epilogue.

Lily sighed contentedly. "Can one of you do something to make it this perfect of a temperature every day?"

Her head lay in Dorcas's lap while Dorcas braided a few tiny plaits into Lily's long locks. They sat with the boys beneath their favorite tree in the courtyard, the sun gilding the verdant leaves above them, the grass warm and soft below. A faint breeze rustled the pages of Peter's textbook, which lay abandoned at his side.

Remus made an interested noise. "We never did see weather control among the villains, did we?"

"There was that ice ray bloke," Dorcas said.

Peter stared at her. "You mean Mr. Binns?" When Dorcas stared right back at him, he added, "Our history teacher?"

"Is that his name?" she asked, focused on Lily's hair.

"To be fair," Sirius said, stretched out on his back with his hands behind his head, "it is physically impossible to pay attention to Binns. Someone should study the effects next year."

Remus nodded. "Be scientific about it. Perhaps publish something."

"A published work would look good to universities," Lily said absently. No one had played with her hair since her mum, and she'd forgotten how lovely it felt. She checked in on James, who was still sitting with his arms folded around his knees. "Stop sulking," she told him.

"Your head should be in my lap."

"McGonagall almost literally saved my life. I'm hardly about to provoke her into a heart attack on the last day of term."

James grumbled half-heartedly, then paused, cocking his head. "That's fair. After teaching me English for all these years, she already has post-grammatic stress disorder."

While Lily hid her smile, Peter and Dorcas groaned. Remus shook his head, and Sirius simply held out a hand, palm up, without opening his eyes.

James reached into his pocket and duly forked over a fiver. "Worth it," he said. "I've been saving that one up all term."

Lily stretched her leg out and nudged her bare foot into James's shin. "You're going to run out of puns at some point."

"No," he said emphatically. "I will not."

He was so adorably adamant about something that absolutely didn't matter, his eyes alight, the sun dappling his skin through the leaves. His glasses needed cleaning, and yet he always forgot that was an option. She had to keep reminding him.

Sirius brushed a hair out of his face. "I've been trying to get Euphemia to stop giving him an allowance so he'll run out of money."

James shrugged. "But she will never stop supporting me, her loving and only son."

"New plan, then." Sirius looked at Lily. "Convince Euphemia to give you James's allowance."

"Oi!" James said, thwacking the back of his hand against Sirius's arm.

"You owe me," Sirius told Lily.

"Speaking of things that will run out," Lily said, "you can't use that excuse for everything."

Sirius raised his eyebrows at James. "Can't I?"

"He can," James lamented.

Lily pressed her toes into the grass, admiring the wispy clouds overhead and smiling. "James already tried to use getting stabbed to make me move in with him."

"That's not what I said!"

"Mhm," Dorcas said. "You just told her you'd been having nightmares and that you'd sleep better if she was in your house."

Remus looked at James dolefully. "Oh, James. You didn't."

"That's awfully manipulative," Peter said.

James threw his hands in the air. "I would sleep better if she lived with us!"

"There isn't room for me there," Lily said. "I'd hate to make your mum take on two full-time houseguests."

"You know my mum. You know she would buy me a diamond ring to give you if you moved in."

"She has proposed on your behalf several times. Once with icing on a biscuit."

"That was for you?" he squawked. "She told me it was for a client!"

"In any case," Dorcas said, finishing another braid, "you don't have to worry, Potter. She's safe with me, both from your mum and thieves or whatever. I'll beat off any home intruders."

James placed his legs straight out in front of him, letting his shin brush against Lily's foot. They shared a brief glance of mutual interest, but quickly moved on.

"I do sleep better knowing she's at your house," he said to Dorcas. "Although I should also stop eating biscuits in bed. It makes for crumby sleep."

The second he finished talking, he pulled out his wallet, ready to pay up. While the others settled for an assortment of groans and curses, Sirius feigned choking and passing out.

Considering the death Lily had recently witnessed, she didn't find that part particularly funny. She tilted her head to gaze across the courtyard instead, checking the time on the large, ornate clock on the school wall.

Severus was standing beneath it. He was scowling while Malfoy talked at him, his arms tightly crossed. His eyes found hers, and her stomach flopped uncomfortably.

He'd done her a massive favor in lying to the police. It hadn't even taken that much to convince him to do it—she'd simply asked, and he'd complied. Of course, it only helped him to claim that he hadn't meant to do more than run the drone into Riddle as a distraction. Their mutual lie meant he walked away from the detention center without so much as a criminal charge.

Then he'd had the audacity to come up to her at school and ask her to eat lunch with him, like nothing had ever happened, like he'd never betrayed her identity or let Voldemort kidnap Petunia. Like he was the hero, and she the damsel in distress. Like she owed him.

He hadn't taken her rejection well that time either. They hadn't spoken since.

Sometimes, though, she caught him staring at her, and she wished things could be different. She wished he could be different.

But he couldn't. Or he wouldn't. And there was no point in losing sleep over that any longer.

She turned her face back up to Dorcas, who was snickering at something Remus had said, and then she took in the rest of her circle. It was funny, really. She'd come to Hogwarts for one friend, and ended the year with an entirely different set of mates. Better ones, too. Ones who secretly went to firing ranges and broke laws to help her. Ones who were as willing to fight for her as she was for them.

That wasn't one of the benefits advertised in the Hogwarts brochure, but it was, she thought with a smile, absolutely worth the price of admission.

Before Lily had visited Severus at the detention center, she'd had to give the police her version of events. An officer eventually showed up at the hospital to drag her off to the station, where they'd corralled both a solicitor and, unfortunately, Petunia.

Lily was to meet with Petunia first, the officer assured her in patronizing tones. "So you can discuss your personal limits, and when she'll need to intervene on your behalf."

Lily had not been able to suppress a loud laugh in response.

"Shock," Lily said quickly.

"Of course," the officer replied sweetly, and opened the door to a tiny room with a rickety table, two seats, and a dim light fixture overhead.

Petunia sat on the very edge of one of the wooden chairs, her hands primly clasped in her lap, her face ashen.

Her hair was mussed. If there was a greater sign of the apocalypse, Lily didn't know it.

A whole maelstrom of feelings whirled up at the sight of her—all those awful things Petunia had said, even in the midst of Lily literally saving her life, and that was on top of everything leading up to the fight—but the memory of McGonagall's letter tamped it down.

Instead of immediately going at it, Lily just said, "'Lo, Petunia," as she stepped inside, shutting the door behind her.

Petunia regarded her evenly, her eyes red. "Lily," she said.

The police had left them a pitcher of water and two glasses on the table. Lily poured herself a glass, the noise deafening in the small room, and sat down across from Petunia.

Neither of them spoke for a while. Lily kept sipping at her water, waiting for Petunia to say whatever it was she wanted to say.

Because Petunia would want to say things. Many things, no doubt, none of which were things like thanks for saving my life or good job stopping the supervillain. Lily needed to get down to brass tacks, but she knew her sister, and her obnoxious penchant for lecturing.

The fluorescent lights emitted a faint buzz overhead.

At last, Petunia said, "You could have died."

Lily set down her glass, and wiped up a spilled drop with the side of her palm. "Didn't, though."

"All those months you were rushing off to go fight him," Petunia said, a faint tremor in her voice. "All those months you were putting us at risk—"

"You were safe. No one knew who I was."

"But they obviously did! You must have made a mistake. Someone found out who you were, and I paid the price." Petunia clasped a hand over the bandage on the side of her neck. "I imagine it'll scar."

Lily held back a scoff, and tried for a conciliatory tone. "I'm sorry you got hurt, but I'm not sorry for being Ladybug. I saved the city. I saved you."

"Only after your freakishness put me in danger—"

"Stop."

Petunia, surprisingly, shut up.

Lily pushed her water glass to the side, her heart suddenly racing. She didn't have to listen to this. Not anymore.

"I'm moving in with Dorcas," she said. "I'm quitting modeling. I've got a scholarship to Hogwarts. As soon as we finish talking to the police, I'll go back with you and get my things."

Petunia's mouth opened, and then closed.

After a moment, she said, "I see."

Because Lily couldn't help herself, she said, "What else did you expect?"

Petunia sat there, looking down at her lap. Lily had been able to read that always-tense face of hers for most of their lives, but at some point an invisible wall had sprung up between them.

"So that's it?" Petunia asked. "You're moving out, and you're never speaking to me again?"

"God, of course not, Tuney—I just—I can't live there anymore. And I can't imagine you want me to."

Petunia said nothing.

Lily tipped the pitcher over the other glass until it was half-full, and slid it across the table.

Petunia didn't look at it.

Lily had never planned to tell Petunia she was Ladybug. She'd always known Petunia was never going to be thrilled about it, but this…

They were sisters. And yet Petunia insisted on being this way. On making this all, once more, about her.

And still, foolishly, Lily cared. She'd been able to cut Sev off in the end, but this was Petunia. Despite everything, despite all the cold shoulders and heated words, all that cruelty had not beaten out every shred of love within Lily. Which, Mary would say, made Lily the better person.

Lily almost smiled, but just briefly.

"I'm moving," she said. "But what about you? Will you and Vernon still move to Sussex with Voldemort gone?"

Petunia sniffed, and tugged down the hem of her skirt. A different one than she'd worn last night, this one clean and unrumpled. "It's too early to say."

And once more, Petunia would force Lily to be the bigger person. To keep trying. To keep pushing.

"Even after today," Lily said, "even after I move out… I do want to know if you're going to move. I want to know how the baby's doing, and I want…" She couldn't finish because she did not know what else she wanted.

For this not to be goodbye forever, but saying that was too final.

Petunia lifted her face, her expression still inscrutable. "I suppose," she said, "I could let you know our plans."

"And the baby's gender," Lily said. "When you know. And the names you're thinking about. And—yeah." She looked down herself then, to scrape out a lingering bit of dried blood from under her thumbnail.

Petunia nodded tersely. "Very well." She glanced at the door. "I suppose they'll want to talk to us soon."

That would be as much as Lily would get, really. A very well. She told herself it could have been worse, but that didn't quite ease the sting.

"Don't worry." Lily placed her hands flat on the table, and swallowed the lump in her throat. "We've got a plan…"

It took the hospital staff five days to agree to discharge James. He tried to persuade them to release him sooner, but they remained devoted to their "principles." James blamed his mum for not bringing him bribing biscuits.

Instead she brought in a whole cake for the staff helping James, begging them for the best possible care for her dear son.

James hated her in that moment. He did not, however, hate cake, and angrily ate one piece, and then another. Just to spite her. There'd be less cake for the staff, after all.

The day they did release him, James got to put on trousers for the first time in days, and subsequently realized he'd never properly appreciated pockets before, or full arse coverage. Lily and his parents gifted him with balloons and biscuits as they wheelchaired him out to the car.

Most hospital patients would have headed straight home after that, but James had an important errand.

Remus and Peter met them outside the juvenile detention center, debating the merits of hospital food versus jail food. James opined it was a toss-up, possibly leaning toward jail, and gestured at his wheelchair for evidence.

They didn't bicker much longer because the glass door swung open, and out marched Sirius, his hair tied back in a short ponytail, his leather jacket hanging off one finger over his shoulder.

He looked effortlessly cool, right up until Euphemia nearly tackled him with a hug.

There were more hugs after that, whether Sirius liked it or not, and a peck on the cheek from Lily. One that definitely did not turn James's face red with envy.

Unlike Snape, Sirius hadn't avoided charges, but his barrister was very confident that the eventual trial would find him innocent. It was like a ruddy Cluedo scene of a kidnapping gone wrong: a rope, a missing knife, and, in a twenty-first century twist, a drone. Everyone's stories lined up except for Malfoy's.

The Black family refused to deal with Sirius other than to send their family barrister over. James and Sirius celebrated this by drinking a bottle of Fleamont's scotch that night. They had to christen Sirius's newly permanent room, even if it meant sitting on the floor because there was no room for chairs.

"Cheers," Sirius said, glass in hand, "to no more bloody fundraisers."

"Well." James lowered his mostly-full glass. "Sometimes I go with my mum and dad, and they might want you to go, too."

"'S different," Sirius said. "And there're more biscuits here."

"Mm, there are at that." James raised his glass, and pretended to take a sip. He was not about to find out how ineffective his pain medications might be when combined with large quantities of alcohol.

Maybe this, he thought, was what it was like to grow up.

Then he burped, and reconsidered.

Sirius's head tilted as he peered at James. Or rather, at James's torso.

James followed his gaze down, and made a disappointed noise. "I'm gonna lose my muscles so fast without Voldemort to fight."

But what he said seemed to brush right over Sirius's head, unheard. Instead of responding properly, Sirius knocked back another swig of his drink, swallowed, and grimaced. "Can I see the stitches?"

Without hesitation, James reached for the hem of his shirt and hiked it up near his chest. He peeled back the white medical tape and gauze, revealing the row of neat black lines keeping him mostly intact.

It would scar, but it didn't matter. It was worth it.

Also he thought it made him look a bit more rakish. Lily seemed the type to like rakish. Or pirate-like.

Sirius scowled at the sight. "I should've shot Snape," he said. "Just for the hell of it."

"You should've shot him because he found out who we were from his drones, and then told Riddle." James made a disgusted noise. "And he didn't cop to it, but I bet it was his idea to send an akuma past Pete's window."

Sirius shifted, bringing a knee up by his chest, and sipped his drink. "So there never was a villain?" he said. "Voldemort just called the akuma back to him or whatever?"

"I dunno, maybe? I'm not really sure how it works. Maybe he can call them off."

"Pete saw one, though, yeah?"

"Yeah, and Snape said the akuma was a ruse, so." James lifted a shoulder. "Remus was all, are you sure Peter saw something, and I—"

"Of course he saw something. Or he thought he did, anyway."

"Right. Which is what I said."

"I mean, what's Remus implying? That Peter…"

"I dunno, it doesn't—whatever. He dropped it, and Peter was dead apologetic about falling into Riddle's trap. Like really, really apologetic, like he'd give me his first-born over it, and it's not even his fault, you know?"

Peter had seemed ready to drop to his knees in supplication during his apology, his eyes pleading.

It had been weird.

Sirius's mouth slanted. "Guess not." He threw back the rest of his drink. "Still wish I'd shot Snape, though."

"Well I certainly wouldn't have complained, but it's just as well you didn't since we ended up needing one of them on our side." James smoothed down the bandage and tugged his shirt over it. "Besides, I'm fine, really."

Sirius gestured with his empty glass at James, ice cubes clinking against the sides. "When do your stitches come out?"

"Dunno. I was there when they told me but I forgot. Mum'll remember for me."

Sirius nodded and sat back, resting his shoulders against the side of his bed.

"Lily wanted to see the stitches, too," James said, lifting his glass to his lips and smiling. "And she touched them. Lightly, I mean. It still hurt but I didn't even care."

Sirius grunted. "Not that I give a shit, but…are you two like together, then?"

James's smile stretched wider, his whole body feeling lighter, like he could lift right off and fly. "Yeah," he sighed contentedly. "We are."

Sirius angled sideways to feign vomiting, including very accurate retching noises.

"Oh, come off it, Sirius. It's this"—James sighed happily in demonstration—"or moaning that she doesn't fancy me. And I think I know which I prefer."

Sirius, jealous sod that he was, grumbled. But then he reached for the bottle and said, "Point taken."

"Brilliant." James sat up straighter, and placed his glass beside him on the rug. "If you're on board with me talking about it, then—"

"Oh no. No—"

"—then let me tell you what I've learned so far about kissing…"

James's stitches came out much sooner than he would have expected. The wound still throbbed for weeks after, but the pain did lessen over time. In the month after the attack, there were plenty of visits to the doctor for him, and to the barrister for Sirius.

Lily, fortunately, had no standing appointments. She had no job, no classwork, and no extracurriculars. At least, not yet. Dorcas was lobbying her to join the cricket team and really make use of her Ladybug lessons.

On the one hand, James fully supported team sport. On the other, having no commitments meant that Lily spent loads of time at the bakery. And, sometimes, in his room. With the door shut. And her mouth on his. And his mum strategically distracted because she was much too invested in this.

A Wednesday in late July found James with Lily in the bakery, his mum ardently trying to teach her how to make lavender shortbread. The sun poured in through the large picture window, flooding the kitchen with light, illuminating every fleck of flour hanging in the air.

A few swirled around Lily as she laughed.

The floral scent of lavender twined through the room, and he made a mental note to buy Lily some lavender perfume for Christmas. It would be a very grown-up gift. She would probably be dead impressed.

"Yours is so even," Lily told him, studying his rolled-out dough. He'd pressed his out into a neat circle, unlike her admittedly lumpy and pear-shaped oval. "I'm not getting any better at this."

"You can do it," he said. "It's just mind over batter."

Lily snorted, and tried to maneuver the rolling pin to level out her dough. "D'you get the puns from your mum or your dad?"

There'd been plenty of that, too, in the last month. Questions. And, mercifully, answers.

"Certainly not from me," Euphemia said haughtily. "This is dough, not batter, and he knows it."

James ducked his head. "Sorry, Mum."

"Keep your standards up, young man. You've a lady to impress."

Lily shot a grin at him. "At least you don't have to pay her each time."

"I can't do any more around Sirius until I break some larger notes. He refuses to give change."

"Or you could just stop punning around him."

"What can I say—I'm a gluten for punishment."

"Better," Euphemia said, while Lily let out another laugh.

"I should get a flourly rate for all the work I do around here."

"Stop," Lily breathed between laughs, sending another puff of flour from the counter into the air. "I'm going to get flour everywhere."

"And I'll still love you," James said seriously.

Euphemia nodded. "Potters love flour-coated women."

James took pity on Lily and moved in closer, placing his fingers over hers on the rolling pin. Dried bits of dough clung to the backs of her hands.

Among many other things, he'd learned in the last month that she was prone to burning biscuits and overmixing cake batter. That she loved snuggling up against him on the couch with a blanket over both of them as they watched cartoons. And that she made the most exquisite noises when he did a certain thing with his tongue.

"Over here," he said, pressing down gently on the left. "See? It's higher—look at the way the light hits it."

"I swear it looks the same as the rest of it," Lily said.

He shook his head, the edges of some of his hairs brushing against hers. After a month of being able to touch her freely, his heart maybe should've been used to this proximity. It maybe shouldn't have thrummed so enthusiastically from something as simple as hand-touching.

And yet.

"Practice," he said, his pulse hammering along. "You'll get it. And if you don't, I'll keep being the breadwinner."

Her body shook as she tried not to laugh, her hands clutching the rolling pun.

"You, mon minou," she said, pulling both their sets of hands away from the dough, "are beyond belief." She let their now-clasped hands drop in between them as she turned to face him. "Incorrigible, really. But I'll sacrifice for the city and listen to all your ridiculous puns so no one else has to suffer."

"Terrific," he said with a grin. "Stupendous, in fact. Did I mention outstanding?"

"See," she said, and leaned in toward him. "You are learning."

His stomach definitely did not have moths or butterflies in it, but he would admit that it did, in a way, flop over. Pleasantly.

"Of course I am," he said. "I'm a Potter."

Her eyes were so close and so luminous as she smiled. "If only you could work on that modesty."

She kissed him, then, even though his mum was right there hooting; even though his mouth tasted like the garlic naan they'd had with lunch; even though they really had to get the biscuits done before the dough warmed up too much and the butter started melting.

This marvelous, brave, and yes, brilliant girl had chosen him. As she well should have.

Because she'd endured too much tragedy in her short life to date. More than any reasonable person would be asked to bear, really. It wasn't fair, and it had to be rectified somehow. By someone, if the universe at large refused to do so.

Luckily for her, James was more than happy to step in. He'd make life a comedy for both of them, even if it meant playing the fool to do it.

A/N: And that's it! More than a year later and I can mark this project done. Thank you all so, so much for your reviews and support throughout this story, especially those people who reviewed regularly. It's fun to write for myself, but better to know other people are enjoying things, too. :)