Author's Note - There is a part of me that has always, always wanted to write a James and Lily fic. I've loved them for so long, they're my favorite Harry Potter ship. This is the first HP fic I'm writing, so I'm a little nervous. But I like writing Pre-Hogwarts, I wish it were an actual book series! This is currently a one-shot, but it might become more, depending on the response it gets, or if I'm inspired to keep it going, which I feel like I will be. It's set in September of the Marauders' final year at Hogwarts, and absolutely everything mentioned about them in the books is canon here. I love the idea of James maturing, and Lily seeing that all on her own.

On a side note, the vast majority of my readers are waiting to see if I will continue with the Twilight fic I abandoned years ago. To all of you who may be reading this, don't be alarmed because I've written something new. This is currently a one-shot, and if it does turn out to be more, me continuing Eighty Years has nothing to do with this story. It has to do with you guys!

Disclaimer: I obviously don't own Harry Potter. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.

He spots her crying and is at a total loss for words. He spots her crying and questions whether or not it's a good to ask what's wrong. He spots her crying, her chest heaving, glorious red hair in her face, and he realizes that he must go over there, whether or not it's a good idea.

He opens his mouth to say "Evans", but instead it comes out as "Lily?"

She looks up at him questioningly, the area around her eyes red and puffy, tears still streaming. But the sobs that made her body rock and shiver had subsided. She looks away from him, studies her surroundings, looking like she has no idea where she is. Finding herself sitting on he steps in front of the Owlery, she stands up and attempts to walk down the steps, but stumbles and has to grip the side of the wall for support.

James Potter rushes up the few steps between them, closing the gap. He'd been heading up there to deliver a letter to his mother when he came across Lilly Evans sobbing. Or rather, he heard her before he even came across her. She wasn't doing a very good job of keeping quiet.

"Lily." This time it wasn't a question. He was one step beneath her, but still taller than she was. She didn't look up to meet his eyes. "Lily, what's wrong?" Somehow, it seemed wrong to use her surname at a time like this. And still, she refused to speak or look at him.

A few moments went by. Then, he tried again. "What are you doing up here? Are you hurt or something?" This was stupid. This was so, so stupid. Of course she was not physically hurt, that was a different kind of crying. The crying Lily had been doing was agonizing, the kind that came from deep inside your bones, rattled you to the core.

This thought made him slightly panicky, and just when he was about to threaten to carry her to the hospital wing, because it was all he could think to do, she looked up at him.

"My sister is getting married next week. I didn't even know she'd been engaged. I didn't even know she'd had a serious boyfriend. My mother just sent me a letter, saying she thought I'd known." Her voice, normally full of confidence, was dull and quiet. Her words were a mumbled mess that he strained his ears to hear clearly. The worst part was when she looked at him. Her eyes had never looked so bleak.

"Oh." What a stupid thing to say. This was even worse than when he asked her if she'd been hurt. He bit down on his bottom lip, thoughts racing, trying to figure out what to say. "I take it you're not very close with-with your sister?"

She blinked twice, rapidly, as if she were just noticing that he was there for the first time.

"I should go." was all she said. This time, her voice was more certain. She tried to move past him, but he held out his hand and reached for the first thing he could hold on to, which just happened be her hand. The shock in her eyes was just as blatant as it was in his.

"I'm not going to force you to open up and tell me what's wrong. This is obviously very private and personal, and we haven't always been the best of friends." He paused, gave her hand a light squeeze to let her know that he wasn't going to be rude. Surprisingly, she didn't pull her hand away.

"Okay?" She looked confused, used her other hand to wipe away the tears that were still coming.

"But that kind of sobbing, it's not okay. Don't hold everything you're feeling inside, until you explode like that." A warm September breeze blew by, swirling the hems of their school robes lightly. "You know where to find me if you need to talk to someone. Believe it or not, I'm an excellent listener."

They were silent for another minute, fingers still intertwined, neither of them daring to move. Then she spoke, and her voice was quieter than ever.

"You called me Lily."

"That is your name, isn't it?"

She shook her head, a chuckle escaping her. He grinned, loving that it was because of him. "I didn't realize you knew my first name." She said, the corners of her mouth twitching, fighting a smile.

They both looked down at their hands at the same time, then back at each other.

"You haven't let go." James regretted his words as soon as he spoke them, dreading that she might let go of his hand once he brought it up.

A pregnant pause, and then some more words out of her. The tears had finally stopped. "It's comforting. You're really warm." She blushed scarlet, shook her head again. "Thank you." She started to turn away from him, loosening her grip on his hand as she went, getting ready to let go. Instead of obliging, James tightened his own grip.

She stopped, looked back up at him. They were standing on the same step now, only a few inches separating their bodies. She raised an eyebrow. He in turn raised his wand. Silently, he moved it across each of her eyes, reducing the swelling and redness. She realized what he was doing, and this time she really did smile.

"Wouldn't do to have people prying into your private life. That's why it's called your private life. Red eyes would have provoked questions. Lily Evans is too strong to cry, according to everyone." He said, tucking his wand back into his robes.

"I thought I was." She replied, using her free hand to touch the spots where his wand had just been.

His eyes softened at those words, and so did his voice when he spoke. "Crying doesn't mean you're weak. It just means you're honest with yourself."

Her eyes widened slightly, mouth agape. On most, this would not have been an attractive face. But on her, James couldn't help but find it very, very cute.

"I really should get going. And I'm sure you're not here just to stare at the owls or watch me cry, so I shouldn't keep you from your mail." She squeezed his hand in thanks, finally pulling her own away. His hand felt cold, naked without hers in it. She turned her back to him, proceeding to walk quickly down the steps, her red mane flying behind her. This time, she didn't stumble.

He watched her go, a feeling of longing building in his chest. It was a feeling he'd buried in his fifth year, a feeling he'd hoped and prayed would never, ever resurface. He ran his now free hand through his messy hair in frustration, probably making it even messier. She'd looked so fragile, and he couldn't help admiring it even more than he admired her when she looked so strong, which was every time he saw her except this one time.

He sent his letter and was on his way back to the castle, thinking over and over again about how she seemed just as reluctant to let go of his hand as he was to let go of hers.