Author's Note: This story was written for lilyjames_fest 2011 in response to a prompt. I don't usually write to prompts and it sometimes manipulates my interpretation of how things might have actually happened, so feel free to let me know what you think of this story. Courteous feedback is always appreciated. Major thanks to my beta, Gwynne. 'Bleezer's Ice Cream' belongs to American poet Jack Prelutsky.

A Lark

"It can't rain all the time," Lily sighed, surveying the dreary sheets of rain falling outside James's dormitory window, rain that had been pelting the grounds all week. With her hip anchored into the mattress, and an elbow propping her head, she faced him on his four-poster bed.

"It is Scotland." He tucked a lock of hair dotingly over her shoulder.

"I suppose."

His hazel eyes had been roving her face while she watched the weather outside. With familiar ease, he slipped a hand to her hip and began the long, slow slide under her shirt, along bare skin.

"We should at least close the hangings if you're going to do that," she admonished.

"Then you always protest my mates will think we're up to something, which—of course—we are." His fingertips reached the base of her bra, teasing the edge. His mere touch produced funny flutters in her aorta, much as she might still try to feign indifference.

"When are they coming back, anyway?" She searched his eyes, which were preoccupied elsewhere.

"Dunno. Sirius said they'd be about an hour."

"That's not very long considering we spent fifteen minutes looking at your map already."

"You know you wanted to see what they were up to as much as I did." Lily didn't deny it. "Suppose we could always go roam the castle for a better spot."

"Then we always just end up somewhere cold, dusty, or uncomfortable."

James sighed and slid his hand back down to her hip.

Lily bit her lip in frustration. She hadn't meant to discourage him.

"Y'know that owl I got from my mum this morning?" James asked meaningfully, meeting her gaze.

"The one you tried swatting away?"

"How'd you know about that?" His brows knit in curiosity.

"Sirius recounted it all to me."

James grimaced. "I wish she wouldn't send them so bloody early."

"It was already past time for breakfast, James. I was wondering where you were."

"Like I said, early."

Lily glanced away so as not to grace him with the full effect of the smirk he'd produced.

"Anyway, my mum said the weather's supposed to be brilliant at home this weekend."

"So?"

"So—why don't we go?"

"To your house?How would we manage that? Without, of course, breaking every school rule—and then promptly getting sent back by your parents?" Her hand found a comfy spot to rest on the mattress between them. She glanced at the ring her parents had given her for her sixteenth birthday, an opal in an antique setting.

"We wouldn't go to myhouse." James shook his head as though it were all very simple.

Lily's brows knit quizzically.

"We'd go to the cottage."

The cottage…? She loved the little cottage his mum had bought from a Muggle family in the village of Godric's Hollow when the wife had fallen ill and needed to move closer to expert medical care in London; he'd shown it to her briefly a month ago at Easter. Besides the obvious charity of the purchase, Mrs. Potter had always longed for an idyllic cottage garden in addition to their formal ones around the manor.

"All the other obstacles still apply," Lily reasoned.

"Only if you're concerned about them." His hazel eyes sparkled as they always did in the face of mischief. No wonder he had the gumption to break every school rule in order to help Remus once a month.

"People would notice we're gone."

James shook his head blithely. "Sirius would cover for us—tell them we're upstairs snogging each other senseless or something."

"I'm sure he would," Lily drolled.

"So you don't wanna go?" He quirked a brow.

"Why are you so hard to turn down?"

"Do you want to turn me down?" He arched the brow further.

"You really don't take no for an answer, do you, Potter?" Behind her exasperated tone, a smile burgeoned.

"Because I know you secretly want to say 'yes'."

His hand caressed down the nap of her corduroys, slowly and convincingly.

She paused, glancing out at the sheets of rain again before admitting "I do." reluctantly.

On the other side of the pane, a bird flickered back to its nest under the eaves.

"Tell me your plan," she conceded with a heavy sigh.

James was propped up on his elbow, eyes still tracing hers, his long, lean body stretching away down the length of the bed all the way to his stockinged feet. He used the hand bracing his head to absently riffle his hair before launching into the details. "Well, we'd sneak down to Hogsmeade via one of the tunnels. Then we'd Apparate to Godric's Hollow from there. First stop, Bleezer's Ice Cream. Second stop, the cottage."

Lily paused. "James I—wantto go, I'm just—"

"—worried about getting caught?"

"Imagine if I got suspended from school? I'm already worried about getting a job next year, besides this stupid apothecary Slughorn has put me in touch with, because everyone's so concerned about hiring a Muggleborn."

"That's rubbish." James's eyes darkened.

"I know it is. But it's the way things are right now. And meanwhile you've got six offers—" She sighed.

"And I'm not sure I want any of them," he frowned.

Lily knew his reasons: He would try out for a Quidditch team if playing professionally didn't feel so childish in light of the war; meanwhile, the Auror group was tied to a flailing Ministry; and a research job felt altogether too much like sticking one's head in the sand, even if he could handle being cooped up doing spell experimentation all day long.

"Maybe I need the levity," Lily reflected dismally, reconsidering James's harebrained offer.

"We both do. Besides, there's no way you'd get suspended from Hogwarts. Nobody's suspended me and look at all the trouble I've caused."

Lily smirked at him.

"Even Sirius didn't get suspended when he—well, you know—" James broke off; Lily knew the story in full. Their eyes met in capitulation and she gave a nod.

"I suppose you're right."

"So we're going?" James perked, a grin tugging at the seams.

Lily let her head flop down onto the bed in defeat and rolled onto her back. "I think Dumbledore should have given you a badge of tarnished silver," she groaned, tossing a glance at James, who rose expeditiously from the bed.

"I'll start packing, then."

Half an hour later, Lily and James left the common room with rucksacks charmed to look knobbly, as though crammed full of books for a long session in the library. A smug grin intermittently flickered onto James's face as they descended three flights of stairs; Lily tried to look away so as not to mirror it, to little avail.

Finally, they reached the fourth floor corridor. "It's the same as Platform Nine and Three Quarters," he instructed before walking straight into a stone wall supporting a large silver-framed mirror and disappearing behind it. Just as she was about to take her first step to follow him, a hand reached out and yanked her in. Oof. She collided with a firm chest in what could have only been a calculated move. Too dark to see the smirk she knew must be there, she felt it on his lips as he pulled her in for a high-spirited kiss.

Moments later, their wands lit the way down a long, dark tunnel that seemed to have been bored by an oversized rodent. James paused to pull a Gryffindor scarf out of his knapsack. "I knew it would be cold in here," he said, passing it back to Lily, and for the rest of the trek, she was grateful for his forethought and the scarf's warmth—and for it smelling slightly like James.

The cold, damp air of the tunnel, in which they could see vaporous puffs of their own breath, led them all the way to the wine cellar underneath The Three Broomsticks. James blathered about having watched a few staff members' dots charting a course along this very same tunnel over the years, including McGonagall's and Flitwick's, and particularly on Wednesday nights. Finally, Lily glanced around at the plethora of dusty old bottles stacked atop greying wooden racks in the square subterranean room; her shoes padded into the dirt and floorboards squeaked overhead in the pub.

"Something tells me you've been here before." She threw her eyes pointedly towards the bottles.

"Funny you should mention that," he mumbled over his shoulder, en route to a set of cement stairs. "We did almost get in trouble with Rosmerta two years ago. I advise you not to touch any of them. They're wired, we found out." He'd already crept up the first two steps leading to the bulkhead door by the time he'd finished his thoroughly insufficient explanation and Lily made a mental note to drag it out of him later. With a flick of his wand, the wooden doors creaked open and the fresh May air swirled in to meet the underground.

The familiar plop, plop of raindrops greeted their ears, tamping their shoulders and hair as they stepped out onto the mushy ground behind The Three Broomsticks. James's hand, warm even in the rain, grasped hers and together they scurried away from the building toward the fallow field beyond. Excitement hit her stomach.

"So… I'll Apparate us from here, since I know where we're going," he suggested. Lily agreed by means of a nod and the thread of her arm securely through his. Moments later, their feet whisked the ground in a warmer climate where the rain had ceased. As soon as her body stopped spinning, she glanced up into an ancient set of stained glass windows, glinting cobalt blue along with myriad other colours set into a thick granite wall. The stones clearly reflected an earlier artisan period, and altogether, the building whispered of a sacred space.

"The Godric's Hollow church," James announced, pre-empting Lily's recognition of the trefoil arches she'd seen once before. Her visit to James's house over Easter holidays had included a chilly broom flight down to the village and a brief tour of the main street.

Finally, she noticed the cobwebs that must have been lurking in his hair since they'd left the cellar. Lips quirking, she reached up to whisk them out. "Starting a nest?" He evaded her touch and attempted to bat them out himself, unleashing turmoil on the already untidy mop he called his hair, but stopped when he noticed this only prompted a widening smirk from Lily.

She unwound the scarf from around her neck and handed it back to him, her eyes and their laughter still focused on his face. "So where to?"

"Well, originally, I'd considered ice cream, but I'm feeling a bit peckish after all that walking, you?"

"Yes."

"Want to stop in at the pub?"

"Won't they recognize you?" Lily wasn't sure why she hadn't thought to ask such a question before they'd departed Hogwarts. It was a quaint little village, Godric's Hollow, and James's family had lived here for ages.

James shrugged indifferently. "Not after I've transfigured my hair a different colour. Taken the glasses off." He said it with such confidence that Lily couldn't help but inwardly marvel at the ease with which he absorbed their lessons. So many of their peers forgot them the moment they finished class, if they ever managed to grasp them at all.

"I could turn it red," he mused, fingering the strands flanking her face and lowering his tone.

"I rather like it the colour it is," she replied candidly.

"Thought you hated my hair." A doleful smirk appeared.

Lily sighed. They'd been through this before. Obviously her words had cut deep to make him fish for compliments this far along in their relationship—six months.

Before she had the chance to dispel his insecurities, a sudden movement to the left revealed the church's gardener rounding the corner, carting a wheelbarrow full of dirt. The old man began pitching shovel-loads under a nearby patch of laurels, making use of the last daylight.

"Shall we go?" murmured James, with a twitch of his head. Lily nodded in reply.

They scooted around the corner of the church before James stopped again. "Wait, let's narrow it down to one rucksack first, all right?" Waving a wand at Lily's bag, he minimized it so it would fit into his own. "Be better if we didn't look like students."

The next moment, he aimed his wand at his raven hair; it fluxed to a dishwater blond. How he managed to accomplish his eyebrows with the same spell, Lily would ask later. For now, she was engrossed in the sight of the little village of Godric's Hollow.

After skirting an old war memorial on the green, they entered the bustling main street, as charming as Lily's memory of it and now coming aglow with the first of the evening's lanterns and streetlights. Tulips sprouted at the base of the honey-coloured shops, their buds now curling shut for the night. Below its thatched roof, a shop window teemed with earth-toned pottery.

"Remember the village?" James asked lightly.

"Of course." She glanced sidelong at him. He was wearing that indefinable air of comfort that spoke of being at home, an ease in the set of his shoulders she used to notice when she'd seen him crossing the grounds with his three mates. A slight breeze tousled his hair.

Lily glanced around again. "My mum would love it here," she commented casually. Her own working class industrial town in Northern England didn't bear quite the same charm.

"I've sort of been hoping you would." He flashed her a peculiar look, then, without giving her time to answer it, slid his long fingers into hers and steered them toward the left side of the street, where a wooden sign slung from the building read, "The Old Dewar."

A healthy glow emanating from the frosted windows beckoned them inside. The sound of a fiddle, banjo, and an accordion wafted out as soon as they budged the heavy door to enter the dimly lit world of the pub, complete with traditional lanterns, beams, and wooden floors.

Dusty labourers seated at the bar contrasted with perfectly demure couples enjoying dinner together at tables further back. The barkeep and taps came into view at the front while a rowdy game of darts went on in the corner. The three-piece band played on.

It was neither Hogsmeade weekend nor were they in Hogsmeade at all…

It felt surreal to be here by themselves, with no one around to stare at them, cataloguing gossip about what Lily Evans and James Potter did or didn't do on dates together. This was exactly the sort of information the portraits all too eagerly spread like wildfire around school—most notably the Fat Lady and Vi—who'd stopped Lily for a full question-and-answer session one day shortly after she and James had started dating.

Since when do we get to act so independently? Like adults?

Ormaybe this felt completely ordinary to James, who had always, along with Sirius, snatched liberty whenever he wanted to, even at the price of detention? She had to admit, it was a heady way to live—but such had been the sensation of going out with her fellow Gryffindor from the very first day, despite their thorny past. And really, hadn't she always known that where there were sparks there could be fire?

After claiming a free table and choosing from the blackboard menu, James went up to place their order, obliging her by accepting her share of the bill in Muggle money. Upon return, he slid two foamy glasses onto the table, one in front of her, the other on his own side.

"Can't see rubbish without my glasses," he muttered as he retook his seat. "Almost brought back some other bloke's order instead of ours." He pulled the black frames out of his pocket and slipped them on, looking halfway like himself once again, to Lily's inward approval.

She lifted her amber ale. "So are you going to tell me the story of Rosmerta's cellar?" She eyed him over the rim of her glass before taking a careful first sip.

"Bugger, thought I'd dodged that Bludger," he replied, eyes shifting behind his frames.

Lily smirked as she swallowed. "I'm sure your intentions were purely honourable."

James's eyes twinkled in reply and he coughed. "Well, in fairness Evans, we were going to leave the money on the bar next Hogsmeade weekend, but we had a right time convincing her of that."

"And did you, in the end?"

"Yes."

Lily rolled her eyes. "I have no idea how you get away with these things, Potter." But looking at him, all messy haired, warm-eyed, and wearing that slightly lopsided grin, she had a very good idea exactly how he managed. "Was it all four of you?"

"No, just me and Sirius—well, and Pete tagged along."

"Not Remus?"

James puffed a laugh. "No, thank Merlin. He'd have been mortified. Probably would never have gone into the Three Broomsticks with us ever again."

"Where was he?"

"It was his birthday, actually. That's what clinched the pardon. We explained that the—ah—supplies were for our friend's party."

"You were looting alcohol for his birthday?" Lily repeated incredulously, though he'd made that much perfectly clear already. The image of James and Sirius with their hands up in surrender popped all too easily to mind, along with Peter cowering a few steps behind.

James shrugged in nonchalance. "Seemed like the proper way to celebrate."

"Couldn't you have simply asked the house-elves to bake him a cake?" she asked in exasperation.

"Well, we did that too," he grinned. "And fortunately, I think Rosmerta shared our opinion on the proper way to celebrate… even if she didn't say as much." He glanced up into his memory with unfocused eyes. "She sent us off empty handed, but she never turned us in to any of the staff, either." He shrugged again and threw her a look that said end of story.

Lily tried to keep the smile off her face, to little success.

"Sirius thinks she's hot when she's cross," he added offhandedly, seeing that he was already succeeding in amusing her.

"Rosmerta?"

James nodded in the affirmative.

Lily wasn't surprised. Many a bloke at Hogwarts did, she well knew. And she couldn't exactly blame them. Madam Rosmerta, while exceptionally kind-hearted, and not much older than them, made many of the witches at Hogwarts feel like underdeveloped schoolgirls.

"And you?" Lily tilted her head and adopted a sharp crook in her brow.

"I don't need Rosmerta for that," he mumbled, hiding the rising blush in another sip of stout.

Lily felt suddenly drunk on the idea that James found her so alluring, though he'd clearly never made a secret of it. All of Hogwarts could attest to that. No, not much of a secret at all once they'd hit fifth year, although his attentions did wane for a spell after their particularly heated encounter during O.W.L.s… To her surprise, his subsequent lack of attention had eventually left her wanting.

"There you go, loves," said the heavy-set women who deposited their meals on the table.

The rest of their time in the pub seemed to whisk by on wings, lost in conversation, flirtation, and banter that the air of the place seemed to fan like flames until finally their pints were empty and their pudding plates cleared. Lily began to think that she could get used to skiving off if it resulted in nights like this.

After a quick stop in the village market for provisions, including the ingredients for a fry-up, they ventured down the lane, James carrying the grocery sack under his arm as the first stars of the evening appeared overhead. Each little cottage they passed distinguished itself from the next with a slightly different shape, hue, and accompanying garden, and Lily was busy assessing them and choosing favourites when James interrupted her thoughts.

"You know the witch who wrote our History of Magic text, Bathilda Bagshot?"

"Yeah, why?"

"She lives right there." He pointed to a two-story little brown house with olive shutters coming up on the right.

"Bathilda Bagshot does?"

"Yeah, but we just call her Batty."

Lily gently backhanded him.

"What, my mum calls her that, too."

"You know her?"

James nodded then lowered his voice to a secretive mumble. "And she is a little batty to tell you the truth—has to be to write a textbook that long and boring."

Lily tittered. "How would you know if you've never read it?" she cheeked, tossing a glance his way.

"I read it." His tone peaked in defence. "Once or twice. Before exams. Besides, it's not like I hadn't heard some of the stories before. My mum used to make me sit through tea with her occasionally." He hooked a finger into his collar as though stifled by the mere memory.

"Well, it's nice to hear you had to do some work," Lily drawled. "I feel really sorry for you."

"Actually," James sobered, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Bathilda's house. "I hope she didn't recognize me. Bit of a nosy type."

Lily snorted. "Like my sister, you mean?" Then she changed to a more cautious tone as she, too, glanced back toward the curtained windows on the old molasses coloured house. "D'you think she might've?"

"Dunno. Probably should've used the Invisibility Cloak."

They were silent for a moment as they contemplated this, until, a few hundred yards further down the lane, they caught sight of their destination. Dogrose bushes clawing at an iron gate announced the little yellow cottage Lily remembered. After entering the yard and pausing at the front door for magical unlocking, they stepped into the house, their footsteps echoing against the floorboards in the dim light.

"Kitchen's right here," James reminded her as he entered the first doorway to the left into a tiny space outfitted with whitewashed cupboards, a small Formica table, and frilly curtains that framed the windows like Cheering Charms. Lily flicked the switch under the cupboards expecting light, but the room stayed smudgy.

"Don't know why, but the electricity's never worked," remarked James lightly.

Lily's brow furrowed. "Never? As in, since your parents bought it?"

"Right."

An amusing thought budded. "Well, did they pay the bill?"

"Huh, oh—uh—"

Lily's lips twitched into a smile. "James, you did take Muggle Studies, didn't you?"

She knew he had, along with Sirius, who'd taken it expressly against his parents' will.

"Yes—"

"Well, you see, it is customary to pay the utility bill for continued service." She found it hard to keep the flicker of amusement from her eyes.

James set the grocery bag down and glanced up, eyes illuminating. "Blimey, yeah, of course." He scratched his dishwater hair and looked askance. "Well, we weren't really fussed about it to tell you the truth. Mum and Dad never use the place and, anyway, we brought some lanterns over. Kind of what we're used to."

He's bloody brilliant and yet it never occurred to him…Lily was still smiling to herself as she employed a Chilling Charm on the icebox, happy for the momentary concealment her hair provided, before finishing up and following James out of the kitchen. As soon as they entered the living room, she turned to face him with an abrupt, "Could you change your hair back now?"

"Missed it that much?" He quirked a brow devilishly.

Lily drew closer. "I have to tell you something about your hair." Standing toe to toe, looking him straight in the eye, and perhaps feeling emboldened by the ale, she wound her limbs around him as securely as Devil's Snare, until denim scraped corduroy at their hips. One hand raked into his messy mane. "At the risk of inflating your head to a size any larger than it already is—" her eyes twinkled "—I think you should know what I really think of your hair, James—which is that I absolutely and completely adore it."

Both his brows shot up in surprise as he peered down at her.

Lily blundered on. "It drives me barmy. It used to be… in a maddening way—" because I knew you did it for bloody attention which you already got in droves, "—but now—" She felt her cheeks burning.

"It just drives you mad?" he ventured hopefully, touching his forehead to hers.

She nodded boldly.

He thanked her with a brush of his lips that quickly turned into more, his arms pulling tighter around her waist. When their lips finally parted, she took out her wand. "How did you turn both your eyebrows and your hair a different colour at the same time?"

"It's easy. You just have to mentally picture them as a whole."

"You make it sound simpler than it is."

"Same as you do in Potions. Ruddy stirring gets me every time. Try it."

With concerted concentration, she gave her wand a flick. James's hair and eyebrows flashed as black as the beloved cat she'd left behind at Hogwarts. Lily found this return to normal colour as good a reason as any to run her hands through it again, reducing James's next communication to a lazy murmur as his eyelids flickered open. "I was going to offer to start a fire."

"I'd like that."

She settled onto the couch while James prodded the grate. He soon claimed the spot next to her, threading an arm over the back and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table; Lily leaned back against him, the wool of their jumpers enmeshing and the flickering flames quickly entrancing them.

For several moments, neither of them spoke, possessed by the magic of the blaze in an otherwise quiet room. Occasionally, the silence was broken by a spark or by the sound of children passing by in the lane. Lily registered James's angular shoulder behind her.

"Y'know what was the hardest part about History of Magic?" he asked. She could feel the rumble of his vocal chords in his chest.

"What?"

"Sitting behind you."

"You're sitting behind me right now."

"Mmm, it's distracting." He pulled his arm tighter, cinching her yet closer to him. A moment later, she felt his nose brush her hair, felt his breath trembling the strands as though caught in its web.

She swallowed, settling back into him, emotions firing. Even after all the months they'd been going out, his touch still unhinged her. Long gone were the days when she could bury her attraction in her temper, in stubborn preconceptions she'd formed of him, all echoed supportively at her side by Severus when she needed it.

His voice roughed out a few more carefully chosen words. "I used to sit there and try to think up compelling reasons why you should go out with me."

"What d'you do with all your free time now?" she asked tenderly.

A tremor of his chest gave her the impression he wanted to chuckle. "Sit around and think up ways to spend time alone with you." She heard the smile in his voice. "Unless it's Potions. Then I'm too busy avoiding Slughorn's glare."

Lily knew there was no love lost between Slughorn and James. That relationship had been irreparable ever since James had run out of Slughorn's detention in order to save Severus from his own morbid curiosity after James had learned the critical details from Sirius in the two-way mirror. And despite her best witty replies, her doting Potions professor still harboured an incorrigible hope of setting her up with a Slytherin. As if she wanted that…

She turned and pinned James with an adoring smile.

"Did I mention a shot of Firewhisky is customary on all trips to the cottage?" His eyes glinted.

"Customary or obligatory?" she questioned warily, working the crease between her brows.

"Obligatory." His tone cajoled. "But only if you're a bloke."

"Who made up that rule?"

"Sirius and me. Mostly we just liked watching Peter get blitzed."

"Some friends you are," she mumbled.

He leaned his head back against the cushion and regarded her in a playful, downcast glance. "You know I got up to stuff here with my mates. Told my parents I was at Remus's house."

"Where's it stashed?"

"The Firewhisky? You're sitting on it."

"It's… under the cushions?"

"Correct… S'a deck of cards under there too."

Lily shifted but she couldn't feel anything poking her bum. "I wouldn't make a very good princess, then."

"Come again?"

"'The Princess and the Pea'? It's a Muggle fairy tale. Even with forty mattresses the princess can't sleep because there's a pea underneath the first one."

"She sounds a bit stroppy." James copped a frown of distaste.

Lily smirked in amusement.

"Don't think I'd be able to handle two of those."

Lily bristled. "Please remember that I'm within hexing distance of things you consider important."

James chuckled nervously.

"Seriously, though, why can't I feel it?" She shifted again to explore the couch with her nether-region.

"Well, we did use a Cushioning Charm so we'd be the only ones to know it was there."

"Funny how commendably adept you all are at magic whenever there's mischief involved," she drawled.

"And you seem rather keen to suss out its whereabouts."

Lily shook her head in denial. "I'm not up for it tonight. My head is still a little light from the ale," she said, yawning as she laid her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Some time later, he peered over to check if she was awake. Feeling his movement, her eyes flickered open… and met his hazel ones.

"Head upstairs?"

It was a soft query, and a polite one, but laced with expectation nonetheless. It didn't take a wealth of imagination to know they'd be sharing a bed, and it would be nothing like sharing one back in his dormitory with his mates camped a mere three feet away on either side. Lily felt a thrill of both apprehension and anticipation twist in her stomach as she nodded a wordless 'yes.'

After shimmying off the couch together, James trailed over to the fireplace to snuff out the candles on the mantle. Plunged into firelight, he then led the way upstairs by wand, one hand trailing back to hold Lily's.

They entered the first room at the top of the stairs. In the dim light, thinned only by James's Lumos and the soft moonlight streaming in through the window, Lily glanced around and caught sight of the singular bed she'd been expecting. Meanwhile, James skirted right to the dresser. "Be a minute, make yourself at home," he said, as he began fiddling with the oil lamp while Lily wandered over to the sill; the moon's wan yellow rays were streaming onto the hardwood floor. She glanced up into its crescent: only ten days until it would be full and James would have duties to uphold for his friend; she'd gotten used to the routine they kept, tried to do what she could when they returned.

The lamp flickered to life, casting oversized shadows on the walls before he trimmed it low. A moment later she felt James as much as heard him approach while she gazed out the pane. His hands found their way to her waist, gently settling on her hips. She spun to face him, leaning back into the sill and tugging him towards her. His eyes blazed.

Their mouths collided in the sort of kiss they'd both been waiting for all day, belying any restraint they'd shown downstairs and growing more fervent as their hands groped each other, mapping out what lay underneath clothing, skimming under hems, whisking against hot skin. James's fingertips sent shivers along her ribs as they explored.

A second later, Lily found her jumper and then her shirt being whisked over her head, a heat rising up in her abdomen, and she was reaching for the hem of James's shirt to divest him of the same…

His chest brushed hers, bare and familiar. Then his lips trailed down her neck, making her head tip back as she tried to grapple with the sensation. She'd never been immune to him. Whether it was anger, resentment, frustration, lust, or love that he stirred, James Potter had always had a straight tap to her emotions.

The flicker of the oil lamp kept time on the wall as they stumbled back toward the bed together and, after fumbling for trouser buttons and zippers, began the long process of giving in to sensations and vulnerabilities in a cottage they'd fled to by breaking every school rule. By the time the moon's rays had shifted their angle through the window, they'd fallen asleep in each other's arms.

The sunlight pouring across the foot of the bed the next morning woke Lily. She slid out from under James's languid arm and peeled back the coverlet. Scrounging up the nearest items of clothing off the floor (which turned out to be his t-shirt and her knickers), she pattered to the window to assess the day.

The peeling white paint of the window frame opened onto a friendly view of the neighbouring backyard, but what equally caught her attention was her lacy bra perched on the sill next to an old enamelled pitcher. Had he really tossed it that far?A stroke of warmth flashed through her, owing little to the sunshine streaming in and everything to the memory of last night. She crossed her arms over her chest and glanced back at James, still curled on his side where she'd left him, hair stuck up in loveable spikes against the pillow.

She smiled.

Outside, the neighbour had already hung freshly laundered clothes on the line, a sight which reminded her of home, of simpler days when she and Petunia would run to the grassy hill by the school and roll down it together, often at the expense of grass stains on their clothes, something Lily never took quite as seriously as Petunia. For a while she'd chocked it up to her sister's simply being older, more responsible; later she realized the difference lay entirely in their personalities.

Back in those days, she and Petunia would also help her mum hang the laundry out in the back garden, a blissfully simple task, and one they all did together until the day Lily had the overwhelming urge to float the pins and garments to the line. How Petunia's jaw had dropped… and she'd never much enjoyed the chore from that day on. Lily longed to have those harmonious days back again, when home truly felt like home, a place where her whole family loved her...

For a moment longer she watched the laundry with its muted hues of blue, yellow, and ivory, a pair of denims and a red shirt gently fluttering in the breeze above the green grass. She could get very used to this spot, with its humble simplicity and reminders of home.

The thought fled with the creak of the mattress, the flap of a coverlet, and James's bare footsteps on the floor behind her. She didn't look up; she simply caught his approach in her peripheral vision. A moment later, his arms threaded around her waist and he kissed her neck, murmured a 'good morning', and peered out over her head to check the view. Most of his skin was still bare, save for a pair of boxers and, as always, he exuded warmth.

The muscles of his chest skimmed across her back as his arms circled tighter, making the t-shirt between them feel entirely flimsy; even through clothing, James revolutionized the feeling of being touched.

I'm in love, she thought. I've never been here before, but that's exactly what this is. There's no denying it. I'm in love with James Potter, of all people.

He didn't ask what she'd been looking at, and for that she was thankful, although he'd heard plenty of tales of her sisterly strife before. She didn't feel like delving into it now, on so perfect a day. His chin nudged over her shoulder.

"Hmm, missed it by a mile," his voice hummed. The tilt of his head told her his eyes were fixed on the sill.

"What're you talking about?"

"The hoop." He flicked a spare finger toward the jug and after a moment's dull contemplation, Lily registered the hole in the top. Coupled with her bra still dangling delicately on the edge of the sill, she pieced together James's perspective—and summoned up her familiar old tone of admonishment. "You do have a one-track mind, Potter."

"S'the only way to get really good at something." A smirk appeared along with the reply.

While she inwardly relished his obsessive determination, which had in fact gotten them to where they were standing now and had in truth made her stomach flutter on more than one occasion while watching from the Quidditch stands, she replied, "You might have knocked it over, genius."

"Simple Repair Charm would've fixed that. Besides, you didn't seem terribly concerned about my aim last night."

The old, traitorous smirk that James seemed so adept in trolling up appeared on her face again.

His gaze seemed lost out the window for the next few breaths. "So if you had the choice of living in a magical household or a non-magical one, which would you choose?" She noticed he hadn't used the word 'Muggle'.

"You don't know?" She glanced up at him.

"Think I do but I thought I'd ask."

"Well, there are some sentimental things about non-magical households—" she began, her eyes drifting out the window again.

"Like what?"

"Well, like this clothesline," she said. "It feels so familiar. Reminds me of home."

His tone perked. "My mum always used one—or rather, the house-elf did. Seemed to think it made the clothes smell fresher."

"You're ruining my image of how perfectly prim pureblood households are run."

"I guess we're not perfectly prim then. You'd have to visit Sirius's family if you wanted a proper example. Mine's never been fussed about those distinctions."

And yet his house had been as stately as she'd ever seen. But in this case, stately did not mean stuffy; his mum and dad had shown a surprising warmth and approachability even though she'd been prepared to feel like a fish out of water on her first visit.

"Well, besides a few things like that, mostly, I'd choose a magical one," she said quietly.

They lingered at the pane a long time afterward, not speaking, which is not to say that Lily didn't have a million thoughts running through her head, or that the mood was uneasy between them.

After a nearly perfect breakfast, and an afternoon that included lying on the couch and eventually only cracking their texts for those few N.E.W.T. subjects which couldn't be ignored—and during which James paid assiduous attention to every detail of her feet, massaging them while they read—they reluctantly began the trek back to school.

James pushed open the dormitory door and swaggered into his room feeling something close to invincible. Outside, it was still raining stair rods. Sirius, lounging on his bed, glanced up from reading a book. A flicker at the back of his eyes boded ill; it matched the one James had seen through the two-way mirror on a thousand different occasions of mischief making.

"Good weekend?" Sirius asked.

"Bloody brilliant." That flicker was the only thing keeping James from flopping onto his bed in satisfaction.

"You got a note from Dumbledore." Sirius picked it up off the bedside table, leaned forward, and held it out in two stretched fingers. "Wants to see you in his office tonight at 8pm."

"On a Saturday night?"

The bottom of James's stomach fell out and his feet hit the floor for the first time all weekend. His expression paled as he reached for the note.

Mr. Potter,

Please meet me in my office at 8 p.m. this evening. There is a serious matter I wish to discuss. The password is Bertie Bott's.

Sincerely,

Albus Dumbledore

James ran his fingers distractedly through his hair and sighed deeply, turning about in the small space between the beds. "When'd it come?"

"Half an hour ago."

About the time they'd hit Hogsmeade.

"Can't be Head business. Not on a Saturday night," he mumbled, as much to himself as to Sirius. "Do you think he knows?" He glanced up for an opinion.

"I have no idea," Sirius answered. "You and Evans are fairly conspicuous, being Head Boy and Girl. Curse of the Badge."

"Did she get a note too?"

Sirius nodded. "Mary said she did. Only, she was kind enough not to open it like I did." He attempted a smirk. "Well, I did candle it first."

"Thoughtful, Pads."

"I was checking to see if I needed to cover for you, tosser."

James managed a smile. "Thanks."

Blimey. One hot cauldron, that's what they were in. A moment of silence elapsed in which James turned over Lily's probable reactions. There was no use trying to contact her in her dormitory with the bloody Chastity Charm on the stairwell; he knew she'd be over to confer with him soon enough.

Since arriving at Hogwarts, his unofficial motto had always been 'Consequences, later!' and he'd enjoyed the thrill that came along with those risks,but that motto had originated well before Lily entered the picture. A niggling guilt struck his nerves. I'm such a prick.

James sagged onto his bed. "What the Bludger am I supposed to do with myself for an hour?"

"Play poker with me, I suppose. While you're on a losing streak," Sirius suggested.

James snuffed a laugh. "Bloody hell. Like I'd ever let you win." He caught Sirius's sympathetic grey eyes. "And I wasn't exactly on a losing streak until now," he mumbled.

No sooner had they'd dealt out the cards on two trunks stacked between their beds and taken them in hand than Lily pushed through the door. Her footsteps stalled as her eyes fell to the scene.

James smiled ruefully. He didn't want her to misconstrue his casual lounging about for lack of concern. "Sirius offered to distract me while I waited to see Dumbledore. Assume you got the letter too?"

"Yes." She nodded.

"Eight o'clock?"

"Exactly. Wha'd'you suppose it means?" Lily's eyes pinned his. "D'you think it's because of—" She let the words hang.

"I'll get lost," said Sirius, dropping his hand of cards on the trunk and rising from his bed.

Lily stopped him. "You don't have to go; it doesn't really matter. We're in heaps of trouble anyway." She heaved a sigh as she took a seat on the bed next to James.

Sirius sat back down.

"Sorry. It's all my fault," James murmured. "My bright idea."

"I wanted to go just as much as you did," she protested. "And I don't regret it."

They both flashed a glance at Sirius, the unintentional interloper, who raised his brows innocently. "Well, I suppose I could try to entertain both of you while you wait to see the reaper. S'not like James couldn't use the help."

Lily smiled weakly and tucked a leg up underneath her to settle in. Sirius did his best to entertain them, recounting tales of what they'd missed during their lark. When the hour came to walk to Dumbledore's office, they both fell silent, their feet squeaking inauspiciously down the hall. James threaded his fingers into hers to make the trek more bearable.

Even the stone gargoyle guarding the headmaster's tower looked smug tonight. Had his spaded tongue always hung down in such a jester's style like that? To their chagrin, the password worked like a charm, the statue sprung immediately aside, and all too soon, the circular stairs were escalating them upwards.

Lily knew James had been in this office years before, on the night that Sirius's ill-thought out prank had unfolded against Severus and there'd been many questions to answer. But she had only been here the night the headmaster had welcomed them to their roles as Head Boy and Girl and on a few such similar occasions.

She reached up and knocked on the oak door. "Come in," a voice called, and it swung open of its own accord.

As their footsteps transitioned from the marble floor to the squashy Persian rug, with its Tree of Life motif seemingly woven to coordinate with Fawkes's feathers, Dumbledore looked up from his desk, quill in hand, and gave a nod. "Ah, Miss Evans, Mr. Potter, please be seated."

They claimed the two armchairs facing the headmaster's desk. Near the window, next to Lily, Fawkes slept on his perch. The heaviness in the room seemed to deepen as the upholstery compressed beneath her; Fawkes cracked an eye.

Lily quickly took in the small library's worth of books and the nosy old portraits hanging on the circular walls all around them. After scratching a few more strokes on the parchment in front of him, Dumbledore set his quill back into the silver inkwell and laid his business aside. "Thank you for coming," he opened mildly. Behind his spectacles, his blue eyes were inscrutable. He folded his long and weathered hands on the desk in front of him.

"Certainly," she heard James mumble. "Of course," she replied simultaneously in a hollow voice.

"I've called you in for a matter I consider very grave, and I imagine you will soon have little trouble grasping what I'm referring to."

They cast a nervous look between themselves. Lily's stomach clenched.

"I find it unlikely that two students as bright and inquiring as yourselves fail to read The Daily Prophet or stay apprised of the tragedies happening outside these walls."

The Daily Prophet? So this wasn't about—?

"The impression I've formed of the two of you is one of the highest regard. Especially after this year." He glanced over his spectacles poignantly at James. Lily recognized the allusion to his having matured, something she had come to regard as simply his best qualities rising to the surface while others had faded away.

"Nonetheless, I've gathered that neither of you has found employment for next year that perfectly suits you."

Her stomach fluttered. This was about employment?

"I find this circumstance a statement upon the broken world we live in rather than a reflection of your talents." He glanced pointedly at Lily this time.

Before her mind had adjusted to the unexpected turn the discussion was taking, Dumbledore launched into the details of the conflict outside the castle walls and the formation of a secret order to combat Lord Voldemort and his burgeoning ranks of Death Eaters. Lily listened intently, a rigid straightness to her back that made all but the very seat of the armchair superfluous as she perched on its edge.

Words flew past: "Undercover operation requiring wizards of great skill… Thus far, we've enlisted four Aurors as well as a few of your very own professors… There will be many opportunities to learn, but make no mistake, the immediate nature of the task would be tracking, confronting, and battling Dark wizards—in sum, nothing short of risking your lives."

"Much as I desire your help, I by no means intend to pressure you, nor do I wish for you to give me a decision tonight. Rather, it would ease the conscience of an old man if you went away and reflected strongly on the graveness of such an undertaking.

"I am in the process of sending missives to several of your peers with whom I wish to appeal next, however, I wanted to speak with the two of you first. I thought it best to address you in smaller groups for secrecy's sake. I ask that you please withhold the nature of our meeting until I've had the chance to do so. It shall only take me another hour."

After a few questions, James and Lily left Dumbledore's office in a silent stupor. Not a word passed between them as they descended the stairs. As soon as they entered the hall and cleared the gargoyle's hearing, Lily broke the silence. "So I guess it wasn't about our weekend escapade after all…"

"Far from it." Behind his glasses, James's eyes blazed. It was an entirely different blaze than she'd seen by the windowsill last night at the cottage. Battle-hardened. Intense. Determined.

Inside her own chest, a fire burned.

How did everything turn from fairy tale to harsh reality in less than a day?Only because they'd escaped it all for a while, she supposed.

They were quiet for several more steps. "Want to talk before we get back to Gryffindor Tower?" James asked quietly.

"Yes."

"It sounds like we should avoid my mates for a bit anyway."

Lily agreed. If they went back to James's dormitory, there'd be questions to answer, and clearly, the topic didn't lend itself to the crowded common room, with over-exuberant first-years playing Exploding Snap and wistful fourth-years sneaking glances in their direction.

Before she anticipated it, James tugged her gently by the hand into the next alcove—strangely enough, the very same alcove in which they'd first kissed on rounds well back in October. The suit of armour struck the exact pose she remembered.

James pivoted, sank his back into the stone wall, and planted a trainer up against it; his hand braced his knee as his eyes fell to the ground. The fringe cascading over his forehead prevented Lily from seeing or reading his expression until he gazed up at her, irises flashing as bright as Fawkes's underbelly.

"Lily, I know it's dangerous—and it know it sounds like the worst proposition anyone's ever made to me—especially since—" he raked a hand agonizingly through his hair and took a deliberate breath—"I'd like nothing better than to spend next year with you, dossing about doing whatever witches and wizards our age are supposed to be doing." His eyes flashed again. "But I know this is exactly what I'm supposed to be doing next year—I'm certain there's a whole posse of Slytherins queuing up for the other side already—and if I don't do it, who will?"

He recomposed himself for the next sentence before sending her a look that smote. "And really, this is all about you and me, because it's the biggest load of rubbish I've ever heard that you don't belong in the magical world and that I shouldn't be associating with you."

"James—"

"I just want you to know that I think you should make your decision independently of mine because—"

"James—"

"Because I don't want you to—" he ploughed on, obviously intent on finishing whatever explanation he thought she needed to hear.

But she didn't need to hear.

"James, stop." She took a firm step forward, one palm flashing upwards to halt the flow.

His words came to an abrupt end.

Holding his gaze in earnest, she took the deep breath required to deliver her own storm of thoughts. "I've already made my decision too, James, and it's the same as yours—and for the very same reasons… Only, I'm the one considered the blight on the Wizarding world, and you're the one who could walk away from all this without a care if you wanted to, but I… " Her eyes trailed across his significantly. "…know you better by now than to think for a second you'd do that."

"Of course I wouldn't."

"But I'm not just going to leave it up to you to defend me and everyone like me, either."

He smiled grimly. "I don't care what Slughorn says, Evans, you'd have never been sorted anything but Gryffindor."

He reached out for her hand and pulled her closer, until she came to a stop in front of him, heart heavy like a weight.

"Neither would you," she murmured.

"So we're in this together then?"

"I hope so." She flashed a sad little smile.

"I really wouldn't want it any other way," he replied, with a light shining at the back of his eyes. A second later, it became a genuine smile.

"When Dumbledore said he'd be contacting others… d'you think he meant Sirius, Remus—?" She wasn't sure whether to include Peter; he could be so timid at times.

"Sounded like it. I hope he meant them. They'll do it. I know they will."

"I hope he meant them, too."

And she truly did; she'd come to rely on James's mates—trust them—in a way she never expected, as much as she trusted her own friends. She exhaled, glanced at the statue, mapping the welds on its arms. "I'm suddenly more glad than ever that we sneaked away this weekend. You were right—we needed the levity. Can you imagine if we'd stayed here all weekend in the dreary rain only to be confronted with this?"

"This weekend reminded me of everything that's worth fighting for." After a moment, James's earnest expression twisted into a half-smile. "Besides, I knew all that sneaking around over the years would come in handy some day."

"Sounds like we'll be doing a lot of it next year."

"Good to be practicing." A twinkle moved back into his eye.

Lily's lips twitched upwards, in spite of the gloom. "How d'you do that?"

"What?"

"Turn the most dire situation into a laugh?"

"It's the way I work, Evans."

"I know." It was exactly what they'd done for Remus.

"I can be serious if you want me to." His expression sobered.

"No." She shook her head demonstratively. She liked that around James she could momentarily forget that things were so bad in the world.

His eyes connected with hers. "Don't worry, Evans, it won't rain all the time. I promise." He furled an arm around her and pulled her in for a hug.