Chapter 1: In which Lily Nurses a Heartache and is Surprised by the Head Boy

Lily Evans sat alone in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express, her chin propped up on her small, pale hand, her wide green eyes unfocused as she stared out the window. Though the train hadn't yet left King's Cross Station, her mind was already a million miles away. She'd snuck onto the train early and thus far avoided her friends Dorcas Meadowes and Marlene McKinnon, and even Remus Lupin, although she knew she'd probably have to find him shortly for the prefects' meeting.

To lead the prefects meeting, that is. Because four weeks ago, Lily had received the letter informing her that she'd been chosen as Head Girl at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the 1977-1978 school year. She assumed Remus had been chosen as Head Boy, but he hadn't responded to her letter seeking confirmation.

That was all right. They had a long train ride ahead of them, with plenty of time to meet the other prefects and remind everyone of their duties before they arrived at school. For now, Lily just wanted to be alone.

And so she sat there, in solitude, staring out the window. She was barely aware of her fellow witches and wizards bustling about the platform as she replayed in her mind the conversation she'd had with her boyfriend – now ex-boyfriend – Anthony yesterday afternoon.

"It's going to kill me to be away from you, Lilypad," he'd said, grasping both of her hands and pulling them to his lips for a kiss.

She'd gazed up at him with stars in her eyes. "Me, too."

"I know." He squeezed her fingers. "I care about you so much. So, so much."

That should've been her first signal that something was off, she realized now. Last week, he'd loved her. Now, he only cared for her. So much.

Alone in her train compartment, Lily snorted. "So much, my arse," she muttered.

Because right after he'd professed to care so deeply, Anthony had launched into an unexpected and tortured explanation of how, with him spending the year abroad studying law and her returning to "boarding school in Scotland," it would be too difficult to maintain this "thing" they'd been doing for the past eight months.

"It just wouldn't be fair, Lilypad," he'd said solemnly. "Not to either of us, would it, to try to keep going knowing we won't have the time to commit to each other like we'd want to?"

She'd been completely shocked. "I know it will be hard," she'd said, "but I'm so proud of you, studying to become a solicitor. I understand you'll be busy this term. But you'll write to me when you can, like we did last Spring, and I'll see you at Christmas." There'd been an edge of desperation to her voice when she added, "We don't have to break up."

"You don't want to spend your last year of sixth-form cooped up in your room writing to your boyfriend across the channel," Anthony had replied, ever reasonable. "You should be going out with your friends." He'd tucked her hair behind her ear, the bastard. "I won't be able to enjoy myself in France if I don't think you're having fun, too."

"I don't want to have fun without you," she'd whispered.

She hated that she'd said that. It was pathetic, really. But in her mind, until that very moment, things between her and Anthony had been perfect. In fact, he'd been the one bright spot in an otherwise terrible summer holiday. He was charming and thoughtful and, barely three weeks ago, he'd told her he loved her, right before they'd had sex for the first time in the meadow behind his parents' house. He'd planned a night of star-gazing and brought a bottle of wine and some fancy cheese, and Lily had never felt more grown-up and appreciated.

And now he'd cast her aside like a used tissue.

Lily sighed heavily.

One more tie to the Muggle world severed.

The train began to pull slowly away from the station, and to Lily's surprise, no one had burst in to her compartment searching for a seat yet. Thank Merlin for it, she thought, as her eyes filled with tears. She refused to blink them away, out of principle. She swept a strand of auburn hair back from her face and sat up straighter, imagining herself the proud heroine in a Jane Austen novel – like Elinor in Sense and Sensibility – too gracious, calm, and collected to be ruled by her emotions.

So focused was she on maintaining her stoic persona that she literally jumped when the door to her cabin banged open. With a gasp, she turned to face the intruder.

"All right, Evans?" James Potter leaned casually against the doorframe, all long limbs and broad shoulders and easy, athletic grace. His dark hair, disheveled as always, was long enough that his curls were starting to show. His skin, usually the approximate color of honey, had taken on an even deeper bronze tone after months in the summer sun. He hadn't changed into his school robes yet and was instead dressed like a Muggle in jeans and a fitted white t-shirt. And between the shirt and the way his arms were crossed over his chest, Lily couldn't help but notice that he had developed quite a few muscles that weren't there last year.

He looked good. "Potter!" she squealed in surprise. She swallowed hard and forced her voice back down to its normal register. "You startled me!"

"Terribly sorry," he said, in a way that suggested he wasn't. He flashed a lopsided grin and sat down across from Lily. "Did you have a nice summer?"

And Lily's face fell like rain.

"Ah, bollocks." James' frown mirrored Lily's. "I'm a bloody idiot. Of course you didn't. I was so sorry to hear about your father, Evans."

Lily's lip trembled, the guilt threatening smother her like a wet blanket. "Thanks," she muttered, not meeting James' eyes. But she said nothing more.

How could she, knowing that today the loss she was mourning was that of a silly boy who had moved on and not her father, her wonderful, sweet, father, who had done his best to raise her and Petunia on his own in the five years since Lily's mother had died? How could she explain that of course her father's death was tragic, but she'd had three months to cope with that, to process it, and it was now more of a constant, dull ache, as compared with the raw, still-bloody emotional wounds she'd received just last night?

She couldn't. She felt terrible and selfish, and James Potter was the last person she could explain any of that to. She sucked in a shaky breath, once again on the verge of tears.

James saw the series of expressions that ran across Lily's face, and the tears pooling in her beautiful eyes, but – despite having studied that face for years – it seemed he couldn't read her in that moment. He opened and immediately closed his mouth, then reached for her, his hand faltering in mid-air before coming to rest gently on her knee, only to be snatched away when she glared at it as though it had burned her.

"Sorry," he said, quickly. "I, uh…" He trailed off, then finished awkwardly, "Please let me know if there's anything I can do."

"I doubt it," Lily said curtly. James winced, and Lily closed her eyes and sighed. She wasn't angry at him. She was sad about Anthony, and ashamed of her misplaced grief, and lonely. No mother, no father, no sister, no boyfriend, she thought miserably. But none of that was James' fault, and so far, today, he'd done nothing but be kind to her. She opened her eyes and gave him a half-smile.

"I mean," she started over, "thanks, Potter. I appreciate it." She sighed again. "Right now, I just need to find the Head Boy and see if he's got the prefects' list for this year. I didn't have one in my letter." James smirked, and Lily raised an eyebrow. "What? Is it Remus? I wrote him, but I never heard back."

"Yes, well." James rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, and Lily noticed again how nicely his t-shirt highlighted his biceps. "About that…"

...

AN: Hope you enjoy! I'm really excited about this story, and I'm not sure exactly how long it will be yet. I'd love to hear your reviews as it goes along! xo