fear, pain, grief—they make for unpredictable and wild reactions. 

“Or they could’ve hurt you, too.” James whispers, voice cracking at the thought alone. 

“At least then… I wouldn’t be a burden to anyone. A curse.” She says back softly, like it’s a fate she’s herself resigned to. 

“Lily—” he pleads painfully. 

“It doesn’t matter.” She whispers as a tear falls beneath the pad of his thumb. “I did the next best thing. I did what my sister wanted. I left her life. I was afraid—so afraid that whoever did it would come for me. The police had no leads. Said whoever it was didn’t leave a single trace behind.” She swallows hard, still feeling the weight of all that is unknown. “Luckily, McGonagall took me in.”

And suddenly everything falls into place. Like broken pieces suddenly jagging themselves into place and forming something. 

The day Lily first arrived, her obvious unease and sadness, something James had thought was a product of the years of robbed magic. 

The way McGonagall was deeply protective of her and made it outwardly obvious. Even after one singular interaction, when she warned them off in the Great Hall, just after the first time James ever saw Lily. 

How she never talked about where she came from. When her body went stiff and eyes panicked when James asked where home was. 

The nightmares. Lily’s horrified face as the blood-like substance splashed over her uniform earlier. 

Even though James was still pissed off—even Remus’ misplaced distrust of James seems more justified. 

And just beneath the rapid thumping of her heart, the two glimmering gold rings. Her parents’ wedding bands. A constant source of comfort as he’s seen her clutch the chain time and time again. 

“And the last thing my sister ever said to me—ever called me was from that stupid story. An albatross.” She says the word like a curse, something forbidden and disgusting as her eyes drop in deviation. 

And James knows that this isn’t something you move on from. This isn’t the kind of wound that time or pretty words or even embraces and gentle touches can heal. You can never undo something like this, it’s something that you can never forget. 

But you can move forward. 

Slowly, tentatively, there are steps forward. 

There will always be days where you look back, but at least you’re still going. You’re not stuck. 

And James will be damned if Lily has to take those steps alone. On the days when the pain is too much and the memories too real, he is determined to be there—steadfast and unwavering.

Because it dawns on him—not for the first time—but with complete and utter certainty that Lily Evans deserves everything good and kind and beautiful that this world has to offer. And it seems all the world has done is taken and destroyed and hurt her. 

And he can’t bring her parents back. Can’t erase the feeling of the blood on her bare skin as they bled out. Or the way she lost her sister so soon after and was thrust into something unknown.

But what he can do, is be there and remind her as often as possible of what he sees when he looks at her and hopes that maybe—just maybe she’ll start to believe it and let it help guide her onward. 

“Wanna know what I took away from that? The story your Mum told you about the sailor?” He began softly, a whisper against the quiet night. 

Lily’s brows knit together, confusion flickers across her face as she feels James’ palms press into her cheeks. His long fingers dancing along her temples. “What?” 

“That it wasn’t the albatross that cursed those sailors—it was their cruelty that was its undoing. And too late did the world realize it needed to repent and punish those responsible.”

He hears her breath hitch at his reverence. He knows Lily understands what he’s saying—but he needs to speak it aloud. Needs her to know with absolute certainty. 

“The world—it was so cruel to you. To someone I see as so kind and so resilient. You deserve so much better.” He whispers softly as his fingers trace the delicate lines of her face. 

His words are so gentle and tender, as is his touch. But it was the way he looked at her that shatters her completely—like he’s really seeing her for the first time. And his gaze is unflinching as he traces every shadow and fracture of her broken soul. Sees everything she’s tried to hide for so long. The endless sadness, the pits of despair, the vast ocean of grief that threatens to drown her everyday. 

But he didn’t look at her in the way she feared. Didn’t seem to pity her or see her as weak, or broken, or even cursed. No—he was looking at her like she was something precious. Something to be protected and cherished until the end of time. 

And it absolutely wrecks her. 

He looks at her like she is the burden he would gladly wear around his neck—just as the sailor did. But he would wear it proudly and he would never hurt her as the sailor did. As the world has. 

And she can’t remember a time when anyone—besides those who have left her, have ever looked at her like that. 

A strangled sob tears from her throat as she throws herself forward, burying herself in his unflinching and endless warmth. Her shaking hands find purchase on his shoulders as she wraps around him best she can, pushing herself onto the tips of her toes, in desperate search of solace. 

He catches her instantly and effortlessly. A reflex. Like holding her was the most natural thing in the world—as if he was made to do it. He coils his arms around her back, rubbing soothing circles as she cries beneath him. His chin resting on the halo of auburn hair.

And she’s shaking something fierce in his arms, but it’s different, like with each cry he can feel the anguish being carried by the winds. Like she’s just learning to breathe again—the first time in months. 

His lips skim the crown of her head and he presses them ever so slightly. A featherlight kiss. “The world has been so cruel to you, baby, so unfair.” He whispers, a silent tear of his own dripping onto her scalp as he speaks. “But not anymore. Not as long as I can help it.” He says it like a sacred oath. 

He feels it then, ever so slightly, her nodding into him like she’s willing to try and believe it. Like she finally has hope. 

Gently he pulls away and turns her around so she’s looking at the stars littering the sky. He presses his chest into her back, one arm wrapped snugly over her shoulders, a steady reassuring presence. His other hand moves to grab her own, intertwining their fingers like they were made to fit. 

He traces their joined hands across the night sky just like he did before, what feels like a lifetime ago now. 

“You see it? Wings.” He whispers, breath lips warm against her ear. 

Her eyes search the stars, voice quiet and fragile when she finally speaks. “A bird?” 

James can hear her thoughts racing, thoughts of that horrible name her sister called her the albatross. The curse. 

“Not just any bird, love.” He starts, causing her to turn in his arms as her hands instinctively find his chest and his rest against her waist. “A dove.” He tells her.  

“A dove?” She repeats curiously, eyes softening ever so slightly. 

He nods, fingers tracing delicate patterns through the fabric of his cloak. “Columba—it comes from a story about the first glimpse of sunlight after a terrible storm. A new beginning.” 

Her eyes soften and a tear falls, but they both know that it’s different. 

“Thank you, James.”

Thank you for listening to me. For seeing me. For looking at me and seeing more than my grief, my pain. For seeing who I really am. Who I could be. 

James softens under her words and gaze. He swears he can feel the invisible string twined between them pulling taut and wrapping tighter around his heart. An ethereal thread binding them together in something unbreakable. He thinks he feels the world shift beneath his feet and something changes in the air. Like the unraveling of something kismet. 

He wonders if he ever even had a chance against fate—not when she’s involved. 

“I promised I’d be here.” He murmurs, dipping so his forehead just barely skims her own, as his own eyes slip shut. “You never have to thank me for that.”

She surges forward wrapping herself around him again, warm and affectionate. Like they were melded and created for one another. Destined to fit perfectly. 

And as Lily feels James’ heart deftly thumping a calm and steady beat against her ear. She thinks for the first time—maybe it isn’t just about having nothing left to lose, but about finding things to gain. To keep. 

And above them, the stars glitter softly, scattered across the sky like delicate shards of light. It feels like a promise. 

A new beginning. 

James looks up briefly, tracing the shape of Columba. His eyes wander to the Seven Sisters next. About how the stars seem to shine tonight just for her. He looks up at Orion, Cygnus, Perseus and Andromeda—of all the constellations still left to teach her. 

He thinks of the rain, too. Of how he told her that the cries of the heavens can grant magic. He wonders then, if it rained the night she was born. If the heavens wept with joy and blessed her with a magic so powerful and otherworldly. One that only seemed to enchant him.

He knows now, as he always has—that she was never a curse. No matter how many times the world had tried to convince her otherwise, no matter what she was made to believe. 

She was a blessing—a celestial reminder that even the albatross, burdened by the weight of the darkest storms, could find its way back to the sunlight. 

Notes:

**This one was a little delayed because I got pulled into a James/Lily plot for a new story. It is set in the world of the Hunger Games, but doesn't follow the Katniss and Peeta, styled story. Instead, it centers around James a ruthless victor from District One, forced to mentor the tributes from District Twelve, including Lily. In the past, James is resigned to knowing his tributes will die but when he meets Lily he knows he can't let it happen. If anything, this story is more reminiscent to how Finnick and Annie may have fallen in love. I've been writing it for myself but if it interests anyone please let me know! I can work on it for posting!
Now for the Easter Eggs in this one, there weren't as many as usual given the heavy and somber tone, but:
-The Rime of the Ancient Mariner is a real short story/poem. It is how Lily describes and from it has derived other source material that depicts the albatross as a curse (as expressed in previous chapters. Taylor Swift's The Albatross almost served as the title of this story, specifically the line "I'm the Albatross (I Swept in at The Rescue)" but decided against it.
-Columba is also a real constellation, the story is that after the Great Flood in the story of Noah's Ark, he saw a dove sitting on an olive branch when he finally reached dry land.
Thank you as always for reading xx

Chapter 6: Corvus

Summary:

James and Lily grow closer after confessing her truth. A friendship is mended. A chilling encounter leaves the pair with questions and later, James tries to give Lily answers, furthering his own confusion as he begins to wrestle with fate.

Notes:

Sailor Song by Gigi Perez on a loop while writing this. Darn do I adore these two so much, soft James to shy Lily is the greatest. Enjoy!

---

Corvus 

(The Crow) 

A small constellation in the southern-sky, one of the forty-eight ancient constellations.

Symbolizes prophecies and omens. 

A messenger from beyond brings truth cloaked in shadows.

---

Something shifts after Lily tells James what happened to her parents. It’s subtle at first, not anything cataclysmic—no planets colliding, no plates shifting. It’s unspoken and meaningful, and nothing like the pity Lily once feared. 

It’s in the way he seems to know exactly what she needs and exactly when she needs it. 

The way he presses a gentle hand to the small of her back when the corridor is a bit too rowdy, steadying her without a word. How he slips her bundles of cheese or crisp apples on days that seem to stretch too long. Or how he’ll seek her out in the library just to make sure she isn’t overworking herself, leaning against the tall shelves with an easy confidence and murmuring, “you work too hard, love. ” The kind of thing that makes her insides flutter. 

But it’s in other ways too—quietly but so meaningful. So heartbreakingly tender. Things that seem to shatter her and piece her back together all at once. 

Like when Professor Dearborn speaks a little too long about spells that draw blood, and her knuckles tense against the desk. Her eyes go wide and her skin pales. James notices, but he says nothing, just slides a hand beneath the table and rests it gently atop her knee, warm and steady. 

Like how, when her eyes go vacant and distant, he always seems to notice. It’s on those nights, he teaches her about the stars. Whispers about the constellations, about the myths and legends stitched across the sky. The ones he’s convinced are dotted just for her.

Or in the mornings when he sees the shadows clinging to her eyes, too dark and too deep, he takes her for walks around the lake. He watches how her gaze softens under the afternoon sun and lingers a little too long on the pretty flowers blooming, delicate and brave against the incoming winter chill. He’ll pluck one—just for her. She smiles then, soft and real . And they’ll keep walking as she twirls it between her fingers and he listens intently when she tells him its name, what it means, where it grows and when it blooms. 

She tells him too, that her Mum loved flowers. And it’s strange, talking about her parents because for some reason it’s not as heavy or oppressing as it once was. It doesn’t crush her. It feels like maybe something lightens within her just a little. 

But she supposes that happens quite often with James. 

It happens in small passes. Like when she lets it slip that James’ cologne smells a bit like her Dad’s. When he teases her for being so small, she tells him how her parents were both tall, and she hadn’t inherited a lick of those genes. 

He lets her speak about her favorite books. Her Mum’s. Her Dad’s. Even Petunia's, too. And James listens—truly listens—asking thoughtful questions, smiling at all the right moments, the kind of smile that makes her head a little dizzy. 

It’s easier with him. Everything is easier. And she doesn’t understand why or even how but she’s decided she’s done trying to figure it out. Because for the first time since losing her parents, she thinks maybe—just maybe—one day she could be happy again. 

There’s a lightness to her that wasn’t there before. A spark flickering behind emerald eyes that seems to only be fanned when he’s around. And she wishes, most days, to be invisible. But not with James. Never with James.

And it seems that despite her wishes, she is very much not invisible to the world, as others seem to have noticed the changes, too. 

Peter offers fleeting smiles. There’s a quiet understanding from McGonagall. 

One watch from the shadows—sneering and glaring. Others hide in dark corners, observing intently and quietly. Some watch with something deeper, as something they cannot name, something greater than Hogwarts begins to unfold. Like a shift in the stars and heavens themselves. 

No one—except for Sirius—really says much. 

Sirius is not one to stand by idly. No—he takes pride in teasing James every single chance he gets. 

Luckily for James—and Lily, honestly—most of his jabs are reserved for the privacy of their dorm. He laughs and rolls his eyes at the fact James seems to spend more time in the library than the Ravenclaws these days. Relentless and merciless teasing when he catches James shouldering her bag, carrying her books or staring at her longingly during lessons, as Sirius so dramatically puts it. 

Sometimes, after a long day, James pushes back and says he’s just being nice. Other times, he’ll ignore him entirely—something that has taken years to perfect. But most nights, James just flushes deeply and smiles to himself, something quiet and secret, but without an ounce of shame. 

Occasionally, Peter will chuckle too, even join in on a bit of Sirius’ fun. 

But Remus—Remus says nothing. 

And despite his silence, it’s Remus who has noticed the change more than anyone. 

He and James haven’t spoken much since the night of their argument. Between Quidditch practices for James and Head Boy duties for Remus, avoiding each other isn’t particularly difficult. James doesn’t avoid him actively, but between lessons and the time he spends after practice with Lily, well—he’s not exactly going out of his way to mend the distance. Not only does it work in favor because he’s with her but also because he doesn’t even know what to say to Remus. 

The air is tense and he feels a little guilty that Sirius and Peter may feel the lingering discomfort. But the air isn’t thick with anger—it’s with hurt and something a bit sad. 

James just doesn’t really have anything to say to Remus. Doesn’t have the energy or patience to try and change the mind of someone who only wants to see one thing.  

But Remus—he has a lot to say. He just doesn’t know how . 

It’s a strange thing really, everyone would always say Remus is the most composed. Most eloquent. But when he sees the way he hurt James, watches all the ways he was so obviously wrong about him and Lily—words escape him. 

But he knows he needs to do his damned best to find them. He’s known the second James stormed out all those evenings ago. 

The feeling only festered when he saw how attentive he was to a seemingly lighter Lily. But he really knew he didn’t have a choice after Potions today. 

They were learning about blood-replenishing potions. The textbook was filled with images of wounds—gaping, torn, deep and bleeding scattered all across the pages. 

Remus could see it from across the room—the way Lily’s fists seemed to curl, the way her breathing seemed to turn shallow. 

But he saw James, too. 

James, who ripped up a piece of scrap parchment and began doodling all over it. Two little stick figures walking over a poor imitation of a hill. Little speech bubbles floating above their heads, filled with Pride and Prejudice quotes he had learned just for her. 

Remus watched as he slid it over to her, right on top of the photo of an open wound on page two-hundred and twenty. He saw Lily’s color return. Her emerald eyes sparkled at the drawing, as Darcy walked up the hill to confess to Elizabeth on a steady loop. Her cheeks turned pink and her lips curled into a smile. 

She laughed—soft and tinkling and surprised—it was just loud enough to cause her to clap a hand over her mouth as to keep it from escaping. 

And James smiled back at her like he’d just won the bloody Quidditch Cup. 

James—who Remus opened up to when he was just shy of thirteen. When he told him his deepest darkest secret and in turn he decided to learn to become an Anigmagus. 

James—who took in Sirius with open arms after the worst time of his life. Remus remembers stopping in over the summer, dark green paint smattered all over James’s fingers as he waved Remus inside. He told him not to mind the mess, he was just painting Sirius’s new room. Forest green. Sirius’s favorite color. 

James—who wanted to be a bloody fucking Auror not because it was prestigious and surely not cause it would be easy. But because he felt things too deeply to look away, when he could just as easily throw his hands up and play professional Quidditch or live off his family’s fortune.  

James—who seems to be the only person to get Lily to smile. Wide and bright and so real. Who tends to her with a softness he’s never seen before in his life. 

And that— that —was James. 

The real James. The boy, who has grown into a man right under their noses. Who has always been caring and kind and puts everyone before him. 

He knew this whole time. He’s always known it. 

So why the bloody fuck did he ever try to make James feel any differently? 

Remus shakes his head at the thought, disappointment and anger at himself begins to curl in his stomach. Shame for letting things become so warped. For letting his own insecurities seep into the dredges of his mind. 

He has to make things right. 

“…you’re pathetic, mate, I swear.” Remus could hear Sirius’ voice carry from inside the dormitory. “Besides, you know as well as I do that she’s in the library. You don’t need the bloody map.” He finishes just as Remus pushes open the door. 

The conversation stalls as soon as he walks in. Sirius’s smile falters, just for a moment, before he eases it into his signature grin. James, meanwhile, turns away to pretend to make himself busy by his bed. 

“Evening, Moony.” Sirius greets smoothly. 

Remus nods and supplies a weak wave. “You’re looking for the map, James?” He asks tentatively, voice shaking with nerves.

James turns at breakneck speed, the first acknowledgement from his friend in days. “Uh—yeah.” He responds quietly, eyes cautious. 

He’s unsure how to proceed, if Remus knows James is using it to find Lily it may just turn into another argument. 

“Right,” he begins softly, padding over to his nightstand and tugging open the drawer and sifting around for the parchment. 

He holds it out to James and the air in the room goes still. A peace offering. 

With a scrunched brow and slow hand, James grabs it from Remus, offering an awkward nod of his head in thanks. 

Without so much as exchanging another word, James turns on his heel, seemingly to grab his wand and head out before Remus stops him. 

“James,” Remus calls to him, voice low and uncertain as he turns to face him again, “can we talk? Please?” He pleads. 

James tenses, jaw tightening as he avoids Remus’s eye and flicks his gaze toward Sirius, silently pleading for an escape. 

And Sirius, is absolutely no help. 

None at all. 

In fact, he practically leaps from his bed the moment James’s eyes meet his own, shoving his feet into his shoes in record time. 

“Pete, didn’t you tell me about that thing we had to do?” He blurts to the blonde. 

Peter looks up from where he has been peacefully reading with a scrunched brow. “What are you—”

“You know, the thing. In the common room.” He says with wide eyes as he so obviously tilts his head to the door. 

Peter remains unimpressed. “Sirius, I have no—”

He doesn’t let him finish. He just yanks Peter up by the arm and all but drags him toward the door. Peter protests incessantly the entire way out the door, but Sirius ignores him, throwing a deliberately cheery, “good luck!” over his shoulder before the door slams with a resounding thunk. 

The second the door shuts and they’re alone, James can practically feel the air become thick and almost palpable in the distance between them. 

He slowly circles the room to face Remus who’s fidgeting nervously with his hands, weight shifting anxiously from foot to foot. And with a deep sigh and heavy heart, James nods, settling at the end of his bed and waiting to hear what Remus has to say. 

Remus swallows roughly. “I just—I hate this, James. I don’t like tiptoeing around each other. I hate how weird things are.” He begins shakily. “But what I hate more is that I hurt you. And for that, I’m truly sorry.”

And Remus knows a simple apology isn’t enough to erase all the hurt. Isn’t enough to prove he really means it, but James knows Remus down to his very core—and he can feel all the emotion behind it. The guilt. The honesty. 

“I just—I don’t understand why, Remus.” James begins defeatedly. “I can’t figure out what I’ve done to make you think the worst of me.” He looks down, shaking his head sadly. 

Because that —more than anything—was the worst part. The accusations, the mistrust, they hurt a lot, of course they do, but it’s the why that’s eating at him. The not knowing. The fact he has spent days turning it over in his head, retracing his every step, trying to pinpoint the exact moment that made Remus think he was some awful person, especially to Lily. But he went around and around, and always drew a blank. It was eating at him. It still is. 

“It’s not that.” Remus sighs quietly, like he’s scared to say what he really means. 

But he owes James. He knows he does. 

Remus and James both know friendship isn’t a system of checks and balances. It’s not all give and take, then give back and take more. Neither expects anything from the other in that kind of way. There isn’t a score to be kept, but they both know the friendship should feel equal. Equal in trust, most of all. 

“I see you’re different with her.” He forces himself to meet James’s gaze. “And I was so wrong about you and I’m so sorry James.” There’s a beat of hesitation before he continues, softer now. “I suppose I was wrong about Lily, too.”

James stills. “About Lily?” Her name takes over his thought in an instance. Mind shifting to her. Always to her. 

Remus nods. “You’re not just good to her, you’re good for her , James, and I’m sorry I ever thought otherwise.”

“But why?” James asks again, desperate for the truth. Needing answers. 

Remus’s shoulders hunch and his whole demeanor seems to change into something sad as he lowers himself onto the edge of his own bed, mirroring James. 

“I think,” he begins carefully, “part of me saw some of myself in her. Of when I was a hurt and confused kid wrestling the weight of an awful, terrible thing.” 

And Remus knows the pain he and Lily experience aren’t the same. That she suffers from a loss she can never undo. That she saw such horrible and awful things she can never forget.

But Remus—Remus knows that he is those awful things. The kind of person who could do those senseless and terrible things under the shine of a full moon. 

So it’s different. But it’s still heavy—sitting and weighing on each of them every single day. Something out of both their controls. Neither of them asked for this. And neither of them seemed to want anyone to see the pain that comes with it. 

“I just—I don’t know why I freaked out. I mean, it was you who saved me from all of it, Prongs. I don’t know why I ever doubted you couldn’t do the same for Lily.” His voice is thick with vulnerability, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I think that maybe, some selfish part of me wanted redemption. I wanted to prove to myself that I’m strong enough to handle such a burden, even if it wasn’t mine. That I could carry that weight if I had to.” He finishes smally. 

James sees his pain and fear laid bare on the carpet between them. It makes his heart twist in his chest. He loves Remus with everything in him—him, Sirius and Peter are his brothers in every single way that matters. And he’s seen the constant struggle Remus has had with being a werewolf. 

He’s seen him wrestle with thinking he’s a monster before every full moon and in the days after. 

And they try, all of them, to show him he’s anything but and sometimes Remus believes them, even if only for a moment. And sometimes he doesn’t. 

And that’s one of those moments. When he thinks the absolute worst of himself. When he’s drowning in a sea of self hatred and James—no matter how hurt he is—knows he needs to pull him out of it. 

“Remus,” he begins gently, finally catching his golden eyes. “That’s what friends are for. Weights like yours—like Lily’s—are never meant to be carried alone.” He says softly. 

Remus clamps his eyes shut, undeserving of such kindness considering all he’s done. “I know that—but I couldn’t do that for Lily. Not like you do for her. Not like you have for me.” 

James shakes his head. “It’s not just me, y’know. You have Sirius. You have Peter. And we all have you.” He says with a small lopsided smile. “I’m not half as insightful as Sirius or as gentle as Peter, I know that. Just like none of us are as wise as you are.” He explains. “I may not be able to understand as much as you or Lily do about what it means to be hurt so deeply by something. But that’s why she needs you, too.” 

Remus looks on at James with wide guilty eyes. Because even now—James is making him feel better. That gnawing feeling begins to eat at his gut in shame for ever doubting his friend. 

“Lily can have us both. It doesn’t make you or her weak for needing someone. Or for not doing things on your own. Remus—you already deal with so much and you’re still kind and clever and you’re bloody Head Boy. I know it’s hard to remember you’re more than what you become on full moons, but you are. Don’t doubt that. And don’t use Lily to make up for that, either.” He says the last part a bit more firmly than the rest, his protective instincts crawling into his words. 

“Thank you, James. Really.” Remus says thickly, because what else can he say? He doesn’t deserve this. “I’m so sorry I ever doubted you. I was protecting and that really was unfair to you. All of us have seen the man you’re becoming and I’ve seen it especially with Lily. You’re different with her and I guess between that and my own insecurities. I spiraled and I’m so sorry.” 

James swallows against the tightness of his throat. “You keep saying that—that I’m different with her.” He points out. 

Remus nods, “because you are, mate. It’s like you seem to know exactly what she needs before she even needs it. Like you’ve become so in sync in such a short amount of time and even the last week alone—I’ve seen Lily smile more.” 

“She—she told me, you know. About her parents.” He says quietly, as if that would explain everything Remus has seen. 

His eyes widened at James’s confession, “she did?” And he doesn’t know why he should be so surprised but he is. 

He nods slowly. “Yeah, she told me that she told you too. I dunno, ever since it’s like… I just have this urge to get her to be happier. Lighter. I mean, no one should ever have that kind of pain.” 

“James, Lily—she didn’t tell me about her parents. I found out by accident. She didn’t want anyone to know.” 

“Really?” He asks in disbelief. 

“I was with her when she saw a Thestral and I had put it together.” James’s heartbreaks at the thought alone. “But she was adamant to keep it secret. The fact that she told you, willingly. She really seems to trust you.” 

He bites his lip at the weight of the words. The way they make his heart skip and his ribs tighten with affection and care and something else he can’t quite place. 

“Can I—” he clears his throat nervously, “can I tell you something a little mad?”

“‘Course.” Remus nods, leaning forward slightly, brows pulling together in anticipation. 

James exhales sharply, running a hand through his already mussed-up hair. He doesn’t know how to articulate it. How to even begin to put into words the seemingly universal and intrinsical— prophetic —pull toward Lily. 

He has tried to push the feeling down since the very first moment he saw her. But it’s like anytime he’s around her, even thinks of her—the feeling swells and rises tenfold. Bubbling over and threatening to burst any day now. 

“I feel…” he begins unsure. Words don’t seem sufficient. He wishes he could rip open his chest and try to make Remus see what he feels. “Connected to her. Like—almost like she’s showing me that I’m,” We’re , “meant for something greater than all this. Greater than Quidditch or being an Auror. Then Hogwarts. Magic, even.” he pinches his temples and rubs them harshly. “It’s been driving me absolutely mad, I can’t understand it. It’s like—it’s like she’s leading me around on some sort of invisible string but she doesn’t even know she has the other end. I never even remember giving it to her in the first place. Like she’s always had it.” 

Remus tilts his head, considering his words, and for a horrible long moment, James braces himself for laughter. Teasing, even. Maybe some sort of rational counterpoint.

“Is that—is that mad?” James asks, unable to take the silence after he feels like he just exposed the deepest parts of him to Remus. 

Remus seems to consider it a beat longer before slowly, ever so slightly, he begins shaking his head. “No.” He says steady and certain. “Maybe I would’ve thought so a week ago but now… no.” 

But it’s not enough for him. He needs reassurance, some sort of guidance through the tangled web Lily seems to be weaving, one he’s twisted and cocooned in and doesn’t wish to be free of. Terrifying and captivating all at once. 

Remus, luckily, goes on, “I dunno how to explain it, mate. I’ve known you for years and I’ve never seen you like this, but you’re right sometimes it’s like more than that. Like I can feel the air get lighter, I guess.” He tries to explain, before giving up and shaking his head. “Maybe we’re both mad.” He chuckles. 

James cracks a small smile as a laugh bubbles past his lips, tension bleeding from his taut shoulders. The words settle something deep within him—it’s not an answer, not even close, but acknowledgment he’s not completely barmy. 

“Maybe.” James agrees, grinning despite himself. 

Remus looks at him and beams, pink scars creasing into the divets around his mouth as he does. It melts into something smaller but no less affectionate. 

“I really am sorry James.” He says again, sincerely and honestly. 

James sighs and shakes his head. It hurt, sure, but Remus was his best friend. In what world would they not have worked it out? And not only did they talk through it, but Remus offered James parts of himself he kept hidden, letting him shoulder a bit more of that weight. And in turn, Remus saw James—the real James—for all he knows he is. For what he’s become. 

“I forgive you, mate. I mean—I was always going to. You know that.” James says softly. 

Remus nods. “I know, but I’ll prove it to you, James, will. I know words aren’t always enough, just—I’ll show you somehow.” 

And he can tell that it means a lot to Remus and it means a lot to James, too. So he nods. “Thanks, Moony.” He says easily, though his leg bouncing and fidgeting hands betray him. 

Now that Remus can breathe a little easier and feels a bit lighter, he just now notices how restless James seems. The way his fingers seem to be itching to reach behind him and his eyes keep flicking to the door. 

Remus rolls his eyes affectionately and then smiles knowingly. “Just go to the library. She’s bound to be there.” 

“I dunno what you mean.” James plays off.

Again, Remus just rolls his eyes and chuckles and James seems to lose all pretenses of keeping up appearances, because with a loud sigh, James snatches the parchment from behind him. 

“Like I said, why are you bothering with that? Where else does Lily hangout?” Remus jokes. 

He shakes his head, pulling his wand from his back pocket. “I like to be sure.” He defends weakly. “Y’know I still have some of a reputation to uphold. I can’t just go into the library for no good reason. People might get the wrong idea.” He explains with a smug smile. 

“Says the guy who sleeps with Pride and Prejudice under his pillow.” Remus retorts. 

James flushes and ignores him, tapping his wand onto the old parchment. “Aren’t you still supposed to be groveling?” He grunts. 

Remus laughs and shakes his head. “It’s sweet really, I mean maybe a little—”

But Remus doesn’t finish, because across from him James goes stiff. The pink in his cheeks washed out as he becomes as white as a sheet. His eyes wide and frightened and he scans the map. 

“James?” He asks tensely, instantly rising to his feet. 

In two strides, he’s across the room and moving to glance over his shoulder as his friend’s hand shake and knuckles turn white around the parchment. 

Remus sees it right away, his own breath catching at the sight. 

Because Lily is not in the library. 

She’s still and unmoving in the middle of a corridor. 

And she’s not alone. 

---

Lily walks the now-familiar path to the common room, scolding herself under her breath as she walks. She hadn’t meant to leave her studying, but she needed to grab a fresh well of ink from her dorm. 

Quills and ink were one of the many things she was still adjusting to. Never did she think she’d miss the convenience of a simple pen as much as she does right now. A Muggle luxury she had taken for granted—one that would certainly stop her from the constant staining of her fingertips. 

She reaches the fork in the corridor and hesitates, James’s voice echoing in her mind. “ Always follow the unicorn tapestry ,” he had told her. 

She spots the shimmering silver thread woven into the fabric, easing a little as she traces the familiar path to the portrait hole. 

She smiles at the thought of him—and not for the first time she wonders what her parents might have thought of him. 

Her Mum would have loved him—would have fussed over him and called him handsome, and pointed out to Lily how tall he was. Lily would have flushed in embarrassment but also in affection. And she wouldn’t have disagreed. Her Dad would have been hesitant but he would have eventually come around. James would find a way in—as he seems to always do. They’d have bonded over sports, James would have eagerly explained Quidditch and her father would have listened intently and catch on much faster than Lily. In turn, her father would have introduced him to rugby. James would ask tons of questions, but her Dad would answer them with a quiet kind of amusement. 

He’d have turned highlights on the telly and James would have marveled at the technology. Her Dad would have chuckled deeply before glancing at Lily and saying something like, he’s better than Vernon, at least. Which wasn’t exactly a difficult feat, but she would have understood what he really meant. 

I like him. 

She smiles sadly at the thought, swallowing the lump in her throat. Thinking of things she’ll know she can never have. Things that will always be some played-out, imaginative scenario in her head. 

The way she thinks in things like would haves and could haves now still sting. The sadness is there, it never goes away. The grief threatens to swallow her whole, too, but beneath it all is a guiding light. Something light and twinkling. 

That feeling has helped her start to maybe believe in things like the heavens, and her parents finding peace—even maybe they’re proud of her. 

Sure, Hogwarts isn’t university, but she’d like to believe they’d be proud of her anyway. Of finding herself and trying to carve out her place in a world she may finally fit into. 

Lost in her own little daze she doesn’t even register the patter or feet clicking down the corridor from behind her. 

“You!” She hears someone call, “I have been looking for you.” 

Lily flinches at the sudden voice, body tensing as she turns sharply on her heel. 

Before her, is Professor Trelawney, looking just as unsettling as she had on Lily’s first day. She remembers the encounter well, it’s not something she’s been able to shake despite James’s assurances and Dumbledore’s insistence. She can still feel the unmistakable chill that had curled down her spine. The woman’s lingering words like a dark shadow in her mind, oppressive and cloying. Warnings of danger. Cries of anguish. 

Lily forces herself to be still. Wills herself not to panic. It’s just a teacher. Just another professor. 

“Me?” Lily’s voice cracks as she begins taking slow steps back, careful not to trip on the grooves of the uneven stone. 

“Yes. Yes.” Her breath comes fast, she takes a large step closer to Lily, bony fingers reaching out. 

And before Lily can react, the woman’s hands grasp her own. 

Trelawney’s grip isn’t nearly as tight as the last time but nonetheless unsettling. It chills Lily to her very bones, sending an icy shudder through her. She watches the professor’s eyes through the thick round glasses, as they slowly become hazy and unclear. 

“The stag,” she whispers hoarsely, almost painfully, “he has begun breathing life back into the forest.”

Lily tries to shake her grasp free, but is to no avail. “I don’t—I don’t understand.” She whispers trying to remain calm but the tremor in words betrays her. 

She tries to tug her wrists back but long bony fingers curl around her pulse point and press down until Lily’s skin turns white. 

“The way will be charted, under the guidance of the stars and the moon.” She begins. Then, suddenly, a singular tear trickles down her hollowed cheeks. “Be wary!” She cries, voice echoing and bouncing against the walls and arches of the castle. “The prey threatens to squeal. The thorns—tightening. The snake lies in the grass. The sapling may map the path but only if—” the woman stops with a sharp inhale of breath, as if it’s all left her body and she’s fighting for it back. 

And the words were complete and utter nonsense. Indecipherable even by someone with Lily’s brain, but the intent was clear. The raw emotion and fear and terror coming from the other woman as her grip becomes ironclad. 

“Wilting,” Trelawney says next, it starts a whisper, but then she keeps going and it just gets louder and louder. More pained. “Wilting. Wilting. Wilting…” 

It becomes a chant. It almost feels like an oath. Something sacred and that cannot be undone. A fate sealed to Lily forever, for better or worse. 

Unease begins to cloud Lily’s brain too. It feels like her ribs are shrinking and squeezing the confines of her chest painfully. Worry begins to curl in the pits of her stomach making her legs shake and her head foggy. She feels a little dizzy as she continues speaking, almost as if she’s under some sort of spell. 

She begins seeing flashes play in front of her like flickering photographs. Blood on the carpet. The deep slashes in her parent’s chest. A man yelling. Someone crying—not her–someone younger. A child maybe. Dread and fear begins to consume her as her pulse quickens and pounds against the pads of Trelawney’s fingers. Each thump syncing with her desperate cries. 

“Lily!” A familiar voice cuts through the tension, helping to ground her back to reality. 

“Lil.”

A second voice—softer, steadier—breathes, closer this time. Warm hands settle gently on her shoulders, grounding her. A firm chest presses against her back, solid and familiar. 

She turns, green eyes colliding with melted honey and molten amber, framed by familiar wiry glasses she’s come to know so well in such a short time.

James.

Despite the death grip on her hands, something in her core loosens at the sight of  him. The world, though still off-kilter, becomes a little less suffocating. Her hurried gaze flicks past him, finding Remus. He’s already moving, voice low and steady, as he tries to calm Trelawney down. 

She can hear Remus’s voice float over—soothing and gentle—her eyes stay on James. 

She shakes her head, “I don’t know—I don’t—” She whispers frantically, breath hitching as panic claws at her throat. 

“‘S alright Trouble. Breathe a little, yeah?” He whispers in that way that seems to melt her a little. 

His hands slide down her arms, patient and gentle, as he carefully begins to pry Trelawney’s curled fingers away. They’ve loosened a bit under Remus’s coaxing and with a final nudge, Lily’s free. 

The second the grip is gone, Lily feels her chest loosen as James gently guides her back and out of the woman’s reach. Just in case. 

He’s watching her carefully, his brows knit with worry, but her eyes stay locked Remus, who is still murmuring to the professor in hushed whispers. She watches as clarity seems to return to Trelawney. Her hands still and her tears drying as she blinks at her surroundings. As though she’s waking from a dream she doesn’t remember slipping into. Just like before—that very first day—she doesn’t even seem to recall how she got here. 

“Hey, you okay?” James sounds desperately from beside her. 

They only become clear after a few beats of silence—it feels like she’s surfacing from underwater, shaking liquid from where it’s flooded her ears. The way he says it, low and insistent, tells her it’s not the first time he’s asked. 

“I—” she begins, turning to face him, but the words get caught in her throat. 

His eyes are so earnest, but there’s something somber and suddenly words fail her. 

He can see some sort of struggle strike her as her eyes widen and he looks down to see her hands still trembling. 

“You’re shaking.” He whispers, reaching both his hands to encase her smaller ones in his to steady them. 

She exhales shakily, as her own hands instinctively curl into his, grasping at his warmth. The familiarity. His calloused hands and long fingers begin rubbing small, smoothing circles atop her knuckles. Little by little, the worry eating at her begins to chip away. Each absentminded pass of his fingers a silent promise: I’ve got you. 

He looks as if he’s about to speak, but whatever he’s going to say doesn’t come out, because Remus walks over. 

“She’s going back to her quarters,” he tells them, jerking his chin over his shoulder at Trelawney’s retreating figure. “You alright?” He asks next, concern evident in his tone as he looks to the auburn haired girl. 

She forces herself to nod. “Yes, I’m—yes.” She says though neither James nor Remus seem to believe her. 

She remembers her last interaction with Trelawney, her first day here. She remembers in the days after James’s unwavering comfort and insistence that Divination and Trewlawney specifically, is a load of rubbish. 

And both boys have been exceptionally kind to her since, especially in the wake of telling them about her parents. 

She didn’t want to put another thing on them or herself, for that matter. So over and over she reminds herself what James swore. 

Nonsense. 

Don’t believe it. 

With a shaky breath, she speaks, “I’m fine. It was nonsense. That’s all.” Trying to convince herself more than them. 

“Lily—” James starts unconvinced, guilt clawing deep within him. Worried he’s encouraged such a dismissive outlook. 

“Really,” she pleads, voice barely above a whisper, “it’s okay.” 

And James looks like he’s going to press her, but then Remus—ever perceptive—seems to get the hint, silencing his friend with a look. 

“Let’s all just go back to the common room, yeah?” Remus suggests. 

James again hesitates. He doesn’t want to just let this go, but then Lily speaks. 

“That would be nice.”

And how can James deny her anything?

So, slowly the trio starts to the portrait hole. Remus keeps the conversation moving, effortless and casual in his ability to distract. James stays close—too close, maybe. Like he thinks she might disappear if he strays. His hand remains at the small of her back, warm, steady and reassuring. 

She tries to let it anchor her. Tries to answer Remus’s questions about lessons with some semblance of enthusiasm or at the very least some indication she’s present. 

But her mind is elsewhere.

Much like when Petunia called her an albatross, it just keeps playing, each time seeping something darker into her mind. But somehow, it feels worse than before, like an omen branded against her soul. 

That word, it loops over and over, echoing in her skull like a curse she can’t unhear.

Wilting. 

---

Our dearest James, 

We haven’t heard from you in quite a while. How is your final year panning out? How are lessons? How is Quidditch? Your father is particularly eager for an update on Potions—so much so that I had to restrain him from writing to Horace himself. 

While we seem to barely hear from you these days, Sirius, on the other hand, has been writing often and enthusiastically goings-on at Hogwarts. Particularly about you. 

He tells us there is a girl. 

A Muggle-born, brought to Hogwarts as a new student under the most unusual and mysterious circumstances. Your father and I have served on the board for many years and never once, since our own school days, has such a thing happened. 

Sirius says you seem quite taken with her. That she’s clever and that she gets you to smile more. He even claims you seem to be trying harder in Potions just to impress her. Your father and I may need to thank the young lady personally for your good marks. 

But, truly—what is she like? What do you like about her? Where is she from? How is she adjusting to being a witch? To Hogwarts? What’s your favorite thing about her—her beauty? Her brilliance? Her kindness? 

I do hope you’re being kind to her, James. Not that I doubt it, you’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve, so proudly. But you know me, I’ll never pass up an opportunity to remind you to be a gentleman! 

I can practically see you rolling your eyes as you read this and I have a sneaking suspicion you won’t answer at all, instead scolding Sirius for being a gossip. Just remember, son, Christmas holidays are not as far away as you think. If you don't answer now, you will then. 

We love you so much, our darling boy. Study hard. Do your best. Be kind. And kick Ravenclaw arse this weekend (your father wrote that, not me). 

Love you always, 

Mum and Dad.

---

James lets the letter flutter onto his bed with a deep sigh, as he scrubs a hand down his face. 

He loves his parents—he really does. And, he loves Sirius, too. But bloody fucking hell , would it kill him to keep his mouth shut for once? It’s bad enough he’s on the end of relentless teasing in his dorm but now he goes and tells his Mum? 

And bless her, but she is so damn nosy. Always in his business. Always begging James to settle down soon with a nice girl, despite the fact he’s barely shy of nineteen. 

His parents weren’t big into Pureblood society and customs. Not like the Blacks, the Mulcibers or Averys. They never put much stock in blood status or the rigid societal customs that came along with it. But one thing that had stuck with them, for some inexplicable reason, was the old-fashioned notion of courting and marrying young. 

Not that they’d rushed into it themselves. They didn’t have a mass of children like other pureblood families. In fact, his mother didn’t have him until she was nearly fifty, choosing to focus on her and her father’s careers, a sentiment they always encouraged in James. However, his Mum particularly, never missed an opportunity to point out that having a partner to navigate such a thing with is what she calls a gift . 

He stares back at the letter a little horrified at the thought of what exactly Sirius wrote to them and even worse—the idea of Lily ever seeing it. 

He flushes hotly in both embarrassment and anger as he again, wants to know where the fuck Sirius and Peter have gone? He hasn’t seen them since the end of lessons today. Of course, he had headed to Quidditch, but he usually catches them back at the dorm when he pops in before heading to find  (pretend to run into) Lily. 

He suppose he’ll be able to sort Sirius out later. 

For now, he folds the letter neatly and hides it under a chocolate frog in his bedside drawer. Next, he fumbles around for the old familiar parchment, tapping his wand with a quiet murmur as the ink bleeds to life. 

He supposes Remus was right the other day—Lily is always in the library. But after finding her in the corridor with Trelawney, it’s like his protective instincts have flared tenfold. 

She hasn’t even mentioned it. 

Not once. 

Not even in passing. 

And that’s sort of the problem. 

He was worried about her. 

He had always dismissed Divination as rubbish, he had once encouraged her to drop it the first time it happened. And she trusted him and did just that. But this time, she was truly shaken but still didn’t broach the topic. And then—nothing. No mention of it. No passing comment. No indication she’d even been thinking about it but James just knows she has. 

Remus told James to leave it, that Lily had enough going on and maybe she just simply didn’t have the mental space between her six NEWTs and stinging grief to decipher the words of some barmy charlatan. 

But James couldn’t seem to just push it aside. To just write it off as nonsense like he’s done in the past. 

It’s weird that it happened twice, right? 

He tries to shake off the thoughts that have been haunting him for the past few days as he laces up his shoes and starts the now well practiced path to the library. 

His feet carry him as he moves fluidly and weaves between the tall stacks of books. The smell of old pages and having to narrowly dodge floating books has become familiar to him as of late. Silently, he begins crafting a believable reason for being here—something other than just Lily .  

Transfiguration homework—he decides, though he already borrowed Remus’s book days ago. Well, Lily doesn’t need to know that. 

He swings a right toward the History of the Troll Wars section, heading for the small alcove he knows she favors. A deep feeling of familiarity aches and swells deep within him as he navigates his way through the rows of books. It sets something alight. Something warm blooms in his chest. 

And there she is, just as he expected to find her. Tucked into her own quiet corner of the world. An array of books fanning around her. Her fingertips stained with ink and hair cascading around her face like waves rippling quietly across the lake at dawn—like some sort of ethereal halo. 

Her ribbon, a soft blush pink, ties back some of her hair, making her even more striking. It reminds him of delicate pearls that belong to the sea. Of the color of her cheeks when he compliments her. The gentle curve of her lips. 

He’s always thought she was lovely, her ribbons, too. A small touch that was so Lily —so wonderfully her. But last week, when he complimented the deep maroon silk threaded into her hair—saying it matched the changing leaves—she quietly admitted she wears them for her Mum. 

That it was her mother who wove soft pastels and rich shades of ribbon into her hair, every morning before she headed off to school. And she continues to wear them today. Lily told him that she continues to do it for her. That they remind her and still feel like her Mother’s love. 

And it’s her tenderness, her kindness and vulnerability. Just how feeling she is—it’s all part of what makes her even more beautiful in this eyes. 

“Well, well,” he calls out playfully, “if it isn’t the most brilliant girl in all of Hogwarts, how is she tonight?” 

She looks up at him, eyes softening and cheeks flushing that shade of pink. “You’ll have to let me know when you find her.” 

And his first instinct is to politely scold and remind her that he was obviously speaking about her. But when he steps forward to do just that, something in her shifts. 

He watches curiously as she hurriedly slams shut the book she was reading so intently just a moment ago. Her hands then scramble to arrange it to the middle of the pile, almost like she is trying to hide something. 

And it was subtle, nondescript, but he noticed. He notices everything about her. 

James just raises an eyebrow and plops in the chair across from her. “So, what are you up to?” He asks hoping to probe some information from her. 

She can hear the hint of suspicion in his voice. She tries to school her expression into something calm. Casual. “Just the Transfiguration essay.” 

Her hand vaguely gestures to the green Transfiguration book open somewhere on the table, hoping it’ll be enough to convince him. 

“Ah,” he breathes, sounding a bit calmer as he relaxes back into the chair, long arms spread across the backs. “That’s just what brought me here.” He lies—like he told Remus days ago he does have some reputation to maintain, even with her. “I mean two cited sources? What am I, the bloody librarian?” He huffs. 

Lily giggles behind her hand before shifting her eyes to scan the spines of books stacked between them. James watches her tongue poke ever so slightly past her lips as her fingers wiggle in the air as if searching for something. Suddenly, she moves her hand to dance along books, before pulling one out, toppling a few over with the movements. 

“Here, this is the one I used. But I’m not telling you the chapter. I can’t do everything.” She teases smugly. 

He fakes hurt, reaching forward for the book, “you drive a hard bargain, Evans.” He quips with a wink, leaning to grab at her book. 

He moves to take it, but as soon as he lifts it up, he stops at what he finds beneath it—

Unfogging the Truth: A Beginners Guide to the Art of Divination.  

“Lily—” he begins a bit tensely. 

She flushes deeply but it's in shame—she snatches up the book and moves it away from him, as if it could undo what he saw. 

“It’s not—it’s not a big deal, really.” She stammers uncomfortably. 

“If it’s bothering you, it is.” He points out gently, soft but firm. 

She sighs, dissolving like snowflakes under the morning sun at those kind, caring eyes. “I just.. I know you said it’s all nonsense but it just makes me feel so— so heavy . I can’t really explain it.” She lowers her voice, eyes staring to the side, almost like she’s embarrassed. “I just thought maybe, if I knew more about it, I’d be less afraid.” She shrugs like it’s nothing. 

But it’s not. 

Not for the first time since the second incident, has guilt begun to pool low in James’s gut. Like it was him who dismissed her feelings the first time and in turn taught her to do the same. 

He shakes his head slowly, “I never meant to try and get you to feel a certain way, Lil. To think a certain way about it. I’m sorry if I have.” He says sincerely, biting his lip in worry.

Instantly, Lily shakes her own head, the motion so firm it almost dispels the doubt in his mind. “It’s not that—you didn’t.” She promises before pausing to glance back at the book. “It just is a little scary.” 

His heart aches a little at her words. The way her gaze seems to be trained on the cover of the books and not at him. He watches her fingers deftly fidget with the edge of the worn pages. 

He doesn’t say anything—not sure what to say. But it’s like Remus said to him when he apologized days ago, sometimes words aren’t enough. He has to show her. 

“It’s silly, I know.” She dismisses smally, as if to downplay it. 

“No, no—not at all.” He insists so firmly and so sure that she tilts her head to meet his unwavering gaze. 

She opens her mouth to respond, but then he’s moving, cutting off anything she was about to say. He springs from his seat and circles around until he’s right beside her. He pulls out the wooden chair, scraping it loudly against the old mahogany floors. 

He sits down, his warmth pressing into hers as he leans across her, arm brushing her shoulder as he grabs for the Divination book. 

“That’s what she wants, Lily, for you to be afraid. For you to have to mull over this and torture yourself with it.” He begins, palms atop the book as he turns to meet her gaze. 

“James—” she breathes uncertainly. 

“But anyone could do it. And I don’t say it to make you feel a certain way or to think one thing. I’m going to show you.” He finishes, leaving no room for argument as he throws the cover open. 

Lily doesn’t say anything, too intrigued by his sudden determination and wondering what he’ll do next. 

James flips through things like star charts, section on astrology. Secrets in the Crystal Balls: Polishing the Glass for a Clear Future. and What Tea Leaves Say About You.

Then he finds it, spread across two pages, a large palm etched with colorful lines that seem to weave and diverge and intersect all at once. Each line has its own unique shade as it matches the small color-coordinated key printed to the side. 

A Complete Guide to Palmistry , is bolded and centered at the top. Words like, Heart Line , Life Line and Fate Line jumping out at him as he scans over it a few times. 

After a few moments he holds his hand out, palm up as he wiggles his fingers with a come here motion . 

“Alright, Evans, put it here.” He tells her confidently. 

She hesitates, “James, I don’t know…”

He smiles at her then, soft and easy. “C’mon, humor me a bit, love.” 

And that word— love —settles something over her, like a gentle weight. Her resolve slips as she quietly lays her hand atop his in quiet surrender. 

Her hand is smaller than his, skin soft and cool against his warmth. He curls his fingers around her without thought. He uses his other hand to trace his fingers delicately along all the grooves and divots etched into her skin. He moves slowly, as if memorizing every curve. 

She shivers under his touch. So featherlight and gentle. But something is blazing in his wake. Like he’s setting a path of embers alight on her hand, blazing something into her skin, licking flames into her very bones. 

He traces the curve from her thumb to her pointer finger. Eyes focused intently on the line as he briefly flicks to the book beneath them. 

“Heart Line,” he tells her, “looks like you’re warm and affectionate, Trouble.” He winks up at her. 

She flushes and bites the inside of her cheek as he returns to his work. 

“Strong Sun Line, too,” he hums, continuing to glide his fingers atop her skin, “and here we— oh .” His words cut off abruptly, and eyes widen slightly, his focus narrowing on something. She watches the color drain his face. 

Her heart skips a beat. “What? What is it?” She asks frantically, panic creeping into her voice. 

James says nothing at first. Instead, he presses his fingertips gently against the skin beneath her thumb, gaze flicking between her hand and the book. His brows furrows and Lily leans in closer, hoping to see what he does.

“James.” She presses, worry thick in her tone. 

“‘S nothing.” He mutters, but his voice is shaking. Briefly, he catches her panicked eyes and sighs in defeat. “Your life line, it just looks a bit shorter than the diagram, is all.” He tries to sound casual but his voice continues to falter. 

She pulls the textbook closer, holding her own palm beside it as she identifies what he means and— oh —he’s right. Hers is half as short as the one drawn, probably less than that. 

Panic flares within her as she begins thinking of her parents, whose lives were taken too soon. Of how death seems to always be stalking her quietly. 

“It’s probably nothing, I told you it’s shite.” He tries to soothe her, but to no avail. “Maybe the proportions are off, I mean your hand is—”

“Let me see yours.” She blurts out. 

“What?”

“Let me see yours. Please?” She pleads. 

With a heavy sigh, he hesitantly turns his palm over. She wastes no time as she intently begins to inspect the lines of his hand, moving with quiet determination. Quickly, she identifies his Life Line, running the pad of her thumb over it in a few passes. 

He melts a little under her touch but he can’t help but notice the same thing—his is pretty short, too. And maybe such a thing should raise alarm, make him slam the book shut and run from his problems. Never think about this again, even.

But it doesn’t, in fact, he’s pretty calm about it all, a stark contrast to Lily, whose eyes widen in terror at the sight. 

“James, oh my god.” She breathes through her panic. “How are you so calm?” Her voice breaks. 

He chuckles, “Like I said Lily, it’s all crap, but besides,” he uses his other hand to gently grab her wrist, turning it so her palm is face up and her knuckles lay against his open hand. “They’re the same length.” He points out steadily. 

She furrows her brow, he says it like it’s a good thing. Briefly, she wonders if her getting close to him is why it’s so short. If she’s the albatross or a wilting flower after all—some terrible danger that’s now looming over him and threatening to take. 

Her brow furrows. “So we’re both going to die young?” She whispers hoarsely, words tight with emotion. 

“No, Lily,” he insists calmly, gaze unwavering, “you’ve only just found out you’re a witch. The world is cruel, but not cruel enough to take what you’ve missed out on so soon.” He smiles at her, a smile full of warmth and conviction. “You’ll run the Potions Association. Become the bloody Minister of Magic. I’m sure of it. You’re destined for greatness. No silly little line—not even the world would take that from you.” 

Lily is speechless for a moment, breath catching in her throat. She looks into his eyes, heart swelling in a way she can’t name. His words cut through her doubt and touched something deep within her. The sincerity in his voice. The honesty in his golden eyes. 

He’s so close and unwavering, she can feel his breath skate across her nose, something fresh and arm. A comforting lull against the pounding of her heart. 

“You’ll live ‘til a hundred years old, probably more than that.” He smiles, looking down briefly at their matching lines. “Looks like we’ve got a long life ahead of us. The both of us, yeah?” He whispers. 

She glances down at their hands. And everything else seems to fade. The worry. The doubt. The pain. 

All she sees is how her hand seems to rest so perfectly in his own. She traces their palms, looking over his lifeline, then at her own. But it’s not just that—it’s all of them. Every single groove and score seems to perfectly mirror his own. Sun Line. Heart Line. Fate Line. Each one dances across her skin looking just like his. 

He looks on too, seeming to notice just as she does. His larger palm begins to curl over her smaller one, fingers caressing the pulse pounding against her wrist before his finger moves to dance over her Line of Fate. Exact same length as his. 

“Do you believe in fate?” He whispers hoarsely and quietly, voice dripping with something vulnerable. Raw, almost. 

Lily’s heart stutters. It’s the same question she asked him the first night he taught her about the stars. 

His lips are hot against her ear and suddenly it feels like he’s everywhere. Like he always has been. 

She shivers, unbidden, as she considers the question. She knows, somewhere embedded deep in her chest, buried under her heart and guarded by the perfectly crafted walls she’s built brick by brick. The ones he’s expertly began to crumble and chip away at. Her answer hangs in the air, unspoken. The question is clear—this isn’t about fate, not completely, anyway—it’s about them. The strange and beautiful and now undeniable things unfolding between them. 

“I—I don’t know.” She says honestly. 

It’s all so confusing. When she sits beside him, her palm matching his own, skin pressed against his. Their souls dancing around one another in something that feels eternal and kismet—she feels like the answer is yes.

Unequivocally yes. 

But then she thinks of everything that brought her to this moment. Of all the confusion, loss, grief—the blood that still stained the cracks of her childhood home. The pain burned into her for eternity, the very pain that broke her. 

“I think about everything that happened. Everything that brought me here, to Hogwarts.” To you. The words don’t leave her lips, but she feels them all the same. “And I think that no one’s lives–especially my parents’—are worth all the magic in the world.” Her voice is wavering, quiet and shaking. 

He squeezes her hand against his own, watches as her free hand swipes beneath her eyes. 

“Because if fate is what took them away to give me this, then fate is cruel—and I don’t know if I want any part of that.” She confesses somberly. Voice raw and aching. 

“Lil,” he breathes, his own voice thick and heart clenched as the hurt pulses between them. 

She shakes her head, unwilling to let anymore tears fall tonight. “Do you? Believe in fate, I mean.” 

She watches something flicker behind his eyes. She remembers the way he spoke to her that first night under the stars. How he traced Auriga into the sky, telling her all it represented. For someone so quick to scoff at Divination and prophecies, he had been just as quick to wonder if maybe there was something out there bigger than them, moving pieces they couldn’t see. Tying threads that will never break. 

And before he met Lily—James would’ve said no. Without question or hesitation. He would’ve laughed at such a fantastical notion that things like the ways the stars align and that everything happens for a reason, has any stock in it. But now…

“I’m starting to think maybe things aren’t as black and white as I once thought.” He admits. 

Slowly, he lifts his free hand, moving it to brush back a lock of auburn hair that falls in front of her face. Gently, he tucks it behind her ear and looks into her emerald eyes. They sparkle with unshed tears, but something else, too. He looks into them and thinks he could map the stars in them. Her eyes flutter shut at his touch and as she exhales through her nose. He leaves his fingers there, warm and gentle as they skate down the curve of her jaw. 

“It’s hard to believe that everything happens for a reason—but maybe, I dunno, some things are just meant to be, you know?” He lets out a quiet chuckle. The sound causes Lily to blink up at him, long lashes fanning against her flushed cheeks. 

She begins nodding softly beneath the pressure of his fingers along her skin. Turns her hand over to press it against his palm, lacing her fingers within his. 

His hand dwarfs hers—more calloused and weathered from Quidditch. Lily’s are small and delicate, in the ways he is not. 

And yet—they fit.

Perfectly, even. 

“Maybe I’m starting to see that, too.” She whispers. 

Her words are something secret, just for him. 

All for him. 

---

The moment passes, but it lingers between them for the rest of the evening. James stays there, pressed against her, a little too close, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She curls into him, letting his warmth settle around her like something familiar. 

He flips absentmindedly the Divination book while she scribbles her Transfiguration essay against her parchment furiously. 

Between the scratch of her quill, are the sounds of his laughs as he commends how ridiculous the book seems to get as he goes on. 

 Things like, what your favorite color says about you —hers is purple, “like the color of lilacs,” she tells him. 

Which apparently makes her compassionate and kind, which he rebuttals smoothly, “he didn’t need a bloody book to tell him that.”

Then she blushes–and he thinks his favorite color might be pink. He glances at the book, sees some rubbish about falling in love and after that he slams it shut. 

Instead, he shifts his focus to watching Lily work, tilting his head as he studies her like she’s the most interesting thing in the world. And fuck Quidditch —this easily becomes his new favorite pastime. 

Eventually, she tells him he’s too distracting, which does nothing but absolutely feed his ego as he chuckles and helps her pack up her things before slinging her bag over his shoulder. A fight she’s long given up on. 

He tells her to have sweet dreams and promises to see her in the morning. She flushes—again—and returns the sentiment in kind. There’s a brief moment she leans forward and James thinks she might hug him, even brush a fleeting kiss to his cheek, but she grabs the strap of her bag and skips away. 

He drags out the walk to his dorm, looking down at his palms the entire time. His eyes trace the curve and the indents and he remembers how they matched Lily’s. He wonders if the book had anything about that—he supposes he’ll have to check. 

It has to mean something right? Some sort of physical confirmation that this isn’t all in his head. That fate may not always be kind, but it is real and maybe—just maybe—it’s bringing them together. 

The thought makes him feel boyish and giddy and definitely mad, but he smiles despite it as he reaches the familiar door to his dormitory. 

Inside, he hears familiar voices floating behind the door. And it was undeniable Lily was a distraction—his favorite one, mind you—because he forgot how bloody pissed off he’d been at Sirius for writing to his parents. 

When he steps inside, the scene surprises him a bit, Sirius is sitting rigidly at the end of his bed. Remus is turned toward the center of the room with a quiet kind of defeat. And Peter—someone who really values his downtime—is pacing the carpet and chewing at the end of his now nearly gone nails. 

“It’s probably nothing.” Remus assures from across the room. 

Peter shakes his head. “No you don’t understand, it was—”

“Prongs! We’ve been looking for you.” Sirius calls a little too stiffly as it halts both Peter’s words and movements. 

“I was here earlier. You guys weren’t.” He explains. Next, he scrunches his brow, his annoyance replaced by a pit of concern, “what’s going on?” He asks tensely. 

Both Remus and Sirius’s eyes flick to Peter. 

“Peter, are you alright?” James asks nervously as the tension seems to pulse in the air. 

Nervously, he expels a loud breath, “well, remember a while ago, when you were worried about Lily,” James feels himself go cold at the mention of her. A stark contrast to the usual warmth. “And we had promised if anything weird happened we’d let you know.” 

James bites the inside of his check roughly, hoping the pain will ease his anxiety as he offers a monotonous nod. 

“Well, you see, I was in Divination earlier.” Peter begins. 

And James sighs sharply, he’s had enough bloody fucking Divination these past few weeks to last him several lifetimes. He resists the urge to roll his eyes and rip his hair out. Instead, he just signals for Peter to go on. 

“Right, well we were doing an assignment that had to do with reading other people’s tea leaves. And Trelawney was giving a quick reminder on how to do it. And well, you know—they all mean different things, like a circle is progress or a line is change or oh! A duck is–”

“Peter. Focus, mate.” Sirius says firm, but gentle. 

The blonde soon shakes himself from the nervous ramblings. “Sorry.” He blushes. “Anyway, well Trelawney, in hers she said she saw a wilting flower.” 

And it’s that word— wilting —for whatever reason it seems to prickle at James’s nerves, something unsettling clouding his thoughts, as needles skitter down his spine. 

More than that, though, it’s the way Peter is talking about the wilting flower, whatever it means. Like some sort of dark omen or curse. 

“I don’t understand.” James says honestly, but his voice trembles.

 He sees Peter gulp, “well a wilting flower, it represents death. Someone dying.” 

Still unsure why it’s got Peter so tense, James presses on, “okay?” 

“She said…” Peter begins before briefly stopping, as if willing himself to find strength. 

He sighs, his clenched shut and fits curled at his side. When he speaks, his voice is trembling and broken. Like he’s afraid of what he has to say. His voice comes out sticky and hoarse. 

“She said the flower was a lily.” 

James jolts suddenly, instinctively his eyes flick back down to his hands. Eyes tracing the line on his palm—the same tauntingly short length as Lily’s. 

He wonders if it was always meant to mean something. 

Lily said fate was cruel. 

James believed it surely couldn’t be this relentless. He promised her as much. 

And yet. 

He thinks of the invisible string he was sure had threaded them together. It suddenly feels tight, suffocating. Inescapable. 

Dread pools deep within him, foreboding and awful. Briefly, he remembers when he silently decided, days ago, he never had a chance against fate when it came to Lily. 

He had never meant it like this. 

Notes:

I hope you guys enjoyed this one! I absolutely adore this version of James and Lily, I just find them both incredibly sweet! Here are some Easter Eggs (and more on the palm scene)
-I also love Remus so sorry for his lash out on the last one, but I hope it makes more sense now!
-The Prophecy that Trelawney gives Lily has a lot of Easter Eggs I can't say, but guesses are always welcome!
-The letter from James's parents was written in way after the chapter was finish. I though since Lily had reflected on what her parents may have thought of James I wanted to integrate a bit of that with his family. Also love the idea of Fleamont and Euphemia treating Sirius like their own.
-The palm scene is inspired by an art I saw on tumblr a long time ago, which was said to be inspired by another work which I haven't read, but if anyone else recognizes it, please let me know so I can credit it! I saw it almost a year ago but it was basically James and Lily reading each others palms and Lily (I think) wasn't worried about having the short life line because how how lively James is. That art always stuck with me and I have it my own twist!
-I also gave them matching palm-lines because some people say matching some of the lines represent soulmates and duh.
-Also, on the topic, the constant motif of them being tied together with a thread is in reference to the East Asian myth of the Red String of Fate, that when soulmates are born they are bound by a red string that can be tangled and stretched but never break. Always connecting them.
-The next one delves deeper into the things going on around the two of them they may not know about as a mystery unravels. But I can of course promise lots of cute James and Lily as James invites her to her first Quidditch match!
Thank you for reading and all the lovely comments, they keep me going. I'm slower to post because I just got arm surgery and am in a cast which makes it difficult to type so thank you for sticking with me xx

Chapter 7: Gemini

Summary:

James is on edge after Peter's warning from Trelawney, but he won't let it get in the way of having a good time with Lily during Quidditch festivities. Too bad more then one person has other plans for them.

Notes:

AH! It's been a longtime coming. Not to be a cliche ff writer but I contracted MRSA and got a major surgery unrelated. Summer has been crazy, but we're back. Ceilings by Lizzie McAlpine on a loop for this one!Thanks to all sticking with me, enjoy!

---

Gemini 

(The Twins) 

Two bright stars located in the northern celestial hemisphere of constellations.

Symbolizes duality, interconnectedness and balance. 

Two souls forever intertwined; light and dark bound by unbreakable bounds.

---

Something is up with James, Lily decides, as he sits beside her in the library. She can feel him fidgeting, in that subtle way most people would miss. Every so often, when she peeks up from her parchment, she catches his golden-brown eyes darting around the room—sharp, restless, almost like he’s anticipating something unseen to them both. 

Since she’s known James he’s always carried himself with an effortless kind of ease that seems to bend the air around him. So unlike herself, confidence seems to cling to him like a second skin. The kind of confidence that demands respect in the corridors, that parts crowds with the sheer force of his towering six-foot-two frame. How easily his long arms can stretch, claiming an entire table in the library just for them. And no one dares to object. 

Even his eyes—soft and warm when they linger on her—can turn sharp in an instant if someone like Snape looms too close or Trelawney looks at Lily too long. 

It’s something she’s come to expect. Something she appreciates quietly and fondly. Lily, who has always felt small, in more ways than one—not just in stature, but in voice, in the way she struggles to advocate for herself—finds something a little thrilling in his protectiveness. Warm and fuzzy feelings that make her feel girlish and help her forget just for a second, all she carries. She, who spent her years tending to her parents in silence, is still getting used to being looked after. And yet, James makes it feel natural. Almost easy. 

And he’s always been like this, she thinks, since the very first moment they met. When he’d slid over and offered her a seat on the bench beside him in the Great Hall. It was there in him then, the instinct to make space for her—but it’s different now.  

Nothing extravagant or obvious. Most people probably wouldn’t even notice it. She’s not sure if he does, himself—but she seems to notice everything about him. 

Funny, that is. 

It’s in the way his gaze lingers over her periphery, like he’s cataloguing shadows she can’t see. How his hand tightens against the small of her back ever so slightly when she’s jostled in a crowd. Like he’s bracing for an invisible strike. It’s been like this since that night in the library, just a week ago. 

Her thoughts snag on that memory, of when their lifelines and fate lines mirrored one another, leaving her even more questions than answers. 

Trelawney's voice echoes in her mind—cryptic words that refuse to leave her be. She finds herself seeking out things she once dismissed: star charts and moon cycles. Her eyes lingering over flowers she can’t quite name, the ones that skimp the edge of the forbidden forest. Even checking if she can catch a stag wandering between the trees. 

She’s spent evenings hunched over books about palmistry, tracing the meanings of lines and crossings. The word soulmate had leapt off the page. It was then she’d snapped the book shut with shaking hands, shoving it aside like she’d been burned. 

Better to focus on the prophecy then a truth she can’t quite accept. One dose of madness for the other. And yet, it presses on her chest like iron bars. 

Inescapable. 

Suffocating. 

A chair scrapes loudly from nearby, the sound harsh against the stillness of the library. Lily startles suddenly, quill slipping and heart leaping like a skittish animal. She blinks back at her Ancient Runes translations, the ink swimming uselessly on the parchment as her gaze drifts to James.

“James,” Lily begins softly, unable to leave it any longer. His hand is draped along the back of her chair. Tighter now, vibrating with restless energy. A bowstring pulled too tight. “Is everything alright?” She asks gently.  

And he flinches—actually flinches—his head snapping at breakneck speed toward the gaps between the bookshelves. “Why? Is something not?” The words tumble out, hurried and uneven. She watches the way his hand curls over his right pocket—where she knows he keeps his wand. 

“James,” Lily begins again, slower this time, quiet and steady. She lays her smaller hand over his fist clenched tight against the table. 

The effect is immediate. Her touch snaps him back. Grounds him. It leaves his heart hammering for an entirely different reason. 

His fist unfurls beneath her palm. Almost like instinct—like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. He couldn’t even stop if he tried. His body just recognizes something in her that quiets the storm. 

“Yeah?” He rasps, voice hoarse no longer sharp with vigilance. Finally, he looks at her. Wide emerald eyes stare back, sparkling with something he can’t quite name. Green flecked with gold in the dim lamplight. The kind of thing that makes him melt even as his chest aches in tandem.

“Are you alright?” She asks again. Quieter, this time. Heavier, too.

He wonders if she can see right through him, a truly terrifying thought. That with nothing but the barest of glances she might be able to uncover the anxiety coiled tight in his stomach, the fear he can’t seem to shake. The words that keep replaying in his head. Ones that talk about forgotten witches and wilting lilies. 

They replay on an endless, taunting loop.

Peter’s voice—an omen dressed as a warning, wrapped in a curse. 

Wilting, he’d said. 

Death, he’d claimed. 

And the wise thing would be to tell Lily. To be honest with her like he’s sworn her would be and yet, as he looks at her—brow scrunched with worry, eyes soft as the forest at dawn. And he just— 

He bloody can't do it. 

This girl has been hurt by the world in so many awful ways. So many times—too many. And he just cannot, for the life of him, bring himself to add to that pain. The constant worry. The thought alone makes his breath shallow, his heart pound. 

It’s nothing, anyway, right? Divination always is—at least that’s what he tells himself. It’s the only thing getting him through his days, it seems. Though the idea feels less and less like the truth as seconds tick by. Always too fast and too soon. It feels like time is against him, like he’s locked in a race but he doesn’t know where it ends or when it’s even begun. 

“Just a bit nervous for the match, is all.” He lies smoothly, plastering on a small grin in her direction. 

For a painstaking moment, Lily studies him with that sharp, discerning tilt of her head. His stomach twists—Merlin, she’s going to call him out. He can feel it. But after a long, agonizing pause, she doesn’t. 

He feels his shoulders sag in quiet relief. 

“The Quidditch match?” She asks slowly, like she doesn’t quite believe him. 

He nods.

Her brow furrows deeper, “this is coming from the same guy who’s been telling me all week he can beat Ravenclaw in his sleep?”

And damn her for knowing him so well. So, he plays it off. Or rather, hopes he does. 

“Yeah, you know—nerves are normal. Good for you, even. Means you care.” His voice is light, playful, he hopes. “I reckon your brilliant brain knows a thing or two about that.” He grins, easier this time. 

She huffs a little and rolls her eyes, but he catches the way her lips curve despite herself. “Performance anxiety can lead to enhanced results, yes.” She smiles. And she knows he’s trying to distract her—but some part of her loves it anyway. How he’s looking at her. How he seems to know her to her bones. 

It used to terrify her. Lately, it doesn’t seem so scary. 

“You know...” he begins, sliding a little closer until his arm is touching her own where it rests on the table. “You should come.” He tries for casual, but his heart is thumping loudly against his ribs. 

She places down her quill and peers up at him beneath her curtain of hair. Brow drawn in that way that makes him want to smooth his thumb over it until she forgets all her worries. 

“To Quidditch?” She asks uncertainly, looking as if he’s grown another head. 

He nods a bit too eagerly. “‘Course to Quidditch. I reckon I’ve talked your ear about it enough. Time for the real thing, maybe?” He asks hopefully. 

And Lily bites her lip in thought. She may be clever, a little too much sometimes, but since finding out about magic—all of it—she has not for the life of her been able to make sense of Quidditch, no matter how often James talks about it. Still, James listens to her ramble about Ancient Runes. Read Jane bloody Austen for her. The least she can do is try. 

So, she lets him do the same in turn. Listens as he explains Transfiguration like it’s reciting the alphabet. Lends an ear to the endless complaints about Quidditch. And maybe, just maybe, picked up a beginner’s guide last week. She was still admittedly lost, though she would never admit it. 

One thing is simple though, James likes talking about it and she likes listening to him. 

However, the thought of sitting in the roaring stands, swallowed by strangers, without him beside him makes her palms sweat. She’d still be on the outside of all this—of magic—it makes her stomach twist painfully.  

“I—I don’t know.” She murmurs nervously. Because it’s not that she doesn’t want to. She’d love to support him. She just doesn’t know if she’s strong enough. 

Funny how that works, isn’t it? She found her parents’ dead bodies and yet she falters at the thought of a Quidditch crowd. 

“I’m not great in big groups and without you to explain it to me I’ll be completely lost.” She fidgets, justifying. 

And he doesn’t look upset. No—he just grins—that maddening easy, smug, handsome thing. “Well, Evans, just watch the handsome bloke with the glasses on the broom.” He says easily. 

She tilts her head and cocks a brow, “handsome bloke with glasses? Can’t think of anyone. What’s his name?”

James' grin only grows. He clutches his chest in mock agony, smiling through it, bright and radiant. “Ouch, love, you drive a hard bargain.” 

She giggles. 

It sounds like bells tinkling. Flowers blooming. Sun after rain. 

His heart stumbles over itself. 

“Just sit with Remus, Sirius and Peter. They’ll catch you up. And point me out, too.” He says a bit more seriously though he winks for good measure. 

He watches her squirm a little, eyebrow scrunched, in that way he knows she wants to say something but is deciding whether or not she should. 

“I’m not sure.” She says at last, voice low and shaky. “Besides I have to check up on my Leaping Toadstool for Potions. In the greenhouse.”

He leans in and dips his head to catch her eye. “A Leaping Toadstool?” 

She avoids his gaze, “he needs love.” She glances up—mistake. 

And that look—that stupid look with the honey suckle eyes and the little pout. 

Her fingers tighten around her quill to keep from throwing up her hands and surrendering. Declaring herself completely this mercy. 

Instead, she blurts out the truth.  

“I—Sirius is loud and out going. And I’m…” she pauses and bites her lip, cheeks pink as she suddenly becomes interested in her ink well, “not.” She finishes. 

James chuckles, low and warm, the sound vibrating right through her. She snaps her gaze up, startled, as he grins lazily, fingers brushing the small of her back. 

“Don’t try and find a cute and clever way to call Sirius annoying, Trouble.” He smiles, making her cheeks burn even hotter. “I know he is. You know he is. Sirius knows he is. It’s his thing.” James says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. 

“I didn’t say that.” She protests with a little squeak. 

He laughs again, full body and reverberating through her bones. “It’s just a thought anyway, I figure it gets you out of the library. It’ll help me win the match. It’s a win-win situation—literally.” 

“Win-win?” She echoes. 

“Well, I’ve talked myself up enough, haven’t I?” He smirks at her, “I can’t go embarrassing myself in front of the prettiest girl at Hogwarts at her very first Quidditch match, can I?”

And it’s so easy for him, it seems so damn easy to sit there and smile and his fingers playing with the edges of her hair in a way that makes her think he doesn’t even know he’s doing it. To call her things like pretty and clever and cute like it’s not making her heart grow ten sizes. Like it feels so big in her chest she feels like it may burst. 

She bites her lip and looks up at him through hooded lids. He’s so at ease. He radiates hope. And maybe if it was anyone else she’d be envious, resent the kind of ease she longs for. But then she thinks of all the times he’s shown up for her. In the corridor. During lessons. Snape. With Trelawney. In all the quiet in between. 

Lily’s never felt like she’s fit anywhere. It's why she spends her days hidden in the library and avoiding crowds and conversation. It’s why she can’t tell James yes she’ll go. 

But she can’t say no either. 

“I’ll think about it.” She promises in a soft whisper. 

He beams so brightly it puts the sun to shame, “that’s all I ask, Lil.” 

She returns to her textbook as he continues to boast about his so-called athletic prowess. 

She’s not really reading. She’s not even listening.

Because his fingers weave into the ends of her hair running through in soft languid motions. 

And he has no idea. 

No idea how much he’s thrown her world completely off kilter. 

He has no idea how badly she hopes he never stops. 

---

They won. 

Of course they did. James knew they would. All of Gryffindor knew they would. Hell, he’s convinced even half the Ravenclaws in the stands had placed their bets on a Gryffindor victory. 

Still, the match hadn’t been without its missteps—those were entirely his fault. The great James Potter, captain, strategist, the best chaser of all time, thank you, had been… distracted. 

And by distracted, he means a few turnovers, letting in a goal and nearly being flattened by a bludger levels of distracted. 

All because he was looking for a certain someone in the stands. 

A certain someone with long auburn hair and the greenest eyes he’s ever seen.

As much as James would like to pretend he’s the picture of casualness and nonchalance, truth be told, he’s rubbish at both. Sure—he’s convinced the student body as much, but his friends are a whole other story. So, when he asked Remus—casually, may he add—whether anyone else had asked to go to the match with them, again… and again. Well, Remus caught on quick. Sirius caught on even quicker. And eventually Peter did too. 

This of course had condemned him to endless taunts, obscene gestures and hours of Sirius’s gleeful crowing. And despite the misery he endured, one thing was clear. It was sour and burned into his chest: Lily wasn’t coming. Hadn’t even asked Remus about it.  

And he gets it he does—Lily has made it abundantly clear she doesn’t like noise or large groups or chaos, or any combination. She told him she’s been like that her whole life but the sentiment only worsened after the death of her parents. 

She once explained it as some strange inkling she can’t fight, suffocating and all consuming. Her thoughts roar against the endless face and she thinks—are they here? My parents’ murderer? Am I next? 

He doesn’t pretend to know what it’s like to live with that kind of quiet fear gnawing at your ribs all the time—but he respects it and her. 

Doesn’t stop his selfish heart from aching just a bit. 

So it leaves him here—slouched and wallowing on the crimson velvet couch as the buzz of the party thrums around him. The drinks are flowing, people clapping on him on the back, girls tossing their hair and batting their eyelashes. 

Normally, this would be exactly his kind of scene and he’d be at the center of it. Smiling. Laughing. Drinking. Maybe even flirting a bit. 

But he just thinks of her—again and again. 

It’s pathetic really and completely ridiculous. Lily couldn’t care less whether he's a Quidditch star or about his family name. She doesn’t fawn or swoon. She just sees him. All of him. It leaves him raw and scared but also so alive. 

With a deep sigh he takes a swig of his Butterbeer, eyes scanning the room for the umpteenth like a starving man waiting for a single drop of water. 

And Sirius notices. Of course he bloody does. 

“Merlin, who pissed in your drink?” Sirius asks as he flopped beside him, reeking of Firewhiskey and sweat. “Need I remind you that you just won a match, Prongs?” He slurs messily. 

James turns, one eyebrow cocked. “Did I? Could’ve fooled me.”

Sirius huffs, narrowing his eyes in drunken scrutiny. With a wolfish grin he squishes closer into James’s side, which does nothing but make his scent even more pungent. James wrinkles his nose, suddenly wondering if Sirius really should be having another Firewhiskey. 

Before he can voice such concerns, Sirius, loudly, dramatically and drunkenly bellows. “Oh wait!” He yelps dramatically, turning several heads. “This isn’t about the match, no, not at all.” 

James groans, “Sirius—”

“This is about her.” He grins, face absolutely lighting up like some drunken Christmas tree. “Oh Merlin! You’re brooding, well and proper brooding—over a girl!” He squeals with wicked delight. 

James slaps a hand over his mouth. Then wet. Sloppy and warm. 

Sirius is licking his hand. 

He recoils suddenly horrified. “Ew! You’re vile.” James shrieks, wiping his hand on his jeans. 

Sirius grins stupidly, “I’m a dog, mate,” he winks, “and besides, you can’t silence all this.” He says gesturing to himself up and down. 

“Well, all of that, can do with some water and about three Pepper-Up potions.”

Sirius ignores him masterfully for someone so drunk and instead presses even closer. One hand reaching to pinch James’s cheek. “My Jamie is in love.” He coos. 

He smacks his hand away, “cut it out, I am not in love and you’re so damn loud. Like a fucking howler.” He grunts.  

“No. That’s Moony. Howler.” Sirius tuts. Giggling a little at his own joke and grinning in the direction of Remus, who’s calmly corner playing Exploding Snap with Peter in a far corner. 

James can’t help but grin a little himself, “you’re an idiot.” 

Before Sirius can launch into his next torment, the portrait hole creaks open. 

The world tilts. 

Her auburn hair catches the firelight. A strand of gold threaded into her hair, looped into a delicate bow and making her shine even brighter. 

Her white dress is everything she is—bright, delicate, light, tiered ruffles that hit above her knee. A too big knit maroon cardigan hanging loosely off one shoulder, swallowing her trembling hands. 

Her shoes match the color perfectly and she’s got stark white socks that hit just mid calf, with little lace detailing along the edges. 

Her shoulders are hunched, books clutched tightly in her hands. Her cheeks are pink from the crowd. James’s favorite shade. 

He knows she wishes she was invisible—and Merlin, James doesn’t think she ever could be. 

“And you, are fucked.” Sirius murmurs with relish. Whistling lowly at his best mate.

James doesn’t reply—can’t. He’s too busy trying not to look like a complete tosser sitting here staring at Lily Evans like she hung the bloody moon. He should do something, anything, instead of sitting here completely slack-jawed. 

Sirius beats him to it. 

Bloody of course he does.  

“Evans! Oi Evans! Over here, dear!” Sirius bellows across the room. 

James wishes the floor would swallow him whole. He watches Lily’s head jerk up, absolutely mortified as all eyes swing her way. She makes her way over swiftly, hoping to me nothing more than a blur to the partygoers. James is surprised she agreed, but he supposes she knows better than to ignore a loud and drunk Sirius. No way would he let up before causing an even bigger scene. 

He watches her make her way over as she dodges loose limbs from wild dance moves, weaves between drunken teenagers. Narrowly missing being knocked down by Frank Longbottom—nearly double her size—who is trying to catch a quaffle from across the room. And one step to avoid being bludgeoned into a concussion, here she is. 

“Hi.” She says quietly, barely audible over the pumping music. 

He jumps to his feet before his brain can even catch up. “Hi.” James grin stretching across his face from reflex alone. 

He really has no choice but to drink her in. Not when she blinks up at, green eyes glittering under the candlelight. The pink blooming across her cheeks. The little freckles dotting her nose. He swears he sees her shoulders ease, just a bit, at his voice. 

And she’s better than all of it. This moment right here—it tops winning the match. It feels like flying. Better than flying. Better than anything, really. 

“Hello!” Sirius yells, wedging himself between them, slinging one arm across Lily’s shoulder and the other over James’s. “Look at us all in one place.” He slurs like he didn’t practically shame Lily into joining them. 

“Oh well, I was actually going up to my room—”

“All dressed up like that, Evans? Wasting it on your bedroom and the library. You look too pretty to be hidden away!” He turns to James with a wicked grin. “Lily looks pretty. Doesn’t she look pretty, Prongs?“

He resents whoever made Sirius this kind of drunk. He’s not a happy drunk or a sad drunk like most people. It’s him, amped up by ten. No filter. No care. And somehow still so bloody clever. 

Idiot. 

James tries to ignore the so obvious bait. He watches as her cheeks flush pink, all the way up to her ears, spilling down her chest. And—Merlin—he can’t help himself. He’s not even drunk. Not even tipsy. But later, when Sirius inevitably will tease him about his moment, he’ll blame the one Butterbeer, because before he can think he says: 

“You do look very pretty.”

His voice is so soft—so soft—yet it cuts straight through the chaos around them. She looks like she’s been struck in one of those moments where the world slows. 

She’s reminded of watching old films with her parents. She always found the scenes where two people meet, a violin strumming, the world slowing, to be pretty dramatic. Now, she sort of gets it. 

“I—”she starts, caught off guard by the sincerity, “thank you,” she whispers just to James, “both of you.” She adds a little louder to ease the tension. 

“See!” Sirius claps triumphantly, “can’t go running off now!” 

Lily says something, head ducking, eyes trained on her shoes as she scuffs her toes along the carpet nervously. James can see her lips move, but he can’t hear her over the thrum of the music. Instinctively, he bends to meet her height best he can, nose brushing her hairline.

“What was that, Trouble?” He asks loudly. 

She huffs, a little frustrated—though not at him, he knows, “I said, the outfit wasn’t wasted on the library or my dorm—I was at the match.” She says, somehow bold and shy all at the same time. 

“Well would you look at that!” Sirius whoops. 

The same time James fumbles out a “you were?” Brow scrunched in surprise. “I didn’t see you.”

“You were busy.” Sirius notes smugly. 

They both ignore it. 

“Well I—I stood kind of off to the side? By the tents. On the ground. Away from the crowd.” She tells him rushed, a little embarrassed. “But I saw you. I did.” She promises.

“You did?” He repeats, like he can’t quite believe he hasn’t dreamt this up. 

She nods, “you told me to look for the guy in the glasses, didn’t you?” Her shy smile nearly knocks him flat. 

James grins so bright he can’t even be bothered to say or do anything about Sirius snickering beside them. “I did.” 

She bites her lip and looks down. 

“What did you think?” He can’t help but ask, a little too eager, but can you blame him?

She rises onto her tiptoes, lips brushing close to his ear as the music swells. “I was impressed. Confused. But still impressed.” 

His hands, restless in his pockets, find her waist, pressing her closer. He feels one of her smaller hands steady herself as she places it to cup the top of his shoulder. He bends lower. Her hair ghosting against his lips. Her breath tickling his ear.

“I sucked. I let a goal in.” He says after they’ve settled. 

He feels her shake her head, pushing up to reach him, “and I also saw you score like four.” 

He pulls away briefly to smile at her, which she returns, eyes peering up at him through long lashes. 

“What else—”

“Well! Lily seems to be getting more comfortable.” Sirius interrupts loudly, causing Lily to jump back and James to instantly stiffen. “So comfortable in fact, we should get her a drink.” 

Lily shifts uneasily, “oh, no thank you,” she declines politely, “I was just heading up to my dorm, the crowd is—”

“No. No. No.” Sirius tuts, swishing some fire whiskey onto the ancient rug as he speaks, “Mary is up there with Dorcas, if you know what I’m saying.” He says with a waggle of his eyebrows, and a wink for good measure. 

Lily grows hot, “oh um—then I’ll go back to the library, I guess.” 

“Evans,” Sirius drawls, “c’mon don’t be so—”

“Sirius,” James warns, voice sharp, low and dangerous.

“Bookish.” He says, with a triumphant smirk, “live a little.” Sirius encourages with a flourish of his arms. 

She shakes her head, “I appreciate it, really, but this just isn’t really for me.” She declines politely. Again. 

And Sirius, drunk and loudmouthed, goes to push back. Again. But James beats him to it, “Lily’s right.” He blurts out. 

“She is?” Sirius blinks. 

“I am?” Lily echoes startled. 

James nods, forcing a bit of steadiness into his tone as his brain plays catchup. “Sure, you know, I feel like this isn’t really for me right now anyway—”

“It isn’t?” Sirius scoffs.

“—so Lil, since you can’t go to yours, come to mine, you can tell me about the match. Or whatever book you’re reading. Or anything.” 

“Oh.” Sirius breathes like he knows something they don’t. 

James furrows his brow. Lily hesitates, uncertain.

“You don’t have to leave just because I’m—”

“I’m not.” He swears. “Right before you came I was gonna go anyway.” It’s not a lie, he was restless. Just… not for this reason.

“Well… okay, then. If you’re sure.” Lily says at last. 

“I am.” And to prove it, James grabs her hand, using his height and mass to dredge through the crowd toward the boys dormitory stairs, ignoring Sirius’s whopping as they go. He can barely hear it over the hammering in his chest, anyway. 

He slows his speed considerably, careful to take one step at a time, as opposed to his normal two or three. She trails behind him, flats clicking softly as her hand lays warm in his. 

He shoulders open the wooden door at the top, holding it open for her to step inside with an exaggerated flourish. The room mirrors her own—in layout at least. The four beds are uniquely different from her own and each other. 

The one to the far well is neat, sheets primly tucked and pillows methodically fluffed. Books stacked on the nightstand. A bar of chocolate beside them. 

To the left is what Lily can only explain as chaotic organization. There’s a pillow askew over the bedding that looks like it was thrown haphazardly, a precarious pile of comic books slouched about the carpet. Posters—a little crooked and wrinkly—of anything from a masked hero in a red suit climbing buildings, all the way to a man with knives coming out of his fists. Something Muggle that Lily vaguely recognizes. 

Beside it, is chaos outright: sheets twisted, pillows on the floor. She sees rubber stars peeling off the ceiling. An old record player with piles of albums beside it. 

She doesn’t pay them much mind because closet to the door is clearly the one that is unmistakably and so glaringly James. 

His bed isn’t quite as pristine as the first one—Remus’s she assumes—but there’s a certain level of care she only associates with him. The edge is folded back, the pillows laid neatly enough, even if the throw is bunching at the foot. 

He’s got an extra pair of glasses open atop a pile of books, a leather purple journal with tiny gold stars dotted on it. Pride and Prejudice beneath it, with scraps of parchment jutting out of the pages. 

There’s a framed photo of him and what she assumes is parents behind it. A smaller one of him, Peter, Remus and Sirius in either their first or second year. Smaller. Bright eyed. It plays on a loop mid-laugh. 

There’s a Quidditch poster above his bed, something blue and gold blurred as it whizzes across the pitch. 

But it isn’t the photo that catches her eye. None of them are. 

It’s the one taped beneath the rest, haphazard and a little messy. Almost unsure.

It’s standing still, a Muggle photo, from what Lily guesses is a wildlife magazine. It’s smaller than the rest—wrinkled and whitening at the edges. 

And yet it leaps at her. 

A stag. 

Tall and proud. With antlers like branches clawing into the sky. A rich brown coat, stark against the green of the woods behind it. Even on paper, it commands a sort of quiet respect. Like something to be feared if crossed. Something to be admired if seen. 

Her throat tightens. 

“The stag has begun breathing life back into the forest.” Trelawney’s withering voice echoes in her head. 

She feels herself tremble—eyes looking up at the rubber stars sticking above the adjacent bed. 

“The way will be charted under the guidance of the stars.” 

A coincidence. 

It has to be a coincidence.

“Guess which is mine.” 

James’s voice breaks through the ringing in her ears, cuts through the fog of her brain. His tone is low and warm, rumbling through her back as she feels his chest press into her. His breath hot on her ears, lips skimming the shell ever so slightly. The quiet intimacy of it all sends her spiraling from one daze to another. 

“That one.” She says quickly, pointing lamely to the one with the comics. 

Not his. She knows it. But she isn’t ready—not here, not now— to reckon with the stag staring at her from above his bed. The stars staring down at her. 

He chuckles, low and deep. It rumbling through his chest as it vibrates up her spine. 

“A little insulting, but at least you didn’t point to Sirius’s.” He says, nodding off to the disaster across from them. 

He expects a smile, maybe even a little chuckle. But she doesn’t move. She’d wide-eyed and rigid. Like a doe startled by the crack of a hunters rifle, ready to bolt. Like if she even moves—

“Lil,” his voice softens as he steps around to face her. “You okay?” He asks gently, brows drawn with quiet concern. 

She looks up. His eyes golden in the lamplight and full of worry. She thinks about lying. Swallowing down the cotton in her throat and just nodding. But she just can’t. 

“Why the stag?” She manages, hoarse.

He blinks, caught off guard by the question. “Just—an inside thing with the lads. They call me Prongs. Thought it fit. I just feel—I dunno. I can’t really explain it.”

For some reason he feels vulnerable as he speaks to her, like he’s baring a part of himself only few have seen. It makes him feel a little silly—embarrassed, almost. 

He scratches the back of his neck, “you don’t have an animal you’re linked to, like your Patronus or something? It’s a common magic thing.” He says trying to smooth the silence. 

She shrugs, “never casted one. That’s powerful magic and I—”

“Think you’d be brilliant at it.” He finishes before she can deflect. 

Her cheeks flush and something within him loosens, like a knot he didn’t know he carried. That small tentative smile—pink-cheeked, barely a tip of lips—makes his heart skip.

He grins lazily and flops back against the edge of his bed, eyes never leaving her, “I bet you’d be like a field mouse or maybe like a bunny rabbit or—oh a swan.” He spitballs, looking at her as if trying to figure her out. 

“A field mouse?” She says with a quirked brow, clearly unimpressed. 

“Hey, don’t knock ‘em, they’re important to the food chain. All quiet and jumpy, but clever. Sounds familiar, wouldn’t you say, mouse?” He reasons cheekily. 

She groans, pretending to hate it, “another nickname?” They both know she doesn’t. 

And he does nothing but wink and okay—maybe he’s a little more tipsy than he thought because his laugh bubbles into a hiccup. 

Or maybe he’s just drunk on her.

She shakes her head fondly, arms crossed as she stands over him, “you can go back to the party you know, I’ll be alright. I’ll just go back to the library.” 

He sits up at that, eyes suddenly clearer, head almost knocking into her torso at the sudden movement.

“No way,” he says looking up at her, “I want to spend time with you,” he says it so casually, like her chest isn’t feeling the weight of it, “besides anything I can do down there I can do up here. But better.”

She steps closer, arms loosening to her side, nearly brushing his shoulders, “oh yeah? Like what?” She teases gently. 

“Let’s see, drinks,” he takes a swig of his Butterbeer that he’s been nursing, “praise.”

He lifts his hand for a high-five, using his own to grasp Lily’s wrist and smack it against his own outstretched one. “Great game, James!” He adds in a high pitched voice that makes Lily giggle. 

“And dancing.” He finishes, dropping his hand but leaving his fingers curled around her pulse point. 

“Tough luck, I don’t see any dancing.” She quips, not meaning anything by it. 

His face lights up, he jumps from the bed and scatters to Sirius’s night stand, knocking about a few rolls of parchment until he unearths the record player. 

“On the contrary, Evans.” He smiles, pressing the needle down. 

“Oh James, no, I—” she begins nervously as he steps closer, hand outstretched. 

He tugs her fingers gently, her smaller hand instinctively curling around his palm. “Fun, Lily. We’re having fun.” He reminds softly, coaxing her in that way he somehow always manages. 

An old tune fills the air and she relents, because she knows better than to argue with him. If there’s one thing she’s learned about James Potter he usually is good at getting what he wants. And for whatever reason that seems to be her. 

He pulls her in, his large palm curling at her waist, fingers splaying across her back. She’s struck, suddenly, by how much taller—broader—he is than her. It’s not the first time she’s noticed, but it is the most striking as he cradles her like she’s something precious. Like he knows she can break in more than one. That he could easily be the one to do it and yet he refuses to. 

James feels it too, though he’d never admit it allowed. Lily’s all steel, he knows that now—and sometimes she deserves to be held like glass. Like the treasure she is while he is nothing but the lost magpie that roamed the shoreline for endless dawns searching for her. 

Girls usually fall over themselves for a word out of him. A simple smirk and a shrug is enough to disarm them. But Lily?—Lily makes him ache. She makes him want. And he has no bloody idea what to do with that. 

Her hand curls around his shoulder and somewhere between the gentle swaying and crackling record her head finds his chest. Pressed right over the steady beat of his heart. 

She didn’t mean for it to happen—she’d be mortified if she realized—but her mind is somewhere else entirely. 

It’s back in Cokeworth when she was barely ten years old. In a cramped kitchen. An old radio with the dial broken off. The smell of her Mum’s roast. The sound of Petunia’s voice in the background.

It was before her father’s accident. Her family was still broke. Her dad’s back ached from long days at the factory. Her Mum just picked up another job at the local library. Petunia was switching schools. 

But little Lily had no idea. 

Because she just remembers her father grabbing her, lifting her gently so she stood on his shoes and swinging her around the kitchen to the muffled radio. 

She could hear his laugh. Feel his arms around her. See her mother’s smile from the stove. 

She hasn’t danced since before her father’s accident. 

And now they never would again. 

It makes her sad, but somehow—with James holding her—it’s less heavy. Less suffocating than it once was. 

“You alright there?” She hears him whisper. Feels it too—his lips pressed to the crown of her hair, words buzzing in his chest where her ear rests. 

She nods, just barely, too scared to make any sudden movement. “I used to dance with my Dad when I was young. Just reminded me, is all.”

He stills for a moment, but his grip tightens not in fear but something more tender. Something she can’t seem to name. 

“We can stop if it’s—” he begins, worry coating his every word in that way that is just so James. 

This time, it’s Lily who grips his fingers just a lighter tighter, pushes into him just a little closer. A little braver. “No, it’s nice.” She admits with a gentle shake of her and a quiet whisper. 

He seems to melt at that, like every part of him that wasn’t touching her is slowly molding into her. Not just physically, but it’s like his heart is beating gently against her chest, bared and stripped and somehow—it feels like she could reach out and take it and he wouldn’t mind much. 

He knows he wouldn’t. 

“I used to dance a bit when I was younger.” He says after a moment.

“You?” Lily laughs a little in disbelief. Charming, tall, athletic and yet she can’t see it. 

He hums against her hair. The auburn strands smelling faintly like flowers and something lighter. Something he wishes he could press into the folds of his brain. 

“I was a bit of spoiled brat with way too much energy, if you can believe it.” 

She laughs. He wishes he could bottle it. 

“My parents couldn’t always watch me on my broom and my Mum is super into prissy shite. She thought making me enroll in ballroom dancing would hone my energy and ‘build character.’” He explains, lips tipped at the corners as he feels another laugh bubble through her, her body like a live wire where it’s tucked against him. 

“Was she right? Did it help build character?” She teases, pulling back ever so slightly to look up at him. 

Her dark lashes fan out, framing her emerald irises and for a second James forgets his own fucking name. She has a little smile playing on her lips and before he can help it his own gaze flicks to them, where she pulls the bottom one between her teeth. 

He’s lost all sense—but then she blinks. Just a bloody blink as she waits for him to answer and he’s struck with the very clear realization that he doesn’t think he could ever make her wait for anything. 

“No.” He says, meeting her eyes as he smiles, “I was just hoping to pick up a few girls, if I’m honest.” He jokes. 

She seems to consider it for a beat, brow scrunching slightly before it smoothing, “and did that work?

He swears for a moment—just one—something flashes behind her eyes. Something deeper than curiosity, it almost looked like hurt. 

And he couldn’t have that. 

So instead, he lifts her hand above her head and twirls her—once, twice. Her hair fans around her like dancing flames, her dress fluttering at her knees. A laugh bubbles past her lips, ringing around the room like tinkling bells. The kind of sound you can’t describe as anything other than warmth. 

When he pulls her back in, her chest knocking into his, her cheeks flushed and hair a little tangled she’s somehow even more beautiful then she was a moment ago. 

“I’m working on it.” He was going for teasing, but something about it is soft, a quiet rumble in his throat as he tilts his head down.

And he swears, he hears a little gasp come from her as she tips her own chin toward him. 

And her eyes are fluttering shut. 

And so are his. 

Her nose knocks into his.

His hand tightens on her waist. 

“Lily…” he whispers like a prayer, breath mingling with her own. 

His heart is hammering—finally, finally—the world feels like it’s collapsing into this moment. Like all the stars are aligned just for them tonight. This girl and the impossible pull toward her. 

Her hands begin to slowly crawl up his forearms to his shoulders, her thumb grazes his jaw and she leans in a bit more— 

A door slams loudly and suddenly against the wall. 

It feels like an unforgivable shot right through James’s chest. His whole body jerks as if struck, the ache immediate and merciless. 

Shoes scuff around the rug, lazy and unpracticed as a very disheveled Sirius saunters in, oblivious to what he almost walked in on. 

“Prongs! There you are mate, everyone’s been looking for you. I got Peter to drink like four cups of Firewhiskey in pong—then I swear he pissed himself after the third and—oh.” Sirius stops, looking over to Lily whose hands are buried in her sleeves, arms crossed and cheeks red. “Didn’t realize you had company.” 

James scratches the bag of his neck trying to be casual against the blood roaring in his ears. “I told you I was leaving. With Lily.” 

“I didn’t think you meant it. I thought it was like ‘I feel bad for Lily so I’ll go be nice for ten minutes,’ kind of leaving.” Sirius says words slurring, no care in the world. Or for the girl in the room. 

The words land like hexes. Sharp and unshakeable. 

She feels her stomach drop to her shoes. 

I feel bad for Lily, Sirius mocked. 

The orphaned girl who’s barely a witch and she—like an idiot—almost kissed him. 

And James watches it in real time. Sees her shoulders stiffen, the color draining from her face. 

She thinks—Merlin—she fucking thinks he pities her. That this is an obligation, not want. 

It’s like watching something priceless shatter in front of him and being cursed to drop all the falling pieces.  

“What the fuck Sirius?” James bites out, low and furious. 

Lily’s fists curl deeper into her sleeves, her body curling in on itself. Had she not been so upset, she may have been afraid of the pure rage radiating from James. 

“I didn’t mean anything by it just I dunno you’re being boring.” Sirius says. 

“And you’re being a jackass.” James steps closer, resisting the urge to throttle him. Wanting to undo this. Wanting to—

“I’m going to go.” Lily's voice is quiet. Cracked like glass under pressure. 

James reaches out, desperate, “don’t please—”

She avoids his touch. Stepping closer to the door. “I have—my Toadstool, I’ll um, I’ll see you.” And with that she leaves.

Lily’s nothing but a blur as she rushes past the throes of the party—not that anyone notices. Not that she’d care, not right now, not for once. 

Not when Sirius’s words keep ringing in her skull like shards of broken glass: I’ll be nice for ten minutes. 

It’s what he thought James meant. It's probably what everyone thinks James meant whenever he spends time with her. 

A charity case. 

Her heart hurts all the time, she’s imagined, more than once, that if someone gave the mercy of ripping it from her chest it would be purple with bruising. Now she thinks it would be bleeding too. 

The cold late September night air nips at her cheeks, blessedly sharp against the burning flush of humiliation and the blur of her vision.. 

She stumbles along the dew-slicked grass toward the small cluster of glasshouses that gleam silver beneath the crescent moon. 

It’s been nice, growing her Leaping Toadstool. It’s silly, maybe, but grounding. Gratifying, even. Being tasked with nurturing and caring for something—something simple and alive—gives reprieve from the endless race of her thoughts. 

Soil. Water. Sunlight. 

Simple. Predictable. And yet—it breathes and persists just like she does. 

But she’s determined not to let it wilt away. Not like she is. 

Swiping at her nose with the end of her cardigan she pushes open the cool glass door with shaking hands. 

Inside, the air is damp and quiet, leaves whispering above her, vines crawling up the walls. She slips between the rows of tables, ducks beneath broad flapping leaves, tiptoes past the sleeping mandrakes until she finds the familiar terracotta pot on one of the shelves. 

Carefully—oh so carefully—she carries it to the counter. Her finger brushes the firm white stem, tracing up to the bright red cap just beginning to swell open.

She reaches for a nearby watering can and sprinkles the roots with care. After, she gently packs the soil into place, making the little toadstool wiggle faintly. 

Her mouth curves despite the sting in her throat. She tickles the stem, voice breaking over a whisper. “There you go, love. Look at you growing so strong.” The words are thick and wet in her mouth. 

She feels her eyes burn, her nose tingle. 

A tear threatens to fall and then—footsteps. 

Her heart lurches a little, her eyes begin to dry and her chin quits quivering as something warm blooms within her against the wind. 

Hope. 

She had stupidly hoped James would come, she just didn’t expect him to prove her right. 

She hears the rattle of the knob, the scrape of a hand pushing the glass open. 

She takes one last breath, smoothing her face, steadying herself, before she turns—

“Evans, out late, are we?” 

Her stomach plummets. 

Snape’s voice cuts like frost, chilling her bones from the inside out.

He’s dressed like he always is—black robes swishing around him. His presence looming like a shadow that’s darker than the night itself. 

He looks like someone robbed all the moon and stars from the sky—vast, dark, endless. 

“Not celebrating with your brood?” He asks, stepping closer to the long table separating them. 

She blinks, before cleaning her throat, “yes, I mean—no. Just checking my toadstool for the brain elixir I’m helping Slughorn with.” She explains quietly. 

He nods, once. The angles of his jaw, the hard cut of his nose, all jagged and catching the silver light like glass. It makes him look like something carved from stone. 

“I see.”

He bends down briefly, then straightens, placing a large pot full of thick, twisted vines on the table. They seem untamable, a tangled labyrinth with prickly thorns jutting from the thick stems. He reaches for the shears next, snipping at the leaves with a practiced kind of ease. 

 

The vines seem to lurch and almost lash out when he gets too close but they never catch him. It’s clear to Lily he’s done this before. Often, probably. 

She braces herself to be anywhere but here. Prepares to exit with a half believable excuse, until his voice cuts through the tension.

“I dare say I’m impressed.” He remarks, not bothering to look up from the tangled roots.  

“Sorry?” Lily swallows. 

“Your proficiency in Potions in such a short amount of time,” his eyes flick up then, shadowed beneath his brow, “especially give your… background.”

From anyone else, she might have considered it a compliment, however backhanded. But not here. Not with him. 

It feels like a blade sliding along her spine. A single pinprick dancing along her bones. Like a spider tracing her nerves. 

James’s warnings ring through her head—something that always felt deeper and darker than a common school boy feud. 

Don’t underestimate him. Don’t let him corner you—he’d once warned. 

“Thank you.” She says finally, voice breaking over the words. “I’m not as good as you, though.” She adds quickly hoping it’ll mask the tremor in her chest. 

A weak point he’ll strike like a snake lying in wait beneath the grass. 

“Hmm.” Is all he hums in quiet, monotonous agreement. He continues snipping at the leaves, gathering them into a methodical pile. 

“Are you…” she clears her throat, “are you growing something for a potion for Slughorn too?” She asks, looking curiously as he begins to chop the pile into bits. 

“No.” Brisk. Single syllable.

“Oh.” He makes her feel like a fool. 

“It’s for a potion, Evans,” he continues, looking up briefly before he starts tucking the leaves into a small bag that seems to have materialized from thin air. looking. “Just not for Slughorn. Consider it a.. personal endeavor.” 

She scrunches her brow, “but I thought we weren’t allowed to brew anything from our textbook without staff permission.” 

She feels the sting at her own naivety the second the words pass her lips. She’s supposed to be competent—an adult by Wizarding World standards. Muggle, standards too. That’s what happens when you’re orphaned and alone.

He doesn’t laugh at her. Doesn’t think he’s capable. Instead, he drones on. “Good thing what I’m brewing isn’t in the textbook.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

He sighs, a slow, exasperated exhale. It’s like he’s weary of her presence but unwilling to leave her alone, time and time again. He’s always watching her. Always trying to engage her.

Odd. 

“Lily,” he begins. The single use of her name makes her flinch. “I know you’re a new witch but I’ve seen you in Potions. Exquisite. Clever. You have no idea the potential you hold.” He suddenly sounds so serious. It feels like some sort of proposition. 

“Potential?” She asks, confused. The words feel too sharp. Too heavy. 

“The textbook has its limits, as all things do. It’s only the beginning. Once you know enough—which I believe you do—you can brew your own potions. Make your own spells.” 

She watches with a morbid kind of fascination as his eyes seem to spark. They light up, but somehow it’s not with excitement or joy. They’re sparkling with something sinister. Something that’s making her heart gallop in her chest, her palms sweat and her legs shake. 

“That sounds dangerous.” She barely manages in a strangled whisper. 

He shakes his head vehemently, he takes a step to the edge of the table, as if coming around to meet her. “Not if you’re smart enough, Lily.” 

And her name again, on his tongue.

It makes her flinch. 

The air thickens. The greenhouse seems to tilt. The night outside suddenly feels colder, darker. 

Fight or flight takes over all else. That primal sense of fear. Again, she feels like prey in the woods, staring in the eyes of a predator. 

But she knows somewhere in her gut, he wouldn’t hurt her. Not like that, anyway—it feels deeper. Twisted. 

Instinctively her hand flies to her sleeve, searching for her wand.  

The wand she left on James’s bedside table. 

It’s not just the fear that something feels wrong. Like reality is warped around her. She feels like she’s been in this situation a thousand times before but also not at all. 

Her eyes flick again to her sleeve again, as if willing her wand to appear, but all she feels is the brush of her sweater against her palm.

It’s like she feels everything. The thick corded part of the cardigan. The gold ribbon swishing in the wind. 

She wore this for the Quidditch match. 

The Gryffindor Quidditch match. 

Be brave, Lily. 

It’s a man’s voice. Her fathers. Maybe even James’s. She doesn’t know.

And for whatever reason—that strange foreign feeling like fate intervening washes over her like a tidal wave. She knows, without knowing—that for whatever reason—this had to happen. 

“And have you done that before? Made your own Potion?” She swallows, her voice steadies against its tremble, “spells?”

She watches as his eyes slant in what she thinks is suspicion. Maybe even fear. 

It feels like, since the very first moment she met him, every conversation made her feel like she was a puppet on his strings. A marionette he was dancing around for reasons she couldn’t understand. 

And for the first time—it looks like he’s relinquished that quiet control.

He looks shaken. But also, somehow—for whatever reason—satisfied, deeply and darkly so. 

“Lily!” A voice rings out, winded and a little fractured. 

Both hers and Snape’s heads turn to the entrance as the door rattles against a nearby shelf. 

And just like that, the air shifts. Settles back to what it always is. 

Snape takes a step back, hands folded into his robes, the familiar bored look on his face. Dark eyes rolled in James’s presence—irrational and calculated. 

“Impeccable timing as always, Potter.” He huffs, reaching for the little bag of leaves.

And just like smoke bellowing in the wind. He’s gone. 

Before Lily can even register what just happened, James steps toward her.  

His protective instincts flare. He scans her closely for any sign of harm, his eyes flicking to her hands, her shoulders, the way she tenses. She’s trembling slightly, and he wants nothing more than to hold her close. To make sure she’s safe—truly safe—and that nothing. No one. Could ever touch her. 

He reaches out, hand hovering near hers, not quite touching. She sees his fingers twitch before he runs them through his hair, in that nervous way she’s come to recognize. 

“Are you okay?” He asks after a beat, eyes finding hers, hand finally settling on her shoulder. 

She feels his fingers brush along her cardigan, thumb ghosting near her collarbone. The thread wound tight loosens. 

“I’m fine.” She nods. 

“Snape, was he—”

“How did you find me?” She interrupts quietly. 

And for once, in this moment at least, Snape doesn’t matter to him. Just her. 

Always her. 

He shakes his head, hand curling around the map in his front pocket, “doesn’t matter—what matters is that I’m sorry. Sirius is such an idiot. Merlin—I’ve never—I would never say those things about you. Even think them, Lily. I never have, not for one second.” 

His honey-colored eyes are shining. Blazing amber. 

She stays quiet but he sees her hands tremble slightly. 

He feels his heart crack. 

“You’re not boring. Far from it, really. You make the rest of us look bad without trying and—and I like spending time with you. More than I should, if I’m honest.” He confesses, stripping himself bare for her. 

It’s the closest he’s got to putting into words whatever this is.  

She doesn’t move. 

He steps closer. 

She doesn’t move away either. 

“I’m being stupid.” She says finally, voice small, unsure. 

He shakes his head vehemently. “No. No you’re not. You’re being human.” 

She glances up at him, biting her lip in thought, unsure if she should say what she’s thinking. 

But Merlin—those eyes and the curve of his jaw. The way his hair is unruly from running his hands through it. The way he came after her. The way it feels like he always will. 

She’s at his mercy. 

“I hear what people say about you,” she begins quietly, voice low and hesitant. They’ve never spoken about it. “I know what people say about me too, so I never really gave it much…anything. You didn’t give me a reason to believe it.”

He swallows. Hard. He knows exactly what this is about. He’s not immune to it either. He just wishes somehow, she was it. 

He’s the first to admit in the past, long before he even knew Lily, he was a bit…friendly, to put it mildly. He’s positive that nosy and obsessive Delilah put some colorful, untrue, thoughts in Lily’s head out of pure spite. Jealousy and hurt from the rejection from James she never quite got over.  

“People say things about you. And me. And what you might be trying to do.” She begins, her thoughts a scrambled mess, breath catching. 

He wants to scoop her up and hold her close. Whisper promises, maybe even dance again like they did before—but he knows she needs to work this out on her own. That they need this moment no matter how painful it is.

“But I couldn’t believe it.” She says after a beat, surprising them both—but how could she? Not when he’s been nothing but earnest and careful and kind. 

She told him about dancing with her father. About the plants her mother grew and the bunny she used to feed. She told him about life before magic. About how awful her sister was. About what her parent’s blood felt like soaked beneath her tights and staining her hands red. How it feels like it would never wash off. The way her throat felt ripped raw and the grief swallowed her. 

And he didn’t flinch. 

“How could I?” She whispers, taking a step closer. “When I look at you I see—” she stops suddenly, almost like she can’t articulate it. Like there’s not one word for it. 

James meets her, halfway, close enough to see the moon shining in her eyes. Carefully, he tips her chin up, runs his fingers along her jaw before resting his thumb beneath her eye. He swipes at it once. Twice. As her eyes flutter shut and she melts into him. 

“What do you see?” He whispers, something hoarse and soft. Something teetering.

Something fragile like silk hanging between them threatening to snap the precarious thread they’ve wove. 

“Everything.” She breathes. “I see everything.” 

Because what else is there to say? He is all encompassing. All consuming. It’s something she’s fought and now gladly surrenders to. 

A grin cracks across his face soft and true. She feels his fingers dance along her temple, his breath tickling her hair. 

“I see everything when I look at you too, baby.” 

He sees her cheeks pink at words. Feels her skin warm beneath his touch. A shy smile plays at her lips. The kind of thing that makes blood roar in his ear and his throat dry up. 

This beautiful, beautiful girl with eyes like emeralds and hair like a flickering flame. Whose endured all the darkness but still burns brighter than all the stars. 

“Lily,” he breathes before he can help. 

He can’t seem to fight the need to have her close, the distance too far, he pulls her into his arms. Gathering her into a tender embrace. 

He wraps his arms around, pressing her close. One hand weaving into her hair, the other rubbing slow circles up her spine. She melts into him, her elbow wrapped under his arm, head resting beneath his chin. His heartbeat presses against her own. 

“I got you.” He whispers, pulling her closer. 

She briefly bats her large eyes up at him—going to move the hand still braced on the table to his back, to have him even closer. 

She lifts it, ever so slightly when suddenly— 

“Ow!” She yelps, flinching.

He pulls away swiftly. Panic surges through him, “Lily?”

“My hand, what—” she manages, clenching her fingers through the pain. 

They just tighten. 

James looks down to see black vines curling along her palm and wrist. Her hand flails helplessly as she tries to shake them off. 

“Hey, hey hold on,” he says softly, gripping her arm to steady her. “Just breathe for a second. Don’t move—it’s Devil’s Snare. 

He keeps one hand on her arm, thumb rubbing soothing circles over her cardigan, trying to ground her. His other hand dips into his pocket, searching for the familiar weight of his wand. 

He whispers a stunning spell, the tip glowing before the vines shrivel up in an instant, collapsing from her hand. 

Momentarily, he’s drawn to the movement. The way he just absolutely took life out of it. In nothing but a moment. 

How they wilt. 

Wilting Lilies—Peter had said. 

It feels like a knife in his gut. 

“You alright?” He chokes, fighting to steady his voice. 

“Yes, I’m fine.” She flushes, rubbing her palm, “what’s even the point of that?” She asks bitterly, remembering the way Snape so calmly trimmed its leaves. 

“I dunno why it’s here,” James admits, piqued, “it’s not a common thing. You can’t even brew it into anything.” 

“You can’t?” She asks curiosity, sparking despite herself. 

He shrugs, “I may be a twat at Potions but there was an incident first year,” he shivers as if remembered something both terrifying and amusing—no doubt with his mates, “but yeah, learned the hard way. It’s mostly used for practice.” 

“Practice?” 

He nods, “sure, I’ve heard the Auror’s down at the Ministry use it to practice stronger spells—stunning, slicing, unforgivables, even.” 

Her brow scrunches, as she studies the dead, limp things on the table. 

She thinks of Trelawney again. 

“The prey threatens to squeal. The thorns—tightening. The snake lies in the grass.”

The chill crawling up her spine returns, whispering of danger, of connections she cannot yet name. 

“You alright, Lil?” He asks gently. 

It seems to snap her out of her daze, “just cold.” 

He wants nothing more to ask whatever’s swirling around in there. To hold her close and shield her from it. Maybe even try what they almost did in his dorm earlier. 

But he doesn’t. Not right now. 

He knows when it’s right it’ll happen. 

Fate feels more like a friend as the days go on. Each moment with her stitched into the fabric of his life. 

“C’mon then, love, I’ve got you.” He smiles down at her, grabbing her hand like it’s the most natural thing as he leads her back to the grounds. 

They step out of the greenhouse, onto the dew-kissed grass, the castle looming ahead of them, the stars scattered and winking across the ink-black sky. Shining down at them. 

“Back inside we go, yeah?” He murmurs as they approach the arches. “We can do whatever you want. Read. Nothing at all. Dance again. Curse Sirius’s shampoo ‘till his hair turns green.” 

Her heart pangs a little at the reminder of Sirius’s words but she manages a smile, especially because of how serious James sounds. 

“What? He was an arse, he’ll need to do lots of groveling on both our halves. I’m thinking maybe even my Defense homework.” He says mischief dancing in his eyes as he looks down at her. 

She nudges him lightly, “Stop fighting your friends for me.” She says, grin on her lips. 

“Oh, Evans, I’d fight the world for you. Slay dragons. Weird Slytherins. Drunk Gryffindors. You name it. It’s a done deal, love.” 

She giggles, light and soft. His hand in hers warm, grounding. 

It feels right—she knows it does, but yet there’s something nagging at her. 

Nothing to do with James—never James. 

Prophecies. Dark omens. Things she doesn’t understand. 

When James pointed his wand at her earlier, to get rid of the Devil’s Snare, that strange sensation had returned. Not the kismet thing—the other one. Dark, faceless, nameless. A shadow. 

Prickling her fingers. A spider crawling up her spine. A cold brush against her neck.

Looming. 

And yet, here with James, hand in hers, the warmth of his touch, the steadiness of his presence, she feels a fragile sense of safety and rightness.

She always thought becoming a witch was unlocking a part of her that was clawing its way out. 

She never expected it to feel like she lived a whole other life she can’t seem to reach now. 

She steps forward with James, their strides falling into rhythm, yet it feels as though her body has been split in two. One half is here—warm, alive, alight with him. The other is somewhere colder, darker, as the wind cuts sharp and Snape’s shadowed eyes linger.

One foot presses forward beside James’s, steady and sure.

The other feels caught—rooted in twisting vines, or perhaps still sinking into the thick pool of her parents’ blood.

And through it all, she can’t shake the shiver of a truth she dares not name. When she thinks back to the worst moment of her life: 

Why does it feel as though it’s Snape who lingers—cloaked in shadow and waiting.

Right there with her.

Notes:

The mystery deepens... here are some chapter easter eggs...not many so here's some stuff about what almost was!:
-The title of this chapter isn't what it seems and refers to three characters!
-Originally I had Lily going to the match but changed it to better fit the flow.
-I had the Snape and Lily scene in my head when developing the story. At first, it was Delilah who made the comment to get Lily to leave and had James and Lily dancing at the party!
-A huge hint is in this chapter about two mysteries... which may or may not be connected.
-Don't be mad... but originally I had a second almost, maybe even actual kiss in the greenhouse before it became the hug.

That's all for this one! The next installment takes place on Halloween! It's title is "Lupin"!

Thank you all again for sticking with me xx

ps, what do we think about spicy scenes?