A/N: Okay so I was hoping to draw out the anticipation but I was waaay too excited about this. Here's THE one-shot. Thanks again to Stef for beta-reading. How do you even put up with me. You don't have to read Rumours to understand this (although I'd definitely recommend it - it's not too long anyway) BUT I can tell you it'll definitely ruin Rumours for you. Basically, read Rumours first and then this. That's what I'd suggest.

Disclaimer: As if I even own Harry Potter. I wish. I really wish. Everything you recognise belongs to JK Rowling.

WAIT. BEFORE YOU START READING: This is rated M for a reason, kids.

For T. You better love this, you butt.

Hurricane and Volcano

He hears her laugh. It's a sad sound. She's sounded like that ever since Gray - the bastard - dumped her for Jenny Mulligan, that tart. (He'd dated her once too, but that didn't matter.) She laughs, and says, "I'll be studying in the library if you need me, then." Collecting her books, she slings her bag over her shoulder. He tries not to notice the way her skirt hitches a little higher with the action (don'tstaredon'tstaredon'tstare) but he notices anyway. He's only a teenage boy, after all. With his eyes still on her porcelain legs, he follows her.

She takes the shortest route to the library. He marvels at the fact that she's actually bothered to figure out the quickest way there. A smile tugs at his lips at the thought. She's funny that way - she's so Lily that way.

Now, with no one watching her - or so she thinks - she isn't smiling. The corners of her mouth are turned down unhappily. She chews the corner of her bottom lip, her hand going to her hair (it's perfect, James thinks. She needn't worry.) She stands frozen like that, at the entrance to the library, gazing at something beyond him. He turns too, and he sees what she's looking at. Michael Gray is walking down the hallway, his arm around Jenny Mulligan, laughing at the top of his voice (how dare he). Lily's lips part in silent horror, and then she turns away quickly, rushing for the safety of the library. She hasn't noticed what James has - Michael is carrying books too. Defence Against the Dark Arts, by the looks of it. They all have the same homework, which means they would be in the same section of the library. (He has to save her.)
Springing into action, he darts after her slender figure, her red ponytail like a swinging beacon for him to follow. He's sorely tempted to call out, but one quick glance tells him that the librarian is watching, and for once, he'd rather avoid the trouble. Gray and Mulligan are taking the other way around, he realises; in a few moments, Lily will be face to face with them.

"Evans! Oi!" he hisses, as loudly as library rules would permit. (She owes him; he's actually sticking to the rules for her.)

She pauses, and turns. Her mouth forms a perfect O of surprise, making him smile. "What're you doing here?" she asks.

"The library is open to all students, you know," he remarks dryly.

She shook her head, smiling. "I'm surprised you can read."

"I'm full of surprises," he says. "Here's one now - I'm helping you with our Defence homework!" He spreads his arms wide, as if to say, tada!

She frowns. "Is this a prank?"

James sighs, dropping his arms back to his sides. "No. I'm being helpful. It happens."

"Right," she laughs. "I was just headed to the Defence section, though-"

"Not a good idea," he says. "Let's go somewhere quieter, eh? I've finished it already, I can lend you the books - hell, copy off my essay." (He doesn't know why it's so important.) It didn't matter that he'd talked Remus into doing that essay for him. It was only one essay, anyway.

"Why are you doing this?" Lily asks, frowning again. (Because you're beautiful - do you know how much I want to pull the tie out of your hair, and knot it in my fingers, and pull you to me, and hear you say my name the way I want to say yours?)

"Good deed for the day," he says. "Come on." He takes her by the shoulders, pushing her ahead of him so she can't turn around and see into the Defence section.

"How come you finished your homework so early anyway?" she says teasingly, looking over her shoulder at him. (She is beautiful and she is so so so close.)

He forces himself to look away. "I was bored."

"You were bored, so you did your homework? Seems like flawed logic to me." She laughs again, but it's a little happier this time.

"It's all you, really. Being around you so much is getting to me," he says.

"As in, your ego is shrinking, your tolerance is growing, your patience is increasing?"

"Very funny, Evans."

"Thank you," she grins. "Are we going to sit down or-" She breaks off, and James notices something in his peripheral vision. It's Jenny Mulligan, her brown hair messy, her lipstick smudged, her shirt buttoned all wrong. Lily stops, staring at her. James stares too. (He can't believe he failed.) "Oh," Lily says finally.

"Listen-" James says quickly, praying she won't do something terrifying, like cry. (It's one of his worst fears.)

"Is that why you dragged me out of there?" she says instead, whirling around to face him.

James runs a hand through his hair nervously. "Er, yeah," he admits. He waits for her to start yelling.

It doesn't happen.

Instead, she collides with him, letting out a muffled sob. She buries her head in his chest, and he can't feel any tears, but he thinks that even if she cried, he might actually be able to handle it. She wraps her arms around his waist. He takes that as an invitation to hug her back.

(He loves the way it feels.)

Almost as soon as she hugs him, she lets him go again. "Sorry, sorry," she says quickly. "No more emotions, sorry-"

"It's okay," he interrupts. "You don't have to apologise."

She chuckles weakly, heading to an empty section of the library. "I practically threw myself at you."

"Who's to say I didn't enjoy it?" She punches his shoulder. "Merlin, I was kidding!"

She sets all her books down with a thump, and spreads out her parchment. He takes a seat opposite her. "Well, James? How should I start?"

"First, talk about Inferi in general," he offers.

"Okay..." She jots that down, her face scrunched up in concentration. "Do all your essays go like this?"

"Yeah," he says, confused. "Start with an introduction, move on to the main body - doesn't everyone write like that?"

She shrugs. "It's a very systematic way of doing things." (To be honest, he doesn't know if that's a compliment or not.) "What next?" She's chewing on her lip again, bringing colour to it. He looks away hastily.

"Uh-"

"Don't tell me you forgot," she says. "I thought you'd know!"

He racks his brain. He didn't even read the essay after Remus finished. "Full of surprises!" he says again. She rolls her eyes.

"That really didn't surprise me all that much," she says.

(That is too much temptation.) "Are you asking me to surprise you?" he says. He knows that the thoughts running through his head right now would probably make her hex him.

"Maybe I am," she says. Does she know the implications of that? She leans forward on the table, challenging him with her eyes.

(He can't do this anymore.)

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," he mutters, bending towards her and catching her lips with his.

(He never thought he'd really get to touch her porcelain legs.)

That's the first thing he notices now every time he sees her- her long, slender legs. He's come into direct contact with those legs, and it thrills him (don'tstaredon'tstaredon'tstare). He stares anyway. She winks at him when she catches him looking, dropping his jaw. He stays like that for several minutes, ignoring the guffaws of his friends. And he sees her going somewhere alone again. He tells himself he's only following because he doesn't want her to get in trouble; the Slytherins have become more vicious than ever. But really, he knows she can take care of herself.

(He just wants to see her alone again.)

When he finally catches up to her, she's leaning against the wall as if it's the only thing holding her up. She's shaking - but from anger, he realises, her cheeks flushed red.

"Lily?" he says questioningly. She jumps, her eyes latching on to him. (Is she relieved? Is she disappointed?)

"Hey," she says flatly, swallowing back her rage.

"What happened?"

"I'm an idiot."

"Of course you're not," James answers automatically.

"Yeah, I am. I've been denying quite a lot of things, but I will not deny that." She casts him a strange look, a look that burns the air between them.

"Oh?" he says, because he can't think of much else to say. She comes up to him, until they're inches from each other, her nose almost touching his chin. "What're you doing?" he asks. (He wants an answer, dammit.)

"Something idiotic. Something I will most certainly not regret," she replies, hooking one long finger onto his tie and pulling him to her.

Lily is ridiculously happy, and she knows everyone can see it. She doesn't care. She's bouncing on her toes, flying back to Gryffindor Tower (back to him). And suddenly, a hand closes around her wrist, and yanks her into an empty classroom. She tries to wriggle away, fearing that she'll find herself face to face with a dark face, the tip of a wand (she'd fight, though, kicking and screaming). But those arms pull her to a solid, familiar chest, a voice murmuring, "Surprise."

She laughs, saying, "Don't you dare scare me like that again!"

James laughs too, planting a kiss on her lips. He opens his mouth to speak, but she cuts him off with her mouth, pushing him against a table. She traces a line with her fingers down the buttons of his shirt, tugging at his tie and pulling him down to her (ties are wonderfully useful for that).

"Slow down," he says softly, kissing her oh so slowly, until she feels like he's setting off a firecracker in her chest.

"No," she laughs, standing on her tiptoes and tangling her fingers in his messy hair. (This must be euphoria.)

"Your call, McKinnon," a voice says from outside the class, making them leap apart.

"Sirius," James whispers, going pale.

"And Marlene - oh, Merlin," Lily says.

"C'mon," he says urgently, taking her hand and pulling her to a dusty tapestry in the corner of the room. Pushing it aside, he ducks into a dark passage, holding out a hand for her. She takes it, not because she needs his support, but because she likes the way her fingers fit with his. He takes out his wand, but Lily shakes her head.

"They'll see us," she hisses.

"Then I'm going to have to carry you," he says seriously.

"What - James!" she yelps as he scoops her up into his arms and takes the stairs ahead of them at a run. "If you drop me and I die, I'll never speak to you again," Lily mutters, but she's smiling, leaning forward to press her lips to his neck.

"Then try not to distract me, yeah?" he says, his voice low and strangled. She chuckles, leaping from his arms the moment they reach level ground. As she does, her skirt hitches far up, his fingers accidentally skimming over her the backs of her thighs. "You'll be the death of me," he mutters. "There, get into that cupboard."

"We're hiding in a cupboard?" says Lily sceptically. "Shouldn't that be the first place anyone would look?"

"Exactly why we're hiding there."

"That's riding on a lot, you know," she says, pulling open the door to a large wardrobe and stepping inside.

"It's riding on Padfoot's stupidity, so I'd say we're safe," James says, following her in.

She leaves the door open by a crack, remembering the Chronicles of Narnia - never close a wardrobe when you walk inside it. Then, tuning out Sirius and Marlene's echoing voices, she turns to James.

"I never thought I'd find myself in a cupboard with you," she laughs. (She doesn't mind at all.)

"I'm equally amazed, believe me," he says. "Too bad we're trying to be quiet..."

"There's a lot of quiet things we could do," she grins.

"I had hoped you'd say that," he says. She can see his smirk even in the dim light.

Explosions. There are explosions everywhere, in every touch. His fingers skim her skin, pulling gasp after gasp from her lips. They're entwined in the same chair, and she swears she can't tell which limbs are hers and which are his. She's starting to regret wearing shorts- there's just that much more exposed skin for him to burn. His hands are on her thighs, and she inhales sharply. She knots her hands in his hair, pulling him closer and straddling him until their chests are pressed together. There's firefirefire everywhere, and she can't breathe - but she loves it, and she wouldn't put it out for the world.

"Kiss me again," she tells him. He tips his head down to hers, his breath tickling her ear. (She's burning.)

"My pleasure."

She shivers at the way he says it. She should be scared, really, at how much she wantswantswants him (thrice for emphasis), so much that she wants to cut a hole inside him and sit there. He pulls her hair out of its ponytail, letting it fall over her shoulders. He catches a curl between two fingers, catches her bottom lip between his teeth, catches her heart in his hands.

She moans, making him grin so widely she wants to hit him - but she can't, she's kissing him. She sweeps her tongue over his lips, savouring the taste of his mouth, his breath, his gasp. She laughs softly. It's a duel in itself, to see who will break first, who will pull away when it becomes too much, because they're hurtling headfirst into the unknown and she knows he knows she knows he knows.

(She doesn't care.)

(Does he care?)

He traces a finger along her spine and it's hot and cold at the same time. She pushes him down, arching her back and letting her hands creep slowly up his shirt.
(It needs to come off.)

She pulls it over his head easily, and he's too shocked to stop her. She has to force her jaw closed when she looks, his bronzed skin stretched into hard muscle (did he play Quidditch with his bloody shirt off?), narrow at the waist, broad at the shoulders, lean and graceful, all coiled under her in an armchair. Yeah, he's skinny and awkward but he's pretty muscled on the inside, and he's beautiful to her any which way. Scars streak across his skin, pale white comets in a darker sky. She meets his gaze as she traces one from his shoulder to his ribs. She doesn't ask; he doesn't tell. (The haze of being so close to him is making her dizzy.) She trails her fingers over his stomach, noticing how they're both breathing harder. When she meets his eyes again, they're darker (with desire? Or is that only in books?) and searching, like they're digging into her soul. Her eyes drop to his chest again. Something in her head says don'tstaredon'tstaredon'tstare but she'll bloody feast her eyes.

"Like what you see?" he whispers, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. She can still see the longing in his eyes. (It doesn't scare her anymore).

"Passable," she says, grinning back.

"Glad I can impress."

"I can think of various other ways."

His eyes are almost black now. "Can you?" His breathing hitches.

"I'm creative," she says. He traces his lips along her neck, kissing the hollow of her throat. (All her cockiness is gone now). He's memorising the shape of her collarbones with his mouth, bringing a warm flush to her skin, tasting the sweat beading on her shoulders. Everywhere he goes, he scorches her with his touch, and then the icy metal frame of his glasses follows. (Is this what a sensory overload feels like?)

She's slowly moving closer to him again, hyperaware that there's only her shirt separating their skin now (he's muscled everywhere she isn't, she can feel it). He nudges the strap of her top aside, kissing the patch of skin under it. He carefully trails downwards, downwards, downwards - she tilts his chin up quickly, determined to wipe off that stupid smirk of his.

Her shirt joins his on the floor.

"Lily," he says slowly, her name rolling easily off his tongue. His mouth is slightly open in shock, his eyes wide as he takes in the sight of her.

"Shh," she says, pulling him up to her until they're a mix of bare backs and shorts and fire.

Mary's been looking at her suspiciously, she knows, but she doesn't bloody care. She's a mix of stolen kisses and hot skin and burns. She's a volcano. She's dormant until something sets her off, and then she blows spectacularly. (That something is him).

(He's a hurricane).

She's long forgotten about Michael and Jenny, about Defence assignments, about grades, about school - she gets regular little reminders, though. She remembers that there's a world outside of her storm, but it's a world where her storm doesn't exist. She still isn't sure if she wants it to exist in that world.

(Or maybe she is).

Something in the air is different when he walks in, a loud, handsome boy-hurricane (her hurricane) throwing the room into absolute chaos. She's in the eye of the hurricane herself, watching it swirl around her and smiling secretly. He gravitates towards her almost automatically, his stupid (perfect) mouth opening and letting loose something ridiculous, just the right thing to incense her so she spits fire at him. He doesn't mind though; they both live for the fire, whatever kind it was. James meets her every night at some ungodly hour, and they talk and laugh and burn together. It's so wrong, but it's rightrightright. She knows it is. He kisses her slowly, tangled up in their armchair, because he likes to, likes to feel her reaction, likes to catch her falling, likes to play the romantic. (He is the romantic, though). They're bold and fearless and crazy, ever-changing but still the same.

(How she wantswantswants him. Thrice for emphasis).

"Kiss me," he says to her, and she obliges, pressing her mouth to his. It's familiar now, how he feels and tastes and moves (she loves it). They're stretched out on the couch now, fitting so imperfectly against each other. There's barely enough space for both of them, but she doesn't care. She kisses his jaw, his neck - she laughs when he makes a horrified noise in the back of his throat. She studies his washboard stomach, the tips of her hair tickling his skin. She can see the tops of his hipbones, disappearing under his shorts. She hooks her thumbs around his waistband. He looks absolutely terrified now.

He shakes his head suddenly, seeming to regain his composure. He sits up, pulling her up with him and kissing her.

She yanks him to his feet, fire swimming in her stomach, and pulls him towards the staircase to the girls' dorms. (She wants to wrap herself inside him). James murmurs a spell and they stumble up the staircase together, never breaking apart.

At the entrance to her dorm, he pulls away from her. "Are you-"

"Shut up," she says, smiling, and shoves him through the door.

She wakes up to the sound of Mary's voice.

"Lily? Why did you charm your hangings shut?"

Lily wriggles out of James's arms, careful not to wake him up. She hastily mutters the spell to remove the Muffliato she'd cast the previous night. "I didn't want to be interrupted," she says, trying to sound exhausted. She winces at her own choice of words.

"Really? Nothing you have to tell me?"

"No." Her heartbeat thunders in her ears. She imagines the words THERE'S A BOY IN HERE painted over her hangings.

"Then why is your bra lying on the ground?"

"I took it off?" Lily says lamely.

"And your shorts?"

"It was hot."

Mary sighs. "This has gone on for far too long."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, this - you and him!"

She knows. Lily freezes in shock. "I can explain-"

"You bloody well can't. How long has this been going on?"

She counts back in her head. "Four months, I think."

"Four months! That's horrible! I thought you were above this sort of thing-"

"Wait-"

"It's vile and hypocritical and - how could you?! He has a girlfriend - you broke up-"

"Hang on," Lily interrupts. "Who are you talking about?"

"You and Michael Gray!"

"Me and-" She bursts into laughter. "I haven't been sneaking around with that tosser!"

"You haven't?" Mary says in confusion. "Then..." A note of excitement creeps into her voice. "Who's in there?"

"Why do girls wake up so early?" comes James's muffled voice.

"Shut up, you," Lily says. "You're welcome to go back to sleep."

"No, I have to see who he is!" Mary squeals.

"In a state of undress such as this? I'm flattered, Macdonald," says James, sounding considerably more awake.

Mary screams.

"Mary - WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?" Lily shouts.

"Lily," Mary says seriously. "You obviously do not understand the momentousness of the... moment. There is one James Potter in your bed-"

"Did you just say James Potter in her bed?" Meghan Smith says loudly. Lily groans.

"I wish I could Apparate a thousand miles away," she grumbles.

"I'd Side-Along with you, really," James mutters as Mary runs out of the dorm screaming for Marlene at the top of her voice. Lily turns to him, his face buried in a pillow (her hurricane). She snakes an arm around him, resting her chin on his shoulder.

"That requires contact, if I remember correctly," she says into his ear. She can sense his grin, even though he doesn't move.

"That won't be a problem," he says, rolling onto his side and pulling her to him. (He still has her heart in his hands).

She likes the fire.