Author's Note: for AJ's birthday! I don't own any of it! The title is from a Drowners song (go and listen to Drowners, seriously)

"When did we get old?" Lily wondered aloud. James glanced up from the Prophet, eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

"We're not old, babe! We're nineteen! We're still teenagers!"

"It's Friday night," she replied seriously, getting up from the arm chair (she wobbled slightly, and James had to resist the urge to run forward and catch her. She was pregnant, not made of glass.) "And we're…listening to bloody classical music and reading flipping Dickens novels at half past nine at night! We'll be going to bed in a minute! That's what old people do!"

"Oi! Don't mock Tchaikovsky! He's hip! He's cool!"

"He's been dead a hundred years, James," Lily slumped down beside him, "Circe and Morgana, we're old!"

"We're in hiding," he pointed out, and Lily turned her face into his shoulder and groaned loudly.

"We should be going to the disco techs! Getting our groove on!"

"We're in hiding," he said again, and she nodded slowly, sadly, letting him know that she got it, that she understood. He rested his head on hers.

"Just one night of normalcy would be nice, is all I'm saying," Lily whispered.

"I know, babe, I know…" a thought formed in his mind, fuzzy and incomplete, but still possible, "I'm afraid I can't help with the disco tech issue, but we could go to the pub?"

"Pub?" Lily sat up. Her eyes were shining so brightly it made James' chest tighten.

"Yeah, the Muggle pub."

"I haven't been to a Muggle pub for years," she sighed dreamily, "They're not like wizard ones - you're not very likely to be sold dragon eggs and have a drink with a banshee, but you are quite likely to get sold some dodgy acid and hear the local bike throw up her guts in the loos whilst you're reapplying your eyeliner."

"Local bike?" James raised an eyebrow.

"Everyone's had a ride – ooh, I could have a Henry!"

"A what?"

"Well I can't drink, can I?" she gestured down to her gently swelling stomach, but she was smiling, so widely it made James feel a little giddy looking at her, and because she was smiling, he smiled too.

"So a Henry isn't alcoholic?"

"Orange juice and lemonade. My mum used to make it in a cocktail shaker when I was a kid, so Petunia and I could play at being 'ladies'."

"You were such a weird child."

"You don't know the half of it," she laughed, and got to her feet again, "We'd have these long conversations about our imaginary husbands and our imaginary children and our imaginary maids. Because of course, a lady does not do her own housework."

"Even the notion!"

Lily laughed, and tossed his coat, which had previously been draped over the second best armchair, at him.

"So the pub?"

"The pub."

It was a grey stone building, called The Rose and Crown, and it smelt so strongly of cigarette smoke that James started craving a fag for the first time since he'd given up three months ago ("if I can't then you can't," Lily had said when she emptied the cottage of all the cigarettes and alcohol. It was the day after they found out about the baby). It had a bell that dinged as they entered, and a plump woman behind the bar that reminded James of a combination of his mother and Professor Sprout. She had the thickest West Country accent he had ever heard (thicker than Hagrid's, which was saying something), and asked them straight away if they were on a date. James was half tempted to wave Lily's left hand in her face, and sing at the top of his lungs "nope, no, we're not on a date, we're married, we've been married six months, she agreed to marry me, Lily Charlotte Bloody Evans agreed to marry me! And it gets better! She's having my kid as well! She's carrying my child! It's a wonderful world we live in!"

But he didn't (there were times and places for musical numbers, and here was not one of them). He merely smiled and nodded, and ordered two Henrys please, and two packets of salt and vinegar crisps, thank you.

"Right you are my love," the barmaid beamed, "You live round here?"

"We're from Surrey," Lily lied sweetly, "We're on our honeymoon. It's lovely around here!"

"Honeymooners! First time you've left the bedroom since you arrived, is it?"

They both blushed, and the barmaid laughed good-naturedly. "The faces on you two! I'm only teasing, my loves, only teasing. And that'll be two twenty, please."

"I'll pay," Lily put her hand on James' elbow, and it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, "You go and get a table. A nice one, not a sticky one."

"A sticky one?"

Lily nodded, completely serious. "There are always sticky tables in pubs like these. Normally they're by the toilets."

James did not want to think about that information too much, and so carried he and his wife's drinks to a table by the door, crisp packets gripped between his teeth. Despite knowing Lily's strong feelings towards beer mats, and coasters of all kinds (they were unnecessary, and for prissy twats like her sister. You could tell a person's whole history through their table, through the stains and scratches, and that was important to her), he placed the glasses on two Carling beer mats, and the Walkers crisps beside them in what he thought looked like an artistic fashion. Satisfied with the way he had set out their table, he took the rickety wooden chair so that Lily would have to sit on the cushioned one (if she had the choice she would've made him sit there, because she was selfless like that) and waited for his wife.

"Are you alone?"

"Depends whose asking."

"I'm asking."

"Then, yeah, I'm alone."

The girl grinned and took the seat opposite James.

"Come here often?"

"I would if I'd have known beautiful girls like you drank here."

She laughed, and James' stomach did a backflip.

"You're a very charming young man, did you know that?"

"I've been told before, yeah."

"Those my crisps?" she asked, and he sighed melodramatically.

"Damn it, Evans, you ruined it!"

"It's Potter," she replied, opening the packet, "And what did I ruin?"

"Are you alone?" he mimicked her, "I thought we were pretending we don't know each other!"

"Ooh, kinky," Lily popped a crisp in her mouth, "We're already pretending we're on our honeymoon, isn't that enough role playing for you?"

She caught his eye, and they both began to laugh, a quiet snigger that grew and grew until she had tears in her eyes and her stomach ached. Over at the bar, an old man with a limp and a squint grumbled about them to the barmaid.

"Oh stop complaining, Jim!" she laughed, "Just because you've not got laid since the war! They're a lovely young couple – they're on their honeymoon. Don't they look happy?"

The old man watched them a while, as the girl fed the boy her crisps, despite the fact he had his own packet in front of him. She kept missing his mouth, seemingly on purpose, and he was holding her wrist, trying to guide her. Yes, he was forced to conclude as the girl snorted into her drink, they looked happy.