Disclaimer: This was inspired purely by a completely brilliant headcanon which can be found here: (it spoils everything, so beware of that before viewing!) post/48409394305/am-i-the-only-one-who-sees-li ly-as-making-the-first. She was lovely enough to give me permission to write this, and I hope it lives up to the original!

Softly, but Firmly
or
"Out of Time's Hands"

It was never just about the snitch. Lily had heard James say those words umpteen times, usually when someone had insulted the importance of his own playing position, but she didn't think the phrase had ever been further from his mind.

Lily would be the first to admit that she was no Quiddtich expert, but if she were to analyse the match, she'd say that this one – the legendary opening match of the season against Slytherin, held on a Saturday in late November – rested entirely in the hands of the two seekers. Much as the Gryffindors were loath to admit it, Slytherin had developed a side as strong as their own this year, and the Chasers of both teams were so equally brilliant that the score had been practically neck and neck for over four hours. No matter how long it went for (and it had been starting to look like it would be an extraordinarily long time), neither side was ever going to be able to get over one hundred and fifty points ahead. The snitch would define the outcome.

It had been three o'clock in the afternoon, with the score at four hundred and sixty to four hundred and twenty in Slytherin's favour, when Gryffindor's third year seeker Daisy Towler had looked down at her wristwatch to check the time. Incidentally, the entire crowd had heard James yelling at her furiously across the pitch for not removing that particular item before the start at the match, for fear she would become distracted from the game. Daisy had seen the snitch hovering above her elbow and, like a mosquito, had slapped it against her arm, holding it up in the air a few seconds later to general confusion.

It hadn't lasted though. As James had proudly explained to Lily in the common room the night before; if Gryffindor won this match, it would mark a ten-year winning streak over their greatest rivals. This fact was remembered by the fifth year Lion who had been commentating, almost immediately after the crowd had gained some sense over what had just happened. (Daisy flying around the pitch with her fist held aloft shouting, "We've won!" had helped considerably.) The cheering Gryffindor supporters had swarmed onto the pitch before the team had even landed.

Lily, running along the grass with the rest of her House, knew exactly where James would be: in the centre, with the thrilled seeker on his shoulders. Somehow, after his first victory with the team, twelve year old James had managed to lift his seventh year captain up in the same way, and it had become a sort of tradition ever since. Lily, from the outskirts of the throng, watched with a smile as Daisy was passed atop of Sirius instead, and then James was shaking hands with the first years who had squeezed through to praise him, pounding his teammates on the back, hugging a fourth year girl who just happened to be beside him so fiercely that she was lifted well off her feet.

His glasses were askew, half of his fringe was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and he hadn't stopped shouting some nonsense - that no one could hear over the raucous sound of their own voices - in a good five minutes. His hazel eyes were shining extraordinarily visibly behind his spectacles; a grin splitting his face in two.

It struck Lily that she had never seen him looking so euphoric, so in his element, so thoroughly James.

It also struck her that she wanted nothing more than to be lifted up like that fourth year, but not to come down with the slightly bemused look that she had. Lily wanted to be lifted up and not ever return to the ground; just keep going up with the boy with the jet black hair and the energetic high that came with his presence.

The Gryffindors had remembered that the Seeker they owed the match to had a captain, and a cheer of "POTTER! POTTER!" had begun. Lily knew he loved it, but James ran a hand through his hair and looked down, almost abashed, though the grin never left his face. When his eyes came back up, they reached across the ten metre distance separating the two head students, and met her own. The grin grew, if possible, wider, and Lily felt her heart and stomach and possibly her liver clench in a way she'd become accustomed to since school had resumed.

"Well done!" Lily shouted, though she might as well have just mouthed it; there was no way the Chaser would be able to hear anything she said.

James looked as though he was about to reply, but Peter appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and grabbed him in a headlock for a moment, before clapping him on the back. Laughing, James shook him off, but all of Lily sighed with the knowledge that the moment (however small) had gone.

James locked eyes with her again, craning his neck to look past a broad-shouldered sixth year who had – also suddenly – obscured the clean line of sight they'd had moments before. He nodded his head helplessly at the crowd they were in the midst of before shrugging and miming drinking something. "See you at the party!" He called, and though Lily just caught the last word, thanks to the gesture she understood the meaning.

"Wouldn't miss it," she laughed, knowing he couldn't hear her, but James grinned further nonetheless, a hand in his hair again. Lily smirked amusedly at the action; still trying to look like he'd just been flying, even when he'd literally put his feet on the ground mere minutes ago.

Several things were coming to her mind in immediate succession. Of course, Lily had known she'd rather like to kiss James Potter for several months now, but it was the utter Jamesness of the afternoon which made her realise that she was tired of waiting, tired of making the second move. Something about the way James was standing and looking and grinning and congratulating and Jamesing made her resolutions to let time take its course melt in an instant. Time had taken long enough, and it was handing the reins to her.

Perhaps it was the thrill in the air, James's grin, the promise Sirius had made over breakfast of an absolutely brilliant after party, or the slight feeling of pieces finally coming together, but Lily didn't mind that her view of James became, as she stood still, completely obscured by a wall of red and gold. Standing there, she had made a resolution, for which she would have time later that night, and the next day, and the day after that, to fulfil it over and over again, because the time … well, it was finally right.

She could wait; Lily Evans was a decidedly patient girl, and she'd see James again soon enough.

Lily Evans was an utterly impatient girl, and she hadn't seen James in three hours.

Or at least, not properly.

It had been starting to get ridiculous an hour ago; now it was simply infuriating. The Quidditch captain was the star of the day, and though he was now, at seventeen, almost a gentleman, it wasn't like James Potter to avoid an opportunity to be in the spotlight. As such, Lily was unable to think of a reason why she had not once seen him atop a table leading their house in cheering, or obnoxiously singing Irish drinking songs with Sirius in a corner.

An hour ago, Lily had been surprised to realise that she didn't care in the slightest whether James was in either of those situations. Fifth year Lily would have bitched about it to Severus afterwards, sixth year Lily would have rolled her eyes disdainfully but probably have smiled nonetheless, but seventh year Lily of an hour ago had wanted to snog him senseless regardless of how intoxicated he was.

The Lily of the present still had that frame of mind, but she'd decided that first she was going to slap the boy soundly for making her resolution of that afternoon so hard to execute.

There was only one sodding Gryffindor tower, for Merlin's sake. There were less than a hundred Gryffindors. So why the hell was James so hard to find?

In the last hour, Lily had scaled the tower multiple times. She had braved the legendary pit of horror that was the fourth year boys' dormitory, had asked everyone she had come in contact with whether they'd seen him, had sent first years out looking for him. Not a single result. Lily had already singed a table she'd rested a hand on. She wasn't sure whether she was angrier aet James for not being around, or at James for making her lose control of her magic for the first time in years.

Lily found herself standing on tiptoes by the portrait hole, craning her neck to see over the rowdy mass of Gryffindors; only looking for one in particular. Since September it had seemed that wherever she had looked James was present, and, like on the Quidditch pitch, Lily had seemed to know exactly where to find him. The creepily accurate James-sixth-sense had disappeared just when she needed it most.

"Still looking for James?" Lily turned to her left to see Sirius standing beside her, wearing a Gryffindor flag around his shoulders and a decided grin.

Lily sighed. "You still haven't seen him, then?"

Sirius shook his head. "I promised I'd send him to you if I found him, so no." He chuckled. "Quite frankly though, I'm rather enjoying the fact that you're chasing him; it's nice to see that the tables have finally turned. Someone ought to find James and tell him."

Lily huffed. "Not funny. And I'm not chasing after him; I'm merely looking for him."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "For three hours? Lily, I've known you for over six years. You're patient. You let things happen without interference." A pointed pause, then, confidently, "You're chasing James."

"I'm not! I'm – I'm … oh, stop laughing. For the one of the cleverest people in our year you sure are useless."

Sirius shrugged. "Just promise that it'll be one good snog when James finally shows up."

Lily opened her mouth to deny it, but the dancing laughter in Sirius's eyes indicated that there was really no point. "I've decided to give up on him, anyway," she declared. "The party has been going for hours and I have not yet had a single drink-"

"An absolute crime, Evans," Sirius said solemnly, to which the girl in question nodded primly.

"So I am going to sodding enjoy myself regardless of whether I can find your mate or not."

"Remember," Sirius called after her as she marched towards the drinks table, "Make it a good snog!"

Just two minutes later, Lily's briefly found enlightenment had disappeared. Sighing, she sat down on the third step of the girls' dormitory staircase, a bottle of Butterbeer held loosely in her hand. She wanted, needed, something stronger, but no matter what condition James was in when she finally found him (though she was seriously starting to doubt that would ever happen) Lily wanted to have the full mental capacity to hex him so severely not even St Mungo's would be able to put him right. That, and then the good snog Sirius had imposed on her.

And suddenly, there James was, leaning against the space of wall beside the fireplace. Lily wondered how he'd managed to get to the stage where he needed the wall for support so early in the night if she hadn't seen him anywhere near the drinks table – or, for that matter, anywhere else inside the entire tower – all evening. Forget what she'd said about not caring how intoxicated he was: she wanted to punch him in his clearly drunk face. Him, and Stella Jones standing before him.

Stella Jones was known throughout Hogwarts for being a perfectly sweet almost-tart. As Marlene had once put it, Stella was not yet a tart, but a very promising crust had been prepared. She was quite a lovely girl; very friendly, somewhat intelligent, with softly curling blond hair and a dimple in her left cheek. She was, as a forties children's book would have sardonically described her, 'boy-crazy', and had had more than the usual number of boyfriends for a fifteen year old girl. However, none of those boyfriends had been 'stolen', and although almost every good-looking boy her age claimed to have kissed her, she had not once been discovered in a compromising position of any kind. Stella Jones wasn't a tart, and she was probably too nice to ever become one, but she certainly had potential.

At around six forty-five that night, Lily Evans thought that Stella Jones was the slaggiest slag to have ever placed her slaggy presence on the previously slag-free planet.

For the second time that night, Lily lost control of her magic, and the bottle she was now clenching burst in her hand.

She swore loudly, causing several heads to turn, but not the one she wanted to. James looked on the verge of being utterly smashed; even from a distance Lily could tell that he barely recognised the fact that Stella was standing there with her stupid tinkling laugh, twirling her ridiculously cute hair ever so slightly … god, why couldn't Lily have dimples?

No, she was better than dimples. She was Lily bloody Evans. She had successfully brewed Felix Felicis in fourth year. She had written "Muggleborns are better than you" across every one of Nicolai Mulciber's textbooks in everlasting ink. Mary had once told her that she had the prettiest eyes in the whole school. She was Head Girl. James was Head Boy. It was meant to be, and Stella Jones needed to get out of the way of destiny.

Lily experienced what happened next as though she was viewing it from someone else's eyes. Probably God's, because God was in control of Grand and Momentous Moments, wasn't he?

And so, from God's eyes, she saw herself stand up from her position on the steps, shaking Butterbeer off her right hand. She saw her green eyes flash angrily at a spot on the far side of the room, before heading towards it. She saw her shock of bright red hair remain visible through the crowd of Gryffindors; she saw a first year stumble as he was hastily brushed aside without the Lily Evans she was watching noticing anything.

She saw herself deftly sidestep a chair that got pushed back as she reached it ('I should join the Quidditch team', she thought upon seeing her newly found reflexes) and she saw herself stop three feet away from the patch of wall that she had not once broken her gaze from. One step, and Lily observed herself narrow the distance from three feet to two.

"Please move," she watched and heard herself say almost (but not quite, she was still Lily Evans) curtly, and she saw Stella Jones turn around in surprise. When Stella did not immediately respond to Lily's request, she saw herself put out her right hand and daintily, but steadfastly, push the pretty little fifth year (slag) out of the way.

Lily watched herself take another two steps forward onto her toes, reach out, take James Potter's face in her hands, and take his lips with hers.

Softly, but firmly.

Lily found herself in her own body again as she comprehended the sensation of warm lips pressed against her own, and her eyes fluttered open immediately (when had she closed them?), to be met with James' staring at her, the surprise (or was it something more?) clearly visible even behind the spectacles.

She pulled back abruptly, though she didn't move her hands. James Potter's hair was soft.

There was a long, long moment of earth-deafening silence. Lily suddenly realised the full weight of the situation – she had just kissed James Potter, and the only thing he was doing about it was staring at her, unblinking. Agrippa, was he really that drunk? The only thing she could hear was the sound of the two of them breathing slowly, like they were both trying to work out what exactly had just happened.

Lily couldn't believe herself – she had watched (and, she supposed, felt) the events of the past minute unravel, but was somehow struck dumb by them. For three hours, she had had every intention of doing what she had just done, and yet she couldn't grasp the fact that she'd just followed through with it.

And still, James was just staring, with his hands rigid by his sides. The urge to punch him had returned.

Then, after an eternity of moments, James slowly blinked. "You taste like Butterbeer."

Lily looked at him incredulously, before choking out a laugh. "Oh, fuck it," she murmured, and kissed him again.

This time, it was right. James responded immediately, one hand snaking around her waist, pulling her closer, while the other softly reached for the nape of her neck. His lips moved against her own, and Lily had a final realisation for the night. He hadn't truly been James after the match that afternoon, hadn't been James when he was standing there all sweaty and grinning and victorious. This was James; James with his soft hair, strong arms, standing there kissing her so that she could feel the high she'd wanted hours before emanating everywhere they touched.

The silence Lily had felt a minute earlier was real now, and after a moment the Head students became aware of it. Softly, they broke apart, and Lily had a moment to consider, if James could kiss like that with Firewhiskey in his system, what would he be like sober? It was only a moment however, as even though she felt like her insides had been knocked out of her; she soon became aware of the slow sound of a single person clapping coming from behind her.

James looked up before chuckling deeply, tightening his arm around Lily's waist to pull her to stand beside him at the mantelpiece. Uneasy, Lily turned to see Sirius – standing in front of Gryffindor house, all whom were staring in their direction – applauding like a posh Lord watching croquet. "Jolly good show, you too," Sirius said seriously, before winking at Lily. "Glad to see you took my advice."

Lily rolled her eyes, but she was beaming and she didn't think she'd ever stop. Whatever the enormous swelling in her chest was, it must have been contagious. Lily would never be able to remember whether it was slow or instantaneous, but before she could really recognise the change the entire house was applauding, or cheering, or both, even Stella Jones, who had stepped back to join her housemates. Instead of POTTER, POTTER; EVANS, EVANS was being shouted over and over again; Lily was fairly certain Peter had initiated that.

Laughing, she looked up at James to see him looking down at her with a grin even wider than the one he'd been wearing that afternoon. "The show must go on," he murmured, pressing his forehead against hers gently. Matching his grin with one of her own, she tangled her hands in his hair again, capturing his lips with hers once more.

It was several hours later, but Lily hadn't had much concept of time since she and James had had their rather public first kiss in the common room. Remus had just released fireworks from his dorm window, and she and James were watching them against the ledge of the astronomy tower; his arm lazily wrapped around her, her head resting upon his shoulder.

They were silent, though several sobering charms had made James a little more capable of deep thought and conversation. There was one question, however, that Lily wished to voice.

"Where were you?" she asked curiously, gently turning herself beneath his arm to look up at him. James, his profile clear in the moonlight and golden glow coming from the fireworks, smiled slightly.

"Kitchens," he said simply. Lily raised her eyebrows.

"The house elves must be able to hold their liquor," she said pointedly, to which he chuckled.

"Nah, Sirius got one drunk off half a Butterbeer once; they're complete lightweights, but Slughorn likes his Firewhiskey, so they've got a decent stock. And they love me, which means I get unlimited access."

Lily nudged him slightly with her shoulder. "And why were you drinking down in the kitchens rather than amongst all the people who worship you?"

Lily felt James press his lips into her hair, and she smiled contentedly. The past few hours had simply felt like finally; as though they were both so ready for what had transpired that neither of them needed to think about it. "Liquid courage," James said, almost amusedly. "I'd promised myself that tonight was the night I was going to try one last time with you, but after you left the pitch I might – might – have gotten a little nervous."

Lily turned and scowled. "So you left me running around trying to find you for three hours while you got yourself toasted with elves?"

"Sorry," James winced, "I might have gone overboard on the courage. But the they have some fantastic drinking songs. There's this one called Abra's Appetite…" Lily laughed, leaning back against him, and James caressed her shoulder gently. "I can take you tomorrow, if you like," he said softly. "It's not much of a first date, but …" Lily glanced up to see him biting his lip, "I'd like to take you out somewhere after four years of asking."

"And, of course, the kitchens are probably the closest thing to your heart which you can show me."

There was a long pause, where James studied her face more intently than he ever had before. "Not quite," he said carefully, before grinning, "but they're definitely a close second. And, since we have a good deal of time to kill before tomorrow…"

He was leaning in before he'd finished speaking, and James and Lily were kissing again not a second after the last syllable was spoken.

The echo of Gryffindor's cheering was still ringing in their ears.

A/N A little shameless plugging (actually, I'm embarrassed to plug it, but I would adore some feedback); I have started a full-length non-fanfic on Wattpad, the link to which is in my profile.

Reviews are Tim Tams with hot Milo.