So, at long last, I have finally finished this monster of a one-shot. I really do hope it's alright.

Also, it's dedicated to Paige (paigenumer on here, thinkoutsidethebluebox on tumblr), who I hope isn't too angry with me.

Cover art credit: bennic7 on deviantart.

The first time Lily Evans and James Potter met, there was instantaneous chemistry between them. Not that they noticed – they were young and naive, with no clear idea of what love was. All that Lily knew was that she hated James, and all that James knew was that he hated Lily. Maybe hate was a strong word, one that, again, they didn't really know the meaning of. At that age, it was thrown around a lot, until the war started and they realised what it was like to really hate someone – namely, Voldemort – and that they didn't really hate the people they said they did; it was normally a strong dislike at best.

But we're getting ahead of ourselves. So, back to when they first met.

James had noticed Lily first. He had been standing with his parents, who were talking with the parents of a boy with a round, square jaw, who was looking down his nose as a first year with muggle parents came on to the platform. He didn't know the boy's name – he knew that he was from a wealthy, pureblooded family, judging by the robes he was dressed in, but he was yet to find out which – though he wasn't sure if he wanted to. His parents had raised him to believe that blood purity wasn't a big issue, and James adamantly stuck by that belief, despite his pureblood heritage. So he started staring away from his family, across the platform, daydreaming about what friends he might meet and what adventures he would most likely have with said friends, when he noticed a red-headed girl dressed in a dark dress, her hair tied back with a green bow.

She was looking around the platform nervously, her smile wavering as she saw the mass of people grouped together; unlike her, who was by herself. The girl was pulling her trolley behind her, but, getting distracted by the groups of people, tripped up over a cobble and fell onto her hands and knees.

James ran towards her, forgetting what his mother had told him just before they flooed over ("Don't leave me when we get onto the platform, James," she had told him, attempting to neaten the disgruntled boy's hair, "I don't want you to get lost before you get onto the train"). He took one of her arms and pulled her to her feet. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," she snapped, her cheeks flushed red in embarrassment. The girl brushed her hands to get the small rocks that were embedded in her palm off. "I didn't need your help."

"You kind of looked like you did . . ." James paused, waiting for her name.

"Lily. And I didn't," she said, and flicked her hair off her shoulder as she walked away, leaving James staring after her retreating figure, his mouth half agape. He couldn't remember a time when someone had talked to him like that – being a Potter, which was one of the older Pureblood families, meant that people tended to be very courteous and wary of what they said around him, so he wasn't used to being sassed like that. He kind of liked it.

James was the bravest man she had ever met. Lily realised this after he'd kissed her gently on the lips and pushed her up the stairs with a whisper of "go, save Harry". Of course, Lily never did what he asked her to, so she crouched down at the top of the stairs, watching the man she loved square his shoulders and face the creaking door. He didn't have his wand. Lily gripped the banister she was leaning against to stop herself from running downstairs to James and giving him hers, or anything to protect him. Her grip left crescent-shaped indentations in the wood, though she didn't care; her gaze was too firmly fixed on James.

The door swung open, and a cloaked man glided into the room. The temperature seemed to drop a few degrees as she watched the man drop his hood to reveal an almost snake-like face with a twisted smile. His skin was pale, almost blue, with cracking veins running through his skin, and his eyes were thin and piercingly red. Lily shuddered, imagining that being the last face her son saw before getting killed; she pictured the sobbing, slightly chubby boy sitting in his cot, and that man leaning over him, and then flicking his wand, making a jet of green light hit Harry. The thought alone gave her half a mind to run and save Harry, but she was stuck, watching James's death unfurl in front of her.

"Facing me without a wand?" You-Know-Who – fuck it, Lily thought, Voldemort (she was going to die anyway, so what was the point of not using his name now?) said silkily, "Are you an imbecile, or just incredibly brave?"

James shook his head, though Lily had to agree with both – he was so brave, and that, mixed with his recklessness, made him slightly stupid when it came to things that risked his life. "Neither; I'm simply in love." Of course, even faced with death, he had to make a joke, though his tone was deadly serious.

Voldemort sneered. "Love: I hate the word. It makes worthy men do foolish things." He strode toward James, his long fingers caressing the hilt of his wand. "You know, if you didn't fall in love," he spat the last word, before continuing, "with the Mudblood, you could have joined me."

"I would never have joined you."

"Your loss," Voldemort replied, his voice barely a whisper. He raised his wand, and pointed it at the centre of James's chest, and from where Lily was crouched, she could see James's chest rising and falling heavily, and his eyes close behind his glasses. Again, Lily had to stop herself from running down the stairs and stepping in front of him. "Avada Kerdava!" Voldemort yelled, and Lily screamed into her hand as James's body crumpled to the floor. Voldemort kicked the body aside and moved into the next room.

Lily brushed her tears away, willing herself to stay strong for her son. There's time to be upset later, she thought, and pushed herself up from the carpet. With one last look at James's body, she ran into Harry's room and crouched down in front of him, whispering sweet, meaningless nothings in hope of comforting him.

After that, well, it was just a waiting game.

Seeing Hogwarts for the first time was something magical. It made Lily forget about the obnoxious boy pressed up against her side in the small boat, as her concentration was fixed on the ancient castle.

She had heard stories about it from Severus, about the spiralling towers and extensive forest, but she had thought it all to be hyped up rumours; now she knew he was telling the truth. It was quite intimidating at first, since the size was almost 100 times the size of her house, but it was strangely beautiful. Every turret and brick already felt like home for Lily, and she couldn't wait to be inside, and to get lost in the hallways, and fall asleep in the library reading books.

"It's gorgeous," she whispered, forgetting who was next to her.

The boy scoffed. "It's alright."

Lily turned to him with a frown. "Have you seen better?" He obviously had, judging by his relaxed posture as he leaned back against the side of the boat, his hood brushing over the surface of the water. He didn't even seem bothered by the castle, something Lily couldn't understand.

"I live somewhere better," he said with a smirk. She knew the boy from somewhere, though she could remember where. She was certain that she disliked him, though.

"What are you then, royalty?"

"I may as well be; I'm a Potter." When he said that, she knew where she had seen him before, he was the boy on the platform that had helped her up when she tripped. That didn't change her opinion of him, though. If possible, it made her more adamant on it.

Lily arched a thin, red eyebrow. "Is that supposed to impress me?"

"It does with almost everyone else."

Lily scoffed and turned away from him. She really disliked him; he seemed stuck up, and obviously felt like he could get away with anything. It was at that moment that Lily vowed to never give him what he wanted, and to never let him win.

"I guess it's over then, isn't it?" Remus, Sirius, James and Peter stood side by side, shoulders brushing, on the hill where they skipped class to so many times, overlooking the castle. There were so many memories that James had about that hill – it was where the idea of the Marauders came about; where they'd tried their first cigarettes (something James had hated at the time, but strangely liked now); where he'd confessed to his friends about liking Lily, though they already knew. It was where the four of them had grown up, and where they'd become more than friends; they'd become brothers. So now, standing over it on their last day, it killed James inside. To be leaving everything that he knew for something that he knew nothing about, and something he was completely unprepared for. "Are we going to remember any of this when we leave?"

Sirius, though he wasn't one for touchy-feely things, slid his hand into James's. "I don't know if I could forget any of this." He held his other hand out to Remus, who took it silently. "Any of you." James took Peter's hand, who squeezed it tightly, so that the four boys – men, really – were standing in a row, joined by their hands. "You guys are family now; we made a vow."

"'We, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs, solemnly swear that this is forever,'" James said quietly, a sad smile gracing his face.

From the other side of Sirius, Remus continued the vow they'd made, "'Once a Marauder, always a Marauder.'"

It seemed like a lifetime ago that they'd made those promises to each other. Back then, they had still been innocent and wide-eyed children, mesmerised by the magical world that they had barely joined. They had been dying to grow up since they had got there, them all having wild dreams of becoming Aurors and helping people, but now James wanted nothing more than to go back to first year, even if it meant Lily hating him and him being an immature twat. At least then he wouldn't have the pressure of actually becoming an Auror, or knowing that people were dying and there was nothing he could do about it.

Peter swung his arm between them. "Nothing is ever going to be the same," he whispered, though the three other boys could hear him perfectly. "Things are changing now, and there is nothing we can do to stop it."

"We can try and save people," Sirius replied softly. "Even if it doesn't do much, we'll have tried, you know?"

It was then that James realised he was crying. He tried to pull his hand from Sirius's to wipe his tears away, but Sirius clung on, as if it was a lifeline that was keeping him from breaking down as well. He turned to Sirius, who had tears glinting in his eyes. James could hardly remember a time when he'd seen Sirius this upset – except the time that he ran away, but they didn't talk about that – let alone all four of them close to tears. So he stroked comforting circles on the back of Sirius's hand with his thumb. If he had to guess, he'd say that this would be another moment that would be filed under 'don't talk about, ever', but right then he didn't see the point of ignoring his friend when he was so upset, so he dropped Peter's hand and pulled Sirius into a tight hug. Sirius sobbed into James's shoulder, letting his vulnerability get to him. James knew what it was that was making him cry so much – he hated the possibility of people in the 'real' world seeing him for nothing more than his family name, which he had done so much to distance himself from. At school, people had come to accept that Sirius was nothing like the family he grew up with, but other people – other adults, James kept reminding himself – wouldn't be so understanding.

James let himself go as well. He cried into the crook of Sirius's shoulder – he cried because of everything he was leaving; he cried because he missed being young and innocent; he cried for Sirius, who would have to recreate his entire name again; he cried for Remus, who was guaranteed to be shunned because of his Lycanthropy; he cried for Peter, because he, out of all of them, was least prepared for what was out there.

Remus slid an arm around the two of them, and Peter did the same. James could feel Peter's weight against his shoulder, and Remus's hot breath on the top of his bent head. He looked up at Remus, who's eyes connected with his. Remus gave him a watery smile.

"Forever, guys, promise?" James spoke finally, his voice wobbling slightly.

Sirius laughed. "Forever."

The first time James punched someone, it was over Lily. It had been in third year, when their hatred for each other had been blown completely out of proportion, and they'd been paired together for Potions, something neither of them were very impressed with. But Slughorn had insisted on them working together, so he could break up the 'dream team' – Lily and Snape – and see how well they worked by themselves. So he'd torn James away from Sirius, and seated him next to Lily.

Lily was quietly peeling the Shrivelfig's, and James was staring around the dreary room, trying to cure his boredom – Lily had banned him from touching the potion after he accidentally added a rat spleen too early, making them have to restart.

From the table behind them, a hand tapped Lily on the shoulder, and they both turned – Lily so she could see what he wanted and James because he was completely bored – to see the boy his parents had been talking to on the platform. James wasn't surprised that he'd gone into Slytherin. "Hey, Evans? How does it feel to be a Mudblood?" They both knew what it meant, though James took more offense at it than Lily did; Lily simply flicked her hair back over her shoulder with a huff, and continued with the potion (though he could see her bite hard on her lip and close her eyes slowly to stop herself from getting upset); James however, glared at the boy – Rosier, he thought it was – his face darkening.

"What did you call her?" He asked slowly, giving Rosier chance to withdraw his comment.

"Simple; a Mudblood."

James wasn't sure what happened; the next thing he knew, he'd almost flown across the desk – he faintly heard a screech from Lily as he knocked the cauldron over – and punched him. The hit sent a jolt of pain through James – he was pretty sure that he'd broken his thumb, since he'd never punched before – but he continued to hit and scratch him, them rolling over the filthy floor of the Potion's classroom. Rosier's knee connected with James's groin, making him groan and roll off him, James lying flat on his back. Rosier stumbled to his feet, and pointed at James. "He started it!"

"I was provoked, Sir," James replied to Slughorn, who was standing in front of the two boys, surrounded by the audience they had gained. James, leaning on Sirius's shoulder, pulled himself to his feet. "He called Lily a- a you-know-what." He refused to say it; he thought the word was disgusting, and didn't want to ever hear himself say it.

Lily stepped forward, her green eyes flashing. "He called me a Mudblood, Professor." James gulped, not liking to hear her say it herself, and so easily too.

Slughorn shuffled uneasily from foot to foot, contemplating an answer, but his house loyalty must have gotten the better of him, since he replied, "Be that as it may, but fighting is strictly against the rules. Potter, I think it'd be best if you collected your bag and went to your head of house, who can decide a suitable punishment." He clapped his hands together, making the room jump. "Back to your stations!" The class hurried back to their seats, only Sirius lurking behind as James got his bag.

"What happened, mate?" Sirius asked, leaning against James's desk.

James gave him a shrug. "I don't know; he called her a, you know," again, he couldn't say it, so settled for gesturing with his hands. Thankfully, Sirius understood. "I guess I just broke."

"Over some girl?" Sirius scoffed. "You're weaker than I took you for." James gave him a silent smile and walked past him to the door. How could he admit to Sirius, though he was his best friend, that Lily was more than just 'some girl' to him? He knew exactly how Sirius would react; he would laugh first, thinking James was joking, but then, when he realised that he wasn't, get jealous, and start hating Lily more than he already did. So, instead of replying, he walked away to McGonagall's office.

Fighting never failed to give James a rush, even when there was a small chance of him dying. He had missed standing back to back with Sirius, them both casting charms and curses at the Death Eaters surrounding them. They hadn't fought like that since they were nineteen – barely out of school – and were training for the Order, but that had been a fumbling mess of poorly aimed hexes and tripping over each other's shoelaces. It was nothing compared to being in the fight, where instinct took over, and every jet of light seemed to barely miss him as he and Sirius ducked and spun out of the way in harmony.

"Nice one, James!" Sirius yelled when he hit a Death Eater in the chest with a stunning spell. But he didn't reply; his glasses had fallen off, and he was on the floor, grappling blindly for them. His hands were passing over shards of broken glass and rocks, but not his glasses. Of course, he really should have known better than to drop his guard on the battle scene – or at least told Sirius so he could cover his back – but he wasn't thinking properly. So it was only a given that then of all times, someone hit him in the back with a spell, making him fall face first onto the floor. He just about had time to gasp out an "oh" before his eyes fluttered shut and he passed out.

He woke up to see two people leaning over him: Sirius and Moody, both who were glaring at him. "Are you fucking crazy?!" Sirius hissed, slapping him around the head, making him wince. "You could've died!" And what if he had? He would have been leaving behind Lily, and their relationship still felt like it had just started, though they were due to marry the next year. He would have been throwing away the possibility of ever starting a family with her. Merlin, the last thing he said to her was "I'll try not to die, love", and he'd never broken a promise to her yet, so that was a lousy place to start.

"Alive and breathing, if you don't notice," he replied with a groan, though his comment went unnoticed as Moody spoke over him.

"Never mind that, we all could have." Moody grabbed James's shirt with his hand, and pulled him up so he was face to face with him. "First rule of fighting, Potter: don't break formation." If James knew any better, he could have pulled away – Moody didn't look any less intimidating up close; maybe even more so. He could hear his fake eye whirring in its socket as trained directly on James's, and through his blurry vision (he still didn't have his glasses back) he could see a vein straining against his forehead – but he knew that would make him look like a coward, putting him even further in Moody's bad books. So instead, he smirked up at him.

"Not even if I'm blind? I'm not sure how much help I could've been to Sirius propped up dead against his back." Moody let go of James's shirt with a grunt, and hobbled away, propped up on his stick, to get something off his desk. Then he turned back and threw a something at James, which he caught in one hand (his chaser reflexes paying off for something, at least): his glasses.

As James shoved them on his face, Moody growled, "a fat load of good you would be as an Auror. That was your dream, right boy?" James nodded silently. "You're half blind, for Merlin's sake, and if you can't see incoming spells, you will end up dead!" With each word, James's fist closed tighter, his knuckles turning white at the end. Moody nodded to the two, and, with a few strides, was by the door. "I have to go check no other imbeciles are dead, but you," he pointed at James, who flushed red, "are off patrol duty for good. And you (his finger moved to point at Sirius) get him out of here without him tripping over his own feet." And with that, he hobbled out of the room, his stick propping him up.

"Poor luck, mate," Sirius said, and put his hand on James's shoulder to help him up, but James shrugged it off and stood up off the sofa he was lying on.

"I don't see what you're so upset about; you're not the one who has to stop fighting." James knew he was being slightly irrational – he couldn't have expected any less of a reaction for doing such a stupid thing – but him not being able to fight had really gotten to him. Now it meant he'd be sitting at head-quarters, bored out of his skull, when people were dying out there, and he couldn't do anything to help.

Undeterred by James's reluctance to be touched, Sirius wrapped an arm around James's waist and helped in hobble out of the door, James still slightly unsteady on his feet. "I've lost my fighting partner, Prongs; you can't expect me to be all hunky-dory," he said as they strode away from the hospital wing. "But Moody's right; you can't fight if someone could kill you as soon as you drop your glasses." James grunted in reply, but Sirius didn't take that for an answer; he dropped his arm and stood in front of James, glaring. "I want you to promise, right now, that you're never going to deliberately fight again. I can't have you dying over something that pathetic."

"Pinky swear," he muttered, and continued walking, Sirius silently helping him again. But despite his half-hearted promise, James never did break it. He didn't fight for two years after that, instead staying behind at head-quarters and planning with Lily how to best corner the Death Eaters. But eventually the promise was broken, and James did die fighting, but for a braver, but admittedly still stupid, reason than dropping his glasses.

Their first argument took place almost straight after James's first fight. Of course James didn't go to McGonagall's – he knew that he'd get a detention anyway, so didn't see much point – and was waiting outside the Potion's classroom for Sirius, one of his feet propped up against the wall, tapping the beat to one of the songs he'd heard Remus playing a few nights ago. The class came pouring out, and he noticed Sirius's dark hair on the other side of the hallway, so started to make his way over to him, but a hand grabbed his arm.

He spun to see Lily, who was glaring up at him. "Did you really have to punch him, Potter?"

"Don't I get a thank-you?" He replied nonchalantly, unfazed by her glare. James had known Lily long enough, and been scowled at almost all the time, to develop a sort of ward for her filthy looks. They'd pissed him off when she'd started with them, but now that it was a common occurrence, he had just learnt to shrug them off.

"I don't think so." Lily rolled her eyes. "Now are you going to answer my question?"

"He called you a- a-" James choked, trying to get the word out. "A Mudblood," he finished finally.

Lily's cheeks flushed red, and her glare deepened. "Exactly, he called me a Mudblood (James cringed at how easily she could say it, and describe herself with it). I'm not sure how that affects you, though."

James strode closer towards her, and had to fight the urge to grab her shoulders and shake her until she saw sense. But he resisted, just barely, and settled for glaring at her. He had to bend his head to see her properly, as she still hadn't grown from the 5'4'' she was at the beginning of first year. "Rosier was a dick for saying it."

"I know that Rosier's an idiot; I'm not blind. But that still doesn't answer the question-"

Something inside James snapped, and making him scream, "I saw what it did to you! You might not show it, Evans, but it does upset you, and you have no idea what that fucking does to me if I see it!" James's hand rose to cover his mouth, realising what he'd said. He'd pretty much confessed to Lily how he felt about her, which he'd been trying to keep secret since he'd realised it. He stumbled backwards from her.

"So you punched him because you felt sorry for me?" Lily said slowly. "I was dealing with it fine on my own."

"You were ignoring him! That's just going to make him say it more, until he gets a decent response out of you-"

"And punching him stops that, does it?"

James let out a huff. "It did a damn better job than flicking your hair and leaving him alone!"

Lily strode forward, until they were as close as they were before, and James looked down at her, feeling slightly uncomfortable with their proximity. "Listen here, Potter: I am not a damsel in distress. This isn't some fairytale where you can swoop in and save me whenever someone says something not so nice. I know that I'm a mudblood," Lily held up a hand to stop James from interrupting, "and there is nothing I can do about that. But I also know that that doesn't define me, and that I can be something despite my blood type. So please, please stop trying to defend me like I can't do it on my own. I'm going to deal with the insults on my own, how I want to, and the least you can do is respect that."

James went to reply, but Lily had already turned away from him and walked away, her red hair swinging with each step. He let out a sigh, and ran a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to hell he'd made such a mess of everything in the space of two hours.

"Sirius. It has to be Sirius." James didn't consider anyone else. If there was anyone he wanted to look after Harry if, Merlin forbid, something happened to them, it was Sirius. He trusted Sirius with his life – which he'd saved often enough – so he trusted him with his son's as well.

But Lily shook her head. "He's too reckless, James. Harry would probably be dead before they day was through."

"Are you saying that Sirius isn't capable?" He asked with a frown, but stayed next to her on their cracking beige sofa, stroking her head. "You've let him babysit hundreds of times, and Harry's turned out fine then."

"That was for a few hours!" Lily snapped. She closed her eyes, taking a few deep breaths in what James guessed was an attempt to calm herself down. James didn't need to use Legilimency to know what Lily was thinking then: she was thinking that they were too mature to argue now, and that they had to stay calm for Harry's sake. "It isn't that I don't love Sirius – I really do – but I just don't-"

"Think he's good enough to look after Harry?" James bit his tongue as soon as he said it, regretting it when he saw Lily's face darken, and felt her shift so she was sitting as far away from him as the sofa would allow. But that was the thing about Lily; she made James do things that he regretted, whether it be saying something wrong or asking her out one too many times.

Lily kept her eyes trained on him as she adjusted her position so she was sitting cross-legged on her side of the sofa. "Don't put words in my mouth, James Potter," she said slowly. "There's more to it than him just being irresponsible."

"What, do you also think he's abusive? That he's going to lock Harry up in a cupboard, feeding him every other day?"

"Don't be stupid, James; no one is that horrible," Lily said, brushing his comment aside. "I just feel Remus would be a better choice."

James, though Remus was one of his closest friends, spotted flaws in this immediately. "A werewolf who's ill for a week a year? That'd be great for Harry, having to practically care for himself one a month, since his Godfather is tearing himself up in a house a few miles away!"

"It's a better choice than Sirius!" Lily had finally snapped, and had got to her feet, her eyes flashing dangerously.

James mirrored her. "How so?"

"Because Remus would actually care about him!" Lily covered her mouth with her hands, and quickly tried to take it back. "James, I didn't mean-"

"Of course you meant it, Lily," James muttered weakly, his will to argue gone. He didn't see the point, really, as Lily was adamant on it being Remus, and he just as fixed on it being Sirius. "You've always hated him; you just haven't had the guts to tell me."

Lily had also obviously given up with the argument, since her voice softened considerably. "James, I don't hate him, he just- he doesn't seem to care about anyone other than himself." She stepped forward slightly, and put her hand on James's arm, but he flinched it off, turning away from her.

"He doesn't have anyone other than himself, that's the thing. His family don't give a shit; Me, Remus and Pete, we're all he's got."

"But how does that mean he'll be good for Harry?" Lily asked, her voice still soft. He could feel her stepping closer to him, but she never touched him, having learnt from last time.

James didn't know how to word it. He could tell her about the time that Sirius had broken down in fifth year, and quietly admitted to James that he wanted a family ("I just need someone, you know? Someone who needs me just as much; someone who needs me more than I need them, and would care if something happened to me," Sirius had said, trying to futilely brush away his tears), though they never mentioned that. He would have also told her how he'd once walked him on Sirius rocking Harry to sleep, and heard him whisper "I wish you were mine" to the sleeping baby. That was another thing that they kept secret, though. There was an unspoken pact between the Marauders to keep any moments when they had been vulnerable, whether it being directed at them, or them just having witnessed it, secret.

So James, silently keeping that promise to Sirius, said to Lily, "It would give him something to hold on to when we're gone."

He could hear Lily taking another deep breath from behind him. "I'll think about it, James." He knew she was saying it more to comfort him, and as an apology for hating him, but it still made him feel slightly relieved. Lily stroked his arm gently. "Don't stay up too late, okay?"

"I won't," he replied, and Lily padded away, up the stairs to their bedroom.

James sank down onto their sofa, his energy sapped. He wasn't surprised that Lily hated Sirius, he thought, picking at a cracking piece of leather (they really should have bought a new sofa – it wasn't like they didn't have the money – but James couldn't seem to part with the one they had. It had been the one from his and Sirius's flat that they had shared before he moved in with Lily, and every stain and cigarette burn on it had some kind of memory, which was why he wouldn't get rid of it). She had never been overly fond of him, which she said was because James was a different person when he was with him, but he had hoped that would have changed as they all matured. No such luck, he guessed, and tugged at the piece of leather as it came loose from the material.

James knew he felt something special for Lily, even before he knew what love really was. She was different – she didn't giggle when he walked past, or listen into his conversations purely to get gossip – and it was strangely refreshing. Of course, at the age of eleven, he also fancied her because she had red hair that made her look like she was on fire, and a pretty smile, but over the years it had developed into something bigger than him only liking her because she was attractive; it became about how nice she was to everyone, even when they were rude to her, and how she, instead of laughing, smiled and hid her face with her hair.

He didn't realise that it was love, though, until he was in third year. Lily had been sitting in the Great Hall, picking at her breakfast – that day, a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon – when a Ravenclaw slid into the bench next to her. The boy, Louis Riley, was everything James wasn't, from his gleaming smile to his perfectly styled hair. His blue and silver tie was perfectly tied in a knot against his throat, his jumper immaculately rolled up to his elbows, with his skirt cuffs starched and folded over the cuffs of his jumper. James glanced down at his uniform, which he had hurriedly thrown on that morning so he didn't miss breakfast, and tried not to feel inadequate.

"Lily," Riley greeted, smiling directly at her. James grimaced – the boy didn't even know Lily too well, and he was already further into a relationship with her than James had got in three years; James wasn't even on first-name basis with her yet.

The smile she gave him was warmer than any she had ever given James. "Louis, how can I help you?"

"Do you have any plans for the next Hogsmeade weekend?" James couldn't help but mentally criticize Riley's methods; he was too blunt, which he knew Lily didn't really like – she preferred romantic boys, who wrote her poetry and acted like they were straight out of a Muggle romance novel.

But despite what James knew about her, Lily shook her head with a laugh. "Are you asking me out?"

"You could say that," Louis said, his already perfect smile widening.

James could have sworn that Lily glanced at him before replying. "I'd love to."

He couldn't take it any longer. "I think I'm going to be sick," he muttered to nobody in particular, and pushed his plate of toast away from him, standing up from the bench. As he strode out, he could feel both Lily's and Riley's eyes on him, Lily no doubt judging him, and Riley most likely turning his smile into a smug grin, but he didn't care. He had to get out of the hall, which seemed to be getting warmer by the second, making his skin feel clammy and his shirt stick to his back.

When he got outside the hall and into the chamber in front, he collapsed against the cool wall of the room. One of his hands jumped automatically to his hair and curled into a fist, and he shut his eyes, trying to get rid of the sudden nausea. Not even the harsh breeze blowing in from the open window made him feel any better. Why it that hearing Lily getting asked out had such an effect on him? She was just a girl, for Merlin's sake! A good looking one, admittedly, but still just a girl. But deep down, he knew why: he wanted it to be him that she was saying yes to, not a smarmy Ravenclaw who cares more about his supply of hair gel than his friends. At that time, though, he knew there was no chance of that ever being him, so he took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair so it looked less like he had been tearing it out and more like he had styled it that way deliberately, and composed his face into an uneasy smile. He strode back into the hall with his head held high, silently reminding himself that it was better to look like you don't care than to look vulnerable.

When Lily realised that she loved James, she was reluctant to admit it to even herself. It felt like she was letting him win, and giving in to what he'd wanted since first year, something that she'd been adamantly fighting against. So when he asked her out, she still said no, even though she wanted to say the opposite, simply because she didn't want to lose what now felt like a game.

"Fancy a date, Evans?" As always, he had a cocky grin on his face, which she could just see through her hair, and was leaning over the table in the library, his hands on the desk, so their faces were inches apart.

"Not a chance," she muttered, not looking up. She hoped that he thought it was because she frankly didn't care, and not because she knew that if she looked into his hazel eyes, she'd struggle saying no, but she knew that the tremor in her voice was giving everything away.

James let out a short, harsh laugh like he'd been expecting it. "I didn't expect any less." Despite being turned down, he took a seat next to her."Well if you're not going to go out with me, the least you can do is help me with my Potions essay. I'm three inches off still."

Lily silently held her hand out, and he slid the parchment into her hand, brushing his Quidditch-callused fingers against the back of her hand. She shivered, and distracted herself by reading it through.

"You forgot to mention the side-effects," she said after a few minutes, and gave it back, careful to avoid touching him again.

"I knew it'd be something like that." He took the parchment back, and, stealing Lily's inkpot and quill, started to scribble another paragraph of his essay.

As his scruffy cursive filled the page, Lily couldn't help but study him: his dark, almost curly hair was falling over his eyes, which were squinting at the parchment through his brass-framed glasses, and his tongue was peeking through his teeth. She had noticed this was a habit of his – not that she watched him often, of course – and that he did it when he was concentrating.

She reached for her quill so that she could distract herself by finishing her essay, but it was now clasped between James's hand, so she settled for reading it through instead. The words seemed to be blurring together, though, and she couldn't concentrate; James's presence next to her was distracting her. Mentally cursing herself for letting that Potter boy take Lily Evans's concentration, when not even her best friends could do that, she dropped her head to the desk.

"You alright there, Evans?"

"Just peachy," she replied, tracing through the lines of wood in the desk.

She could hear his smirk in his voice. "You don't look it. Is it anything I can help with?"

You could leave, she thought, but bit her tongue from saying it; she was trying her hardest to stay civil with him. "Not exactly."

James must have grasped her unspoken words, since she heard his chair shift backwards, and the table lightening as he took his arms off it. "I'm going to head off. Thanks for the help."

As his footsteps grew quieter, Lily let out a deep gust of air. How come she seemed to push away everyone? But more importantly, when did James Potter start to have such an effect on her?

James either hated or loved Hogsmeade weekends; when he was with his friends, those weekends were some of the best times of his life; they weren't restrained by the uniform rules, and, if they felt like risking it, could sneak into the Hogshead and have a few firewhiskeys each; when he was with a date, he hated them, since the girl wouldn't shut up about which of her friends had fallen out with the other, and who had started dating who. That week, it was closer to hatred than love.

For once, he didn't have a date – he knew that he could've got one if he wanted, but the girls that he normally went for (the ones that were guaranteed to put out) seemed more annoying that week – and Sirius, Remus and Peter were in detention, something James had managed to avoid by being in the Hospital wing (he had dislocated his wrist at Quidditch practice) when they were cursing the Slytherins. This meant that he was sitting in the Three Broomsticks, not having the confidence to try the Hogshead by himself, tracing the rim of a butterbeer as he watched Lily chatting with her date.

Now, he wasn't really a jealous person – there were a few exceptions, like when Remus invited Sirius to stay over at his house in the second year summer holidays, but didn't invite either him or Peter – but seeing Lily laugh along with Jonathan Leader made his stomach curdle.

The boy rose to get another drink, leaving Lily by herself. James didn't know what made him do it – maybe it was the five butterbeers he had, making his head feel slightly fuzzy, or just the thought that Lily was with another bloke – but he got up and took Leader's seat opposite Lily.

"Potter," she asked slowly, "you do know I'm on a date, right? And not with you."

"Oh, I know; that's why I'm here." He noticed his words slurring slightly, but he continued. "I think you should be on a date with me, not him."

Lily's eyes started to flicker dangerously. "I think we've been over this: I'm not interested." Her voice was growing lower. If James was in a better mind, and not tipsy, he would have took the hint and left, but he stayed in the wooden seat, and gave Lily a cocky smirk.

"I think we both know that's not true."

"I assure you that it is," Lily spat, her patience breaking, and stood up, facing James with an angry look. "How many times do I have to tell you: there is no chance of us ever getting together. You're incorrigible, possessive, and quite frankly a bit of a twat." She stormed off towards the bar, where Jonathan was buying them new drinks, her red hair swinging behind her, and muttered something to him, making Jonathan shoot a glare at James, then take her hand and leave.

He walked into the opposite direction, no particular path in his mind; as long as it was away from Lily, he reasoned, it was alright. His feet took him to the boys loos, and, not wanting to answer the unavoidable questions about why he had tears in his eyes, or why Lily had screamed at him, walked into one of the bathroom stalls and slammed the door behind him.

He sank down onto the toilet seat and put his head in his hands. It had finally sunk in for him that he had probably just ruined any chance of them getting together. Tears welled up in the corners of his eyes, and they, though he tried his hardest to blink them back, traced their way down his cheeks, collecting at the collar of his shirt.

James dragged the back of his hand across his eyes in an attempt to wipe them away, but it didn't work.

He hated crying; it made him feel weak, especially when it was over a girl. But he couldn't help it. But, again, Lily wasn't just a girl. She was more than that, and she was different; she was special.

His head fell against the wall of the cubicle, and, taking a ragged breath, tried to stop crying, telling himself that there was not point crying over something he was never going to get.

Lily Evans didn't cry often – at all, if she could help it – but seeing her husband getting murdered in front of her seemed to merit tears, since her sight started to blur. She cursed, telling herself that she needed to stay strong for Harry's sake, but it didn't work; she continued to weep for James, stuck in her place at the top of the stairs. She was almost frozen in that place, staring at James's body on the floor, mentally willing him to stir and give her some sign that he wasn't dead. But his body stayed motionless on the floor, with his glasses half hanging off.

She heard Voldemort – she still hated to use his name, even when she was facing her inevitable death – slam the kitchen door shut and move into the hallway again, which pushed her to move.

She pushed herself up from the carpet and hurried into Harry's room, where he sat in his cot watching her with his wide, green eyes. He clearly had no clue what was happening downstairs, and for that she was glad – at least her son didn't know that he was about to die, and his last moments could be happy.

Lily knelt down in front of Harry's cot, and gave him a watery smile. "Harry," she whispered, stroking her thumb over the chubby hand that was curled around the railing of his cot, "you are so, so loved."

Her speech was becoming hurried, and she knew that she didn't have much time left with him. "Mama loves you." Harry put his other hand on top of hers and grinned. He was so young; he didn't deserve to die. But she knew there was nothing she could do to prevent it. "Dada," she choked, trying not to give any hint about James lying dead downstairs, "Dada, he loves you too."

She could hear footsteps coming up the stairs: it was clearly Voldemort. "Stay safe, Harry; stay strong."

The door creaked open, and she stood up, facing the door, in an attempt to somehow protect Harry. Voldemort sneered at her, clearly either disgusted by her blood, or by another person standing up to him.

There was no speech this time, no persuasion to join him. He simply pointed his wand at her and hissed the spell: "Avada Kerdava."

She screamed, she knew that, but it was more out of mourning – she was mourning both her husband and her son – than out of pain. But secretly, though she would never admit it, she was happy that she'd been killed. At least now she would be with James, and Harry would soon be there with them too; she could still be happy.

Yes, Lily thought as her body fell to the floor, she was at peace with her death.

James Potter's parents were dead. He had got the letter at lunch, and, before a teacher could pull him aside or his friends try to comfort him, had got up and left. He just walked with nowhere in mind, but ended up in the stairwell that led to the Astronomy tower, sitting on the cold steps with his head against the wall. There was no way for him to fight the tears, so he let them come, them tracing down his cheeks in a steady stream. He must have been there for a long while, just silently crying, since the afternoon sun that was lighting the dark corridor had turned to night.

The door in front of him creaked open, and his quickly wiped his eyes, not wanting whatever couple that was trying to sneak up to see him crying. But, instead of a pair of giggling fifth years, Lily stood in front of him, her almost shocked face lit by the light of her wand.

"James, I'm sorry, I-" She stalled, obviously noticing his tears, "I was just doing my rounds," she said slowly. "Are you alright?"

He scoffed, not seeing the point of lying to her. "Do I look it?"

"You look like crap." Lily took a seat next to him on the second-to-bottom step, the small hallway meaning that her leg was brushing against his. Through the light coming from Lily's wand, he could make out a look of concern on her face. "Is it anything I can help with?"

"Do you have a resurrection stone?"

It was Lily's turn to scoff. "That's just a story, James; it's not real." She put a hand on his thigh and stroked her thumb over his jeans, James's sadness clearly overriding their unspoken 'no-touching' rule. "But really, can I help?" Both her presence and her gentle hand on his leg was comforting, but James didn't want to be comforted – his parents were dead, so not mourning them made him feel guilty. That might have been what led him to replying with what he did.

"Don't feel responsible for me, Lily," he spat, moving his leg so her hand fell off, "you don't care about me. You told me just as much a few months ago." He had half a mind to get up, but he didn't have the energy, so stayed in his place in the step.

"Don't think that." He could see her eyes flicker in the light of her wand as she adjusted herself so that she wasn't as close to him in the cramped stairwell.

James bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to lash out at her again, but it must have been a mixture of frustration at his parent's death and himself, since he yelled, "You hate me! You have always hated me!"

Lily jumped when he snapped, her wand falling to the floor, making the light go out, but she didn't pay any attention. "It's not hate anymore!" Her cheeks flushed red, which he could just see through the new darkness. "It's- I don't know what it is!" She was obviously as riled up as he was, since she dragged a hand through her hair with a low growl.

"Well it sure as hell isn't affection!"

He was expecting Lily to shout back something, maybe an agreement, but she didn't; her cheeks went even redder, if that was possible, and she whispered, "how do you know that?"

The response that he was preparing vanished from his mind, and his mouth hung open silently. For once, James Potter didn't know what to say. His eyes trailed down from her eyes to her lips, which were open in a small 'o'. What she said had finally sunk in. Was it possible that she fancied him?

He didn't know how it happened, but his hands were around her neck, and his lips were on hers. A small gasp came from Lily, and her mouth widened, but she quickly leaned further into him.

It wasn't slow or romantic, like first kisses were supposed to be; it was frenzied, with Lily's back against the wall behind her, and one of James's hands fisted into her hair. Their lips were pressed hard together, exploring each other. They were almost pushing each other to see how far they were willing to go; James was snaking his fingers down her collarbone, and Lily tugging at the hem of his shirt to pull it out of his jeans.

"Lily," he gasped, pulling away from her. "I'm so sorry; I didn't mean to-"

Lily's hand moved from his stomach to his hair, and after muttering, "shut it, Potter," she pulled him back towards her and then they were kissing again.

Lily didn't really have any belief as to what happened when you died. She had always thought that there were too many possible ideas for her to fix on one herself – she would be doubting herself, and wondering what if for all the others – so had just prepared herself for anything. What she didn't expect, however, was to wake up on the floor of Harry's room, in the exact same place that she had died. If it wasn't for the fact that everything was clean, and that there was no baby in the cot, she would have thought it was the same place, but she knew it wasn't.

The next thing on her mind was James.

She stumbled to her feet and out of the door to Harry's room. From the top of the stairs, she couldn't see him, but she took a few further steps to check. When she couldn't see him, she yelled, "James?", just in case he was around.

"Lily!" Heavy footsteps echoed from the living room, and she ran downstairs to meet him. "Lily, thank goodness."

When she was face to face with him, she slid her arms around his waist and let her head rest on his chest. She wanted something solid, really; proof that it really was him.

James laughed, making his chest reverberate and his head move with it. "I'm right here, Lils."

"I know," she whispered, "I just wanted proof."

"Hey," he said softly, grabbing her arms and gently manoeuvring her so that she was around a foot away from him, with her hands being held in his, "I'm never going to be anywhere that you're not. Promise."

Lily nodded silently. James ducked his head slightly, and pressed his lips against hers. She knew it was more of a comforting act than anything, and it helped. She gave him a quick smile when he pulled away.

"Thanks."

James wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Anytime."

It came to a surprise to everyone – James and Lily included – that Lily was the first to say I love you, and not James. It happened on a cold winters night during the Christmas holidays of their seventh year, when they were the only ones in the Gryffindor common room (everyone else had either gone home or were in bed, since it was nearing midnight), curled up on one of the plush sofas.

Lily's head rested on James's chest. His heartbeat was loud in her ear, and she could feel his broad chest through his thin, grey t-shirt. There was a peaceful silence between them, and though Lily searched for something to say, she didn't want to break it. So she bent her head back and just looked at him.

He was staring into the dying embers of the fire, a strange look of concentration on his face. His hair was traditionally messy, with his fringe falling into his eyes – James kept saying that he needed it cut, but Lily forbid him; no matter how much she insisted that she hated his habit of running a hand through his hair, she would miss it.

It was times like that, when the common room was dark and empty, that Lily was glad that she had James. If she was by herself, she would have felt slightly scared, what with the flickering shadows over the walls and the whistling wind outside, but with James there, he made it feel cosy; he made her feel safe.

That was partly why she said it: "I love you, you know." She put a hand on his chest, and gave him a smile.

"Yeah, I know," he whispered back, and planted a kiss on the crown of her head.

She wasn't upset that he didn't say it back. If he didn't feel as strongly towards her, or didn't think it was the right time for it, she wasn't going to force him; she didn't want to be like one of his clingy exes and kick up a fit when he didn't do what she wanted.

Lily dropped her head back onto his chest, with a whisper of "good", before letting out a deep sigh and closing her eyes.

Almost instantly, James felt guilty for not saying it. How did it make him look, after having fancying her for the majority of his Hogwarts life but not being able to tell her that he loved her? But still, he couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Yeah, I know," he replied. He grimaced as he said it, and hoped that she wouldn't see. He had sounded too casual saying that. Saying I love you is a big thing in any relationship, and he knew from past girlfriends that not saying it was a sure-fire way to stop the relationship. But Lily didn't seem angry about it; she let her head rest on his chest again with a smile, and promptly fell asleep.

It was times like that that made James remember why he fell for Lily in the first place. When she was curled up with him, her legs tangled with his, she reminded him so much of the old Lily; the Lily who trusted almost everyone and was always smiling. She didn't do much of that now; she was too involved in helping out with the war to be happy. But as she smiled slightly in her sleep, she was a spitting image of the old her.

He really did love her, and she knew he knew too. It was just that, if he told her, he would feel like he was letting go of too big a secret. He had been trying so hard to get Lily, and now that he finally had her, he felt that saying I love you would give her what she wanted, and then she was free to leave him. So he figured that he should at least have something to keep her with him.

But, looking down at her peacefully sleeping, he couldn't do it. It was unfair on her, and he felt like it was going to explode out of him any day, so it might as well have been on his own terms.

James bent his head and kissed her on her cheekbone. "Lily Evans," he whispered, not wanting to wake her up, "I love you more than anything."

It felt like a huge weight had been lifted from him. He grinned at himself, and shuffled down the couch slightly so that his head was resting on the arm. With an arm wrapped loosely around Lily's waist, and his head burrowed into her neck, he kissed her pulse gently before going to sleep himself.

"What do we do now?" Lily asked in a quiet voice, her hand tightly clutching his.

James nodded to the front door of their house, which seemed to have a bright light shining through it, which half-blinded them both. "I think it might have something to do with that."

"So do we walk into it? It's a bit cliché, don't you think?"

He laughed in agreement. "But all stories have a hint of truth."

Lily took a few steps forward, taking James with her, but stopped when they were about five feet away from their door. She turned to face him. "James, if anything happens now- well, I love you."

"And I love you." James squeezed her hand. He knew that she was just as nervous as he was; her voice was shaking slightly, and her luminescent eyes were glistening with tears. "Are you ready?"

"I think so."

James gave her a quick smile, his eyes filling with tears. What if this was the last moment he saw her? What if, when they stepped out that door, he was torn away from her and never saw her again? Or even worse, forgot her? So he took the time to drink in her slightly crooked smile and the freckles dotted around her face, hoping to whoever was up there that this wouldn't be their last moment together.

He had half a mind to stay there, and just live in their old house until they both grew old like they were meant to, but he could feel something drawing him to the door, like an invisible rope tied around his waist. So he took in a deep breath and reached out for the doorknob, giving it a sharp turn.

Both James and Lily, their hands still joined together, stepped out of their door and into the light.

Three things now: 1, any ideas for my next oneshot? 2, is anyone interested in becoming a permanent beta for me? 3, review?