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Formidable

Summary:

“Been practicing your French then?” Sirius sniggers. “ My, wonder why you’d want to boast knowledge of such a romantic language.”

“Because it’s the polite thing to do while visiting a foreign country?”

“Or—” Sirius hums, taking a drag. “You are trying to impress a certain redhead who—”

“Who is my friend, ” James cuts in, with a stern look. “A friend, Pads. Really. Nothing else.”

Notes:

Welcome to my "Jily in Paris" fic! Any translations or end notes about places/cultural references will always be noted at the end of the chapter! I hope you enjoy this admittedly self-indulgent fluff fest!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Tu n'as pas compris? Tant pis

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

James

“You’re mental.”

“Am not. ” 

“Either an absolute genius or a complete nutter.”

“I’ve heard the best blokes are both.”

“Yeah, well. Not this time.”

A muggle woman runs into James and he offers a clipped pardon that feels foreign and heavy on his tongue. Beside him, Sirius chuckles and taps a cigarette out of its box, lighting it up with a muggle matchstick.

“Been practicing your French then?” Sirius sniggers. “My, wonder why you’d want to boast knowledge of such a romantic language.”

“Because it’s the polite thing to do while visiting a foreign country?”

Or—” Sirius hums, taking a drag. “You are trying to impress a certain redhead who—”

“Who is my friend, ” James cuts in, with a stern look. “A friend, Pads. Really. Nothing else.”

“I didn’t see you begging Effie to allow your friend Remus or friend Pete come along on this trip.”

James grins. “You’re here aren’t you?”

He turns back to the platforms, a swirling vortex of anxiousness whirling in his chest. A month. That’s how long it’s been since he’s seen her. What if she no longer found him funny? Or had a good think and decided he was still a toerag? She wouldn’t be coming if she didn’t at least tolerate you, James says to himself, raking a hand through his hair. Everything is fine. You’re fine.

A whole bloody month and now the train is late—what did he do to deserve it?

When a train with familiar, legible lettering sidles up to the platform, James’ heart gives a dramatic swoop. The doors clamber open and a thick wave of English fills the station, muggles pouring out from every artery with travel-worn faces and heavy baggage. 

James stands on his toes and scans the sea of people, unable to help himself. Behind him, Sirius sighs. 

“Don’t piss yourself, mate. I’m not risking the statute of secrecy to clean up your mess before she gets here."

James doesn’t compute a single word of it. 

She’s here.

She came. 

The second she spots him, Lily’s face breaks into a smile, laughter bursting across the throngs of people to reach him with arms outstretched and a knapsack bouncing at her back. His feet move on their own accord, first in a quick walk then a full on sprint, Lily matching his speed with as much acceleration. When they crash together, her arms immediately tug around his neck, fingers threading through the bottom curls at the back of his head. Giggles tickle his ear as he picks her up and twirls her. 

“I’m here,” she squeals, breathless from the spin. 

“You’re here,” he echos. 

Her arms tighten, fingers twisting deeper into his hair. He can’t hear past his heartbeat—the incessant thumping surely loud enough for her to notice. She lets out a contented sigh and he leans into the feeling, neither of them ready to let the other go. 

You know, normal friend stuff. 

“You’ve gotten taller—how’d you manage it?” She says, pulling back just enough to take a real look at him. “And more…”

Distinguished? Devilishly handsome?”

“More sideburns,” she says flatly, her cheeks bursting with color. A hand twitches upwards and plucks at the hair skimming the crest of his ear. It shoots a shiver pouring down his back.

“I like them—they suit you,” she says quietly, a smile forming. It’s such a small compliment but his heart swoops. Lily Evans just complimented your hair.

She must have realized her fingers were lingering too long because she pulls back quickly, removing herself from his arms and hiking her sack higher onto her shoulder. It takes every atom in his body not to pull her back.

“So—uh, Paris?”

“Paris,” James nods.

“We are in it?”

“Last time I checked.”

“And Black and your parents?”

“Definitely also in it,” James says solemnly, nodding towards where Sirius posts up with a fag. 

“In fact, Sirius is taking the French lifestyle to heart. I haven’t seen him stop smoking or complaining since we entered the continent.”

Like being summoned, Sirius straightens up and opens his arms wide, his voice a barking shock through the cavernous station.

“My love, you’ve made it!” Sirius bellows, teeth gleaming around the filter. “What? No sweeping gallop in my arms? Did you use all your energy for Prongs’ tearful hello?”

James shoots him a warning look, making Sirius’ grin grow wider. 

“Hello to you too, Black,” Lily huffs, shooting him a similar glare. “If I had known I was going to get a welcome wagon, I would have at least made myself presentable.”

“What do you mean? You look amazing.”

James stiffens, jaw going slack. Fuck, did he say that out loud? Judging by the bloom of pink on Lily's cheeks, he definitely did. 

“Right–” Lily blurts, twisting awkwardly in place. “Shall we? That looks like the exit over there...” Suddenly in a hurry, she pushes her way past a group of chattering women and into the crowd of people towards the door. 

One month without her and he’s already making a fool of himself. 

“And how about me, Prongsie?” Sirius coos, batting his eyelashes. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who will mysteriously drown in the river later.”

Sirius barks another laugh. From a couple meters away, Lily turns and waves her hand at them, beckoning for them to keep up. 

“Ah, don’t be a sop,” Sirius says, putting an arm around him. “You’re in Paris! With your–”

“Friend .”  

“Potential Parisian lover?”

Friend.”

“Problematic pining mate.”

“Brilliant,” James moans. “You actually found a worse title for it .

Sirius sniggers, shooting a middle finger to an increasingly impatient Lily already at the station doors. She gives a huff of annoyance which makes her cheeks puff ever so slightly. Merlin, he loves it when she’s annoyed. How did he make it so long without it?

“You were saying about the friends bit?” Sirius says, rolling his eyes at James’ apparent staring. James straightens, pushing past a smug Sirius to catch up. 

It’s fine. You’re together! Together as friends. That’s what you wanted, right?

* * * * * *

Le Cyrano sits just off to the side of a busy muggle intersection below the high walls of Montmartre Cemetery. It’s a muggle establishment at heart but it’s brimming with wizards and witches, all of which sit nearly shoulder to shoulder with the non-magical patrons without much care. It’s an odd sight–one that wartime has almost completely eradicated back home in Britain for fear of being labeled a blood traitor— but whether this is cognizant to the Parisians seems immaterial. Neither party–wizard or muggle–gives the other a second glance. 

It’s something James has never taken note of before but Lily spots immediately, and questions about French wizarding culture pour from her lips the second introductions with his parents have finished. Whether she realizes it or not, it makes an impression, the shocked and amused look on Fleamont and Euphemia Potter’s faces impossible not to clock as the rest unravels quite easily into a lively debate that leaves James feeling so full of contentment, he almost misses the approving smirk his mother shoots him.

He can’t deny it even if he tried: it feels good to hear her voice again–even if she had quickly become distracted with swotty talk about potions with his father. He missed her—missed her in a way their endless correspondence was unable to fill. She could write volumes chronicling each second they spent apart and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Nothing could replicate the feeling of having her next to him; all flesh and bone and cheeky, lovely quips that had seemed to win over his parents in a single evening.

“Lily, dear. I really wish you had just let us owl you some floo powder—James was telling us you had to come by boat then train?”

Hearing his name, James snaps back to the conversation; ripping his eyes away from where they had settled. The wine has stained Lily’s lips a dark red, rendering them horrendously appealing.

“Oh, it wasn’t that bad,” Lily reassures. “Besides, my sister wouldn’t stand for me to do any magic in her house. I’m honestly surprised she hasn’t made me move all my belongings to the garden shed yet.”

Around her, pairs of eyebrows raise. 

“What?” Lily says, turning towards James with a frown. Stealing a quick glance at his parents, Effie gives a small shake of her head. Leave it.

What?” Lily repeats. She gives him a soft, questioning poke to the cheek and he fights off the sudden urge to catch her hand and kiss it. 

“Nothing.” James lies.

Her expression darkens. She whips around, suddenly all business and stares pointedly at Sirius.

He caves immediately. The bastard.

“We think your sister’s a twat and that you shouldn’t live with her,” Sirius says curtly. Beside him, Flea snorts into his espresso and Euphemia makes a tutting noise under her breath. 

Sirius.”

What ?”

There’s a scraping sound beside him. Lily rises out of her seat.

“James, can I talk to you a moment—privately?”

James turns. Lovely emerald eyes bear down on him like they are about to cut him right in half. 

It’s a look he knows too well. 

Without a word, he shoves a last bite of mousse into his mouth and pushes his chair backwards, shooting a murderous look over at a smirking Sirius. She leads him to a small alleyway behind the restaurant where a few muggle cooks stand and smoke. Upon their arrival, some of them flash pitying grins his way and one of them calls something out in french that he doesn’t need to understand to know the gist of. You’re fucked, mate.

“I knew there was a reason you invited me here.”

She turns on her heel to face him, eyes blazing. She’s close. Too close. And the reddish twinge of the bistro lighting only cuts more sultry lines into the contours of her face. Every muscle in James’ body goes rigid, fingers twitching to jump to his hair.

“Look Lily—I wasn’t trying to overstep. I just—”

Am madly in love with you. 

Couldn’t bear to go a single second without seeing your beautiful, irresistible smile. 

Yes, maybe was too eager to hear that you and Knott had called it quits by the end of last term.

But he says none of those things, Lily mercifully cutting him off before he can even start.

“I’m not like Sirius, James.”

Well, that’s not what he was expecting. 

“I don’t need you and your parents to adopt me—my sister isn’t that much of an arse,” Lily continues. “I know you’ve been worried about me since Dad passed but, I’m really ok. I swear it.”

“Oh,” James mutters, unable to find anything else to say. A wave of relief rolls over him.

“But if it means anything, I am really happy to be here with you. It’s been a dream to visit Paris-–I don’t even know how to begin thanking your parents—”

I reckon marrying me would work.

“I think you’ve groveled enough to them,” James says, swallowing down the anxious jitter that remains. “Any more and they might put you back on the train.”

Lily laughs and the sound lights up the night. Merlin, he missed that sound. It had only been half a year since they had begun really speaking to each other, but she already felt like such a staple in his life. Could he even remember a time when he wasn’t able to joke with her or sneak a small touch by pushing back her hair? Yes, actually, he could. But that didn’t mean he wanted to relive it again. A life without Lily Evans no longer seemed possible. 

“Lily—”

It rises like bile in his throat. He’d spent months holding it all back—lying in bed and scripting long, arduous monologues of love and waiting just for the opportune moment to finally say it. She’d come all the way to Paris– fucking Paris! – for him! Was that not proof that something was going on between them? 

It’s the perfect opportunity. They are now alone, and with each passing breath the walls seem to inch them closer. She stares back at him, wine-stained lips half parted, eyes deep and glittering under the lamplight. Maybe he doesn’t need to say anything at all—just lean forward…

“I’m happy you decided to come too, Lily. I—well, I missed you.”

Coward. But good enough.

Lily’s cheeks flush, the light turning them a dark plum. Maybe he’s imagining it, but her eyes flicker to his lips and back. 

“I missed you too, James.”

He’s trembling, his whole body itching to lurch forward into her. Her eyes jump to his lips again and this time he’s sure of it. 

Kiss her.

“Er—we should get back shouldn’t we?”

She doesn’t wait for a response. Lily gives his shoulder a little squeeze and begins walking back towards the door. James stands a beat longer, staring deep into the wall where–if he’d just had the courage— he could have had her pressed up against by now. 

“Well, are you coming, Potter?”

* * * * *

When they rejoin the table, the rest of the party looks decidedly more heated than when they left.

“Everything alright, love?” Euphemia asks, shooting James a discerning look. “We were just talking–”

“Berating,” Sirius cuts in, crossing his arms over his chest.

Discussing,” Euphemia spars back, “How at some point Sirius, your father, and I will need to meet up with the lawyers to discuss Sirius’ inheritance. I was thinking tomorrow just to get it out of the way—”

“You have inheritance?” Lily cuts in. “I thought your family—”

“Despises me?” Sirius says with a low chuckle. “That’s still true, but my Uncle Alphard apparently was a special exception.”

Lily blinks. “But isn’t your family British?”

“Offshore accounts,” Sirius says with a begrudging but appreciative smile. “Uncle Alphie was a right twat, but he sure knew the perfect way to piss off my mum. He put my inheritance in a French bank before he kicked it just to be sure she wouldn’t be able to waggle her way in.”

Next to Sirius, Fleamont groans, setting down his teaspoon to swipe at his face. “Speaking of waggling, the lawyer ran into the Macmillans and mentioned we were in town. They invited us to stay the night for a little soiree as they called it at their new place near Neuilly Sur-Seine.I tried to get us out of it but—”

James and Sirius both groan in unison. 

“You’re fucking joking,” James says, leaning back in his chair. 

“Language,” Ephie rebukes. She turns to her husband. “ —But you are fucking joking, right?”

“Afraid not, dearest. I tried.”

Euphemia gives a large huff and scrubs her face. A shoulder bumps into him and James looks up to see Lily demanding an explanation. 

“Old family friends. Insufferably dull.”

“Got it,” Lily says with a nod. 

“It can’t be helped,” Euphemia says with an exasperated nod. “But it does remind me—James, dear we need to talk to reception about getting another room for Lily when we get back to the hotel. I tried owling but there was a post strike going on so I imagine the letter got—”

“Oh, wait, I didn’t realize you needed to make more accommodations,” Lily says, eyes widening in horror. “Please, Mrs. Potter—”

Effie, dear.”

“Effie. You’ve already done so much by allowing me to tag along. There’s no need to pay for a new room. I have money—”

“The room is 250 galleons a night,” Sirius cuts in, leaning back on his chair. Lily’s breath audibly cuts out.

“Or— I can just sleep on the floor in the boys room?” Lily squeaks, looking down into her lap. 

“The floor? ” Effie blinks, her lips pursing. “No need to go that far. If you’re positive you don't want a room, I’m sure Sirius and James wouldn’t mind budging up in a bed? Would you, boys?”

For emphasis Euphemia rakes a hand through James’ hair, lingering lightly on the curls that bridge the nape of his neck. The sensation sends a horrific realization through his chest: Lily had done the exact same thing to him when she got off the train.

“Share a room with Lily? My pleasure ,” Sirius crows, a grin splitting his face. “Honestly nothing I’d rather do! Right, Prongsy ?”

He can’t even look up. Certainly can’t look her in the eye. He could hardly hold back from kissing her next to some bins in an alley, how is he supposed to share a room with her?

“Right. Of course. We’ll make it work,” he hears himself say. Lily glances at him, eyes rimming wide with apology. He turns away before he can lean in and taste the wine off her lips. 

Fuck. 

* * * * * *

“You can tell her you have horrid night terrors and only cuddling a beautiful woman makes them go away.”

“No.”

“She could sleep with me?” 

“Absolutely not.”

“Then we can push the beds together and—-”

Pads—”

Lily had been in the bathroom for thirty minutes, giving James enough time to panic in peace. He tries and fails again for what feels like the hundredth time to come up with a possible solution; to think of anything that will not completely destroy a years worth of budding friendship with the girl of his dreams. But every new idea comes worse than the last— something the knowledge of Lily in the shower just beyond the door doesn’t seem to help. 

Godric,” James moans, scrubbing his face in his hands. “She probably thinks I planned this…like some kind of bloody cad–”

“Mate, you did plan this,” Sirius snorts. “ You convinced your parents to let her come, remember? “In a way Effie and Flea are doing you a favor. Now you two can easily—”

The door to the bathroom swings open, emitting a cloud steam into the room. Lily plods her way out, hair in a halo of waves around her face and a wad of today’s clothing clenched tight against her chest. It only takes a single scan down her body to realize why: she’s dressed in some silky muggle thing that barely crests her mid thigh, the neckline falling somewhere down past the rumpled up ball of clothes in her arms. 

He must be getting punished for something. The world has never been so cruel. 

Don’t say anything,” Lily spits, clenching the ball of clothes tighter against her. She looks from one bed to the other, trying not to make eye contact with either boy. James shoots a panicked glance at Sirius who looks too far gone in amusement to be of any help. He’ll have to improvise. 

“Sirius already claimed that one,” James says, clearing his throat and pointing towards the one nearest the window. “Which I guess makes this one—well, mine.”

There’s an awful pause. Lily doesn’t move. 

“I have restless leg syndrome,” Sirius interjects. “Kick like hell—sorry Evans, guess you will have to forgo my loving embrace for the evening.”

Sirius gives James a smug grin. Traitor. 

“Oh, uh–” Lily says, staring wide-eyed at the other bed. Her cheeks flush. 

“You can have the bed,” James says quickly, staggering anxiously from one foot to the other. “I’ll just sleep—”

“There’s hardly room on the floor, Potter, if that’s your idea—you’ll be stepped on.”

“Probably deserves it,” Sirius mutters.

Lily gives a resigning sigh, turning fully to face James. “I don’t think it can be helped. I’ll just…stay on my side of the bed.”

Her side of the bed. Their bed. 

Maybe it’s the wine, but his brain feels like it’s cracking in half.

“Well–I’m gonna go out for a walk about,” Sirius says, picking himself up and loping towards the door. On the way out, he gives James a passing kick, raising his eyebrows in a knowing look. You’ve got the floor loverboy.

When the door clicks behind him, Lily lets out a strangled sigh. 

“Christ, well this is…embarrassing,” She says, sheepish all of the sudden. “Sorry about this, I didn’t realize I’d be so much trouble.”

“Oh no trouble!” James chirps a little too enthusiastically. “I mean, if it would make you more comfortable we can turn out the lights. I’m not exactly keen on you seeing me—”

With a rapidly growing erection just by your presence. 

“ —in my pants,” James finishes with a stammer.  Lily’s eyes go wide, her mouth unhinging slightly. It only makes matters worse.

“Oh, yeah, of course— nox.”

The room goes dark, the light from the outside lamp barely curling into the room. Quickly, James slips off his shirt and trousers and shuffles himself into bed. There’s plenty of space between them, but the smell of her shampoo immediately overtakes everything; her body heat from the shower wafting deliciously against his bare chest just centimeters away.

You don’t have restless leg syndrome too, do you?” Lily asks teasingly after a long silence. James stiffens, unsure if he should turn to face her or keep his gaze firmly planted on the ceiling.

“Not that I’m aware of,” James says softly. “But I don’t normally share a bed so…”

He waits for a laugh, or at least a cheeky quip, but she goes strangely rigid on the other side of the bed, fingers fiddling with the top sheet. Panic surges deep and he quickly replays the past thirty seconds to see what he possibly could have done to upset her.

James opens his mouth, an apology or something like it already poised on his tongue, but she cuts him off before he can muster the courage.

“Right, so—goodnight then?”

He turns his head to watch her flip over onto her side. In the small sliver of lamplight, he can make out where her slip cuts out to expose the pale plane of her back. His body vibrates, the idea of reaching out and touching her on the small square of skin fighting with every logical argument otherwise. When his fingertips touch down, her back relaxes into them rather than stiffens.

 Maybe it’s a muggle car passing or the shifting of wind through the street, but he swears she lets out a small contented sigh. 

“Sleep well, Evans.”

Notes:

Author's Note: I know wizarding Paris is shown in a Fantastic Beasts film but for the sake of this fic, I will be ignoring that and focusing on my interpretation of what I think a wizarding world in Paris would look like in the 1970s.

The Title of the fic and chapter titles are pulled from the famous, stereotypical french song "For Me...Formidable" by Charles Aznavour (Not the Stromae song, if you are french/ a francophile and wondering ;) )

Formidable= to be amazing/great (not at all the English definition!)

Tu n'as pas compris? Tant pis= You don't understand? Too bad.

Le Cyrano is a real cafe just off the Place de Clichy. It is famous for being the haunt of André Breton and the Surrealists movement. I describe it slightly closer to the Montmartre Cemetery (which is about another block or so away) simply because i wanted to.

The opening scene takes place in the Gare du Nord.

Chapter 2: Je voudrais pouvoir un jour enfin te le dire

Notes:

This is the most "touristy" of the chapters. So there will be a lot of footnotes at the bottom~ Thanks for waiting while I sorted out my life the past two weeks!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text


Lily

~ May 26, 1977~

She’s going to do it. She’s going to tell James she fancies him. 

She repeats it to herself with each step towards the common room, the thrum of the afterparty coaxing her down. Just do it. He must fancy you back. How could he not? He practically beelined to you the minute he touched the ground.

He really had. She couldn’t have been on the pitch for more than a few seconds before James had landed amongst the crowd and found her, dripping with sweat and swinging her up into his arms with an exuberant cry of triumph. 

It felt like pure electricity—the kind that no other bloke had been able to produce.

If that’s all a hug did to her?

She has to tell him. 

Breaching the low ceiling of the last steps, a sea of red and gold bodies span out before her. It doesn’t take long to find him. He’s always had a knack for sticking out, even before she was willing to admit it.

But he isn’t alone. 

Blonde hair slopes against his cheek. Pale, pink lips lean down to whisper against his ear. He lets out a low chuckle, one Lily doesn’t need to hear over the rumble of the crowd to recognize and tilts his head in suggestion. Arm finds waist, hand drifts to arse.

 His mouth closes against Elodie’s. 

The rest is a blur.

Lily stumbles backwards up the stairwell like being jerked by a rope, the edges of her vision hazy. Someone says something to her from the outskirts but she doesn’t care much to respond, eyes trained on the couple now peeling themselves off the edge of the couch and slinking towards the portrait hole.

No no no no.

She doesn’t remember returning to the dorms. Or when the tears start coming in choking sobs. Or when Mary appears, cooing at her softly with gentle strokes to her hair.

“I’m so sorry, Lils. I was sure he fancied you back.”

 Hearing it from someone else's mouth just makes her cry harder. 

“You know how boys are—”

But he isn’t like other boys , she wants to scream. He’s James. He’s—

“—just another idiot.”

~ July 31, 1977~

At some point in the night, Lily’s consciousness drifts back to her body. 

She starts to count her senses one by one: the foreign wail of a police siren, a sliver of light from the outside lamppost, the smell of clove and earth taking up all the air. A deep warmth pushes in at her back, slick and grounding. It extends over her hip, then presses against her stomach, webbing out into five different directions. With each breath, the weight rises and falls with her, contracting, cradling

Her heart realizes before her mind does. 

James’ face presses into the crook of her neck, hot breath streaming between her shoulder blades. He mumbles something in his sleep then nuzzles deeper, eyelashes tickling her skin. 

In a brief moment of panic, she considers the worst: He thinks you’re Elodie. But his lips skim her neck and all thought vanishes. Her heart plays in polyrhythm with his, thumping a loud and quick beat against his slow, plodding one. She shouldn’t, but she lets it happen anyway; sleep, desire, and uncertainty all battling for control.

Despite herself she leans into him, enjoying the fluke if it is one.The hand on her stomach curls and moves upwards and she catches it, weaving their fingers together against her sternum.

For no discernable reason, it calms her.

She doesn’t remember closing her eyes, but when they open again the solid warmth at her back is gone. Another person waits for her.

“Morning starshine!” 

Lily groans, taking a pillow and pressing it to her face. Her body is still curled to fit against him but James is nowhere to be seen. Instead, two wicked eyes stare back at her from the windowsill, cigarette smoke filling the air. 

“Sleep well? Did you dream about me?”

“Where’s James?” Lily croaks, ignoring him. Sirius’ grin grows diabolical.

“If I had to guess, probably off wanking somewhere.”

The thought devours her, oxygen suddenly coming in short supply. She briefly considers throwing herself out the nearest window, but settles for pulling the blanket over her head. James’ smell lingers on the fabric. 

“Can you at least wait until noon to be disgusting?” Lily asks, ignoring the barking laugh that pierces through the room.

“And waste all this quality time? Absolutely not.”

The mattress dips and with little effort the blanket is ripped down. Above, Sirius looks far too pleased to be legal. 

“I have to admit, I feel like I’m getting the short end of the wand here. I get dragged all the way to this bellend of a country and you get the cuddle mate?”

“I’d be happy to switch beds with you,” Lily hisses, attempting to pull the blanket back up.

“And miss out on this hellscape you two have cooked up for yourselves?” Sirius says, voice going low. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Lily’s eyes narrow, happy her face is still partly shrouded by bedding. 

“Don’t you have to fuck off and sort out some inheritance or something?”

Sirius laughs, stretching up with a triumphant sigh and heading towards the door.

“Alright, alright. I’ll take the hint,” he says, eyes gleaming. “But don’t plan on getting a wank in yourself. James will probably be back soon.”

Sensing she’s a second away from throwing something, Sirius swings the door closed until it’s barely cracked.

“Not that he’d mind walking in on that, you know,” Sirius says, a grin still visible.

“Might save you a lot of trouble, actually.”

He closes the door before the pillow makes contact. 

* * * * * * *

One hasty wank and a half hour later, the door bursts open.

“Morning!” James chirps, collapsing onto the loveseat in the corner. Lily’s brush freezes mid comb, her mouth falling ajar. There is no part of his shirt that isn’t plastered flush against his body and curls stick to his ears. 

In short, he’s a walking fantasy.

“Morning,” Lily stutters. “You’re—sweaty.”

James responds with a yawn, reaching his hands up into the air. She tries not to drool when the hem of his shirt skims over his navel. 

“Went for a run. The steps were murder, but I found a really nice park behind the church if you're interested?”

“In running? No thanks,” Lily scrunches her nose. “Why am I not surprised that you find ways to torture yourself on holiday.”

He tilts his head back against the wall. A bead of sweat runs down his cheek. 

“Trust me, Evans. Running will be the least of my suffering on this trip.” 

He pulls himself out of the chair and begins rummaging through his bag, ignoring her gaze. Whatever he is looking for, it takes a long time to find it. 

“Mum and Dad have already dragged Sirius away,” James says, changing the subject with a clipped cough. “They want us to meet at Flamel’s place for lunch.”

Lily blinks. “Flamel? Like the alchemist?”

James laughs, finally making eye contact. “Don’t look so panicked, we aren’t dining with him.”

“Just breaking and entering then?”

“Worse—we have reservations. His house is a restaurant now.”

It feels too ridiculous for him to make up. 

James reaches the foot of the bed and pauses, his jaw clicking for a beat. Lily tracks the whole thing, breath stalling when his eyes scan over to her side. Or rather their side.

He must know. How could he not?

“Uhm, Lily—”

She turns, her body zapping with anxiety. Words come in and out of her mind in a jumble, ranging from apologies to questions to horrific admissions of love. 

“Do you mind if I have the room to get ready? I don’t mean to kick you out.”

There’s a sinking sensation in her gut, but she can’t tell if it’s relief or sadness. 

“Yeah,” she stammers. “Of course.”

Perhaps it's a little of both.

* * * * * * *

For the hour-long walk, he doesn’t talk about it. Instead, he fills every second of silence with lore, leaving no brick or rubbish-filled back alley unnoticed as the streets become less narrow and open out to the heart of the city.

“How do you know all of this?” Lily asks after James points out the fifth or sixth secret entrance to the catacombs–this particular entryway being nothing more than a crack in a sidewall. 

“Boredom mostly,” James says, shrugging. “When you’ve been visiting the same place since you’ve known your name, you sort of have to be creative to find ways to have fun.”

Lily snorts, a hint of jealousy taking root.

“The only place I’ve ever visited more than once is the Tesco just outside of Cokeworth and I can’t say it's worth a grand tour.”

James blinks. “Is Tesco a city?”

Lily laughs, her heart giving a little lurch when he smiles out of confusion. 

“It’s not Paris, that’s for sure.”

Turning a corner, something catches James’ eye and he breaks into a dazzling smile. 

“Oh, wow! I was hoping we’d get to see it!”

In his excitement, he grabs her by the wrist, wheeling her around towards a small courtyard by an imposing church. She expects him to pull her inside, but he takes a sharp left turn and the street opens into a huge plaza that holds what looks like an elaborate construction site.

“I read that a new muggle art museum had opened!” James says, pulling her closer to the structure. The metal scaffolding and exposed pipe reflect back through James’ lenses, framing his eyes. He looks up at the layers of tubes and beams, face glowing with pure childlike awe. 

She can’t help it, laughter bubbles to the surface.

“What?” James asks, affronted.

“Nothing,” Lily says between giggles. “It's just…ugly.”

“Well I love it.”

It shouldn’t hit so deep, but it does. She stares up at him, heart pounding, hypnotized by the sincerity of his wonder.

It sounded far too close to I love you.

“Why do you know about muggle museums anyhow?” Lily murmurs, twisting her wrist out of his grip. James frowns down at his empty hand before quickly rearranging his face. 

“Because it's good to know.”

“Good to know for what?” Lily laughs, turning on him. His cheeks betray him immediately, red springing up below the rims of his glasses. 

“I just figured you’d be interested in the muggle bits of town, that's all,” James says, voice going small. He looks down at his hands, rubbing his fingers together. It’s an emotion she isn’t used to seeing on him. He’s unsure. 

James Potter, unsure .

“I am interested,” Lily says, softly.

James' face whips up, the crooked form of a half-grin tugging at her heart. “Yeah?”

“I mean, not in this atrocity of a building but—”

Hey, ” James quips, shooting her a cheeky grin. “This is art. Sorry you can’t be civilized enough to understand the essence of it.”

She snorts, giving him a hearty push against the chest. 

“Try me, Potter.”

Her pulse picks up again as she watches James’ confidence grow in real time. His eyes narrow into something dark and way too tempting for her own good. 

“Trust me, I will.”

* * * * * *

She doesn’t know or care to know how much time has passed. She leans back on her arms, legs swinging down towards the murky waters of the river below while James lays beside her, eyes closed towards the sky. Their sliver of tranquility is separated only by a small set of stairs that leads up to street level; cars and people bustling past seemingly unaware of the riverfront and the two people beside it operating in their own time and space. 

It’s alarming how easy it all feels with him. 

“I wish London was like this,” Lily says, ending their long bout of silence. One of James’ eyes blinks open.

“If you’re referring to the piss smell, I have great news for you.”

“No, you idiot,” Lily hisses, giving him a light slap. “ This—”

She makes a hand gesture to the street level on the other side of the river and James sits up to follow it. Between a juncture in the boulevards a muggle grocery mart gleams in the daylight with fresh strawberries and asparagus out for display. Imperceptible to its neighbor, a wizarding bookstore boasts the newest edition of La Sorcière with bright green lettering legible even at a distance. 

“I don’t think I’ll get used to it—the whole muggles and wizards cohabitating thing—was it like this before the war? In Britain I mean?”

James leans back on his hands, watching as women in traditional robes light up their muggle cigarettes and loiter outside the shop. “Can’t really say—the war’s been going on since we were kids.”

He pauses, eyes going soft and contemplative. A smile starts to form.

“But seems nice, doesn’t it? ”

Lily stares at him, startled again by the quiet sincerity. It’s one of the many mysteries she can’t quite unravel, adding to a long list of questions that even in their newfound friendship, she hasn’t had the courage to ask: How can someone who loves idiotic pranks be the best in class? What do him and the lads get up to at night when they sneak away? Why is he so keen to know about the muggle world if it will only label him as a blood traitor? Why does he show her any interest at all?

The last one has always been particularly grating.

“So, am I going to hate tonight?”

James turns away from watching muggle tour groups jostle their way towards the Louvre, amusement carved deep into his face.

“Evans, we are all going to hate tonight. I thought that was abundantly clear.”

“Yeah, but—I guess I should ask. Will they hate me?”

James stares for a beat, his brow knitting into the center of his forehead. “Why do you say that?”

Lily sighs. “I’m just— you know.”

“A redhead?”

“A muggleborn,” Lily says, shooting him a glare. “And in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not particularly used to going to foreign countries and eating in famous wizard’s homes.”

Previous homes,” James corrects with a grin. “And all the better. It’s a horrible hobby, all that. Don’t recommend it.”

Christ Potter, that’s not—”

But James cuts her off, bumping his shoulder against hers. “Nobody is going to hate you, Evans—no matter how much you try. I reckon it's physically impossible to hate you.”

“The Slytherins seem to be doing a grand job at it.”

James snorts, standing up and brushing off his trousers. He starts to walk backwards, wobbling on the uneven cobblestones. 

“There’s nothing to worry about—besides maybe dying of boredom. It's going to be a bunch of old knobs who want to kiss my dad’s arse for a share of his company and then probably some form of dancing—”

Oh no. ” Lily groans, throwing her head back. “Nobody mentioned dancing. I might as well just throw myself in the river now—”

He moves fast, a yelp hardly surfacing before James pulls her up onto the rock ledge of the bank. Their legs tangle in a mass of scurrying feet, bodies flush together.

She’d be more embarrassed if it wasn’t for the murky water near their feet. 

“Potter—what the fuck ?"

“Go on, Evans. Practice with me.”

James presses his hands firm at the small of her back and begins humming some crooning, plodding tune that sounds distantly familiar. With every spin or misstep, one of their feet slides off the edge, nearly plunging them into the water. From the street, tour groups stop to watch. 

“Alright, I get it,” Lily says breathlessly as her heel teeters off for the second time. “Now let me down before we both end up with some disgusting river disease.”

James chuckles, pulling her into another perilously unbalanced spin. “No can do, Evans. Trial by fire—and besides, this is the perfect scenario! If we fall in, we’ll have a brilliant excuse to skip the party.”

His foot slips and they wobble at a tilt towards the river. Lily shrieks, but his arms tighten around her waist and steady them just in time. Even back to safety, she holds onto him like a lifeline.

Or, ” Lily bites,“I’ll push you in and spend the rest of this trip with Sirius while you lay up in bed.”

Our bed.” 

His reaction to his own words is immediate. He stiffens, eyes wide and hands frozen against her sides. He stares for a brief second then, as quickly as they started, pulls her away from the edge and takes up a brisk walk towards the bridge. 

“We better hurry—the reservation is soon.”

Lily stands on the bank a moment longer, unsure if she’s dizzy from the dancing or from James’ change in attitude. She watches his retreating back. His shoulders are still square, poised as if ready to take up a waltz again at a moment's notice. Around them, the world begins to shuffle back into motion, the river going on its lazy way; tourists scattering back into the streets.

Like nothing happened at all. 

* * * * * *

The walk to Nicolas Flamel’s house is quiet and short. 

“And muggles…can see this?” Lily breathes.

It’s a stupid question. Even as they stand there various muggle tour groups stop with their expensive looking cameras to snap a few pictures. She has to blink multiple times to actually believe it. The house looks magical, with its ornate etchings of angels and creatures of heaven depicted in the strong stone columns that flank the doors. An inscription of Latin lines the top awning of the ground floor followed by ancient runes that trickle down the sides like they’ve been laid there in flowing water.

 Lodged between the fourth floor windows, a modest, muggle sign is carved into marble:

Maison de Nicolas Flamel et de Pernelle sa femme.

“A bit nutter, isn’t it?” James says, looking up at the house. “It was a shock to me too that muggles even knew who Flamel is—but apparently he is quite a popular bloke.”

Lily looks at the etchings. A winged angel stares back, dead-eyed in the stone. It holds open a scroll with its mouth poised in song. Even with its splendor, she can’t help but be reminded of one of the many petty oil paintings that line the church back in Cokeworth.

“I don’t think my sister would like Paris much,” Lily says quietly, holding the angel’s gaze.

James snorts. “What? Too many carbohydrates?”

“Too much magic.”

For being a home founded in the early 1300s, the restaurant is rather chic for the times. Ornate mahogany tables are dressed with gold silverware and goblets, a homage that the host is quick to point out as they pass rows of tables of patrons in traditional wizard garb intermingling with muggle fashion. 

Too busy gawking at the lunch crowd, Lily doesn’t notice they’ve been led to an intimate table for two.

“Uhm, sorry,” James says, wheeling around to face the waiter. “My family is supposed to be joining us, did they not make a reservation?”

The waiter’s mouth twitches. “Your mother owled just a while ago, Monsieur. They won’t be joining you. They did leave a note.”

He hands out a small parchment with the Potter’s unmistakable seal. Lily cranes over James shoulder to read:

Darling, all is well with Sirius’ inheritance, but we are feeling a bit sluggish. Lunch is on us! (Sirius would like me to remind you to be on your best behavior…)

Love, Mum

James crumples up the letter, shoving it deep into his pockets. His face has gone ghostly white and his jaw clenches. It isn’t until the host has seated them that he finally speaks. 

“Lily—” James says, hoarse from strain. His fingers curl around the base of his plate like he needs something to ground him.

“I swear I did not plan this.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Lily says simply. She glances up to find him watching her, a panicked look rimming his eyes. 

“Really. I would never—”

It strikes hot. A nagging, pitiful feeling scratching in her stomach. He would never ask you on a date.

“Do you think his house looked like this when he made the philosopher’s stone?” Lily asks quickly, holding back a tremble in her voice. James jerks his head up, confused at first by the change in subject, then takes a glance around the room. 

“What? Filled with dining tables?”

“Yeah, reckon he must have liked dinner parties.”

It’s corny, but it lands all the same. James’ face breaks into a smile, all of his previous anguish erased with a newfound glint in his eye.

“You think that’s why he wanted to live forever? So a bunch of knobheads like us can say we dined in his washroom?”

“Not knobheads ,” Lily tsks, “The Flamel’s were too charitable to call us that— tossers is better.”

James guffaws, leaning back in his seat. 

“Ugh, can you imagine it though,” James says with disgust. “Dinner parties? For eternity? Nothing makes me thankful for my mortality more—trust me. You’ll see tonight.”

Their food appears on their plate and they both heartily start in, scratching silverware making up for conversation.

“So—how were my legs last night?” James says, cutting through the silence.

Lily's cheeks surge with heat. She looks down at her half eaten chicken, attempting to slow her breathing.

Oh my god. He’s bringing it up.

“Excuse me?”

“You were worried I would kick you,” James elaborates. “Well—the verdict?”

Lily takes a strangled breath. Does he not know? Or is this some roundabout way of getting to the awkward reality that they cuddled last night?

“A very non-violent sleeping experience,” Lily says, playing along. “Though I wasn’t worried. I think if you were doing karate moves in your sleep, I would have heard about it by now.”

It wasn’t what she meant to say, but it’s too late. The energy in the room takes a turn.

“How do you reckon?” James says, voice going quiet. Lily rips off a piece of baguette and fiddles with it between her fingers, not taking a bite. 

“Well—we both know the rumor mill is pretty brutal. I’d imagine if you kicked Elodie, the school would have it sung to the rafters by morning.”

Another silence. A painful one which quickly removes all desire to keep eating or even existing in the same space. 

“Elodie?” James says slowly, gripping his fork against the table for support. “What are you—I didn’t— we didn’t…”

“Oh, come on James,” Lily says, attempting to stay casual. “I saw you two snogging before leaving the party after the house cup game. And the rumors did say you never made it back to the tower…”

For the second time in an hour, James goes pale. He clears his throat, leaning an elbow on the table and brushing at the curls that crest over his ears. 

“That—that wasn’t what happened at all,” he murmurs, persistent. “You don’t understand.I–I was in a bad way during those last months. But nothing happened, swear it.”

Lily frowns, looking down into her lap. She flips through the memories she has of him the month before school ended—bright eyed, exuberant, full of laughter and–yes—a bit of arrogance still left over from years past. None of her recollections would ever resemble someone struggling through something—and he certainly didn’t seem to be struggling with Elodie firmly attached by the lips.

Really, she’d rather stop thinking about it before she loses her lunch. 

“Oh,” Lily says blankly, coming back to the conversation. Their food disappears and a creme brulée to share appears on their table. The sugar on top is still bubbling. 

“I wish you had told me if you were going through something,” she says quietly. “I know I wasn’t too well off either with dad’s passing but I could have at least been someone to talk to.”

“Nah,” James says quickly, stirring a bit of sugar into the coffee that appears beside him. “I’m a lost cause—as I’m sure you can imagine. Don’t really like to learn my lessons much.”

“Because you are an idiot?” Lily offers, trying desperately to steer back towards levity.

“Because I—” He stops, licking his lips and squinting in thought.

“You know that muggle bloke that taught rats to shock themselves just to get a bit of cheese?”

Lily blinks, the absurdity of it forming laughter in her throat.

“Skinner?”

“Sure—well, I’m the rat.”

Every line of his face reads full sincerity, which makes Lily want to giggle more.

“So…you really love cheese then?”

James laughs, but it has a bitter twinge to it, like something settling deep in his gut.

“More of, I’m the kind of idiot who is willing to keep getting hurt just to get a shred of what I want.”

She opens her mouth, afraid of the next question she wants to ask. Afraid, mostly, that if she knows the answer, she won’t be able to continue this trip or maybe this friendship.

What do you want? Is what she most desperately wants to ask. If not Elodie, then what is it?

But for whatever reason, asking him that feels like a matter of life and death. 

“Here, you can have the honors,” James says, holding out a dessert spoon and nodding towards the cooling creme brulée. He smiles, something soft and apologetic, like it's supposed to imbue a thousand answers to questions she hardly has begun to ask. 

It hurts her heart to look at it. 

“It’s my favorite bit. Go on—give it a good crack.”

Notes:

Originally this chapter was going to include the party--but then it ballooned to a whopping 12K words so I decided to separate it, hence the "jily do a walkabout" quality to this one.

-Je voudrais pouvoir un jour enfin te le dire-- "I would like to one day be able to tell you"

-The church with the steps James runs on is the Sacré-Cœur basilica in Montmartre. The park directly behind it is one of my favorite secret gems of the city :)

-The Catacombs are a tunnel system that runs directly under Paris that works as part resting place for millions of relocated human remains. There are many illegal entryways like the one James points out (all are tiny holes around the city you crawl through) but the one legal entrance is the Catacombs Museum in Montparnasse. There is a grassroots collective of people who map the catacombs for fun--hence why I think James would be interested in it.

-The Church before the art museum is Saint Merry Church (Fun Fact: It is one of the only churches that has a stone depiction of Satan...the more you know!)

-The art museum Lily despises and James loves is the Centre Pompidou (Modern Art museum) Incidentally it opened a day after Lily's birthday the same year (1977). I was so tempted to smudge the date by a day to let James tease about it being dedicated to her.

-They are lying on the banks of the Seine River next to the Louvre (Art Museum).

-La Sorcière is a famous work by Jules Michelet from 1862. It was considered non-fiction at the time of its release and was about how witchcraft can be used as rebellion specifically for women. It was adapted into an amazing animated film in 1973 called Belladonna of Sadness (whose main character also has red hair and green eyes...)

-Nicolas Flamel's house is very real and very much a restaurant! I highly recommend eating there and seeing it.

Chapter 3 next week with James' turn!

Chapter 3: Toi qui te moques de moi et de tout

Notes:

Everyone please direct your eyes to the M rating that has been lurking at the top of the page for the past 2 chapters....

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Lily


The MacMillans house is unlike any home Lily has ever been in. For one, it’s eight stories of pure decadence. 

It’s fittingly reminiscent of the photos of Versailles she had once seen in her muggle textbooks from primary school: walls encrusted with a solid gold that flows like a rushing stream in a circular fashion; painted cherubs flit from ceiling to ceiling, sounding trumpets and beating tambourines at will; disembodied hands hold candelabras down long corridors, moving alongside those passing by. 

It hardly feels like the type of place where a simple muggle dress and some scuffed mary jane’s should be acceptable.

“Alright Evans?”

Lily blinks, coming back to attention. James stares at her and she gets the feeling he has been for a while. He offers a soft, almost apologetic smile.  

“I can’t tell if you are admiring the gaudy decor or trying to form an exit strategy.”

Lily lets out a nervous giggle. “Can it be a bit of both?”

A house-elf scurries past with a tray of champagne and James plucks three flutes to pass around to her and Sirius. Lily takes a hearty sip and the bubbles tickle the back of her throat.

“So, how was your day?” Sirius hums, giving a sly grin. “Anything to note in the city of love?”

“We had a very intimate lunch thanks to you,” James murmurs, shooting him a glare. Sirius smiles behind his drink. 

How intimate?”

His eyebrows raise, shooting James one of his most innocent smiles. An entire conversation passes between the two boys, neither of them changing an inch of their features in the process. Eventually, Sirius breaks the trance, looking annoyed. 

“I learned that James is like a rat?” Lily offers, trying to make herself included.

Sirius’ frown deepens. “The fuck are you talking about. Pete’s the rat. We’ve been through this, Evans—”

Lily shrugs. “Ask James.”

Next to her, James flushes in embarrassment. “I was trying to be metaphorical.”

“Yes, because figurative language was clearly the prudent thing to be focusing on,” Sirius says, annoyance withering into exasperation. He downs the rest of his glass and surveys the room, his face setting back into its default frown. 

“Right, well. Since you two are impossible, I’m going to go smoke before I run into someone I’m related to. In the meantime maybe just attempt a normal, human interaction, yeah?” 

Sirius gives a fatherly pat to James’ cheek and blows a kiss to Lily before disappearing amongst the crowd, leaving the couple to stand awkwardly in silence. 

“For the record, I liked your metaphor—though I still don’t fully understand it,” Lily says, after a beat.

James smiles. “To be honest, I don’t think I understand it myself.”

Lily exhales, attempting to slow the flush crawling up her neck. She can’t bear to look at him like this, all sincere and timid and looking undeniably fit in a sleek, chestnut jacket that hugs his shoulders. He takes another sip of his wine and she watches his tongue dart out against the glass, absolutely imagining what that same action would feel like if it were between her legs. 

Christ. What is in this wine? She needs to get a grip.

“Hey,” James says, giving her a playful poke to the side.

“Hey what?”

“You look panicked. Stop it.” 

Lily laughs, more frantic than she would like. “Brilliant—thanks, I’ll take your advice on that.”

James grins. “Sorry, that came out wrong. Here—”

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world, James reaches down and takes her hand, interlacing their fingers with a soft squeeze. She’s amazed that her other hand doesn’t let her champagne flute smash to the floor, the frantic pulse of her heart ready to rip right out of her chest. James just smiles back. 

“See?” he says, holding their hands up to her face. “United front. Nothing bad can happen now.”

If she had half a brain cell left that wasn’t completely thrown to chaos, she might have made a cheeky remark back. Instead, she settles for nodding. 

When Sirius rejoins them from the terrace, he shoots a glance down at their intertwined hands but mercifully says nothing, refilling their glasses from a bottle of champagne he’d snagged along the way.

Well, I’ve been correctly identified as the disowned Black heir so I reckon it’s as good a time as any to get pissed, yeah?”

With every sip, the bubbles go straight to her head, then to her hand. A familiar squeeze accompanies the sensation. 

"Cheers to that."

* * * * *

She might be on her third glass of champagne. Maybe fifth? Doesn’t matter—Sirius is right, everything's better when tipsy. 

Guests flow in and out of her vision like spectres, barely concealing their curiosity for the group with shallow small talk. Those she recognizes from the society section of the Prophet come bearing discerning glances while the others—presumably French or otherwise more discreet—merely offer warm, pitiful smiles and clipped niceties. If their reactions are attributed to Sirius’ family status, Lily’s dress, or James’ general lack of concern about the former, it is never clear.

No matter their status, all of their gazes eventually land on Lily and James’ interlocked hands, eyeing it like a bomb just waiting to go off. 

“Alright, do it. I can handle it, call me a ponce,” James says at one point, pouring them a new round of drinks. He stumbles to reach her glass, but refuses to drop her hand.

“Really, I can tell you want to and I deserve it– I’d call me a ponce.”

Lily giggles into her glass. “I was thinking more pompous twat.”

“You’re absolutely right,” James nods, solemnly. “Well spotted.”

Sirius abandoning them again for a smoke, Lily and James migrate to a far corner of the room, removing themselves from the now bustling cloud of bodies that takes up the majority of the space. The wine has stained James cheeks red, making him look as though he’s been on a long run and when Lily points it out he just grins, his dimple adding to the effect.

“This is such a waste of time,” James moans, throwing his head back. “I can think of a million other things we could be doing right now other than this.”

The comment isn’t inherently an insinuation, but the potential of one sparks, holding fast and electric like a bubble around them. James leans against one of the many mahogany tables that line the room with their hands intertwined like a bridge between them. He gives the back of her palm a small caress with his thumb.

“Tell me one of the things we could be doing right now?” Lily says, giving his hand a squeeze. James smiles, broad and a bit sloppy.

“We could be on top of the Eiffel Tower?”

Lily crinkles her nose. “No thanks—too high up.”

James thinks for another beat. “Eating snails?”

“Too slimy,” Lily giggles.

“In bed?”

Her heart gives a startled jolt but her response comes easy.

“In our bed, you mean.”

His reaction is immediate: the spark that she had felt moments before lights up in his eyes and pierces back. She takes a small step closer and he leads her there, pulling at her arm until their hands hold the only space left between their bodies.

“Hey Lily?” James says, his breath hot on her face. “I’ve been meaning to tell you—I mean, I guess you should know—”

A sharp, melodic voice cuts through his words. 

“James Potter? I thought I saw a quidditch star in the making wandering around here!”

Lily and James jump away from each other.  An older woman with light blonde hair appears from amongst the crowd, her chiffon robes billowing in a deep blue behind her. She looks nice enough, her high cheekbones and full lips somewhat familiar, but Lily doesn’t care much to place it.

“My husband and I saw you play at the Quidditch final this year,” the woman says, unbothered by the frustration painted on both Lily and James’ faces. “Excellent skill. The British teams would be idiots not to sign you.”

It’s just enough of a compliment to make James drop his apparent annoyance for a moment, offering the woman a small smile. “Oh, that’s very kind of you ma’am.”

Lily gives James’ hand a playful tug and he flicks his eyes towards her, a lopsided grin already formed. It’s clear he is just as keen to get back to their conversation as she is. His fingers tickle the inside of her palm. 

“It’s such a shame my daughter couldn’t make it. She’ll be sad to have missed you.”

The words fall like a stone, crushing all the air out of Lily’s lungs. She snaps her head up and peers at the woman with a newfound interest, searching her face with a plummeting feeling in her chest. Blonde hair, pale pink lips, round face…

James remains expressionless. “I’m sorry, do I know her?”

The woman gives a shallow laugh, stifling confusion. “Oh? Did Elodie not tell you we’d be in town? I was sure I saw her owl a letter to you at the beginning of Summer…”

Elodie. In town. Letter. 

The realization is sluggish to come, the alcohol in her veins slowing her senses. The woman continues to prattle on to James but Lily can’t hear anything other than a dull ring, getting louder as the parts all start to fit together. 

Elodie. This is Elodie’s mum. He knew she would be here. She’s been writing to him. 

“Excuse me,” Lily interrupts. She gives no further explanation, ripping her hand out of James’. She hears him say something, making a movement to take back her hand, but she scurries away, pushing through the silk and lace of guest’s robes and not giving a second glance when they cast her a disgruntled eye. 

It’s history repeating itself—it must be, because god knows she didn’t learn her lesson the first time. The corners of her vision go hazy and a fresh sting of tears crest in the corner of her eyes. She clutches her champagne glass like a lifeline, searching for an exit, the room becoming too claustrophobic to bear.

“Lily! Hey, wait!”

She doesn’t. 

She finds a small hallway off the side of the ballroom and begins trying doors along the way, hoping to find a bathroom or a closet or anywhere she can hide from the voice that still calls her name.

“Lily, what’s wrong?” James gasps, falling beside her. He tries for her hand again, but she pulls away with a theatrical yank. Her champagne sloshes onto her fingers. 

“Why did you bring me here?” she says, the words falling heavy and stilted. In the back of her head some part of her screams to run or at least get out of the bloody corridor, but her feet are cemented to the ground. 

“What? Was Elodie not available for the full three days? Had to find a second choice?”

She might as well have slapped him—she wishes she had slapped him. He stiffens, his eyes going wide and desperate. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t fucking act dumb,” Lily spits, stepping away. “ ‘My dearest Elodie told me she’s written’ —seems your owl has been pretty busy this summer.”

James’ eyes go cold. “She sent me a letter—but I never answered it,” he says, quietly. “It didn’t really…warrant a response.”

“Bullshit.” 

Lily considers throwing the rest of her champagne in his face then reconsiders, downing it in one gulp and vanishing the glass with a swish of her hand. James stands less than a meter away, his chest heaving like he’s about to fall into a panic. His palms remain open, pleading.

“You are misunderstanding. I told you at lunch today. Yes, she kissed me, but I swear to you nothing—”

“Piss off with the lies, Potter,” Lily spits, cutting him off. “I’m not dumb enough to believe the coincidence of running into Elodie’s mum of all people—”

He breaks, letting out a cry that hovers somewhere being pained and pleading. 

“Lily, I swear —you were even there yesterday when I first heard of this bloody party—it never even crossed my mind…”

“Well, that’s the problem isn’t it?” Lily bites back,“Nothing ever crosses your mind. You just live in this little dream world where nobody's feelings mean anything besides your own.”

“That’s not true. You know it’s not.” He grabs her suddenly but gently, his fingers curling to mold against her cheeks, as though cradling a delicate piece of glass. In contrast his voice comes out humorless and hollow. 

“You don’t have a clue, do you? Lily, all I do—all I ever do— is think about—”

“Don’t you fucking say it,” Lily says through gritted teeth. “I saw you kiss Elodie, James so don’t lie. I’m such a fucking fool. I can’t believe I even—”

Her voice cuts out, taking all the air in the corridor with it. James waits, eyes scanning her face for the rest of the sentence. She wishes he would just let her go and head back into the party where it’s clear he belongs. 

“Even what?”

Heat rushes to her cheeks, emotions jockeying their way to the forefront. James continues to wait, eyes wide and shining.

“Lily, what was it?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Evans.”

She exhales shakily, trying to hold in her tears. He can’t see her cry. 

“Everyone told me you would fancy me back,” Lily whispers, barely audible over the quiver in her voice. “I was so sure. I felt like it was so obvious. But of course I’m a fucking idiot—not seeing that you never

He kisses her. 

She doesn’t have the will to fight it, though a part of her knows she should. Her anger melts, unleashing a swell of desire that forces her body into his, and her hands grasp for his hair before she can even think to do otherwise. After that it all becomes a rush of her brain trying to keep up with each new sensation: the press of the wall at her back, his tongue sliding between her lips, their legs tangling together until his knee is bunching her dress up around her waist.

Goddamn it, she wants more. 

I do,” he gasps, pressing his forehead against hers. “I did and I do fancy you–so bloody much. Fuck, Evans—Lily, love.”

He finds her lips again, every desperate inch of his body pressing into her. He’s hard already, his arousal rocking against her lower stomach and his hips move in a slow, circular pattern that matches the rhythm of his mouth. “Lily, fuck—”

It’s messy and unrefined and perfect, the entire world fading into the background as he lifts her off the ground to wrap her legs around his waist. His erection presses into the front of her knickers and she lets out a frantic moan, hands clawing towards the front of his shirt until she’s ripping the fabric upwards to find skin. In response, he clenches her arse tighter, pushing her into him until the friction creates sparks behind her eyelids, mouths gasping with each wave.

She can taste his urgency with every passing swipe of his tongue and knows she must taste the same if not identical, everything becoming one frantic race to move faster, find more skin, sink deeper until she doesn’t know where they start or end. 

“Take me somewhere,” Lily gasps, pulling at his hair. The muscles in her legs ache, but not from straining around his waist. It goes deeper than that, pooling between her legs and zapping her with a shock each time he makes contact.

“Anywhere— christ —please, James.”

It’s the ‘please’ that does it. He lets out a thick gasp and his hands clench harder around her. He licks at her pressure point as the room starts spinning and for a brief moment it is unclear what is the cause: the champagne, James’ lips or actual magic. A small pop confirms the latter and she has barely any time to register that they are back in their hotel room before he’s shoved her up against the back of the door, hands moving with a newfound fervor up the front of her thigh towards the straps of her knickers. 

“Lily—” he groans, sounding pained and perfect with his teeth skating across the column of her neck. “You have no idea—you’re so—”

But whatever she is, he never lets her find out. His hands skim the hem of her dress before hiking it up to her waist, his eyes zeroing in on the dainty pair of knickers that hug low on her hips. Something between a growl and a cry escapes his mouth, eyes going round and shimmering when his fingertips begin to follow the line of lace that borders the edges. 

“Will you—”

His eyes go wide and darken immediately, the haze of drink lifting out of his irises in real time. 

“Will I what?” He gasps. “Fuck, love. What do you want?”

 A hand stalls at her hip, a finger hooking under the elastic in suggestion. 

“I want you,” she says, more clear and concise than she ever imagined. She’s never said those words to a boy and they feel heavy on her lips. “I want you, James. I’ve wanted you so bad, for ages—”

James keels forward like he’s been punched, his lips moving rapidly against her collar in a clipped gasp of swears. 

“Do you want—”

James pulls back, eyes so frantic it's almost laughable.

“You aren’t seriously going to ask me if I want you too?” James groans, voice hoarse. “You’re smarter than that Evans.”

As though to make his point, he bucks forwards, his erection hitting directly where she wants him most. They both gasp in unison, James leaning forward until his forehead rests against hers.

“You’ve been destroying me, Evans. Absolutely fucking torturing me this whole trip. Getting to spend time with you, hear your laugh, share a bloody bed— you have no idea. You don’t even want to know the kinds of things I imagine about you—”

Again, she says it with more composure than she thought capable.

“Tell me.” 

James reels back, his body stiffening. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me, I want to hear what you think about,” Lily says, a little more breathless than before. “And then—and then I want you to touch me. Please— that’s what I really want.”

“Fuck.” James growls. “Oh, fuck.” His hands tremble against her hips, unable to detach themselves and take action. Lily reaches down and takes one, skirting it around until it finds the front of her knickers. 

“Take me to bed, James. Our bed. Christ, you haven’t let me forget that fact all day. Take me to bed and—”

He stiffens abruptly, all of his body freezing then jerking backwards like the opening of a door. 

“How much did you drink tonight?”

A new frustration mounts, flooding her brain. “I don’t know. Some champagne, just like you. I wasn’t keeping track.”

She watches a battle happen in real time on his face. Jaw clicking, eyes darting from her to the bed to the door, fingers still resting mere centimeters from where she wants—she needs —them most. 

“We can’t do this,” James says, his voice going quiet. Suddenly, his hands are gone, his weight lifted; the delirious desire of it all completely lost and leaving her cold against the door. 

“This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen,” he says, regret rising up in his eyes. “This is— 

The emotion comes faster than logic. 

“You’re rejecting me?” Her voice isn’t a whimper, it's lower. Tears spring up in the corners of her eyes, a fresh wave of embarrassment hitting at full force. 

No,” he gasps, reaching for her again to cradle her face. “Like I could ever not want you. But this—” He teeters off, heat rising to his cheeks. “I’ve always wanted our first time… Merlin, our first kiss…”

“But I don’t care about that,” Lily groans, tugging at his hands. The room hasn’t quite stopped spinning from the apparition and she stumbles slightly on her heel. She hates how much it validates him. 

“I’m tired of waiting— of running circles around each other for no bloody reason— please, James.”

For a moment he seems convinced, inhaling sharply. A hand skims down her neck and her chest blooms with hope until it stops short at her collar. James lowers his eyes to hers. 

“Tomorrow,” he says, his voice sounding rough and more strained than she’s ever heard it. 

“If you wake up tomorrow sober and decide you still want this— fuck, you don’t even need to ask my permission. You can wake me up however you want and I will be so glad—so bloody chuffed —but I can’t like this. It doesn't seem right.”

Her mind gets so stuck on the however you want bit that she doesn’t quite grasp that he’s still rejecting her. A million different thoughts flash through her mind, each more explicit than the last and ranging from giving him everything and more without a second breath to getting her revenge and making him beg.

Christ —but she wants to do all of those things now.

“I’m going to sleep in Sirius’ bed,” she stammers, backing away until the back of her calves hit the mattress. She stumbles back on the bed, something that she would consider clumsy, but it lights something up in James’ eyes, his arousal straining against his trousers. 

“I don’t trust myself, I want you so bad it hurts,” Lily sputters, pulling herself up. “I don’t even know if I can make it through the evening without—”

Don’t say it,” James says, teeth gritted. “Please don’t. I’m already losing oxygen to the brain just trying to keep my composure right now.”

He closes his eyes and takes a straggled, deep breath. “I’m going to go into the bathroom now for…a little bit. And when I come out, I hope to find you in bed asleep .”

“What will you do in the bathroom?”

James’ eyes darken. “I’m not going to answer th—”

“Sirius said you left to wank this morning because we cuddled last night. Was he taking the piss or was it true?”

James chokes on his breath.

“Lily–don’t.”

“So, yes then.”

“I’m not answering that,” James growls out a second time. Like fanning a flame, something bursts forth inside him and he closes the distance between them again, pressing every part of him up against her until she’s falling back onto the bed. All logical thought swims away, the room still spins from the apparating and—yes, certainly the wine— but her hand finds his belt buckle easily. 

For the second time, he looks a thread’s width away from succumbing.

“Morning. Sober. Anything you want.” James gasps.

He catches her fumbling hands against his belt and pulls them above her head. It doesn’t help his cause. He looks from her bound hands, to her face, to her dress which pools to expose her knickers and he shoots back as if hexed. 

“Holy shit—Evans, Lily—holy shit—"

Then he’s gone, slamming the bathroom door behind him. There’s a heavy thump and a quick gasp of fuck, then everything goes silent. 

Disappointment swells, but the wine in her system eventually quells it, lulling her off to sleep despite her best efforts to wait for him. In some unknown amount of time later she feels the mattress flatten behind her and a body press forward, warm and familiar. 

“James? What are you doing?” Lily garbles, her brain still swimming through champagne and sleep. 

“I can’t stand the idea of Sirius getting to sleep next to you,” James murmurs, pressing a soft kiss into her hair. “I’m being selfish.”

He wraps an arm around her and she settles in against his chest.

“Did you have a nice wank?” she mumbles, wiggling back into him. He laughs, a strain evident. 

“Yes, Evans. Thanks for asking.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Lily says with a pitiful whine. “In case you were wondering. Too…sleepy.”

“Then go back to sleep, love,” James says, pressing a kiss into her neck. “Don’t let me stop you.”

For a while she does, her thoughts drifting in and out of the murky depths of a dreamless darkness. But then a chord is plucked in her memory and she startles awake.

“You realize the second I wake up, I’m going to shag you, yeah?” Lily whispers. “I mean it. I’m a little drunk and half asleep I think, but I’m not kidding. I’m going to. Because I mean it—I want to.”

James chuckles, casting vibrations down her back.

“I can’t wait,” he breathes, arm tightening around her. “Seriously, I’m thrilled to hear it. But first, sleep, love. You’re tired.”

He presses his lips to her temple and she turns to catch a real kiss. It feels like a promise. 

Sleep, love. I’ll be waiting for you in the morning.”

She closes her eyes again, the heat of his chest too comforting to fight. 

You better.

Notes:

I just imagine Sirius coming back from smoking to find jily snogging in the corridor like "About fucking time!" before storming away.

Next chapter is the last! That's crazy!

Not many notes for this one, but the candelabras are a nod to Jean Cocteau's "La Belle et la Bête" (1945)

Toi qui te moques de moi et de tout= "You who mock me and everything else."

Notes:

Feel free to bother me on tumblr or twitter (NSFW)