Author's Note: This is a two-parter birthday present for the beautiful alrightsnaps, who deserves everything. Dearest L, I know you've recently become a fan of AUs, but as you're a sucker for classic, canon Jily, have some fluffy fanfic as a gift.

Part 1: Heads

Tuesday, February 14th, 1978

Or, as it's otherwise known, Valentine's Day

The Great Hall, Hogwarts

Breakfast

Lily had never thought that she could become one of those girls.

Those girls were twittering girls, Valentine's Day girls, girls who floated giddily through a rose-blossom dreamland of hearts and chocolates in the delicate hour between sleep and waking. Those girls were the worst, she had stridently believed. Vacuous, vapid, and far too concerned with the anachronistic notion of twu lurve for her tastes, as if true love was an attainable goal for a teenage girl trapped in a boarding school like one of so many sardines. Such a state of mind could offer broken hearts and regrettable sexual encounters, at best, and Lily was too cool for that shit. Too smart. Too smug, now that she looks back on the person she was a year or two ago. It's a wonder her friends ever put up with her condescension. Somebody should have slapped her.

She doesn't like admitting that she's wrong, but even she's got to give way on this one. She is one of those girls now. Not vapid, perhaps, but one of those girls. Smitten. Silly. Lovesick. Happy.

That last one is a big deal, because right outside the walls of the castle she calls home, school, and everything else in between, war is brewing - a great big terrible war, a charcoal cloud which casts it shadow over every living soul - and her life, more so, even, than the lives of some of her classmates, must eventually find itself in considerable danger, and yet...

Here she is. Happy. Despite it all.

She's later for breakfast than what's usual, but that's no cause for worry. She needed the time to put extra special pains into her appearance today, a dollop more than the usual effort of brushing her hair and applying a touch of mascara to darken her pitifully light lashes, one of the hallmarks of being a redhead. There's not much room for experimentation when one must don black robes for class, but there'll be no stopping her later. She's got something pretty that her mother bought at her request, in red, for the occasion, and because it pops against her pale skin, and because it's James's favourite colour.

Lily has dutifully recorded a list of James Potter's favourites over the past couple of years, starting when they were friends, expanding when they became more than that. He loves the colour red, and cats – specifically his cat – and the Caerphilly Catapults, and McGonagall is his favourite teacher, and he has a surprising knowledge of James Bond movies considering his blood status and general ignorance of Muggle culture. He insists it's because his mother is obsessed, though Lily thinks it can't hurt that he shares a first name with the protagonist, and a middle name with Goldfinger's henchman, though she swore she'd take that secret to the grave.

He also loves bacon sandwiches, such as the one he's eating when she darts up behind him – Mary follows behind her at a sedate, more respectable pace – and throws her arms around his neck, her Valentine's-inspired excitement outweighing her fear of accidentally choking him,

"Guess who?" she says, and plants a multitude of pink lipstick kisses on his cheek, because she's one of those girls.

"Whoever it is," says James, once he's swallowed the mouthful he was chewing. "I feel honour bound to tell you that I'm taken."

She laughs softly, and lands one more kiss on his ear, her upper lip bumping against the temple of his glasses. "Hello, you."

"Hello to you, too."

"I'm trying to eat, Evans," says Sirius Black, from the other side of the table, where he has speared a sausage on the end of his knife because using a fork isn't tortured enough, probably. He is the dark, shadowy moon to James's perpetual sunshine, and he puts considerable effort into maintaining that aesthetic.

"I'm trying to eat, Evans," Lily mimics.

"Well, I am!"

She rolls her eyes and slides onto the bench, next to her boyfriend of precisely one hundred and fifty-one magical days, which is saying something, when one attends a school of witchcraft and wizardry. One tends to find magic everywhere. "I'm not bloody stopping you."

"What have I said about molesting him in public?"

"Something she should never listen to," says James, and turns his head to take a proper look at her. "Wow."

"Wow?"

"You look beautiful."

She smiles, lifts her hand and wipes a fleck of ketchup away from his chin with her thumb. "You look messy."

"Handsomely messy?"

"Ketchup-mouth messy."

"I'll kiss you with this mouth in a minute if you're not careful."

"Cool," she says, and picks up a napkin from the empty golden plate in front of her. She holds it out for him to take. "But wipe it first."

She likes that he says it as if it's a threat, as if she wouldn't brave the storm of a hundred sticky ketchup kisses just for a taste of him.

He's delicious, her boyfriend, tall, dark and handsome beneath a shambolic whirl of jet black hair that he definitely ruffles on purpose just to show off, which definitely makes her heart skip a couple of beats. James has been the star attraction of her budding sexual awakening for far longer than he even knows, a fantasy feature from ages past, when things were weird between them because of That Person they don't talk about now.

She used to dream, rather coldly, of a hot, charged-up, firing-on-all-cylinders but otherwise empty snogging session that would be just that and nothing more - and they even had one, on the second-last day of their fifth year, an angry, post-exam explosion that she immediately pretended to regret - but her dreams hold a softer, more romantic tone now.

Of course, they still have hot, charged-up, firing-on-all-cylinders snogging sessions - there'd be no point to the hangings on his four poster otherwise - but they also have long talks, and meandering walks, and they've met each other's families and it's all so utterly brilliant. They haven't gotten as far as the L word, the big word, but she thinks, she hopes, maybe, that it might be coming for them soon.

Sirius makes a noise of disgust low in his throat, revolted as he always is by any kind of happiness that seems too ostentatious, though Remus and Peter aren't bothered, the latter shuffling over to make room for Mary. James, meanwhile, wipes his mouth, discards the napkin, sucks some ketchup off his finger and hoists his schoolbag onto the table, narrowly avoiding a pumpkin juice spill.

"Guess what?" he says, eyes alight with what looks like mischief.

"What?"

"It's Valentine's Day."

"I know," Lily tells him, playing it cool, because she's one of those girls, but he doesn't have to know that. "We've got Slughorn's stupid party later, or had you forgotten?"

"Nope, I wrote a reminder in my diary, look," he says, and pulls up his left sleeve to show her his forearm, which is where he makes a lot of his 'reminders.' He's been pulled up for cheating in tests twice, only to be released when it was found that the notes on his arm were nothing more than scribbled nonsense.

"That's a drawing of a pineapple."

"Exactly."

"If it makes sense to you, I suppose," she agrees, and reaches for a slice of toast. "It starts at 8, okay? What time do you finish Quidditch practice?"

"An hour before that, it's fine."

"Dumbledore's extended curfew until 11, and Slughorn will want us to—"

"I'll be right on time, I promise. It takes me five minutes to shower and I won't let practice run late this time."

"What if Mary breaks your nose again?"

"Oi!" cries Mary, who has wedged herself between Sirius and Peter, and angrily brandishes her spoon. "Less of that shit, thanks!"

"Stop smashing Bludgers at my boyfriend's face and I'll give you less of that shit."

"He tells me to do it, you know," Mary retorts. "He said, specifically, that he's the best at dodging them and that nobody else will learn until they follow his example."

"You are grossly misrepresenting me, and I consider it slander," says James.

"I am not—"

"I'm the best at everything, not dodging Bludgers specifically, though my evasion tactics are stellar—"

"Except when they break your nose," Remus puts in.

"That was an isolated tragedy."

"It's happened twice," Mary reminds him.

"Darling," says Lily sweetly. "Please refrain from injuring my date during practice. I can't handle another Slug Club party by myself."

Mary mumbles something under her breath and stuffs a spoonful of porridge into her mouth, possibly to avoid unleashing a diatribe at her best friend's man.

"And as for you," Lily continues, turning to James, who is rooting around in his bag. "For the sake of helping me avoid yet another introduction to a reserve-team Quidditch player who Slughorn forgets I know because he was only a year ahead of us—"

"He better not dare."

"—could you please give your Beaters another target to fire at?"

"Anything for my Valentine," he agrees, to groans from several of their mates, and from his bag he draws a box wrapped in sparkly red paper, and Lily feels a thrill of shameful excitement. "Can I give you your present now?"

She was going to reach for the jam, but screw the jam. Jam is commonplace. "A present for me? Really?"

"No, it's a Valentine's Day gift for Slughorn. I was hoping you'd give it to him later, while Pomfrey's patching my nose up."

"But you just got me all that stuff for my birthday—"

"So?"

"And Christmas."

"I know," he agrees, and hands the box to her. "After this I'm going to have to start making up reasons to give you things."

Lily shouldn't be like this - in fact, she remembers warning her very own friends to be less open about their feelings around boys, those awful, horrid creatures who think only of themselves and will trample on hearts like crisp autumn leaves - but that's another wrong she'll have to own to. She takes her gift with brazen enthusiasm.

"You really shouldn't have," she tells him, delicately tearing the paper at one corner while his arm settles around her shoulders.

"Women always say 'you shouldn't have,' when they get a present," says Sirius loudly. "When what they mean is 'you're lucky you did, you stupid fuck.'"

"Based on what evidence?" says Mary tartly. "Since when have you ever gotten a girl a present?"

"I gave you a stick of Drooble's, once."

"That's a favour, not a present."

"I'll be beholden to no woman's demands."

"How about I break his nose, Potter?"

Lily effectively ends their conversation with a squeal, having unwrapped her present and pried the box open to find the sweetest handmade card - doodling is one of his many talents - a smaller box of Honeydukes finest luxury chocolates, and the smallest box of all, in which she finds a bracelet that must be imbibed with some sort of magic, for it glimmers like it's reflecting starlight.

"I had it made special, Mum helped me sort it and it's got some charms already but you can add more later," says James in her ear, very quickly, as if he's afraid that she'll hate her gift if he doesn't perform a point-for-point analysis. She holds it at eye level, danging from three fingers, and he points to one of the gently swaying charms, a tiny silver tankard with a ruby sheen. "That one is because of our first date."

"At The Three Broomsticks?"

"Exactly."

"What's the fork for?"

"The night you met my mum." he supplies.

"So, does the dice symbolise the day you met my parents?"

"Yup, and the quill is for—"

"Scrivenshaft's," says Lily, smiling softly. "I remember."

In retrospect, a stationery shop was not the most memorable place for two people to share their first kiss - not, in all honestly, that it was their first, because the hormone-fuelled hour she spent backed into the wall of a disused classroom, an hour of lost control which resulted in her first love bite and a damp patch on his trousers, will always be the thing that happened in fifth year that they're taking to their graves - but as first dates went, it had been a dream, and he'd been so excited about the kitten-embossed parchment that she just couldn't help herself. No human boy had any right to be that appealing.

Really, Lily wouldn't change a thing, especially not the fifth-year snogging, and she still smiles whenever she uses the quill she bought in September.

"It's all of our firsts," he whispers. This isn't meant for anyone else to hear. "So, you know—"

"It's beautiful," she says firmly. "I love it."

He sighs in relief. "Do you?"

She nods, and she isn't welling up but it's taking a lot of effort. "But we'll have to add a new charm in the morning."

"Why?"

She turns her head a fraction and gives him a secretive smile. "Another first."

"What, like our first Valentine's Day? Our first Slug Club party, or—" She shakes her head, very slowly, and James's eyes widen as comprehension dawns. "Oh."

"Oh, indeed."

He smiles at her as if she's just announced that he's the new star Chaser for the Catapults. "Is this for real?"

"Completely real."

"And you're sure?"

"I can't wait any longer," she confesses. One hundred and fifty-one magical days is more than enough to be getting on with, and she's perfectly ready - more than ready - to give him something she's never given to anyone else. "I thought we could sneak back to your dorm early, during the party?"

He answers with a harsh expulsion of breath and something akin to wonder in his eyes.

"I mean," she continues. "I did also buy you something, if you'd prefer—"

"No!" he insists, and bounces up and down on his bottom. "No prefer. You're bloody brilliant, you are. Brilliant."

He kisses her then, soft and sweet, the kind of kiss one has to close their eyes and settle in for, though McGonagall has already told them off four times for snogging in the Great Hall, once with an empty threat to revoke their respective Headships. It's Valentine's Day, though, and they're certainly not the only cosy couple in the room, so Lily's hoping that she cuts them a little slack.

Sirius, however, does not, and after a few minutes of uninterrupted happiness, he throws a wet teabag in their direction and orders them to desist immediately.

"Bloody hell, Sirius!" cries James, pulling away from her lips. He picks up the teabag, which has landed squarely in his lap, and drops it on his plate. "What was that for?!"

"You told me to drag you away from her, remember?" says Sirius coldly. "The owlery?"

"Oh yeah," says James, face falling. "Shit."

"What is it?"

"I forgot to send my mum a Valentine's Day owl, and she'll literally murder me if I don't."

Lily raises an eyebrow at him.

"Or send me a Howler, at the very least," he says, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear for her. "Do you mind if I go?"

"Of course I don't, say hi to her from me."

"Don't worry, I'd planned on it."

"Anyway, it's better that you leave, I need to actually eat something for breakfast that isn't—"

"James's face?" says Sirius, who has risen to his feet and shouldered his schoolbag.

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you'd practically gnawed it off, I was getting worried."

"I wish pestilence on you," she smoothly retorts, which earns her a thumbs up from Sirius. "In fact, try throwing another teabag at me and I'll make it happen."

"Bloody brilliant, you are," says James again, and drops another kiss on her willing lips before he stands up and steps over the bench. "Enjoy every bite of your breakfast."

"I'll try my best not to miss you," she promises.

"See you in Potions?"

"I'll save you a seat."

"Cool," he says, and picks up his bag. "Love you."

Then he freezes.

Everyone freezes. Even Peter, who was chewing loudly on a mouthful of fried tomato, freezes mid-chew. Some of the juice leaks out of his open mouth.

And Lily, who feels like something hot is squeezing her chest, turns in her seat and blinks up at James.

"What?" she says.

"What?" James repeats, and laughs, weirdly. He looks utterly horrified. "No, I don't!"

The hot something that has settled on her chest turns cold. "You don't?"

"Well..." says James, his eyes darting around the room. "I mean, I don't - what?"

"Let's go to the owlery, mate," says Remus quickly, and climbs off the bench. He puts a placating hand on James's shoulder. "Let Lily have her breakfast. Now's not the time."

"Yeah, got to get that message to your mum," Sirius agrees, and claps Mary on the back for no particular reason. "See you, Macdonald."

"Ouch?" says Mary.

"I think James has malfunctioned," Remus explains, and gives James a gentle push in the direction of the entrance hall. "It doesn't happen often, but it's nothing to worry about. We'll fix him."

"You too, Pete," says Sirius, and tugs at Peter's ear. He yelps, and looks pained by the prospect of abandoning his meal, but his other choice is to sit with Mary and Lily, and Lily has it on good authority that he's afraid to be around girls by himself, so he gets up and follows Sirius. Remus, meanwhile, has already shepherded James halfway to the door.

"What the fuck just happened?" says Mary urgently.

"I don't know."

"Did aliens just invade the school?"

"I don't know."

"Jesus, Lily," she breathes, and reaches across the table. "Are you alright?"

Lily doesn't have a clue what to feel, and only knows that now, the last thing on earth she wants is to eat some bloody breakfast.

The bracelet is still clutched in her hand.