People often don't think of kids as anything but kids.

Hands on your cock and imagine that she's kissing you again.

They dismiss the early crushes, the first calls of the heart and the first twinges of the soul as "just puppy love".

Think of how she looked that day, just dressed in a nightgown, hair all a-tumble.

They don't think that a child – a young man of 11 or 12 – could truly, deeply love his ideal woman in that way.

Top buttons opened up and a flush on her face. They must have just done it. It's not like you could hide much in the close space of the Burrow. But he hadn't meant to spy.

Not really.

Not the first time, anyway.

That a woman, married, with a child, could hold any sort of attraction for a boy at the edge of the beginning of his life.

Feel your hand around your cock tighten and move, as you move your memory's gaze down her body, silhouetted against the window's light like that Princess's photo.

Especially when she treats you like your mother never treats you. Talks to you like an adult. Thanks you for those little services you do.

Move the hand up and down and up and feel the pleasure rise up.

And she knew. She must have. She looked you in the eyes, and told you she appreciated you.

And suddenly the tears come as the climax hits, and he's crying like the child he once was for a woman who died before he could tell her how he felt about her.

Bill Weasley loved his wife. Truly. Fleur was his love and his life, and if there had ever been any little shadows in the background, he was fairly sure she never knew about them. But then he'd never told her about his first love.

He couldn't.

Not when it was her. He couldn't bear any mockery, any suggestion that his feelings for Lily Evans-Potter had been just a childhood crush. Or even a calm acceptance. Nothing. If he spoke of it, it would have destroyed his memories of when she had stayed at the Burrow with James when they were on the run, before Sirius had been the Secret Keeper. When his mother had had her hands full with the new baby and the toddler twins and Charlie trying to keep doing everything his older brother was doing. Percy was never a problem. Put him in a corner with a pile of saucepans and he'd spend hours putting them in size order, then colour order, then … But Bill had been left to pretty much run wild, as long as he kept an eye on Charlie, and the easiest way to do that was to give him a book with dragons in it and leave him to ohhh and ahh over the pages.

And Bill had been there to help. Not his mother, although goodness knows she needed the help. Not his father, sweating away at his first posting in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. But there if Lily needed a hand with the new baby, or a glass of water, or even (once, to his pride) to help clean up after baby Harry had thrown up all over the floor and Lily had been too tired to do anything but just cry.

Arthur hadn't realised just how much growing up his son was doing that summer. The Longbottoms and the Potters were being passed from house to house to keep them away from You Know Who (although the talk around the place was that all they had to do was match up Augusta and Molly, and the rest of the Order could have gone into retirement). Alice and Frank had stayed for a month just after their own baby was born, and Arthur had taken Bill aside and explained some of the more matter-of-face aspects of the facts of life. Things like the bleeding after birth, and the exhaustion, and how important childbirth was anyway, and why, when he was older, Arthur would explain how to make sure that no children happened without the love of two parents. Bill, awed at finally being treated seriously, had avoided the Longbottoms for fear of all that blood and mess. But for Lily, he would cope. He would show how well he could be there for her.

James knew.

And James took him aside one day, and sat him down, and looked him straight in the eye, and told him that he – James – couldn't blame Bill in the slightest for falling in love with Lily because she was worth falling in love with.

"And make sure, Bill, that you remember what a wonderful woman she is."

"I could never forget, James." (It was his first initiation into the world of adults, being allowed to call them by their first names.)

"One day, Bill, you'll meet lots of wonderful women. Beautiful women. Intelligent women. But it'll be a rare day that you meet one that's all three at once. Remember what you think of Lily, and when you do meet the right woman, you'll know. Because she'll remind you of how you felt about my wife."

Bill blushed redder than the bright hair on his head. "I'll remember."

James ruffled the young redhead's ginger mop, and smiled. "I know you will. I look forward to meeting her, whoever she is."

And when the news came that Lily had died, Bill shut himself in his room for a day, and sat looking at the corner seat where she had sat when they used to talk. Not crying. Not talking. Just feeling the bottom of his world fall away and knowing that things would never be the same again. And so shocked were the rest of the Burrow that when he emerged, no-one had noticed that he hadn't been there for lunch or dinner the day before.

And each year, on the last day of October, he managed to go by himself somewhere, and just sit and imagine she was there.

As Harry and Ginny's children grew, they learned to be self-sufficient. To find their own amusements. And young Lily adored looking through the photos of her grandparents and looking into the eyes of her namesake and seeing the similarities there. By her third year in Hogwarts, she was styling her hair and wearing her clothes the way her grandmother had during the late 1970s – flicked-back fringe and pipe-legged jeans and a velvet waistcoat with long lapels, and four different colours of eyeshadow along the lid, enchanted lightly to make them shimmer and shine. She learned to find her way around Muggle London thanks to her father, and made a hobby of finding old-fashioned clothing in the Oxfam shops around King Street. She made quite a killing in providing mufti for her fellow students.

But she never told. Not really. She said she liked the styles, and that the post-disco era fascinated her, and that yes, she had a slight interest in seeing how her grandparents had lived.

But she never told anyone about the night Bill saw her in flared jeans, with her hair down and her platform shoes slumping as she danced in her room at the Burrow on a visit to the elder Weasleys. Her parents were off doing something Quidditch related, which bored her to tears, and she begged to be allowed to stay at her grandparents' place. And Bill had been staying over too, visiting while Fleur and Victoire and Dominique were in France at a fashion show. Bill brought young Louis as well, but the lad was fast asleep in the upstairs room that had been his uncle Ron's, and Bill was creeping downstairs to rejoin his parents when he passed the doorway and heard the strains of long-forgotten Muggle music drifting out.

He opened the door quietly, and there she stood, just as he remembered her, hair tumbling down to her waist, swaying gently to the music and floating her arms in time to the beat.

"Lily."

She turned, and for a moment their eyes met and he saw his heart reflected in her eyes as he stepped up and took her in his arms...

… then realised that no, this wasn't her. Not his Lily.

Bill recovered quickly, and gave her an uncle-style hug. "You've grown. I had no idea you were into this sort of stuff." He released her quickly, for fear she would notice the fast reaction his body had given him.

"I'm thirteen, Uncle Bill. And yes, I like the time period. The fashions. Even the silly shoes." Lily stood on one foor and started to lift the other for his inspection, but she didn't have the co-ordination necessary for balancing on a narrow platform of cork. She stumbled, he stepped forward and grabbed her, and for a moment their faces were close and their eyes met...

… and he set her on her feet again and walked out, deaf to her puzzled cry of "Uncle Bill? Bill?"

For the rest of that weekend he avoided her, for fear of hitting that nerve again, the one that cried out to the first pain of his heart. He passed the butter at the dinner table, and helped her with the washing up while the older Weasley's played with Louis in the living room, but he barely spoke to her unless he couldn't help it.

And she noticed.

And she realised, with a shock, what it was that he had seen that night.

From that weekend onwards, she was determined to make him realise that she could be there too. In his heart. Dear to him.

On the night of Little Molly's 21st birthday party, Lily Luna dressed in tight jeans and high heels and drank a bit too much champagne, but she never got close enough to Bill to see if her outfit worked. If she had, she would have been horrified – his face was filled with disgust at the spectacle she was putting on. Having all the nieces and nephews running around, even if some of them were of legal age, just made him feel old, and he made his excuses to his wife and children and headed back to Shell Cottage early, while Lily was facing the brunt of her grandmother Weasley's scolding over inappropriate outfits for young ladies of fifteen.

Then Fleur died in the late summer influenza plague of 2025, and even a flighty young witch in her final years at Hogwarts knows when it's not the right time to be following a dream, a wish, a thought – she spent her time with the mixed family at the Burrow after the funeral looking after the youngest children and holding Louis tight and close to her. Louis and Dominique came to live with her parents for a few weeks while Bill found his feet, and Lily overheard her parents talking about the possibility of adopting the two – or at least having them for most holidays. And she found herself walking in on Harry and Ginny and agreeing with them.

"It's not as if we don't have the room. It would only be during the holidays, and I'm sure Albus would love to have them too. James's room is free now that he's living in Manchester."

Ginny looked at her, trying to work out what her youngest and fey child was doing, but Harry beamed and nodded and offered to write to Bill and the Delacourt-Weasley's that night.

And Lily went off to her room and tried very hard not to examine her own motives.

Lily finished school in the summer of 2026, and headed home with a strange lightness in her heart. She was an adult. She was responsible for her own life, her own actions and her own fate. And while she couldn't tell that fate for certain, she knew it had to be of her own making. She endured the first whirlwind week, the celebratory dinners, the probing questions by Molly and Arthur about what she wanted to do with her life, but they finally accepted that she wanted to take a year and find out for herself.

On the evening of the dinner at her grandparents, she dressed with extreme care. Her pinafore-style dress was elegant without being flamboyant, and her hair was soft and shiny and hung down almost to her waist. This time, she wore strappy sandals, but she'd had a year to get used to walking in them, and her gait was confident with a small swing. And the soft, billowy shirt she wore under the dress was translucent only and nothing a grandmother could complain about.

She walked into the dining room, and the effect was all she could have wished for. Her father stood up, the word "Mum" on his lips. Arthur dropped the roll he was stealing from the breadbasket, and Molly's hands flew to her face. But Lily's eyes were only on Bill, seeing the love and loss and desire and pain sweep over his face like a breeze over a wheat field, and she walked to the empty seat she had set beside his. Bill stood automatically, and held out the chair for her while Molly laughed nervously and started passing around the food.

"My goodness, dear, but you're the spitting image of your grandmother, just as your father was the spitting image of his father. For a moment I thought …"

"I'm sorry, Grandma. I didn't mean to startle you." Lily smiled her warmest smile on her grandmother, and held out her bowl for soup. "That smells delicious!"

It took all Lily's self-control to act naturally during dinner. She used every trick she knew – getting her grandfather to talk about the old days, asking her oldest brother about the Quidditch teams he was trying out for – and the evening became very relaxed and genial. George had set up lanterns around the room, so as the sun set the room was dimly lit.

Which gave her the chance.

Lily pressed her legs against Bill's, and such was the crush at the table that he couldn't move away. Not really. She made sure his glass of wine was refilled quite often, and after a while she dared to put her hand on his knee under the table.

He didn't remove it.

And after a while, he slipped his hand down and covered hers. For a brief moment Lily thought she would explode with happiness, but then Bill stood and excused himself.

"Not staying for dessert?" Molly held up a bowl of something impossible to distinguish in the gloom, but Bill shook his head.

"I need to get home. It's … it's Lily's day, and I don't want to be a wet blanket. But thank you, Mum, for a lovely dinner. Harry – sure the kids are all right with you this week?"

Harry nodded and gestured with his own wineglass at the younger teenagers who had fled outside for a game of twilight gnome-hunting. Bill turned back to his niece, and held out his arms to hug her. He looked for a moment as if he was going to say something, but then he released her abruptly and headed to the fireplace.

Three hours later, her parents had headed home with the younger children. Percy's brood were involved in a trial of Fred and Roxanne's latest wheezes, with George looking on indulgently, and Percy and Angelina were discussing career possibilities in the new Muggle Liaison Bureau. Lily gathered her things and went to her grandmother, thanking her for a lovely evening.

"Sure you don't want to stay, dear?"

"No, it's fine, Grandma. I can make my own way. Passed Apparition with top marks, remember?"

Lily hugged her grandmother hard, then walked outside, trying to be as natural as she could.

With a bang, she landed on the sand outside Shell Cottage. There was a dim light in the front room, and the door stood slightly open. Gathering up her courage, she walked towards the door and through it to where her uncle sat, a bottle of French Brandy beside him and an empty glass in his hand.

She stood in the doorway, unaware that the rising moon behind her was silhouetting her against the light. Bill looked up, and his eyes met hers.

For a moment, a minute, an eternity, they looked at each other, then he set down the glass and walked over to her.

"Bill."

"Lily. I knew you'd come."

He kissed her hard, the passion of forty-five years of longing and wishing and dreaming burning her lips with a fire she barely knew was possible. She kissed him back, with the power and the lust and the love of a young person who has seen all she wanted and now she had it. It took her breath away, and she revelled in the feeling, knowing that he loved her and wanted her as much as she had hoped.

Bill swept her up in his arms, and carried her through to the main bedroom. There, he started to kiss down her neck unbuttoning the shirt and unzipping the pinafore, slipping his own shirt off and urging her hands to his trousers. She kicked off her sandals as best she could, then a pinprick of conscience flew through her, and she took his head and looked into his eyes.

"Bill. I'm not her."

The eyes that looked into hers were eyes that had decided to leave the bounds and mores of the world behind this night.

"I know."

And his lips resumed the path down her cleavage they had taken previously, and she gave herself up to the passion and the darkness.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Molly?"

"Who is this beau of Lily Luna's? Why won't she bring him to meet us?"

Harry grimaced. He knew it would come to this. For three years, his daughter had had the look of someone who had found her true love – and no-one knew who it was. He held up the jug of lemonade, offering it around the family group that sat or lounged or lay on the grass on the warm summer evening, and his eyes met Bill's.

Bill smiled back at him, and held out a glass for a refill. "Leave her be, Mum. Lily's obviously happy, she looks like she can take care of herself, and maybe she wants to keep something a secret for a while."

"I just hope she doesn't get hurt." Molly rubbed her forehead, her previously-red hair now a light strawberry blonde.

"Well, you'll see her tonight. You can ask her then."

"How do you know, Bill?"

"Because she always comes home for her birthday dinner. I've not known her to miss it once these last few years."

"That's true." Harry put the jug down and stared out at the setting sun. "But we mustn't forget that tomorrow's not a happy day for you."

"Oh I wouldn't worry too much." Bill stood up and stretched. "I can usually find some way to make it through the night."