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The Common Room is bustling with victorious Gryffindors, celebrating their first match — and win — of the season. Every so often a cheer rings out from across the crowd, disembodied hands lifting glasses into the air amongst a mass of red and gold. James is leaning against a wall next to Sirius, periodically sipping out of a truly horrendous concoction of alcohol, surveying the events before him. The fifth years playing an infantile game of Spin the Goblet; Peter and Remus drunkenly belting the lyrics to ABBA; two of his team members reenacting the most brutal points of the match.
And there she is. Lily. She’s pulled away from her friends and headed — alone, he notes — to the table full of drinks he and the boys nicked from Hogsmeade earlier in the day.
It’s always something. Something that draws him towards her, regardless of who else is in the room. Something that pricks the hairs on the back of his neck when she enters, or laughs, or hell, even breathes. It’s this inexplicable, fated thing that unsticks his feet and sends him sauntering over to her now.
“Evans,” he greets, his voice deceptively steady. He leans against the table. “Enjoying the party?”
She looks up immediately, and he tries not to read into the glimmer of her eyes when she meets his gaze. They’re piercing, those eyes, and he’s been on the receiving end of her looks for years: hateful glares, exaggerated eye-rolls, begrudging respect, slight tolerance, and now, this look. He’s been waiting for this look, it seems, his whole life: excitement. From Lily Evans. To see him . He tamps down the almost painful thumping of his heart at the sight.
“James!” she says, and God if the sound of his name from her voice doesn’t send him into a right state. “I was wondering when you were going to come say hi.”
“Waiting for me, were you?” Jesus, he’s a prick. Can’t ever say anything straight. He hates that sometimes. He thinks she does, too. But sometimes he thinks she likes it, relishes it.
As if to prove him right, Lily snorts. “Something like that, yeah.”
She turns back to the assortment of bottles set out before her and grabs one, unceremoniously twisting off the cap (which falls with a clatter to the floor) and tilts it over her empty cup. She gives herself a healthy pour, brings the cup to her lips. When she looks back at him, he notes the glassy balm over her pupils. There’s a flush blooming over her cheeks — more than the usual for her — and her hand is clutching the edge of the table as if she needs to to stay upright. James narrows his eyes. Is she drunk ?
He’s seen Lily buzzed, even tipsy before, but never drunk. Never like this. He’s not entirely sure what to do. So he settles for what he knows.
“All right, Evans?”
She lowers her cup, a smirk settling on her lips. He ignores how they glisten slightly from her drink. “You always say that. You need a new line, Potter.”
Now, James knows he’s never been subtle around her. One would have to be an idiot to not realize he’s head over heels for the girl, but the implication that he’s chatting her up, that she knows and has caught him out, sends his pulse skittering nonetheless. And, like the absolute prat he is, he attempts to deflect. Set the record straight. Or completely off-course, as it were. “Who says it’s a line?”
She’s quiet, for a moment, gaze trained on him. Is she reading him as easily as he feels she is? Can she see his heart, his every thought, laid bare for her?
Softly, as if she’s really asking, as if — however insanely — she’s insecure: “Is it not?”
“I—”
But before he can answer, some divine intervention occurs and Lily stumbles, saving him from having to deal with that particular line of questioning. On instinct, James reaches out his hands and grasps her by the arms, righting her. In doing so, he’s left standing much closer to her than before. Only a few inches now. He should move back, out of self preservation if nothing else. But he’s never had much of that when it comes to her.
Lily exhales a pleased little hum, a silly smile on her face as she peers up at him. “My hero,” she says.
James lets out a laugh and gives her arms a quick squeeze before letting go. “Can’t let my Head Girl hit her head, can I? Who’s going to do those pesky little schedules I hate so much?”
A faint blush coats her skin at his words. He revels in it, her little reactions to his compliments. Each one is like a reminder that he can affect her, if even just a fraction of how she can him.
“You know you’re clever enough for the both of us,” Lily rolls her eyes, but it lacks the conviction, the annoyance of years past. James’ chest expands with a fierce warmth when she says this, and he can’t help the beam that overtakes his face. His mind is already tucking that sentence away to analyze over a thousand times later that night. A fraction, he thinks.
But he can’t tell her that. He shudders at the thought. “Ah, Evans, you’re finally admitting it.”
Another eye roll. She’d usually have a retort all queued up for him, but it seems she’s a little too gone for that now. She merely stares at him for a moment before her eyes shift to a vague spot to the side of his head. Alright, then.
She seems deep in thought. James is about to open his mouth to say something — what, exactly, he doesn’t know. It’s not like he’s capable of thinking ahead with her, after all — but she beats him to it.
“I love this song,” Lily says, a non-sequitur if James has ever heard one.
It takes a moment before he realizes she’s talking about the song playing in the Common Room. A Joni Mitchell song. Quite the strange choice for a party, he muses. Perhaps Mary’s going through something.
Lily is still staring at the space behind his shoulder. She starts humming. After a few bars, it transforms into singing. However, it’s at the completely wrong point of the song.
“I could drink a case of you,” Lily croons, and is horrendously off-pitch. She even does the little run all the way up into the top notes, but each one blends together so it’s more of a strange yodel in her voice, and descends into giggles. James finds it immensely endearing. “I would still be on my feet, I would still be on my feet.”
Joni’s still on the second verse, but James doesn’t correct her. It’s too adorable the way Lily sways her head side to side, eyes almost fluttering closed like she’s lost in the meaning.
“Yes, Evans, it’s a great song,” he concedes, laughing.
“I think she was onto something.” Her eyes open again, but she’s still not looking at him.
James furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
And then, she says something that knocks him clean off his own feet. Metaphorically.
“It’s how I feel about you.”
She chooses this moment to meet his gaze again, green eyes shining, no holds barred. The combination of it all — the part of her pink lips, that look, one that he’s never seen before, or perhaps never noticed. It’s...nervousness? Care? Fancy? — it bowls him over, sends his whole body into simultaneous overdrive and absolute collapse. What did she just say?
His mouth finally catches up to him. His throat is so dry, however, that he has to clear it quite heartily. “I—what?”
Very eloquent, James , he chides himself.
“Like it’s...never enough. When I’m with you.” Her voice is quiet, steady, and she looks down at his chest. And God if the whole thing doesn’t make his head swim. “Like I’m drunk off you, I fancy you so much.”
Holy shit. James feels as if he is out of his own body, floating above the scene watching Lily Evans confess her feelings for him. He wants to slap the stupid, shocked look off his own face.
He’s not sure when it happened, but they’re even closer now, the tips of their shoes touching. A hair’s breadth away. James feels as if he’s on the verge of death he’s so short of breath. Sweet and merciful and something he’s been longing for for years, but death all the same.
And Lily chooses to plunge the knife in even deeper.
“Sometimes I think you feel that way about me, still.”
If it’s possible, his eyes bulge wider. Sometimes, she says. She thinks. If only she fucking knew. He could drink a thousand cases of her and barely move an inch.
Lily smiles, soft. “When you look at me the way you’re doing now.”
He’s heard enough by now — more than enough. He lifts a hand up to cup her cheek, a thumb tracing the bone. At the hitch of her breath, one that sends a thrum of excitement up his spine, he tucks a strand of dark red hair behind her ear.
They are so close. He can see flecks of mascara on her eyelashes, could practically count each freckle spattered across her skin.
She tilts her chin up, leaning forward on her tip-toes to reach him, and his brain is racing because she’s so close but fuck. It can’t be like this. He presses his hands to each of her cheeks, holding her in place.
“Wait,” he says, and she starts, wide-eyed. Drops back on her heels.
“Oh,” Lily nods, and she pulls away from him. Her focus has fixed to some unknown speck on the ground now, biting at her lip.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He never wants to make her look like that — so disappointed, so embarrassed — again.
“ No, Lil—,” James huffs, grabbing her hand before she can turn away. “I just mean — you’re drunk. And I can’t kiss you for the first time if you might not even remember it.”
“Oh,” she says again, and this time it’s significantly less dismayed.
He moves both hands back to her cheeks — he’s never going to get used to touching her, he swears on that. He can feel her body relax at the contact.
“Evans,” he starts, and he knows his voice is dripping with reverence, but God, he doesn’t care. He hopes she feels every ounce of it. “Tomorrow, when you’re sober, and I’m sure you remember this, I’m finding you, and I’m kissing you the second I can. And you’ll be grateful I didn’t do it here.”
“That’s...right,” Lily nods, and she sounds a little breathless. “That sounds...good.”
He grins. “I’m glad you agree.”
And, because he just can’t help it, he presses a tender kiss to her forehead. When he pulls back, she’s staring up at him, flushed red with a disbelieving smile.
“Let’s get you some water and have Mary take you to bed, yeah?”
She nods, takes his hand in hers. Suddenly, he’s desperate to go to sleep just so he can wake up.
When James wakes up, it’s with a flash of recognition of the night before. After grinning dazedly at the curtains of his four-poster for a couple of minutes, he practically springs off his bed to his feet, brushes his teeth, and bounds down the stairs in fewer record speed.
He’d deposited her in bed the night before — or rather, Mary had — with a glass of water and a solemn promise to find her the next day. He has no intention of not following through with that promise now.
He makes his way up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory — they’d figured out a loophole to get past them back in fifth year — and knocks on the door. If he had more time to think on it, he might feel some uncertainty creep in at the knowledge of what he is about to do. But James has always had a certain proclivity for impulsion, and by the time his knuckles are rapping against the wood, it’s too late. As it is, his brain is too busy replaying the previous night’s events on a loop, like some sort of euphoria-inducing broken record.
A few moments pass, and then the door opens. It’s not Lily on the other side, but Mary. She only looks vaguely surprised, but expresses that nonetheless. “How did you get up here?”
He ignores her. “Is Lily here?”
Mary raises an eyebrow. Whatever. If he sounds too eager, he doesn’t care.
She turns, calling, “Lil!” her voice carrying across the dormitory room.
“Yeah?” The familiar voice sounds from the other side, as the lavatory door opens and out comes Lily. Her hair is piled up in a messy bun atop her head, stray tendrils framing her pale face, which is slightly puffy from what James is assuming is her hangover. She’s dressed in sweatpants and a green oversized jumper that seems to swallow her entire body. He feels like he can’t breathe.
It’s then that she notices him. “Oh. Hi.”
“Hi.”
Mary is looking between them with unbridled intrigue.
“Can I talk to you?” James asks. He doesn’t even mind how eager he sounds.
“Um...sure.”
“I’ll be downstairs,” Mary says, sending Lily an extremely pointed look before slipping past James. He moves inside, softly shutting the door behind him.
He turns to Lily, but she doesn’t seem too pleased to see him. His heart plummets. She can’t look him in the eyes for more than a few seconds at a time, and her hands are fidgeting relentlessly with the hem of her shirt.
But in that moment, he realizes: she’s embarrassed . Why , he can’t possibly understand. The whole school is aware of his own deeply intense feelings for her. He’s done a piss-poor job of hiding them, after all. Not to mention, he’s fairly sure he’d been clear last night that her own feelings were not only enthusiastically welcomed, but also wholeheartedly reciprocated. It suddenly strikes James that Lily might not even remember the night’s events. Or perhaps she can only recall snippets; her own admission, maybe, and not James’s response.
Regardless, he’ll resolve it all right now. He clears his throat. “Do you remember? Last night?”
Lily’s gaze snaps up at him at that. Whether it’s from what he’s sure is a determined, blazing look in his eyes or maybe she’s just as tired of pretending as he is, he’s not certain, but she nods. Swallows. “Yes.”
James practically wants to fall to the floor in relief. But Lily still looks apprehensive, shifting her weight between her feet. He wants nothing more than to quell whatever doubts she has. But he just has to make sure of one thing first.
“How are you feeling?” He asks, taking a step forward. “Are you...nauseous or anything? Headache?”
“Mary gave me some Hangover Potion,” she says, voice laced with confusion. “So...no. Not really.”
A curt nod. “Good.”
He strides over, purposeful and confident and like a man on a mission. He reaches her within seconds, cups her face in his hands, and kisses her like he’s starved for it. And it truly feels like he is . Like this is the first moment he feels alive. It all bursts within him. When their lips touch, hers soft and pliant against his, it’s as if everything before this — every moment, every experience, every feeling — bears more meaning. There is more light in the room, more vibrant color on the curtains, more feeling in his fingertips, more everything .
And more Lily. She sighs beneath him, hands clutching his shoulders and then rapidly moving to wrap around his neck or twist into his hair. It’d only taken her a moment to respond when he first pressed his lips against hers, but she reciprocates now with just as much fervor.
And thank God for that because he doesn’t want to waste another moment of his life not kissing Lily Evans, having her kiss him back. Several minutes — hours? — later, they break apart, chests heaving, breathless. Beaming.
James leans his forehead against Lily’s, presses another quick kiss against her lips.
“Fuck, I feel drunk again,” Lily laughs. Her nails are scratching lightly against the nape of his neck. He shudders.
“Ah, Evans, I thought you could drink a case of me ,” he teases.
“Shut up,” she flushes.
“About the greatest moment of my life?” He grins, all teeth. “Never. Incidentally, though, I thought that was a break-up song.”
“Well, forgive me if I wasn’t analyzing all the lyrics,” she rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe I said that.”
“Clearly you needed to,” James says. “I’d never have realized you fancied me if you hadn’t. I’m terribly idiotic.”
“Can’t disagree with that,” Lily agrees. Her lips quirk up into a sly smirk, brows raised. “Are you still idiotic enough to not ask me to Hogsmeade now?”
An overwhelmingly giddy feeling encompasses him. James is practically undone by her words. He can’t help it: he kisses her, hard and with all the feeling he can muster. “No, I’m definitely not.”
Lily giggles, brows still raised expectantly. He thinks this is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. “Well?”
“Evans,” he starts. At his tone, she starts to grin. “Will you do me the great honor of accompanying me to Hogsmeade?”
Her smile is full-fledged, blinding. “I thought you’d never ask.”
She pushes up on her tip-toes to kiss him, soft and sweet, and all James can think at that moment is thank fuck for Joni Mitchell.