6Saturday Morning Sunshine
"Busy old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains call us?
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?"
— John Donne
It was the most beautiful Saturday morning seen at Hogwarts in many years. It was autumn, and every breeze stirred the multitudes of colourful leaves from their branches; they now had nothing to do but obey the wind. Lily Evans walked around the lake, admiring the deep blues and greens, her auburn hair pulled back in a large plait. She found a dry spot on the bank of the lake, not far from a tree she knew a certain boy liked to frequent, and took a seat, feeling content with her plan of action for the day: reading in the glorious sunshine. She truly enjoyed the serenity that came from pouring into a good novel, and she hadn't had any time to read for fun since returning to Hogwarts, especially since she was named Head Girl. Today, though, she was forcing herself to take a break from her schoolwork. She was going to reread an old favourite: Emma.
Lily had eaten a quick breakfast before heading out, and a few others were waking up as she left. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, which meant that Lily would get more peace and quiet than ever, as most of the school would be spending their Saturday in the little village on the outskirts of the school grounds. Lily smiled; this was going to be a good day indeed. She cracked open her book and began reading the first chapter, the sun gently rising in its arc. Though she knew one could find quiet in the library, she could not resist the beautiful day that had dawned. The fresh air would do any student at Hogwarts good: being cramped up inside the old, mouldy castle with scores of other students and house-elves running rampant was enough to give anyone a nasty cold. Lily sighed peacefully, a smile on her face.
This was perfect.
"Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her."
The thought of someone interrupting her never even crossed her mind. Who wouldn't want to spend the whole day at Hogsmeade with weather like this, especially since the bitter Highland winter was looming darkly ahead of them? Bright, sunny days were a rarity. As she contemplated why Mr. Knightley would fall in love with someone as deeply flawed as Emma Woodhouse, Lily turned the page, completely consumed in the words of her novel. It did not take long for the sun to rise a bit higher. She was so engrossed in Jane Austen's vivid descriptions that she didn't hear anyone approach her.
"Mr. Frank Churchill was one of the boasts of Highbury, and a lively curiosity to see him prevailed, though the compliment was so little returned that he had never been there in his life. His coming to visit his father had been often talked of but never achieved. Now, upon his father's marriage, it was very generally proposed, as a most proper attention, that the visit should take place. There was not a dissentient voice on the subject—"
"Evans?"
Lily jumped a little, shocked to see James Potter standing near her, an amused smile on his face. Her heart pounded uncomfortably in her chest. Lily frowned—so much for time alone with Jane and Emma. Heart still beating frantically, Lily swept a loose swath of her long auburn hair out of her face and huffed.
"Potter, what're you doing up this early?"
This seemed like the most natural question, as Potter and his mates were not known for being early risers. She realised an instant later that he had his trusty Quidditch broom in his right hand. They both looked at the broomstick and Lily shook her head.
"Forget I asked."
"Mind if I sit?" he said, and Lily shrugged, slightly unsettled by the lack of his devilish, playful grin.
He covered his mouth with his free hand as a yawn escaped, his eyes crinkling behind wire-framed glasses, and then sat next to her. His black hair, which was usually disheveled, looked extra ruffled this morning. Not that Lily cared or anything. Did he literally roll out of bed and leave the castle, broom in tow?
Lily returned to her book without a word. She felt his eyes on her, but she had ceased to be bothered by his gaze years ago. It was such a common occurrence that she couldn't help but be used to it. Whether it was during their meetings with the Prefects, in class, at meals, or whilst sitting in the common room, Potter's gaze was as normal to her as homework. What was out of the ordinary was his lack of what Lily's friend Alice had colloquially (and rather affectionately) termed "swagger." His greetings ordinarily involved a compliment or a not-so-subtle suggestion of a date, but this morning he was calm and quiet. Peaceful, almost.
"... but dear Emma was of no feeble character; she was more equal to her situation than most girls would have been, and had sense, and energy, and spirits that might be hoped would bear her well and happily through its little difficulties and privations."
They sat this way for quite a while—Lily reading and James watching her, not a word. But then, he leaned back, stretched, and yawned again. He closed his eyes and let his head rest on his hands, looking as though he was soaking up every single ray of sun possible.
Not long after he closed his eyes, Lily brought her eyes up from her book and looked him over. They had only been at school for a month or so, and Lily still hadn't adjusted to the "new" James Potter, the "Head Boy" version of James Potter. He and Sirius Black had returned from their summer holidays more damnably fit and good-looking than should be allowed, and it was all the girls of Hogwarts seemed capable of talking about. Black in particular seemed to have reached Greek god status, while Potter was content with the popularity he'd already acquired from his talent on the pitch and his thoroughly surprising appointment as Head Boy. Lily had always thought Potter too popular for his own good, and his being named Head Boy over Remus Lupin, who had actually been a Prefect, had infuriated Lily for some time. In fact, she still wasn't quite settled with it.
But no one was talking about how James Potter had grown older—not only taller and broader, but somehow far more... aware. Lily couldn't make sense of the difference. Though he still teased her, he had not irritated her nearly as greatly as he used to. He listened to her, which was new, and he made more of an effort to keep Sirius Black in check, which was downright odd. While Lily had been duly shocked to find that James Potter had been given the duty, honour, and responsibility of being Head Boy, especially after having not been a Gryffindor Prefect, he had not been a disappointment. Not yet, anyway.
She thought back to their first patrol together, when they found a second-year Ravenclaw roaming the second-floor corridor after curfew. James had spotted the boy and had run to catch him, and, by the time Lily had finally caught up, James was chastising him. But he spoke in such a kind and encouraging way that Lily could say nothing. It was then that Lily had realised that perhaps Dumbledore hadn't been cracked after all.
And she couldn't make sense of her own alterations, either; she found that she smiled and laughed more in his presence than in years past and that she wasn't as apt to verbally strike him down in public. She rationalised this as needing to show a reasonable amount of respect for her partner.
Lily had known for quite some time that Potter had hazel-ish eyes, but this morning in particular, when he opened them, they seemed quite extraordinary. They were two parts honey and one part forest green. The sun was still low in morning sky, and he was looking right over the lake. It didn't occur to her to avert her eyes.
She felt a warm blob spread through her chest. He really is magnificent.
That was when his eyes met hers, and the smallest grin she had ever seen—damn near a smirk—crept over his lips. As if she had spoken those words aloud.
"What?" she muttered angrily, irritated by his smile. She tried to return to her book. Again.
"Nothing."
"You honestly don't have anything to say?"
"I honestly don't have anything new to say."
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, rolling her eyes.
"You're quite sick of what I've said to you these many years, are you not?"
"Oh, Potter," she said, exasperated, "go ahead and just say whatever it is. I know you want to."
"You are," he said, his voice faltering. She met his gaze, which was filled with passionate conviction. "The most beautiful person I know."
What was this? He had never said that to her before.
"I thought you didn't have anything new to say?"
"I've told you that before, haven't I?"
"No."
"Oh. Right," he said, his hand going straight to his hair, though it didn't need help looking windswept this morning. His voice took on a wry tone. "I suppose I should have told you how I felt years ago, eh?"
Lily rolled her eyes again. So much for reading.
"If that's all you wanted to say…"
"If you want me to leave, you should say so."
"Please, Potter, go do what you got up early to do," she said, thinking of Quidditch.
"In that case, I will not be moving, as I got up early specifically to spend time with you."
"But you... then why did you bring your broom?" she asked, feeling anger beginning to creep into her system.
"In case you fancied a flight."
"You know too well that I do not like to fly."
"Alone, no. But I thought you might enjoy it if you had someone to hold on to."
"Potter, I do not want to go flying, especially if it requires having to hold on to you."
"Evans, give it a shot. You might find it to be rather enjoyable," he said, looking sincere.
"I'm sure I wouldn't," said Lily, her eyes narrowed in an attempt to look formidable.
"You never know until you try," Potter said in a sing-song voice that caused her to reach over and hit him (almost playfully) with her book.
He was right, of course, but she was not about to tell him that. She tossed him a dismissive glare and opened her book, attempting to ignore him, but Lily's mind's eye conjured up an image of her holding onto Potter (the taller and broader Potter) for dear life while he flew her over the castle, a bright grin on his face. Lily could feel her cheeks radiating in the early morning sun. The small fire that usually kindled in her chest was now spreading everywhere, as if it were out of control.
"Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had..."
How was he affecting her like this? He wasn't even speaking to or looking at her. Lily took a few deep breaths, hopefully inconspicuously, and waited for her body return to its normal temperature. She had felt him look at her once during this process, but she persevered, knowing that other than a slight blush, he would have no way of knowing how she felt.
"Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet, docile, grateful disposition..."
It took her a while to realise that she had never ridden on a broom with someone else, as it was not the typical way to fly. The conflict raging within herself continued for a few minutes, and Potter sat there, daring to hope that time would change her mind.
"Harriet certainly was not clever, but she had a sweet, docile, grateful disposition, was totally free from conceit, and only desiring to be guided by any one she looked up to..."
She read all of one sentence.
"I wouldn't let you fall, you know."
"I would certainly hope not," she muttered.
"Is that a yes?"
"Of course not!"
"Then why would you say that? Evans, play fair."
"Since when have either of us played fair?"
At this, Potter laughed, so much so that he fell on his back and held his sides. Lily looked him over with eyebrows raised.
"Oh come on, Evans. You made a funny. You're supposed to laugh."
"I wasn't joking, Potter."
"Clearly," he said, sitting up, a playful smile remaining.
He then pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, and Lily fought the urge to smile. She'd seen that simple motion over a thousand times in the past six years, from all sorts of classmates and friends, and never, until just that moment, had she ever found it endearing. Her heart fluttered again, her mouth parted in surprise, and Potter didn't notice (or graciously ignored) her reaction, to her great relief. Perhaps he thought she would respond, so he spoke again.
"But you're right," he said. "We don't play fair; we never have. In order to correct this egregious error, I feel that we should turn over a new petal, as they say, and begin playing fair as of this instant. I will ask you a question, and for once, you will say 'yes'."
"It's turn over a new leaf, Potter, and don't hold your breath."
"See, you aren't playing fair, Evans."
"I'm not playing anything! I don't play games, unlike you and your little friends."
"You know, I don't think Peter, Remus, and Sirius would appreciate you speaking of them so. How would Alice like it if I called her 'your little friend'?"
Rolling her eyes again, Lily opened her book. She was shocked to see that she had closed it once more while listening to him talk.
"You know, Evans, this might not be the most fantastic conversation I've ever had, but it's certainly one of our longest."
Lily stopped reading again. He was right. Remembering that she really wanted to read in peace and enjoy the morning sun, she decided to try to get him to leave.
"Speaking of Remus, where are he and Black? And Pettigrew?"
"Still sleeping, I reckon."
Lily nodded, but she had hoped the answer to her problem would be found in that question.
"Why aren't you going to Hogsmeade?"
"Why aren't you going to Hogsmeade?"
"Because I had hoped to enjoy some autumn sunshine before winter set in, and I had hoped to do it alone."
"Why alone? Being with others is usually more enjoyable."
"For you, perhaps. I don't mind being alone. I don't need the attention."
Lily knew as soon as the words escaped her lips that she had erred—her words had made her skin burn as if she had scalded herself—and when she chanced a glance at him, the light had gone out of his eyes. But this, too, was unusual—she'd said far worse things to him before, and he always rallied. Why was this different?
"Potter?"
"No, I know," he said, smiling. It fell flat within the moment. "I've never deserved to spend time with you. I'm just an attention-seeking bully, a terrible toerag, a persistent, pitiful, parsimonious prat."
Lily couldn't help herself, she had to chuckle at his skill with words. Potter's eyebrows contracted.
"Come on, Potter. 'You made a funny. You're supposed to laugh'," she said, still amused.
She expected him to grin, laugh along with her, and make another joke. He didn't. There was no trace of a smile or laugh anywhere in his expression. He stared across the lake, rubbed his face for a moment, and shook his head, as if he couldn't comprehend something.
"You're a regular Shakespeare, aren't you?" she asked, trying to get him to smile. "Potter?"
"You still don't get it, do you? You still don't understand," he said, his throat thick.
He stood and, without thinking, Lily stood as well. Wasn't this what she wanted? For him to leave? So why was she standing? Why did she suddenly feel a rumble of guilt in her chest?
As he began walking away, Lily caught his arm.
"What don't I understand?"
"How I feel about you isn't a joke, Lily. You still think of me as I was at fifteen, don't you?"
Lily's lips parted, her eyes wide with something akin to horror. Did she? Did she really know the young man standing before her?
"Don't you?" he asked again, more sharply this time. His broom was lying on the grass, all but forgotten.
"Potter..."
"Forget it. I'll leave you alone. I can't keep pretending like you haven't hurt me enough."
"Hurt you?" Lily asked, anger rising like bile. "Hurt you? Are you serious, Potter? You can't get angry about my rejecting you when ruthlessly teased and harassed me for years on end! How am I supposed to ignore that?"
"People change, Evans! If you don't believe me, go ask Snivellus. He can give you a first-hand account."
Lily groaned and shook her fists at her side.
"You always do this! You always bring up Severus, as if he's done something terrible to you!"
"He's done something terrible to everyone, Evans, especially you!" he shouted, throwing his hands up.
Lily stomped her foot, her hands still curled into fists.
"I don't want to talk about him, Potter! We were talking about us, and then you went and brought him up, even though you know it does nothing but make me angry!"
This seemed to sober him, and he swallowed any retort, albeit grudgingly. Lily supposed it was the use of the word "us," though she hadn't explicitly intended to mean it that way. They both took a few minutes to collect themselves, and Potter spoke first.
"I'm sorry for bringing him up. I suppose I should know better by now."
"Yes, you certainly should," said Lily firmly, her arms crossed over her chest. "You're not blameless in this, you know."
"Neither are you, Evans. Really. Do you know how many rejections I've taken from you?" Potter's tone was lighter, and she knew he had recovered, even if it was just a little.
"I stopped keeping count in fifth year," said Lily, a small smile on her face. She halfway turned away from him, towards the lake.
"My point exactly," said Potter, a similar smile gracing his lips. "It doesn't get easier, despite what people think. Last night, for instance, I didn't sleep a wink. I kept thinking... what if I'm wrong? What if she really doesn't care about me at all? What if... Merlin forbid... you were meant to be with someone else?"
His thoughts, spoken aloud, seemed to drain him of all energy. He sat next to his broom, his head in his hands. Perhaps he didn't want to see her reaction, or perhaps he didn't want to show her this side of him, the pained side. She wasn't sure. Lily hadn't ever seen James Potter look vulnerable. The image was humbling. This was a side of him she could not only relate to but understand.
James Potter was human. He felt pain, and, by the looks of it, he felt her rejections quite acutely.
She knelt next to him, pulled his hands away from his face, and hesitantly touched his face.
"James?"
"Yes?" he asked, his eyes revealing his pleasure at hearing her use his proper name.
"Sometimes, in life, we don't get what we want precisely when we want it."
"What are you saying, Lily?"
"I think you know what I'm trying to say," she said, sighing. The moment was over.
"No, no, I don't think I do. I think you should elaborate for me, especially while sitting this close and touching my face."
With that, Lily pulled her hand away and turned, a smile on her face. After retrieving her book, which she had carelessly left lying on the grass, she walked away. Potter was by her side a few moments later, broom in tow.
"What book is that?"
"What's it to you?"
"Believe it or not, Evans, I do read."
"Oh, really? And here I was thinking that you went into the past six years of exams with your fingers crossed."
Lily listened to him laugh—a sound that, despite having heard hundreds of thousands of times, she had never appreciated. It suddenly made her want to laugh along with him.
"Potter, why don't you go distract someone else?"
But she couldn't help it—she was grinning. He would see through her question in an instant.
"Distracting? Me? Oh, dear," he said, smirking. "Have you finally lost your ability to ignore me?" Lily didn't even want to consider his question. He would like the answer too much. "Have you finally realised what I've been telling you all along is actually true?"
Lily looked up at him, gave him an "Oh, please, Potter" look, and kept walking. But James Potter stopped.
"You have. You've realised I'm right," he said.
The certainty in his voice made her feet halt. A few moments of silence passed, nothing between them but a bit of grass and the autumn wind. Lily could tell that he was looking at her.
"You fancy me."
If Lily had been in the Great Hall sipping on Pumpkin Juice, she would have spat it all over the table. Fortunately, she wasn't. She just stared at him, trying to look simultaneously mortally offended and disgusted.
"What? Potter, you're delusional, as always," she said and began walking, though she realised too late that she was headed towards the Quidditch pitch. She just needed to be in motion. He easily matched her stride.
"I don't understand why you're having such a hard time coming to grips with this, Evans. I'm not a bad guy, you know. We just discussed this."
"Except when you hex random people in corridors because you're bored," she said a bit too harshly.
She felt her skin burn again. James stiffened and stopped her by tenderly grasping her elbow. It surprised her that, even in his anger, he could be gentle. In fact, the pressure of his hand spurred further flames flickering all over her body.
"You know damn well I've stopped that. Dumbledore didn't choose me to be Head Boy for nothing, Evans."
Lily stopped and looked at him, straight in the eyes. A moment later she was regretting it, because the look in his eyes made her knees weak, and he seemed to know it. She felt the fire again. He also seemed to know that she was having a hard time moving, so he took a step closer, closing the distance between them. He dropped his broom. The early-morning sunlight, the smell of autumn, and the rustle of leaves made everything seem so much more intense and the next thing she knew—he was standing well within kissing distance, tucking a piece of auburn hair behind her ear. His hand remained on her cheek.
"You know I'm right," he said in a low, intimate voice that she'd never heard. "You fancy me."
"You're... wrong," she said. She was panicking internally, the flames licking her lungs. How could he not see it?
"You want me to kiss you."
"You're… wr-wrong."
A slight breeze moved past them, and Lily felt the clash of warm and cool.
"You're lying," he said, moving his face closer to hers.
Her soft, peaches-and-cream face was warm and closer than ever; his heart was pounding so violently in his chest that he was certain she could hear it. He hardly heard her weak attempts to rebuff him; she was not attempting to leave his grasp, and he had been so very careful while touching her—he could not risk scaring her away. But he also could not kiss her, not without her express approval, despite the agony this physical proximity was causing.
"Lily, may I kiss you?" he asked.
Her green, almond-shaped eyes met his with surprise and something else he couldn't identify. She neither moved nor spoke, only blinked in surprise.
"I need an answer," he said, a little more brusquely than intended.
Without making a sound, she dropped her book, lifted her hands to his face, and aimed for his lips. The warmth and softness, yet consistent pressure, was almost unbearable. Without thinking—his brain was all but shut off—James pulled her closer, his hands holding her waist and back. He felt her arms wrap around his neck and hands touch his hair, and he felt his body reacting in ways that might seem far too forward or inappropriate. Just as he considered deepening the kiss, she broke away from him, stepped back, her eyes wide with horror, and immediately turned and began walking away. Broom and book forgotten, James ran after her.
"Lily, please, don't—please—Lily," he said, his voice breaking with terror.
Had the kiss not been good enough for her? Had it been too much? Did she not feel anything? Had she not been transported to almost an alternate time-space? Another plane of existence? Should he tell her those things?
"I shouldn't have done that," she said, her voice nearly a whisper.
She kept walking. He reached for her elbow again, gently again, and she allowed him to stop and turn her around.
"Lily, please don't walk away from me, not after that," he said.
She glanced at him, as if in pain, and then stared at her feet.
"Whatever it is, you can tell me," James said. "I can take it. But I can't—I can't handle you walking away from me."
"James, I'm not right for you," she said, stomping her foot. "We fight too much and you make me so angry and I can't imagine a scenario where we're together and I'm not infuriating you or vice versa."
"That's called passion, Lily, and opposites attract. We balance each other out. And I can't imagine a scenario where I'm not agonizingly attracted to you, where I'm not madly in love with you, and where you kissing me doesn't send me to a higher plane of existence."
There, he said it.
Lily laughed and rolled her eyes, and James smiled to see it. But then his insecurities resurfaced.
"You kissed me. How was it?" he asked, his voice small.
"I definitely wasn't transported to a higher plane of existence," she said, grinning. "But it was..."
She paused, biting her lower lip. She was teasing him, probably, but he patiently awaited her verdict.
Then her eyes met his and smouldered—he didn't have a better word for it—in a way he'd never seen before. His knees felt weak. Then she laughed, shook her head, and looked out over the lake. Was she terrified of her own feelings? It was all certainly overwhelming. He could hardly comprehend her fear.
"What would you have me do, Lily?"
"What?" she asked, as though she hadn't properly heard him.
"I... I understand that this may feel overwhelming," he said, hoping he could properly string more words together. "But Lily, lovely Lily, you are right for me. And I you. I know I've not always deserved your respect or... anything, really, but... I've been trying. I really have."
"I know," said Lily quickly. "I just... this wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't ever supposed to be right... about anything!"
"I know," he replied. "Lily, I'd settle for knowing that you're not interested in being with... anyone else. We don't have to do anything or tell anyone or... whatever... I just... some sort of reassurance would be great."
"My kissing you wasn't reassurance enough? I don't think I've ever been so bold or brainless in my entire life."
James grinned and laughed heartily.
"Ah, now, see—you're getting it! That's how you've made me feel all along!"
"Bold and brainless?"
"Yes. That. Precisely."
Lily matched his grin and shook her head. But doubt and insecurity weaved their way into her heart and mind, and she frowned.
"I dunno, James. I dunno what I want."
"Well," he said, his tone and countenance sobering, "if you'd not noticed, you control... this." He gestured between them. "All of it. I'm... utterly and completely yours."
"No, I'd not noticed," she said, her voice small.
This was a new idea, and Lily found herself contemplating his words carefully. She was in control? He was... hers? All hers?
"Mine?" she asked, feeling dumbstruck again.
James nodded, his hazel eyes bright in the sunlight, and Lily felt a desire to touch him again. She reached out tentatively, her hand reaching for his jaw, and he leaned into her touch. She smiled, still confused by her emotions, and, on a sudden whim, slid his glasses off his nose and onto hers.
"It's a good look for you, Evans," he said, grinning.
"Really?" she asked, genuinely curious.
"I've no idea—I can hardly see you. But I'm sure you look stunning."
"Damn, these lenses are ridiculous... how d'you ever do anything? And how on earth do you play Quidditch?"
James laughed, and suddenly Lily was laughing too, and he was reaching for his glasses, but she was leaning away, keeping him at bay... and suddenly their arms were tangled and fighting, and when Lily saw an opportunity to bolt, she did. James took off after her, everything blurry, but followed her bright red hair. Lily ran a short ways, and James quickly caught her, wrapping his arms around her middle. She laughed and spun around, and while she tried to fight him off, she slipped, and they slid to the ground with a thud. Both were laughing hard for some time, but as they returned to some semblance of normalcy, James' arms were still around her. Her whole body thrumming, and she realised that she needed to trust herself. A current surged through the both of them, James' eyes brighter and his body closer than ever.
"May I?" he asked, his tone so low and gentle that Lily almost didn't hear him over the wind.
But she did, and she nodded, and James obliged.
Lily lost all thought save for him and his tantalisingly slow kiss. By the time she'd accustomed herself to this feeling, she felt his lips part, and hers following his lead, and a wave of molten heat coursed through her.
"James," she said, pulling her lips from his to gasp for air. Had she forgotten to breathe? How did that happen?
"Lily," he said, then melded his lips and tongue to her neck. A sound she didn't know she know she could make erupted from her throat, and James groaned.
"James," she said, her tone becoming a warning. "We have to stop."
They both sat up, breathing hard, and moved apart. Then James fell onto his back, his hands covering his face.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. Lily heard the shame in his voice. "I... I shouldn't've..."
"James, it's alright... I just... I didn't realise how much I would enjoy that," she said. "That's dangerous, that is. Whatever it is."
James nodded, still looking mortified. She moved closer and took his hands away from his face.
"But I don't regret it," she said.
She put his glasses back on his nose, and he straightened them.
"I'll be better," he said, sitting up. "I'll contain myself. I just... I got so excited. Our first kiss, Lily!"
Lily felt her lips spreading into a sweet smile.
"It was, wasn't it?"
James nodded, looking overjoyed.
"What're we to do now?" Lily asked, feeling uncomfortable. In the span of half an hour or so, she'd allowed herself to finally 'fall' for James Potter. How on earth had that happened? And what was supposed to happen next?
James reached for her hand and she gave it. His hand was warm and rougher than she knew to expect.
"We have lots of options," he said. "You can pretend this morning never happened, thereby breaking my heart into a million useless pieces, or we can admit that we're attracted to each other and go from there."
"Have you the reassurance you wanted?"
"I think so," he said, smiling at her hand and then meeting her gaze. "But what do you want?"
"I need time," she said, frowning. "I need to think through all this... I dunno what to do about all these feelings. What did you call it earlier? Passion? It's like a wildfire."
"Time," said James. "Got it. We don't need to rush into anything."
"Exactly," said Lily with a firm nod.
"Alright."
"Alright."
"Lily?"
"Yes?"
"You're my favourite person."
James watched as she grinned at him.
"You're growing on me, Potter."