Lily has a bad habit of browsing Tinder on her commute home everyday.

She can't help it - she needs something to do on those long rides, and working on the Metro got knocked clear off the table the one time she lost track of time while writing a press release for one of the bills McGonagall was planning to introduce and ended up in fucking Shady Grove.

So she contents herself to scrolling through pictures of men and mindlessly swiping.

It's actually kind of nice, doing something without thinking about it. She's been working herself to death recently - the closer that they get to the election, the more time she has to spend making sure that every little thing is done perfectly.

It doesn't help that she's currently working comms on both the senate and campaign side, and election laws are ridiculously strict about the divisions between the two - which means Lily spends a lot of after-hour time doing campaign work in increasingly odd locations.

She wrote a press advisory at 2 a.m. in a random McDonald's last week.

So she lets herself have these Metro rides as time that is solidly not work-related in the slightest, and that has manifested itself in a minor addiction to using Tinder.

She rarely actually messages any of the men she matches with for more than a day or two, much less goes on an actual date with them (it's not like she actually has time for that these days anyways), but the actual act of swiping is… oddly calming, somehow.

But Lily's suddenly brought to full attention again when photograph of a dark-haired man wearing an obnoxious pair of reindeer antlers shows up on her phone screen. Despite the ridiculousness of it, he is admittedly very, very good-looking.

Under the antlers, he's got a slightly out-of-control mess of dark hair, a caramel-colored complexion, and one of those smiles that kind of blinds you to the rest of the world for a moment.

James, 27

2 miles away

Oh buck, it looks as doe I might be going stag this cuffing season. Maybe you can be a deer and steal my hart?

As Lily scrolls through the remaining pictures, she realizes that this man - James, apparently - is wearing the antlers in not one, but all six of his photographs. He's wearing them standing in front of the Lincoln Memorial late at night, at a DC United game with his friends, and even in a shot that would otherwise be a perfectly respectable professional headshot.

If nothing else, Lily thinks to herself, he hasn't taken any shortcuts on the execution of these stupid puns. She admires that level of commitment.

And so she swipes right.

Instantly, the words, "It's a match!" flash on her screen, and Lily can't help but feel a little bit accomplished that this man has found her appealing as well. It's a vain little thing, that satisfaction of being deemed physically attractive by someone you're also attracted to, but Lily can't help but indulge it a little.

She keeps scrolling through other pictures - swiping left on most of them, because that's usually what she does anyways - until a new message pops up in the corner of her screen.

quick - you're stuck as an inanimate object for a year. which one is it and why?

Well, he sure knows how to make an entrance.

What kind of opening line is that?

a great one.

I beg to differ.

well, it got you to reply, didn't it?

given that that's kind of the point of an opening line, i'd say it was a massive success.

…

Fair enough.

so what's your answer then?

what inanimate object are you turning into?

Lily pauses for a moment to think about it, before typing back a line that's probably entirely too bold. But for some reason, she can't quite be bothered to care.

Those reindeer antlers of yours.

and why is that?

It seems like they go a lot of interesting places.

And spending a year on a good-looking guy's head doesn't seem like too unfortunate an existence, all things considered.

James doesn't respond for a few moments - if Lily wasn't, for some reason, weirdly hooked on this conversation with this particular guy, she'd go back to swiping in the interim. But instead, she finds herself staring at her screen, cursing the fact that this isn't iMessage and she can't tell if he's read her message or if he's typing out a response yet.

wait

you think i'm good-looking?

Even though it's a text conversation and James can't see any of her body language, Lily can't stop herself from rolling her eyes at his response.

Safe to say you're above average.

Don't sound so surprised - we're on a dating app where the whole point is swiping on people you find attractive.

We wouldn't have gotten this far if I didn't.

you're not too shabby yourself

Wow, and you're clearly a regular Prince Charming.

i get that a lot

Despite her better judgment, Lily can't help but kind of like this guy. He's got some snark, and hasn't jumped straight to a 'let's fuck' like most of the other men she's tried to message on this stupid app.

So what are you up to on this lovely Tuesday evening?

only just left the office

waiting on the damn orange train to show up

you?

Stuck on the red line

that's the one that catches fire all the time, right?

you must live a fun life

Oh yes, being 20 minutes late for work because of 'track malfunctions' is super fun.

You'd think WMATA would've given up on lying about it, but apparently not.

i feel like everyone can collectively agree that wmata is the worst

they hike fares, which limits the number of riders who can reasonably afford it, then have to raise prices again because no one's riding

it's a vicious cycle that absolutely fucks over low-income populations

and is going to ruin the metro system while they're at it

Snarky and well-informed. Stupid reindeer ears be damned, Lily definitely likes him now. Their conversation continues, jumping from local DC politics to favorite TV shows to the weirdest happy hours they've ever managed to sneak into.

Lily's so engrossed in it that she actually misses her stop, but she can't even find it in herself to be annoyed about it. Not when James is in the middle of some elaborate story about accidentally ending up in a bar reserved for a Republican super PAC.

and really, i should've realized something was up when i discovered i was literally the only non-white dude in the whole place

but nope

it took 3 beers and a conversation about 'fake news' for me to finally realize i was in the totally wrong place

How'd you get out of that one?

i just walked straight out of the bar

left the beers on their tab

although, i suppose they probably figured out something was up when i said i was leaving to go meet up with my brother and his husband

Hahahaha

Yeah, I do suppose that'll do it.

The conversation goes on all evening; despite having only met a few hours ago and not even knowing each other's last names, they somehow always have something to talk about.

If he weren't so damn interesting, Lily would be really pissed that she's actually developing a crush on someone that she met on Tinder of all places.

It's only as Lily's making a cup of chamomile tea and getting ready for bed that she thinks to ask him what he does for a living. His response comes almost immediately.

huh, i'm surprised that hasn't come up yet

anyways, i'm a journalist for the prophet

That's incredible - you know, I actually thought about doing journalism at one point, but ended up in comms instead.

damn

you should come over to the dark side

it's fun

like, i just got assigned to be our beat reporter on mcgonagall's presidential campaign

she's fucking incredible

and i get to follow that campaign through november

Lily actually drops her phone at that, watching it as it skitters across the tile of her kitchen before coming to a stop right in front of the fridge.

How could she have fucked up this colossally? She's lived in this city for long enough, she should know better - you always start a conversation with what you do for a living, so that shit like this doesn't happen.

But he'd thrown her off with his ridiculous opener and ranting about the Metro, and she'd completely spaced on the proper way to do things.

When she picks up her phone, she only types one thing in response.

Fuck.

A few more messages from James pop up on her phone, but Lily swipes up to make them disappear, and instead goes onto Twitter. She searches his first name and his company and sure enough, the first result is a professional headshot of the exact dark-haired man she's been messaging, just minus the reindeer antlers.

James Potter, political beat reporter for the Daily Prophet. His pinned tweet is a link to an article about McGonagall's campaign.

Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope.

She is royally - no, scratch that. She is presidentially screwed.

Lily spends most of the next morning convincing herself that this isn't that bad. The campaign deals with a million reporters, so it's not like she's ever going to find herself in a situation where she's alone with James.

And they're both professionals. Worse things have definitely happened in this city between professionals than a little harmless flirting on a dating app - and they've all made it through just fine.

Well, minus that one impeachment. But that was a totally different story altogether.

So she gets ready for work like always (and, okay, maybe puts a little more care into her makeup than normal) and heads to the office like nothing's happened.

She's totally justified in her lack of concern at first; the morning is consumed with figuring out a message strategy to counter McGonagall's opponent's latest attacks, which she does from a hole-in-the-wall coffee shop near Union Station, before heading into the office at lunchtime.

She's waiting in line at the cafeteria for a sandwich when her phone starts ringing, Minerva McGonagall's name flashing across the caller ID.

"Hi, Senator McGonagall," Lily says as greeting, while she juggles her sandwich and wallet around so that she can pay for her food.

"Hi, Miss Evans," her boss replies. "McKinnon has arranged a happy hour event with some donors and press tonight - I just wanted to make sure you're able to be there."

Lily inwardly curses, both because this probably means she'll run into Tinder boy tonight and because a happy hour takes away from her massively preferable evening plans involving Netflix and a glass of cheap boxed wine.

But externally, she answers cheerfully, "Of course, I'll be there."

"Great. See you then."

The line clicks dead, and Lily audibly sighs at this turn of events.

If there's one thing donor-sponsored happy hours are good for, it's the fact that the alcohol is always top shelf. Lily, of course, can't drink too much of it, given that she's meant to be mingling with press, but it definitely beats the cheap stuff that gets bought for campaign staff events.

Lily's cradling a gin and tonic, smiling and talking with a repeat donor about McGonagall's education reform plan, when she spots him.

He's a bit hard to miss, really, even without the ridiculous antlers, because he's definitely over six foot and the messy hair adds a few more inches on top of that.

"I love this idea of lowering tuition - we're so behind some of those European countries on that," the woman, Pomona Sprout, says.

Lily blinks, reminding herself that she needs to be paying attention to this conversation with this woman who apparently has a lot of money to hand out, and not attractive reporters with dorky Tinder accounts.

Especially when she's going to have to see said reporter regularly for the next few months.

"Yes, that's one of McGonagall's top priorities," Lily replies. "She's always been of the firm belief that college shouldn't be income-restrictive; if you want to go, you should be able to go, and you shouldn't have to spend the rest of your life burdened by student debt."

"Exactly!" Sprout replies.

The conversation continues like that, and Lily bounces from donor to donor, until finally, she's on her own with an empty glass and no one demanding her attention.

"So this is why you stopped talking to me so abruptly last night," a voice says from behind her, and Lily doesn't even have to turn around to know who that voice belongs to.

"Yes," she answers primly. "I didn't realize we'd be crossing paths quite so much."

"You know, most people running the comms department of a presidential candidate would be bragging about that at the first possible chance."

James sidesteps around her so that they're face-to-face, and Lily gets her first good look at him.

And holy shit, he's even better in person than he was in his photographs. He's wearing a pair of thick tortoiseshell frames and a blue button down rolled up to the elbows, and the combination of those two have the effect of making him look both academic and really fucking hot all at once.

"Yes, well, I was slightly disarmed from the normal 'what do you do for a living' question by your stupid inanimate object line," she replies, praying to literally any deity that her foundation is thick enough to hide the flush that's surely working its way up her cheeks.

"I still don't know why you're so opposed to it," James says, smirking as he lifts his beer to his lips. "You're the one who responded to it after all."

Lily has to admit, he makes a decent point at that.

"Only because I was bored on the Metro," she defends. "You just happened to be the most interesting person to message yesterday."

He places his hand over his heart. "I'm only commute entertainment? You wound me, Lily."

"Good," she replies, taking a sip of her own gin and tonic and readying the speech she's been preparing since her revelation last night. "But since we're going to be running into each other so much over the next few months, I'd like to point out that we are never going to progress past what happened last night. I expect we'll still be able to have a cordial professional relationship and that this won't impact your reporting of the campaign, yes?"

She extends her hand for James to shake; James, for his part, only stares at her outstretched arm dumbly.

"We talked on Tinder for a few hours," he says eventually. "I hardly think that necessitates a whole neutrality agreement."

Lily's entirely aware that this probably looks like some sort of overreaction to him, but she stands firm on this. While James may not be one of those guys, Lily's dealt with boys who take one conversation as an indicator that she's indebted to them forever, and she doesn't feel like leaving those boundaries untested with this guy. When it becomes clear that Lily has no intention of standing down, he sighs.

"Yes, this obviously isn't going to impact my reporting. I work for the Prophet, not the National Enquirer."

"Perfect," she says, shaking his hand.

Lily suddenly feels a flood of relief. Problem solved, issue sorted. They're professionals, and they can totally pretend this never happened for the duration of the campaign.

If only her eyes didn't immediately snap to his (admittedly fantastic) ass the moment he turned to walk away.

True to his word, James is entirely professional. He keeps his distance for the most part, unless he actually needs an on-the-record comment from her about the campaign.

The whole campaign starts to become a blur of travelling, press statements, and staff meetings; Lily abandons her position at the senate office entirely, leaving the assistants in charge there, and takes up full-time residence in McGonagall's campaign headquarters in Alexandria.

Their office is way smaller than their ever-growing staff probably needs, and the commute is ten times more complicated, and they never have good coffee - but that doesn't stop Lily from loving every second of it.

The long hours, the never-ending workload, the rush of it all. She's positively in her element; working on the campaign reminds her exactly why she first joined McGonagall's senate campaign staff years ago.

She knows without a doubt, this is where she's meant to be.

There are times when she gets overwhelmed, yes, but she's always been good at finding ways to de-stress. Recently, it's taken shape in the form of nightly runs; she leaves the campaign office at 5 pm and reappears 30 minutes later, a good deal sweatier but far less stressed and more focused during those additional three or four hours that inevitably get tacked on to the end of every work day.

For the most part, these runs are her time - much like the Metro rides home used to be, although running is arguably a much healthier use of her time than Tinder. She consciously tries to avoid thinking about the campaign for that brief period of time, but it doesn't always work.

Tonight, for example, she spends most of the run preoccupied with a phone call she needs to make to the campaign director in Nevada about McGonagall's upcoming appearance in Las Vegas.

As a result, she's only slightly paying attention to her surroundings when she gets back to headquarters and almost collides with a man walking up to the building.

"Sorry!" she manages, before realizing exactly who she's just bumped into.

"Evening, Evans," he says, failing to suppress a grin at her disheveled appearance and behavior.

He's taken to calling her 'Evans' lately; she's got absolutely no clue whether that's his attempt at keeping things professional or if he just likes referring to people by their surnames.

"What are you doing here?" she blurts out, unable to stop herself.

"Coincidentally, looking for you."

Lily's still breathing hard from her run, which makes responding to him in complete sentences more difficult than it would be otherwise. "And - why's that?"

"I wanted clarification on a statement you made earlier in the week," he says, acting as if this is a totally justifiable reason to show up at a campaign office after hours.

Lily puts a hand on her hip. "And that - couldn't have been addressed - in an email?"

"If I recall correctly, you explicitly told all the campaign beat reporters to avoid emails if at all possible."

He's right on that account. Lily respects journalists for the most part, but she also doesn't know if all of them are smart enough to not click one of those phishing emails, and, well… she's just not willing to risk that. She's not looking to have any of her email correspondence published on Wikileaks if she can help it.

"You weren't picking up your phone, I'm on a deadline, and I just so happened to be in the area," he continues.

"So what's the question?"

"It'd be easier if I could just show you the article as a whole," James replies. "Mind if I come inside so you can review it?"

Lily considers it for a moment. "Not at all. Just give me a few moments."

She walks into the office before him, giving everyone still at headquarters the requisite 'reporter in the building' warning, before turning back around and letting him in.

"Alright," Lily says when they get into her office, "what am I looking at?"

Getting the comms director of a campaign to check the factuality of an article before publishing it definitely isn't standard practice for most news outlets, but the Prophet has taken particular interest in getting the facts right ever since the company was bought by the Dumbledores.

Lily appreciates it, in all honesty. It saves her from tracking down at least one paper's reporters and getting them to issue retractions for incorrect statements and having to draft up rapid-response corrections for the campaign to release itself every time someone makes a blunder.

James pulls his laptop out of his bag and opens it up. When he does, whatever music he had going beforehand starts blasting at full volume automatically.

He quickly jams the pause button to get the machine to go quiet, but not before Lily recognizes the exact song he's listening to.

"Was that Taylor Swift?" she asks, doing her best to conceal her laughter.

"Maybe," he replies cagily.

"That's… incredible."

"She's a fantastic artist," James says, crossing his arms and getting surprisingly defensive.

Lily actually laughs out loud. "I'm not disagreeing with that - I'm just surprised that you listen to Taylor Swift."

"Oh, because I'm not a 16-year-old teenage girl?" he says, the corners of his mouth turning upwards.

"Well… yes," Lily answers candidly.

"That's your internalized gender norms talking, Evans," James replies, shaking his head at her. "Taylor Swift is for everyone."

Lily laughs again. "Okay, fair point. Now, you've got some fact checking for me to do?"

"Oh, yeah, right," James says, looking back at his computer. "Here's the article."

He turns his laptop to face her, and she starts scanning through his writing.

Lily has to give him credit, he's a fantastic writer. Lily's always found journalistic writing a bit weird, because it's often dumbed down to the most basic sentence structure and word choice, but James somehow still manages to make it sound smart and sharp.

Perhaps she should transfer her subscription from the Times to the Prophet.

She finishes skimming the article, correcting one tiny note on McGonagall's defense policy before handing the laptop back to James.

"Thanks for that, Evans," he says, smiling at her in that slightly crooked way that does weird things to her stomach.

He's a beat journalist for your campaign, Lily reminds herself. You're not allowed to think about his cute smile or how soft his hair looks or the way his flannel shirt has one button too many left undone.

He clears his throat, and Lily jumps, realizing that she's definitely been staring at him for a moment too long.

"No problem," she eventually manages, suddenly very occupied with the new email alert on her computer.

And then she realizes she can't let a reporter wander through the campaign office alone, so she jumps to her feet.

"I'll walk you out," she says, brushing past him in the doorway and leading the way through the main office area. She's pretty sure he's following her, but she also refuses to look back at him for fear of making a fool of herself again, so really, she doesn't know for certain.

Luckily for her, he does as he's told and follows her out.

"Right, well, have a good night," she says, holding the door open.

" 'Night, Lily," he says, sending a brief wave in her direction as he walks out the door.

The use of her first name throws her off; from the looks of things, James doesn't even realize he's done it, but it makes Lily's heart pick up pace.

Despite her more logical side's constant reminders that this is not a man she should be interested in, it seems the stupid emotional side hasn't caught on yet.

Lily's pretty sure she's forgotten what it feels like to sleep in her own bed. There's less than two weeks until the election, and at this point, all the lead campaign staff have joined McGonagall on the road, visiting those last few crucial states and (hopefully) turning the tide in their favor.

The polls are all over the place, and Lily honestly has no idea what to expect. McGonagall's opponent Riddle has a significant base of supporters, and they seem awfully fired up about all of his messages.

It doesn't help that Rita Skeeter is spewing bullshit propaganda all over the Internet every day.

After one of McGonagall's speaking engagements in Georgia, Lily's quite sure she's never been more exhausted. She's one of the very last people to leave the venue, and she's probably going to fall over if she doesn't eat soon.

She's staring intently at her phone as she walks into the parking lot, shivering because she mistakenly assumed she wouldn't need to pack a jacket for a trip to Georgia, and attempting to call an Uber before her hands go numb.

"Do you need a ride, Evans?"

Lily's head snaps up from her phone. Of course it's him. He's everywhere these days.

And yes, that's to be expected, since he's covering the campaign, but it doesn't stop Lily from being annoyed about it.

It's very hard to get over a crush on someone when you have to see them and their very cute face all the fucking time.

"I'm just calling an Uber," she says, gesturing to the phone in her hand.

"I've got a rental car, I can take you wherever you need to go," he replies, jingling a set of keys between his fingers.

She probably should say no; even if she wasn't trying to hold herself back from jumping his bones, she's so deliriously tired right now that she could very well accidentally spill top-secret information to a journalist.

But it's cold, the nearest driver is 12 minutes away, and honestly, James doesn't seem like the type to force information out of her and use it without her permission.

"That - that would be lovely, thank you," she eventually answers.

He grins at that, and gestures to a BMW parked nearby. "Well, hop in."

Damn. Lily knows that journalists are better paid than campaign staffers, but there's no way in hell he's able to expense a rented BMW. Which means he's either really stupid with how he spends his salary, or he comes from money.

She walks over to the passenger side of the car and gets in; instantly, James turns the car on and gets the heater running. This is ages better than waiting in the cold for someone else to show up.

Her exhaustion and hunger mean that she's lost all sense of a filter. "So is this reckless spending of what I know is a pitiful beat journalist's salary, or are you secretly a trust fund baby?"

James looks over at her, a bit taken aback. "I, uh… I guess the second?"

"Why do you sound so unsure of that?"

James shrugs, turning his attention to backing the car out of its spot. "Because it's not something I like running around talking about. I love my parents to death, but at the same time, they're the perfect example of the worst excesses of capitalism. No one needs as much money as we have. So I try not to touch most of it, or, you know, give it away or something. But I've got a bit of soft spot for nice cars."

Lily finds herself thinking that she never stops being surprised by him. She also suddenly remembers her manners, and instantly feels guilty for asking something that clearly made him so uncomfortable.

"I - shit, I'm sorry, that was really rude of me and I shouldn't have asked you that," she rambles. "I'm just so fucking hungry and tired and I'm just trying not to tell you campaign secrets on accident - "

"It's fine, Evans," he says, waving her off with a laugh. "Hungry, eh? Want to stop and grab food? I'm famished as well."

"I, uh, yeah, that sounds good," she replies, before looking at the clock on the dashboard. "But what's going to be open at this hour?"

"The epitome of fine Southern cuisine, obviously."

And that's how they find themselves at a Waffle House, squished into a corner booth and surrounded by drunk high school and college kids. The bright fluorescent lighting illuminates the circles under James' eyes; and if he looks that rough, she's positive that she looks like a disaster.

" - and so Sirius is trying to convince my mother that the dog was the one who destroyed the flower garden, even though there were, like, literal tire marks on the plants."

Lily laughs. She's not quite sure what tangent they'd gone on that had led to this story, but it's tremendously entertaining nonetheless.

"And meanwhile, Remus and I are watching all this go down and laughing our asses off, because the motorcycle is literally sitting in the garage with flower petals stuck to the wheels - and we know my mum's seen it too, but watching him come up with excuses is just too damn funny."

"Wait, and Remus is…?"

"One of my best mates growing up," James answers, "now Sirius' husband, but at that point they were still in the 'we're just really good friends who kinda want to kiss each other' phase."

"That must have turned into an awkward third wheel situation for you," Lily observes, absentmindedly playing with the snap top on the top of the syrup container.

James chuckles. "For a little bit, yeah. But it's not like that as much now - I've just accepted that my two best friends will always be just a little handsy with each other."

"That's really sweet that you call your brother your best friend."

"Well technically," James says, sipping his drink, "he was my best friend first. The 'brother' part only came around when Sirius came out to his parents at 15 and they kicked him out, so my parents took him in."

"That's… awful."

He nods. "His parents are some of the most ardent Riddle supporters there are. They use it to justify all sorts of fucked-up things - including kicking their own son out of the house."

Lily just hums in response; she doesn't really know what to say to that.

James uses her silence to change the subject. "What about you? Do you have any siblings?"

"Yeah, a sister," she replies. "We're not really close though."

"Ah."

She doesn't normally talk about Petunia with people - the rift between Lily and her sister is a bit too personal to go around sharing with everyone - but James has told her all about his family, so it feels only fair. And she feels weirdly comfortable talking to him.

"She's convinced I'm wasting my life on this stuff - spending all my time working in politics and not settling down," Lily explains.

"And do you think you're wasting your life?"

"Not at all," she answers immediately. "I love what I do - I love feeling like the work I'm doing is actually making an impact, and… I don't know, I'm not opposed to the whole 'settling down and getting married' thing, but I'm not going to give up what I'm doing now in order to get that."

"And you shouldn't have to. No one asks men to give up their career when they get married. Any guy who expects you to give that up for him is an ass," he replies, swirling his glass of chocolate milk like it's some sort of expensive cocktail.

Lily can't suppress her giggle at the picture of the man in front of her. "I can't believe you ordered chocolate milk. That's a kid's drink."

"No, you've just got a narrow mindset," James retorts. "Chocolate milk is for everyone."

"Just like Taylor Swift."

He grins at her. "Now you're getting it."

After they've had their fill of greasy hash browns and subpar waffles, they get back in James' car and Lily gives him directions back to the cheap hotel she's staying at for the night.

Almost too quickly, they're pulling in to the hotel parking lot, and Lily finds that she's really enjoyed his company tonight. It's done absolutely nothing to erase her little crush on him, but it was exactly the kind of easygoing and emotionally cathartic night that she needed.

"Thanks for the ride," she says. "And the Waffle House stop."

"Anytime," he replies, and Lily makes the mistake of looking in his direction.

Whether it's delirium or something else talking, Lily's hit with the uninvited realization that his lips are incredibly kissable. And his hair's so soft and would definitely feel amazing between her fingers, and that hand that's currently resting on the gearshift would come up to cup her cheek just perfectly.

The air feels fuzzy, and fuck, if he isn't positively magnetic.

Of its own accord, her body starts leaning towards him, and they're only inches apart. She's so close that she can see the specks of green and gold in his irises, giving them so much depth that she could almost drown in them. All it would take is someone taking initiative and closing that small gap, and -

Lily's phone buzzes.

She snaps out of whatever strange trance James' eyes had her locked in, fumbling around for the device. "Ah shit, that's probably Marlene."

Sure enough, Marlene McKinnon's name is on her lock screen, along with a 'where r u?'

"Yeah, she's trying to make sure I'm not dead," she adds, avoiding James' eye as she opens the car door. "So I should, you know, probably go prove to her that I'm not."

James swallows. "Yeah. You should probably… go do that."

Lily all but tumbles out of the car, finally breathing in some fresh air that doesn't smell like him and his fancy cologne.

"Goodnight, James," she says, forcing herself to look at him and willing her heartbeat to slow the fuck down.

" 'Night, Lily."

There he goes with the first name thing again. Her heartbeat is a lost cause after that; it's pounding in her ears the entire way until up to her hotel room. It's still racing when she falls face-first on her bed, half-tempted to just stay in these clothes instead of getting up to change into pajamas.

"Did you really just now leave the conference center?" Marlene asks, taking her earbuds out and looking up from her laptop screen.

Lily picks her head up just enough to turn and face Marlene. "Not exactly?"

"Then where'd you go?"

"I stopped for food on the way home," she answers, being intentionally vague about it.

Marlene gives her a skeptical look. "With your Uber driver?"

"Uh, no. With one of the journalists reporting the campaign."

She shakes her head at Lily. "I can't believe you were doing a press thing at this hour."

"It wasn't a press thing," Lily defends, before realizing she's now said entirely too much.

"Then what was it?" Marlene replies, laughing. "A date?"

"No." Lily's fair skin betrays her though, because she can feel a blush working its way up her cheeks and she knows that it'll be painfully obvious.

Marlene lights up like election day has just come early. "Wait, you were on a date with a reporter? Tell me everything!"

"It was not a date," Lily repeats. "I just happen to know him because we matched on Tinder a few months ago."

"And you're head over heels for him, aren't you?" Marlene says knowingly.

"I - no - I just - " Lily stammers, unable to find a coherent reply. "Okay, sure, maybe a little bit. But he's reporting on the campaign I'm working for, so nothing can happen there."

Even though things almost did happen just a few minutes ago. But Lily's keeping that detail to herself.

"Well, yeah, but the election is in a few weeks and he's fair game after that. Do you think he feels the same?"

"I don't know," Lily lies, because everything about their interactions today suggested that James feels exactly the same about her as she does about him. "But it still can't happen. If McGonagall wins, I'll hopefully get a position at the White House, and James will be a White House correspondent, so it still wouldn't work."

"Shit, yeah, you're right."

"And I'm not giving myself any reason to root for the alternative result."

Marlene snorts. "I should fucking hope not. I'm not running the largest national field operation in history for our comms director to start working against us."

"You know I wouldn't do that."

"Of course I do," she says. "I've never seen anyone as passionate about what they do as you are, Lils. But who knows? Maybe you can have both your White House position and your cute reporter boy."

Lily suppresses Petunia's voice in the back of her head telling her that she most definitely can't, and replies, "Maybe."

Election day finds Lily back at campaign headquarters, packed into a conference room with the rest of senior staff.

This is the war room, and they're staging their final attack.

Exit poll results and pundit predictions pour in from every source, but they're determined not to let those numbers sway their course. They're giving it everything they have, and hoping like hell that it's enough.

Lily knows this feeling well; it's the same sort of uncertainty of past senate races - that constant anxiety of knowing that you've done absolutely everything you possibly can, but still not being sure that it's enough. Except now it's on a presidential scale, so the pressure is ratcheted up quite a few degrees.

She's counting down until 6 pm, when she can finally have a drink or two to calm her nerves a little.

The election night party is being hosted at a hotel in downtown DC, and the place has been entirely decked out for the occasion. The staff looks remarkably put-together and sharp as well, which is honestly nothing short of a miracle given how much work they've been putting in.

Lily herself is wearing a navy blue cocktail dress with a low, open back, her hair swept up into a neat chignon - purely because it was the easiest thing to do in the short prep time she had.

A glass of champagne would be perfect right now, but that feels too celebratory and presumptuous at this point in the night. So instead, she settles for a glass of white wine and leans against the bar, watching people come in.

She waves at Marlene, who's brought her girlfriend Dorcas along, and doesn't recognize what Marlene's knowing look means until she looks over at the person who's walked up next to her at the bar.

"How does it feel - knowing that you're done?" James asks, while flagging down the bartender.

Lily could avoid him, like she's been trying (and failing) to do over the past two weeks, but it's election night and she just doesn't feel like running.

"Incredible. Relieving. Terrifying," she replies truthfully.

"I can imagine." And when the bartender arrives, "One whiskey Coke, please."

"You're not planning on quoting me on that, are you?"

James looks at her. "Let's just say, for the entirety of tonight, that I won't print anything you say to me unless I officially say it's on the record before I ask."

"Okay."

The bartender comes back with James' drink, which he immediately takes a long sip of.

"So, where's your plus-one, Evans?" he asks.

"Where's yours?" she shoots back. They were all allowed to bring a plus-one, thank you very much.

"I asked first, but since you're so curious, I didn't bring one. That would require… actually seeing someone, which I'm most definitely not."

Lily brings her wineglass to her lips, taking a sip before responding, "Likewise."

"Well then, looks like we'll have to keep each other entertained tonight," he says, smirking in that oh-so-casual way that makes the dimple in his right cheek pop.

She hates that she notices that little detail about him. It's proof that, no matter what she tells herself, she's definitely not over him yet.

Although, at this point, will she ever be?

She resigns herself to it. "I guess we will."

And so as the first results start to come in, they keep talking, both doing their best to keep things light given how stressful the night is likely to become.

Kentucky is called for Riddle and Maine for McGonagall, and Lily has to leave James' side for dinner, since the staff all have assigned tables at the front of the room.

But as soon as it's over, he's at her side again; she's impressed that he found her so quickly, but also, maybe it's because he's just as drawn to her as she is to him.

Somehow, they end up at the back of the room again, and Lily knows she should probably have stayed with the rest of the campaign staff to analyze the results together. But at the same time, that's incredibly stressful and being with James is somehow… not.

And yes, she's still biting her nails as each state is called and doing mental math in her head as results show up on the hundreds of screens set up across the hotel ballroom, but he takes the edge off somehow.

The hours tick by, and they're so close. The little win probability needle moves closer and closer towards McGonagall, but Lily refuses to believe it until they get tangible numbers. And they're right on the edge of those tangible numbers, with three states up in the air. As long as one of them goes their way, it's a win.

Lily's stopped drinking after her third glass of wine and is in the middle of googling the House results for her hometown, when all hundred or so TVs make that all-too-familiar noise of a state being called.

She quickly shoves her phone back in her purse, looking expectantly at the nearest screen.

"Pennsylvania has just been called for McGonagall, which means she's officially reached the 270 electoral vote threshold," the disembodied voice from the television announces as some flashy blue animation takes over the screen. "Minerva McGonagall is officially the next President of the United States."

Lily's immensely thankful that she's no longer holding a drink, because if she had been, she definitely would've dropped it. The crowd erupts into cheers, but Lily is struck speechless. Both her hands come up to cover her mouth, and truly, she feels like flying.

All the sleepless nights, the panicked phone calls, the fires that needed to be put out at 3 am… it was all worth it.

They won. They fucking won.

Lily turns to face the man next to her, pure elation flooding her senses. And he's already got his eyes on her, smiling with a certain softness that's very different from the chaotic screaming happening around them.

The effect is electric. She's a force of nature with excitement flowing out like bolts in a heat storm, and he's the lightning rod. The full force of her joy, momentarily directed exclusively at him.

Before she even has a chance to process what she's doing, she's got her hands on either side of his face and she's pulling his lips down to meet her own.

It's a short, closed-mouth kiss, but it sends all that lightning straight into her bloodstream, zipping from her lips to the tips of her toes in mere seconds.

When she pulls back, James is wide-eyed, but it very quickly turns into a bright smile.

"Congratulations, Evans, you just ran the communications department for a winning presidential campaign."

"We won. Oh my god, we actually fucking won." Even saying it out loud… it still doesn't even feel real yet.

She helped do this.

She also just kissed a reporter, which is bound to raise a whole bunch of issues given that she's officially broken her own professionalism pact with him, but she can't even be bothered with that right now.

"I should - I should probably go find the rest of the staff now," she says, coming down from her high.

He smiles at her so sweetly that she definitely wants to kiss him again, but she holds herself back this time. "Yeah, you go do that."

The rest of the night goes by in a blur; she's giving statements to reporters left and right, and McGonagall's victory speech is nothing short of incredible. Marlene has tears in her eyes when it's done, and Lily would be lying if she said she wasn't a little emotional herself.

To be a part of something like this - Lily knew she loved working on campaigns, and that she loved winning a senate seat, but this… this win is something else entirely.

It's not until the night's winding down that she remembers what happened with James.

Almost as if he knows she's been thinking about him, Lily's phone buzzes with a Tinder notification. She's never actually given him her personal phone number, so this is the only way he can get in touch with her outside of the campaign.

i don't know if you've got plans with the staff, but if not, want to go grab a bite to eat?

tragically, there aren't any waffle houses nearby, but i think we can find something close

No plans, just wrapping up a few things here.

Finding the next-best thing to Waffle House sounds great.

If nothing else, they need to talk about what happened. Because she can't let it happen again; as she's already told him on their last late-night breakfast adventure, her career means the world to her. And if McGonagall offers her a White House communications position, she's most definitely taking it.

It sucks, and having to think about pushing him away for real this time does not go well with her post-victory excitement.

But it's the choice she's made.

She meets him at the entrance, and he's wrapped up in a smart black coat, bouncing on his toes to keep warm amidst the late night chill.

"Congratulations again," he says when she walks up next to him.

"Thanks," is her polite response, and she spends the walk to the restaurant in silence, trying to think through what she needs to say next.

They settle for a hole-in-the-wall diner a few blocks from the hotel, settling into a booth in the back corner with a plate of fries.

He ruffles up his hair, and the action is so endearing that it makes what Lily's got to say next even harder.

"James, I really like you," she starts.

"And here I thought you just went around kissing every reporter you meet," he jokes, a wry grin on his face.

"But I can't - we - there's - "

For a comms director, she sure is doing terribly with words right now.

She takes a deep breath, and tries again. "I'm taking a White House comms position if it's offered to me. And I know the Prophet's going to offer you the White House correspondent position since you covered the campaign, and I can't do that. I meant it when I said nothing could happen between us if we were working together months ago, and even though I admittedly fucked that one up a little bit tonight, that still applies going forward, because - "

"Lily," he said, holding up a hand and stopping her from finishing, "I'm not taking the White House correspondent position."

She looks at him, wide-eyed. "You're… not? Why?"

"Because that's never been the type of journalism I wanted to do," he answers. "Covering a campaign was fun, but the White House has never been the end goal. I've always wanted to do more issue-based stuff, and this campaign position was how I was proving to Dumbledore that I'm able to write that stuff effectively."

Well, that completely derails the entire rest of this conversation. The cogs in Lily's head start turning, trying to piece together what exactly this means for the two of them.

Because from where she's sitting, it's starting to seem an awful lot like there may be a chance for them.

"Benjy Fenwick is going to be the Prophet White House correspondent," James continues. "He's a good journalist - nowhere near as charming as me, but good at what he does nonetheless."

"You have an incredibly high opinion of yourself," she tells him.

"Well, a pretty girl on a dating app did tell me I was good-looking one time."

"A pretty girl, huh?" she says, leaning forward on her elbows. "Tell me all about her."

James seems to light up a little at that. "Well, you see, my first thought when I saw her was that she's absolutely gorgeous, but it turns out that she's way more than a pretty face. She's one of the smartest, most dedicated, and hard-working people I've ever met. She's got an impressive moral compass. And she looks absolutely stunning in blue."

Fucking hell. This is way past a tiny little crush. In truth, it probably has been for a while, but looking into his eyes right now solidifies it: she's in love with him.

"I suppose she picked the right party to work for then," she says coyly, even though there's a not-at-all-subtle blush creeping up her cheeks and betraying just how much she's losing her cool right now.

"That she did," he replies.

"Well, it just so happens that she's fallen for that Tinder guy as well." She's trying and failing to suppress a grin. "Which is rather surprising for her, because she's still not sure why she swiped right on a guy who was wearing reindeer antlers in every single one of his pictures."

James shrugs. "What can I say? I'm deer-resistable."

Lily bursts out laughing at that. "Do you just have a constant supply of deer puns?"

He nods solemnly. "It's… staggering."

"Oh my god."

"I could keep going, if you'd like."

"I think you've proven your point," she replies, holding a hand up to stop him. "But also… why deer?"

"Dunno. They're just cool."

Lily rolls her eyes at him, but the effect is basically ruined by the fact that she can't take the stupid grin off her face.

He runs his hand through his hair again. "So, at the risk of being entirely too forward, what do you say to taking an Uber back to my place?"

"I say, 'doe yeah.' "

The way his face lights up at that is definitely in the running for best moment of the night - which is really saying something, since one of the other contenders is a literal presidential win.

"The execution could use a little work, but that's impressive for a beginner," he says, standing up and holding out his hand for her to grab.

She takes it, taking a moment to revel in how perfectly their hands fit together. "I get it from the reindeer antlers - we've got a special bond, you know."

"That you do," he replies, squeezing her hand as they walk out of the diner and into the cold nighttime air.

The next morning, while laying in James Potter's bed, Lily deletes the Tinder app from her phone.

She'll have to find a new form of Metro ride entertainment, but she supposes it's a small price to pay for the man snoring softly next to her.