Lily is half asleep, crawling over James as she gropes for her wand on the nightstand. She's about to question the funny look on his face when she realizes that the grain and weight of the wand in her hand is all…wrong. Her cheeks burn—it's not her wand, but his, she's holding. She releases it instinctively, dropping it to the bed, an apology half formed on her lips.

James scoops up the wand—his wand—and turns it in his fingers. He surprises her, then, by pressing it into her hand, wrapping his fingers around hers, closing them around the warm wood. His movements are slow, deliberate, his eyes never waver. This feels every bit as intimate as his kisses, his touches, the weight of him on top of and inside her. He presses a kiss to her temple, whispers into her hair that it's alright, he's just never seen anyone use his wand before, and while it caught him off guard, she can use it any time.

James Potter's wand feels strong, steady, warm in her hand. Lily wonders if any wand would feel that way or if it's that he so willingly gave her his consent. She casts her first spell, something small—a summons for her own wand, which seems to have gone missing. She gasps in surprise at how foreign her own magic feels channeled through this strange piece of wood. Different, but not wrong.

James catches Lily's wand, which had been buried in their heap of clothes by the door. Upon receiving an encouraging nod from his girlfriend, he flexes his fingers around the handle. It's smaller, yes, and it feels a bit wild, but so very, very Lily. He contemplates which spell to try only for a moment before he notices goosebumps on her exposed shoulder. Understanding her original intentions, he casts a warming charm over the quilt that covers them. Much appreciated, apparently, as he is rewarded with an enthusiastic kiss.

Later, they sit side by side, snuggled together under the quilt, backs against the headboard. They stay up until dawn experimenting: casting spells with increasingly complexity, comparing the differences and similarities, learning the nuances of each other's wands.

In the months and years to come this will become second nature, each other's wands as familiar as their own. Now, however, it's hard for them to imagine, for that desire—a life together—is only beginning to take shape in their hearts. But it is starting, and it grows on nights like this, with whispers and kisses and confidences and firsts.

It feels a lot like love.