Been wanting to write something with this prompt ever since the Pottermore info came out, so here's a little something in honor of Halloween. Hope everyone enjoys :)

It was something of an urban myth around London that Wallace's was cursed. It wasn't that any of its patrons ever had a poor meal there – the restaurant was praised for its succulent entrees, its superb selection of the finest wines and spirits – but rather that the more loquacious of them tended to leave distinctly unhappy.

It was the type of reputation that only the truly superstitious would heed, for it was an entirely word-of-mouth phenomenon. For instance:

A chatty woman at the watercooler would mourn that "William completely botched the proposal, but didn't you know he took me to Wallace's? Can't say I'm surprised in the least." A philandering businessman would bemoan to his cohorts that he was not welcome home that night: "Why did I take the wife to Wallace's when I knew full well Madison lived round the bend? Blistering fool, I am." A red-faced mother in the park would be overheard wailing to her friends, "A-and then she started screaming because the cake had a six on it, not a five! It was a bleeding disaster! The whole time, my mother-in-law is giving me the eye as if to say 'well, this is what you get for booking the party at Wallace's'."

None of this, of course, ever stopped London's most posh from booking a table there. "It's a bunch of codswallop," they'd say. "People are always looking for a scapegoat when an evening goes awry."

And they tended to be right. For nearly every failed dinner that had taken place at the notorious eatery had, quite honestly, been doomed from the start. All one needed to do was take a single glance at the patrons on their way in to gauge the kind of experience they'd be having. If both appeared peachy, the meal would go swimmingly. If sour, they'd leave on a bitter note. And if complicated…well, then it was really up to them to sort themselves out before dessert.

Tonight would be…well, tonight would be complicated.

A boy and a girl – if they could be called that, given that both appeared to be in late adolescence – approached in what, to an average bystander, was a very odd fashion. Though intertwined hands linked the two, they were quite out of step with one another. At first glance, it would seem to be a height issue, the boy being over a head taller than the girl. Perhaps his legs were too tall, producing a gait that his companion simply could not match? But no – upon further inspection, one could easily observe that it was the girl's walking that was off; her pacing was quite clipped, far more frenetic than the leisurely stroll of her counterpart.

It must also be noted that as they neared the entrance in this peculiar way, both appeared to be in concentrated thought. She was nibbling at the corner of her mouth and he…well, he kept reaching a hand up to his hair and then freezing mid-motion with a sideways glance at her. An interesting case, indeed.

Wallace's large front door loomed ahead, beguiling the pair with the charming fairy lights interwoven with ivy that hung delicately from its edges.

The boy stepped forward and yanked at the handle, opening the door for the girl with ease and a smile.

The moment was short-lived, however, for he instantly thought better of this action and dropped it closed again, the bells tied to its knob jingling mockingly at the girl's denied entry.

"Well, that was rude."

"Call me mad, but I don't fancy walking blind into the most momentous dinner in history." He had folded his arms over his chest, making it clear that he didn't intend to move without a proper answer.

She sighed. "We've already talked about this. It's not the 'most momentous dinner in history'. The 'most momentous dinner in history' would be Dumbledore eating crumpets with Merlin, talking theory and who looks better on a Chocolate Frogs card. This…this is just two sisters meeting in London for a chat with their boyfriends. Perfectly mundane and ordinary. 'Sides, you're wearing your glasses – you're hardly blind."

"If it isn't a big deal, then why did you mix up 'there' and 'their' twice in your letter? If it's perfectly mundane, then why did you bring me a change of ties, 'just in case?' If it's ordinary, then why are you making awfully poor puns about my glasses?"

She made a face. "I suppose I'm just not that clever."

He reached up and laid a palm against her right cheek. "Quit that. You're wonderfully cheeky when you mean it. I just meant that you hardly ever speak of your sister and now I'm suddenly being summoned to meet her. And I feel like I'm missing something."

She bit her lip and, for a moment, looked like she was about to reveal some significance. But then she released a long stream of air out of her nose and visibly closed up. "It's…ancient history. Silly kid stuff. Nothing of your concern."

As much as he loathed hearing that anything to do with Lily Evans was ever not his concern, the boy saw the tension in her posture for the termination of subject that it was. He reached out for the door handle once more and pulled it open with a left-handed flourish. She smiled, but it was a wobbly one, and made to cross the entryway.

"James–." She stopped and turned abruptly, holding out a palm to halt him. "There's just..er…there's one bit I did want to mention."

"Don't fret, love, I've already caught on. Secrets from your youth that you're unwilling to divulge?" He waggled his eyebrows at her and leaned in conspiratorially. "Petunia is–er, once was, that is….a bloke."

She sighed, and his little joke didn't make the worry leave her eyes as he thought it would. Instead, several creases in her forehead and a distinct lip pout now joined that glassy, wide-eyed stare. He recognized this look – she'd worn it the week before upon learning that the only diatribes he'd been doling out during his solo patrols involved suggesting more discreet locations to underclassmen caught in compromising positions.

"Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day." He'd said on that day, clearing his throat pointedly. "Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime."

Her eyes had narrowed. "You are giving him the fish, Potter! Teaching him would be taking away a few points and saying 'don't snog your fish in broom closets, you dolt!'"

"You expect fourth years to catch on to that, do you? You'd have the randy ones sneaking into empty classrooms with their leftover salmon from dinner." He had tutted, his eyebrows knitting together. "You don't understand these children at all."

And there had been the creases, followed by the surly lips.

Why she was giving him this face right now, though, escaped him entirely. So he said so.

"Reasons for you to be making that face are escaping me entirely, Lily. Might you catch me up?" He paused, then grinned because he didn't like to be too serious for too long. "Are you the one that's the bloke?"

The creases softened. "James Potter, you of all people should know that I am very much a lady."

A quick lift of his eyebrows and an upturned smirk, then: "I have an idea, but I can't be entirely sure."

Her lips quirked, too, and she leaned into him. "Yes, well, like I said…I'm a lady."

He dropped his forehead onto hers. "A much too respectable one if you ask me."

"Get me through this dinner with my sanity and I could be whistling another tune later." She pecked his lips, lingering a moment too long.

James grunted in response and leaned back in, but she pulled just out of his reach with a slight giggle. "You need motivation to be on best behavior."

He abandoned his efforts and crossed his arms petulantly. "I'll have you know that families positively adore me. It's almost worrisome. Genevieve Lockhart's mum still sends me post."

"Not a chance. The pair of you haven't dated since end of term fifth year."

"Fifth 'til now in Mrs. Lockhart's eyes. Genevieve's a bit of a compulsive liar."

Lily's mouth fell open. "She asked before hols if I could tell her what I drop into my Energy Elixir to make it so pink. Told me I was the best brewer in class!"

He wrapped one arm around her, giving her middle a squeeze. "Wouldn't question that, love. Just don't believe her if she tells you she's giving you your favorite jumper back. Not. Likely."

She still appeared miffed. "I'm going to tell her the extra ingredient is my own spit."

He patted her shoulder, mild humor in his face. "There's a sport."

"And you–." She poked his chest. "–need to tell her mum the truth."

He clutched his heart, feigning affronted. "Lily, she sends me fudge."

"That's tainted fudge."

"You think?" He tapped his pointer finger on his bottom lip, appearing thoughtful. "Eh, family recipe, I s'pose."

"I don't want to know."

"'Course you don't. Shall we?" He inclined his head toward the hostess stand where a petite girl, probably a couple years younger than the two of them, was shooting them a glare betraying pure annoyance (presumably for clogging up her doorway).

Lily strode forward with purpose, James trailing behind her.

"Evans for four." She said brightly, shooting an extra wide smile at the sullen girl.

The hostess ran one finger down the sheet of paper in front of her. When she looked back up at them, her nostrils were flared. "Not on my list. Sorry."

Lily leaned forward as if to peek at this list, but the girl folded her hands on top of it. She glanced back at James, rolling her eyes, then forward again to address the hostess. "Dear, there must be a mistake."

"Yes, there seems to be." She smirked. "Are you quite suite you're at the proper restaurant?"

Lily leaned forward on the desk, rapping her fingernails loudly against the oak. "Listen–."

"Perhaps another surname?" James interrupted, loud and falsely bright. "Duhhh…"

"–ursley." Lily finished, turning to smirk at her boyfriend.

"As I was saying." He nudged her. "Obviously."

"Obviously," the girl mocked before turning her eyes back to her list. An unexpected grin slid onto her lips. "Oh."

"Have they arrived?" The playful grin he had provoked began to slip.

The hostess looked up, the unbecoming smile still wiped onto her mouth like a particularly dreadful shade of lipstick. "Oh, yes. They've been here for ages. At least thirty minutes."

Lily went pale, whirling around. "James, what's the time?"

"Half-past five. We hit it on the head."

She sighed, and he noted that the look was back. "That's late."

"Eliza will show you to your table," said the girl, a note of ill will still present in her too-charming lilt. "Do enjoy your evening."

Turning once more to face him, Lily pressed her palms to James's dress shirt – just below his shoulders – and smoothed all the way down to his stomach in one fluid motion. She then yanked clumsily at his tie, despite the fact that it was hanging perfectly straight.

He let his eyes roam her countenance for a moment before making a very quick decision.

"Would now be a terrible moment to tell you that Sirius mentioned something about you not getting on with your sister?"

"I knew it. Wanker."

"Which of us?"

"Please follow me," chirped a second girl wielding large menus, presumably Eliza.

Lily quickly sobered, grabbing his hand and giving it a small squeeze. "Speaking of terrible moments to mention things…don't you dare mention anything even remotely related to magic over dinner."

"What?"

This particular evening, it seemed – and it's possible that this could go without saying – was bollocksed before even it began.

"And Vernon, Mum tells me you and Petty met at work?" Lily seemed eager – much too eager in the eyes of her boyfriend – as she daintily buttered a piece of bread and sat up straight and tall in her seat.

The man sitting across from her was rather portly and stuffed into an expensive looking brown suit. He hastily brushed a smattering of crumbs off his chin before responding, apparently unaware of the tiny pieces of food still stuck to his mustache.

"I–er–yes. Yes, we did." This was the fourth or fifth time that Vernon had answered one of Lily's polite inquiries in this oddly short fashion. Even stranger was that he seemed to be largely avoiding eye contact with both her and James, only meeting their gazes straight on for mere seconds at a time.

Her sister, on the other hand, couldn't stop staring, almost as if she was taking a mental inventory on every motion Lily made. Tense, she made to lift her cup of water, and there was a very distinct glint flashing against the surface of the glass.

Lily let out a soft gasp. "Oh. Oh, Petty!"

She reached out to grasp the hand of her sister and was caught quite off guard when Vernon flinched violently, shaking the entire table when he bumped it with his massive stomach.

"I told you, dearest, it only works if they have the sticks out." Petunia rubbed his shoulder consolingly, taking the moment as an opportunity to thumb away the crumbs on his facial hair without discussion of it.

James, who had been uncharacteriscally quiet – and, in Lily's opinion, sulky – for the ten minutes or so since they had sat, snorted.

"Sticks?" Lily questioned brightly.

"Come off it, girl. My late mother did not raise a fool." His tone was not mean, per say, but undeniably condescending.

James snorted again, and Lily took this moment as an opportunity to kick him in the shins.

She forced a wide smile. "Pardon?"

Petunia rolled her eyes. "He knows, Lily. And yes, Vernon proposed and I happily accepted. His sister – my sister – Marge says she's never seen a pair quite so suited. She's helping me plan the wedding, already popped in the florist's with me on Tuesday." She paused, taking a sip of her water, then looked her sister straight in the eyes. "You honestly think I'd allow Mum to set up this entire charade without him knowing what you are?"

James cleared his throat, loosening his tie with one hand and holding up the other so his palm was facing Petunia. "What she is?"

"What both of you are."

Lily gripped her boyfriend's arm, but stared right back at her sister. "You're engaged…and you didn't tell me?"

Petunia adjusted her necklace, looking down as she did so. "I'm not obligated to tell you every detail of my life."

"Every detail?" Lily sucked in a gulp of air. "Petty – this is the most important detail of your life. This isn't you having your wisdom teeth pulled or your hair trimmed or–or I don't bloody know – something, anything else! This is…the rest of your life."

"She's always had a flair for the dramatic," Petunia noted to her fiancé.

James leaned forward in his seat, but luckily the waitress, Eliza, appeared at this exact moment.

"I spotted closed menus!" She chirped, proffering a small pad of paper and poising her pen to write.

Vernon, who had grown much more self-assured since he'd been reminded that his dinner companions wouldn't be performing any funny business, cleared his throat.

"I'll be having the classic caesar – not house – followed by the lobster bisque, two orders of the prawn linguine, the red wine sirloin – rare, it'll be straight off to the kitchen if I see any brown, young lady. And I'm expecting hearty portions for the money I'm paying – don't skimp us. Also, a salmon salad for my darling. And new knives immediately, our's are both smudged. If management is about, relay my suggestion against rewarding a Christmas bonus to the dishwasher. Today's working youth has grown lazy."

As the waitress was still scribbling furiously, her cheeks flushed, Vernon turned expectantly toward James.

"Finished, are you?" James questioned lightly, stretching a bit in his seat. "I'd love the soft shell crab with parmesan polenta, please. And we can lend them our forks; I prefer a bit of smudge on my cutlery – keeps the immunities high, eh? And I'd order for my darling but my shins are peaky enough as is."

Lily had turned as red as the little waitress. "Garlic Risotto, please. Thank you." Then, in a hissed undertone toward her boyfriend: "Quit it."

"So, tell me Cotter –."

"Potter," James corrected at once. "Comma James."

Vernon pursed his lips for a moment, his politest way of showing his lack of amusement. He then peered upward and raised his eyebrows. Eliza was still at his right making notes in her pad.

"I didn't make reservations for 5:30 in hopes that we could eat at 7. Off you go, girl."

She jumped, lost in her own thoughts, and made a tiny squeaking noise. "Y-yes, sir."

Annoyed by this, James made to share a look with his girlfriend, but noticed that she was nibbling the inside of her mouth and looking away.

"As I was saying," Vernon bumped a fist on the table to regain James's attention. "I've learned you can always tell the character of a man by his vehicle of choice. What is it that you drive, Cotter?"

Lily regarded her boyfriend wearily, hoping that his long, slow sip of water was a sign that he was reigning himself in.

"Not sure it's a model you're familiar with." James answered, and Lily let out her held breath.

Petunia looked suspicious. "You own a car?"

"'Not familiar,'" Vernon mocked. "Describe it, then."

"Smooth finish. Dead fast. Rides like a dream." James's lips quirked into a grin. "Finest racing broom on the market."

Vernon spat out his wine, the dribble of maroon liquid staining the tablecloth as it fell off his chin. The color was rising in his cheeks.

"A buggering broom! He's taking the mickey out of me, isn't he, Pet? Isn't he?" His face was turning purpler at Petunia's continued hesitation.

"I don't think so, darling. What did he mean by that, Lily? Tell Vernon." Petunia's voice had a sharp edge to it.

"He wasn't!" Lily contested. "He…erm…he can be a bit dim. You didn't understand the question, did you, James? He doesn't..er…know much about cars, per say, but I'm certain you two could go on for hours if he did. He knows loads about motorbikes. Loads. His mate is dead set on buying one."

Vernon drummed his fingers on the table, eyes narrowed. "Motorbikes are for hooligans."

James nodded cheerily. "Sounds 'bout right."

"Weren't dropped on your head as a tyke, were you, Cotter? Might explain a bit." Vernon looked mighty pleased at his joke, Petunia simpering at his side.

"Jumped a flight of stairs when I was two," James reported. "Bounced the whole way down."

Lily let out an abrupt flurry of giggles. "Isn't he a laugh?" She surveyed the others, then stuffed a piece of bread in her mouth. "Pumpernickle's brilliant."

"Not polite to talk with your mouth full," James noted.

Lily had stiffened at his side, though, and he felt immediately guilty for aiming his snark at her.

"Lil, I–."

Eliza had arrived with the table's salads, though, and as the plates were set down the group busied themselves with eating. James gathered that it would be wise to stop speaking until spoken to.

This, apparently, was everyone's M.O., for they were all silent through this first course and the majority of their dinner.

Petunia was the first to speak up again after making a show of pushing away her barely-eaten salmon salad.

"The bride is stuffed," she announced.

"Where is that girl?" Vernon huffed, searching the restaurant with his eyes. When he spotted their server, he stood at once. "I'll be but a minute, darling. Fetching the bill."

Lily, who had been pushing around her leftover risotto, looked up. "Petty, y-you haven't mentioned a date. Have you set one?"

Petunia looked smug. "June the third. The same date Mum and Daddy were married. I figured one of us should do it the right way."

Lily dropped her fork with a sigh. "And I suppose I'm incapable of doing anything the 'right way'?"

Her sister sipped her water. "I only meant to say that Vernon and I appreciate tradition."

She nodded and sat back in her seat. "Oh, of course you were."

"Lily, don't slouch at the table. Honestly, do they not teach any manners at this school of yours?"

"Are you trying to get a rise out of me or is it just the hunger talking?"

Petunia gasped. "How dare you – I ate a large lunch! You just wait til Mum hears of this latest stunt."

"Stunt?" Lily voiced, incredulous. "Terribly sorry for attempting to have a civil meal with you, Petunia!"

"Civil?" Petunia's voice was growing shrilly, cracking on specific words. "Your louse of a boyfriend has only been insulting my Vernon every near chance he gets! I suppose I should just be grateful that this one at least dresses nicely and washes his hair ."

Lily glanced quickly at James, who thankfully didn't appear to understand Petunia's jibe against her former friend. If anything, he appeared to have entered a damage control mode. Vernon was returning with the bill and James stood up to greet him.

"How about we square this away and call it a night, yeah? My treat. " James reached for the small black book in the larger man's hands.

Looking startled, Vernon held it out of his reach and waggled the pointer finger of his right hand at James. "Now, listen here, boy. Petunia and I don't live off of welfare."

"What are you on about?"

"The…the unemployment fund that you people extract your money from. Petty and I make an honest living. We'll cover the bill. Step back, now."

James tossed his head back and let out a hoot of laughter.

With this added commotion, the exchange between the two couples was becoming something of a scene. Every table in their nearby radius had turned at the sound of James laughing.

"Well, I suppose I could." James finally answered. "But then the heaps of solid gold my parents have saved in their goblin protected vault would certainly go to waste, wouldn't they? Ever met a goblin, Vern? Nasty bunch, they are."

Petunia squealed. "People can hear him, Lily!"

"And they can't hear you shouting?" Her sister demanded.

"I'm not shouting!" She shrieked.

Eliza had re-appeared, tentatively approaching the bill-wielding Vernon, whose purple face looked more swollen than ever. "Er…sir, my…my manager wishes for you to...to pay and...well, if you won't sit down and you're finished your meal…could you…"

"Well, I hope you accept blocks of gold for payment here!" He exploded, shoving the book at James.

"Vernon, darling, please get ahold of yourelf. People are staring!" Petunia snatched up the coats off the backs of their chairs and hurried over to join her fiancé.

Vernon shook his finger at James again. "I'll leave after this dunderhead leaves!"

James straightened to his full height, which was a good five or six inches above Vernon's, and crossed his sizeable forearms.

Vernon lowered his arm and shrank back, reaching for Petunia's arm. "If you insist, my dear."

"Lovely to meet you both," James added mildly.

Petunia swiveled her head back toward Lily, who had re-claimed her seat at the table and was watching the scene unravel with a rather blank expression.

"You can deliver the news to Mum that I won't be spending Christmas at home!" She wailed.

And with that, Petunia Evans marched out of the restaurant, her fiancé in tow.

James rolled his eyes, strolling back to his seat in the same languid way he had originally approached the restaurant. As he dropped himself into his chair, he opened up the black booklet and let out a short laugh.

"Ah, how should we pay? Dip into the trusty wizard's unemployment fund or magic up some currency with our sticks?"

He turned toward Lily, a conspiratorial grin on his face. His girlfriend was not smiling, though. She had, in fact, burst into tears.

Bugger.

Lily had fled the restaurant shortly after beginning to cry, apparating back to her house the moment she reached the deserted alleyway down the road. Not wanting her Mum to see her in that particular state, she had walked to the park a few blocks down and slumped onto her favorite bench, the one where she had used to wait for Severus when she was a small girl.

Surprisingly, or maybe unsurprisingly (it was James, after all), it took her boyfriend all of a quarter of an hour to catch up with her.

"I left the waitress every spare pound I had in my pockets." He admitted, standing in front of her with his hands shoved into the aforementioned holes in his trousers. "She said something about buying a small house with her tip."

When Lily looked up again, her face was tear-stained, that distinctive pout from earlier upon her lips.

He kicked at some stones with his trainers. "I'm a berk. I don't deserve you – we both know that."

Lily sighed. "How did you find me so quickly? Have an interactive map of my neighborhood, do you?"

Taking any response as a somewhat positive sign, he stepped forward and took a seat beside her. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Last year – after the Willow incident, while I thought I'd gotten Sirius expelled – we had just become mates…and you found me on the Quidditch pitch. Think you thought I was trying to drown myself in the rain. Think I might have been." He paused. He was rambling, and knew it. He looked up at her. "I asked how you found me and you said, 'Bryar's Park.' You said that everyone has their place they go when they want to be alone. Told me that the pitch was my Bryar's Park."

"And you saw no significance in that bit about wanting to be alone?" She questioned, but her face was now dry and there was a hint of wryness in her voice.

"For me, at least, that wanting to be alone bit never includes you. Thought that perhaps it was mutual?"

She met his eyes. "I met Severus here."

He leaned back and rubbed at his temples. When he spoke, his voice held a tinge of irritation. "What are you trying to say to me, Lily?"

She put a hand on his knee. "I'm saying that there's things I don't tell you because I think…I think that you don't want to hear them. That you'll look at me differently. But that won't do anymore."

"Lily –."

"No, listen." She moved closer to him. "I'm a girl who was best mates with Severus Snape. I'm a girl who hated you with a passion for…years. I'm a girl whose sister thinks she's a freak. I'm a girl who's Muggleborn…who the very fact that youre in a relationship with could put you in danger. And when we first started this, I thought, 'hell, this will be fun.' I didn't care so much because you were just James Potter – and whatever happened would happen and I'd get on with it. But then you're nothing like I thought you'd be. Sure, you still piss me off a fair bit, but then…then you have this look you get about you sometimes, and I swear it's like this thing with us will never get old…that you'll always look at me like I'm the brightest thing in the room. And then – then you say things like you just did…that wanting to be alone never means wanting to be away from me…and I'm terrified that I'll lose you like I lost Sev and Petty. And, for what it's worth, I'd really like to keep you."

"Lily Evans," James stated, quite serious, the flecks of gold in his eyes twinkling. "What about my behavior in the past seven years has given you the idea that I give up easy?"

She drew back suddenly, a slightly panicked look in her eyes. "Oh, Merlin, I really just said all that to you, didn't I?"

He grinned. "Yes, and it was glorious."

She bit her lip. "I think that what I meant was to promise to not keep secrets. And then yell at you a bit. And then stop talking."

"Now's not the time to be shy, love: I'm fairly positive we're having what they call 'a moment'."

She rolled her eyes. "'They'?"

"The fates." His grin widened.

"Oh, shite; I've gone and made you sentimental."

"Yes, you should probably start yelling before I say something entirely inappropriate which I may or may not tell you anyway."

"In that case, you must tell me straight away."

He grinned enigmatically and shook his head.

She poked him in the stomach. "You were a right ponce at dinner."

He placed a hand over his heart. "I solemnly swear I'll apologize to Vern first chance I get."

"Right."

"And you have to promise not to be too hacked off at Sirius."

Her face clouded over. "The git has it coming to him."

"If it wasn't for him, tonight would have been a right disaster."

Lily raised her eyebrows. "Oh, thank Merlin for the divine intervention of Sirius Black to rescue our evening."

James laughed. "Oh, and by the way, Evans – telling me I can't mention magic roughly ten seconds before dinner? Classic."

She wrinkled her nose. "That was a rash decision."

"A rash decision?" He laughed harder. "Now, say…say I was introducing you to someone really important. My parents! Say I'm introducing you to my parents and I said you couldn't…couldn't act like something you've been acting like for the past 17 years. Say that I introduced you to my parents and said, 'Lily, you can't act like a girl for the evening.' How would you feel?"

She looked up at him, eyes alight with amusement. "Like we had a very different sort of secret to be sorting out."

"See? This is the cheeky I was talking about earlier. Not clever, my arse."

"What was that about your arse?" She reached around to pinch the aforementioned body part.

"Quit trying to distract me so you can snatch the mirror, Evans."

She feigned innocence, her mouth forming a round 'O'. "What would I want with your silly little mirror?"

"To crush Padfoot's soul with your words."

She grinned. "Think I could manage?"

James pitched his voice very high. "Potter, you're nothing but a bullying toerag! I'd rather snog the Giant Squid than toss you a smile in the hallway!"

"That's not what I said."

"My apologies – yours included a bit about my fat head, too."

She took that as an opportunity to cup her hands around either side of it, drawing his face closer until they were practically nose to nose. At the last moment, she pulled him down and lifted her chin, pouting her lips into a soft kiss upon his forehead.

"If it's any consolation, I've grown quite attached to this head." She drew her fingers up to the crown, combing up and down through his hair and thoroughly enjoying the blissful look it created.

"Is it just me or do you hear whistling?"

"James, if you think you're getting snogged for that mess, you're dafter than I thought."

"I am!" He insisted, "I don't even know what a car is!"

"Lucky for you, you have a brilliant girlfriend who happens to be in love with you regardless."

James guffawed. "Lily Evans, did you just beat me to saying 'I love you' when I've been fighting to repress it for nearly ten minutes?"

Lily hopped up from the bench and made to stroll away. After a few lengthy strides, though, she turned and winked. "And people see you as some sort of rogue. Pansy, if you ask me. Stand up, Cotter, you're buying me ice cream."

So, you see, it might not be worth it to perpetuate the rumor that Wallace's was necessarily cursed. If something wasn't meant to be, it just wasn't – and that was hardly a restaurant's fault.

And, if it were fated? If two people were exactly where they were supposed to be at precisely the right moment, with the one they were meant for? Well, then they'd sort things out.

Wallace's wasn't cursed; life was just complicated. And not enough people save room for dessert.