Author's Note: I really have to apologise for being so late in updating this story. Work and illness and family obligations kicked my ass over the past two weeks and I simply didn't get it edited to standard in time. I really hope I'm forgiven.

Time for another glossary!

NCA: National Crime Agency - Basically a huge law enforcement agency that works specifically to combat organised crime

PC: Police Constable

Pentonville: A London prison

So here's the deal with chapter 10. It's coming, however, it may not be ready by next Wednesday. If it's not ready, 11 won't be ready, and I don't really want to keep taking breaks between updating. I work for a Game of Thrones website (aside from my actual day job, which is incredibly demanding at the moment) and with the seventh season coming up in less than two weeks, I'm currently scrambling to finish two rather large articles, one for this week and one for next week. They have to take priority over fanfiction, so that's going to cut into my editing time. When I started posting this fic, my life was a lot less hectic, but at the moment I'm fairly overloaded with work and haven't been taking care of myself, for which I was given a proper scolding by my partner and a bunch of my friends recently.

This entire fic is written, but as I've been posting and editing, it has evolved a bit, so there's still editing to do. So, in conclusion, 10 might not be up by next Wednesday, and I'm not going to post it until 11 is edited and ready to go, too, so please bear with me on this.

The good news is that the talented cgner has resumed posting Playing the Hero, Being the Fool and there are two chapters (and an epilogue, I believe) to go in that story, which is great, because I plugged a gap for her during her break from fic and now she's inadvertently doing the same for me. If you haven't read her fic, and I'm going to assume that all of you have, go and do it immediately.

Chapter Nine

It is June 25th, 2015, and a blissfully sunny day in central London. Lily Evans and James Potter, who have now, officially, been in a relationship for one week and one-and-a-half days, have done an excellent job in concealing their romance from the rest of their colleagues, with only a few minor slips. One such colleague is Peter Pettigrew, a diligent, earnest fellow who bears the distinction of being the only member of the team with a steady, long-term partner, and who considers James Potter to be one of his all-time favourite people.

"Can I ask you a favour, mate?"

"Aye aye, Cap'n," said Peter cheerfully, and with a whimsical mock-salute. "What can I do for you?"

"You're not busy, are you?"

Peter was a little busy with paperwork, as it happened, but he loved James – who was clever and talented, never poked fun at Peter's eccentricities and appreciated his cooking – too much to deny him a favour. "I have plenty of time to help out a friend."

"Cool," said James, who was swaying backwards and forwards on his feet, hands clasped behind his back. "Cool cool cool cool."

Peter waited for him to sit down and talk, but he didn't. "James?"

"Yes?"

"You needed something?"

"I - er - yeah, I did," said James, snapping out of his daze. He threw a glance over his shoulder. Peter followed his gaze, but saw only Lily Evans, who was sitting at her desk, deep in conversation with two of the PCs who'd been working with her on the assault case she and James had picked up two days before. "First - er - can we keep this extremely quiet? I mean, not a word to anyone else about it, I don't want anyone to know."

"What about Sirius?"

"Not even Sirius."

"Oh," said Peter airily, while his heart swelled with pride. Now was his time. He had been chosen. "Of course, that isn't a problem."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh yes. I'm an excellent secret keeper," he assured him. "Did I ever breathe a word about Helena's toenail?"

James wore a look of pure disgust. "Not until now, you didn't."

"I mean, it's not ingrown any more, she had the surgery-"

"I've changed my mind. I'm going to ask somebody else."

"No, wait, you can't judge my secret keeping abilities based on my girlfriend's toenail."

"I can judge them by the fact that you told me about it."

"Generally, though, I'm good at keeping my mouth s-"

"Now that I come to think of it," said James, with knitted brows. "I remember you told me what Remus had bought me for Secret Santa last year."

"Only to give him time to exchange the gift if you didn't like it!" Peter argued. "Besides, that doesn't count because I told you the secret."

"What?"

"If you're the only person I tell secrets to, you can trust me not to tell anyone else, because I'd just want to tell you and you already know."

"What kind of logic is that?"

"Theoretically sound logic."

"You know what? Fine," said James, expelling a sigh. "Nobody else can actually help me, anyway."

Peter beamed as James pulled over Remus' empty chair and sat down beside him, resting his elbows on the desktop. He had a rubber band twisted around his fingers and was stretching it as far as he could, as if daring it to snap, but despite this, and despite his conspiratorial tone, he didn't seem particularly stressed. A little shifty, perhaps, but there was a lightness about him, an easy, carefree contentment. In fact, it seemed to Peter that James had been far happier than usual over the last number of days.

"So, I need a restaurant recommendation-" he began, but Peter cut him off.

"Wonderful!" he cried, though far too loudly – loudly enough that all eyes turned in their direction, and McGonagall, who was in an important, not-to-be-interrupted meeting with the Superintendent, came striding out of her office.

"Who was shouting?" she demanded, looking around the room.

"Pettigrew," said Beatrice, who had placed a strange-looking box full of ultraviolet light on her desk and was holding one of her hands inside it.

McGonagall turned her shrewd, all-seeing eyes on him, and he shrank beneath her steely glare. "What are you yelling about?"

"I think Potter just proposed to him," said Beatrice.

"I'm catching Peter up on our case, sir," said James, which was quite unlike him - normally, this would have been the opportune moment for him to make a joke. "He's very happy about our progress."

McGonagall gave them both a look that demonstrated her complete disbelief more plainly than any diatribe could.

"Unless your computer bursts into flame of its own accord, Pettigrew, or you fall foul of some other, unexpected disaster, you are both to speak at a reasonable volume for the remainder of my meeting. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," said Peter. "Understood."

When McGonagall was safely sequestered inside her office again, James fished a packet of salt from Peter's condiment jar and threw it at him, grinning. "Nice job, getting us in trouble with Mummy."

"Sorry," Peter squeaked. "I'm just excited! You know how much I've longed to introduce one of you to the wider world of fine cuisine."

"It's sort of difficult to get excited about food when you bring a spit-bucket to dinner with you," James began, but Peter ignored him, and pulled his bottom drawer open with some difficulty – it was an old, janky thing that always got stuck. From it he extracted a large, fat red binder, set it neatly on top of his desk and flipped it open.

"Right," he said, and began leafing through the pages. "Let's get cracking."

James appeared to be puzzled. "Is that binder full of restaurant information?"

"Yes."

"Why do you keep it at work?"

Peter chuckled in response. "Dear, sweet James, how else am I expected to stay on top of my game? Pain au Pettigrew has over thirty-thousand followers who rely on me to shape their culinary experiences on a daily basis, and you think it's strange that I keep a spare dining bible at work?"

"You've got another one of these?"

"I have an identical binder at home - of course, it's all digitised, but I have a real fondness for hard copies," he said, and smoothed down a page headed For Friends and Family - Beginners. "Now, what exactly are you looking for?"

"Something fancy," said James immediately. "Do you have anything fancy in your binder?"

"Fancy is my middle name," said Peter. "I'm joking, it's actually Michael. Why do you need a fancy restaurant, out of curiosity?"

"Er," said James, and looked over his shoulder again. "There's a - there's a girl."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "A girl?"

"A woman," James corrected, his head snapping back to face front. "I want to take her out on a date."

He was blushing a little, which was most unlike him. James tended to talk about the ladies he dated with an ease that bordered on nonchalance. In the seven years Peter had known him, he'd had one serious girlfriend, and that had ended in disaster, both times.

"I thought Nando's was your date staple?" said Peter, intrigued.

"Yeah, but, this isn't a Nando's kind of date. This needs to be a fancy date. I've never taken a girl on a fancy date, but I know that I should probably pick a fancy, snobby, looks-down-their-noses restaurant, which is where you come in. What restaurants are fancy?"

For the millionth time in his life, Peter couldn't believe that James, who had grown up in a plush townhouse on Holland Park and owned a photograph of his infant self being hugged by Dame Julie Andrews, could be so ignorant to the finer end of London society.

"I can't believe-" he began.

"Julie Andrews, I know," said James impatiently. "Get over that, already. It's not as if she'd recognise me now."

"I doubt she frequents establishments that offer free refills on soft drinks, so I believe you," said Peter delicately. "There are plenty of high-end eateries in the city, though they can be pricey."

"Cost isn't an issue, obviously. It just needs to be good. Really good, yeah? Like, the kind of place that won't let me in if I'm not wearing a jacket. You know what I mean?"

Peter nodded as he ran a finger down a list of potentials. "What style are you looking for?"

"I don't - ow!" he said, though he managed to keep his voice to a loud whisper, having accidentally snapped his own finger with the rubber band. He sucked on it for a moment before speaking again. "Just a regular dinner jacket, I didn't even know they had different styles."

"I'm not taking about the jacket, I'm talking about the restaurant. We've established that you're looking for a fine-dining restaurant, but is there a particular style of cuisine you're wanting for the occasion? Seafood? Fusion? Ethnic? Modern European?" He shook his head at James' blank, dead-eyed stare. "What kind of food does she like?"

"Er," he said, and shrugged. "Chips?"

It's was Peter's turn to stare blankly. James might as well have suggested feeding woodlice to his date. "Chips."

"Yeah," said James, and looked worried. "Don't they do chips in fancy restaurants?"

"You want to take a woman on a date to a fine dining establishment so she can order chips?"

"Not if they aren't on the menu."

"Heaven help me," Peter sighed. He turned a page and pointed to a fabulous place on Formosa Street. "I'm going to start you on the classic French style, simple and elegant. No chips, but there should be enough on offer to tempt even the simplest of palates."

"No, Peter, you know how I feel about the French," said James darkly. "What else is there? What about this?" He pointed to another restaurant on the list. "You've given this place eight stars and listed it under 'Eastern European influences', I can work with that."

"That place has a fourteen week waiting list. Can you wait fourteen weeks?"

"What?" He pulled a face. "No, I need it for Saturday night."

"Saturday night? You think you can get a reservation at one of London's top eateries for two nights from now?"

"Why couldn't you?"

Peter sighed heavily, again. Perhaps he had been wrong. James didn't seem emotionally ready for the world of haute cuisine. "I'm sure she won't be too unimpressed by Nando's."

"No Nando's, this has to be great, alright?" James looked over his shoulder again, though for the life of him Peter couldn't understand why, because only Lily was within earshot. "This is a special woman, yeah? I've been in love with her for, like - actually, that's not important. It just needs to be great because she deserves better first date than a Nando's."

Peter blinked. "You're in love?"

"Ye- no, I was exaggerating. And that's not really the point," said James impatiently. "Your name is gold with all of these restaurant owners. Can't you pull some strings or call in a favour or threaten a negative review or something?"

"Since when have you been in-" he began, but James shushed him, and he lowered his voice again. "Sorry, since when have you been in love?"

"I'm not and I don't know. I'm not Evans, alright? I didn't note the time and date in my calendar, it just happened."

He was shocked by this development. James wasn't even seeing anyone, as far as Peter's detailed notes on the likes, dislikes and potential worries of his friends - something he kept to assist him in being the best Peter he could possibly be - would indicate. He'd suspected for a while that James might have been harbouring feelings for Lily Evans, but James and Lily had dinner in various chain eateries all the time, and knowing Lily's love for cheap pizza and McDonald's breakfasts as he did, he couldn't imagine that she was the type who needed to be brought to a fine dining restaurant. It was most boggling.

"You're not getting back with Isabella, are you?" he began tentatively, but James' horrified expression answered that question for him. "Okay, nope, you're not."

"I haven't seen her in years," said James. "Nor do I ever want to again. Can you get me a table somewhere or not?"

An idea occurred to Peter, though it wasn't a pleasant one. "Well..."

"Well?"

"I've got a reservation in my name for Saturday, as it happens. I was going to bring Helena." James' eyes lit up with hope, and Peter's last morsel of resolve was gobbled away. His dear friend was in love. How could Peter neglect him during such a troubling time? "Though, I suppose your need is greater than mine. You can have the table."

"Aww, Peter," said James, and landed a gentle punch to his upper arm. "You're a proper mate, you are."

"It's at La Gavroche, 8pm sharp. I'll text you the address tonight. You must wear a smart jacket and clean shoes, not trainers. Don't order for her under any circumstances, however you may recommend the Filet de Maigre and the Domaine Claude Chevalier. You will be representing me at this establishment so do not order a Coke or I will never speak to you again."

"That sounds French," said James. "Is it French?"

"Yes, " said Peter sternly. "It is French. It's also expensive, and elite, and home to some of the best food in London. You'll take it, you'll enjoy it and you'll send your compliments to the chef, unless you want to take this dream girl of yours to a place that makes you bring your order to the counter."

"Do they-"

"No," Peter interrupted. "No. They don't serve chicken fingers."

"Wow," said James, and ruffled his flyaway hair. "I have to say, Peter, you're acting a lot scarier than usual."

"Food awakens the beast in me," said Peter simply. "Everybody knows this."

James would never have realised his expertise in the art of romantic subterfuge if not for Lily Evans.

Despite all assumptions he'd previously held about himself, he'd found that he was dead good at keeping their relationship under wraps at work. His natural instinct, which was to tell everyone he knew that the woman of his dreams was his girlfriend, was ever present, but he'd managed to curb it by telling a bunch of people he didn't know. Lily's neighbour from across the hall, the delivery guy from Francino Pizza and a little old lady on the tube had been treated to the epic tale of their childhood romance-turned-tragedy-turned-romance again, courtesy of an immensely proud James. The old lady had been especially cheered by the story, gave them a boiled sweet each and promised to pray that they would be blessed with many children, which as James pointed out to Lily, meant that their relationship was literally bettering the world.

His mission to secretly arrange their first proper date – a surprise for Lily – without giving the game away to Peter, was a roaring success, and James walked away from their conversation clutching another metaphorical feather to add to his already overloaded cap. He went out to buy a coffee from Costa and when he returned, Beatrice had left for lunch and the officers who had been speaking to Lily were gone. She held out a sheet of paper for him to examine as he approached.

"Door-to-door came back while you were plotting with Peter," she said by way of greeting.

He stopped walking, about a foot from his desk, and assumed an innocent expression. "I wasn't plotting."

"Right, and I'm a monkey's uncle."

"You should really trust me more, Evans. I'm hurt."

"You are my absolute favourite person and I'd trust you with my life, but you were still plotting," she said, and shook the sheet of paper in her hand. "Take a look at this."

She looked so beautiful today, her skin luminous, hair shining, wearing that proud, knowing smile she liked to wear when she knew she was on to him, pleased as punch with herself because she knew him well enough to see which way the cogs in his brain were turning. Lily was the most beautiful person he'd ever met, really, inside and out, and she'd chosen him, plucked him from a pool of millions of men who might have deserved her more, wanted him, trusted him, and would have blushed from neck to forehead if he'd had the cheek to tell her she was pretty right this minute.

James didn't know what heroism he'd achieved in a past life to have been granted the privilege of affecting her so – though he liked to imagine that he had been a young and brilliant war hero who died protecting his family – but he was very grateful for it.

"As the lady commands," he agreed. He took the paper from her outstretched fingers and replaced it with a fresh cup of tea. "Here's your drink."

"You're a sweetheart, thank you," said Lily, and prised the lid from the cup. "So, we've got five witnesses in the area who spotted our guys on Tuesday night, including the victim's neighbour, who saw them getting off the elevator when she was taking her bins out."

James sat at his own desk, which he had grown much fonder of in recent days, and skim-read the witness statement in his hand. "You'd think a bloke with distinctive facial scars would know to wear a mask before breaking into a flat and beating someone senseless."

Lily laughed softly into her tea and set it down. "We got a match on the car registration, too."

"Excellent. One of theirs?"

"Nah, it's registered to a bloke named Amycus Carrow. He reported it stolen, but not until after the incident, so I did a bit of digging around on him. Park your gorgeous bum over here and look at this."

Thank goodness for their three-month long history of shameless flirting, James reflected, as he pushed his chair away from his desk and circled round to join her – even though most of the bullpen had gone for lunch, so only Peter was around, and he was working at his computer with headphones in. Quite by accident, they'd managed to circumvent most of the problems that came with hiding a relationship by acting like a couple long before they'd ever gotten together, which was great, because bringing their usual, playful repartee to an abrupt end would have been extremely challenging. It was already proving difficult to work together all day without kissing her, touching her, or shagging her on his desk again.

But not too difficult, because Lily was a resourceful woman who took pride in finding ways around such barriers. James had, in fact, gotten her off in the ladies' room not two hours earlier.

Now, though, she was all business. When James halted his chair next to her, Lily pointed at her monitor, where the paunchy, unpleasant face of Amycus Carrow scowled back at them.

"Is he fitter than me?" said James immediately.

Lily bit back a smile and elbowed him gently in the ribs.

"Pay attention to his priors, not his face," she said, and scrolled through his list of accomplishments. "Petty theft, racially-motivated assault, petty theft again, possession, spitting in an officer's face, yet more racially-motivated assault, and he's got one of those Death Eater tattoos - he's been in and out of Pentonville more times than you could count over the last ten years."

"Can we link him to Greyback or Avery, though?"

"Just getting to that," said Lily, arriving at the bottom of the screen. "He's a Mighty Britain supporter, him and his twin sister. Last time he was arrested was at one of their rallies."

"Of course he is," said James dryly. "We might as well chuck his name on the NCA list."

Mighty Britain were a political party – a very small and very backwards political party, that campaigned almost exclusively for the removal of anyone living in the country who couldn't prove that they were thoroughbred, pasty-faced Brits – led by a bloke named Riddle, who had a voice like an oil slick and a frightening amount of influence over the most narrow-minded in the country. Politically, they were far too extreme to present any real threat, but there was evidence to suggest that Riddle and a number of his cronies were heavily invested in organised crime. James, Lily and the rest of the team had been passing any information they could find from their individual cases to Kingsley Shacklebolt, who headed Organised Crime Command in the NCA, and was running an investigation into the party.

"Already spoke to Kingsley about it - they're not looking at individual assault cases, but he did give me a list of everyone who made a paid contribution to the party over the last twelve months," said Lily, and opened a tab that held the aforementioned list. "It's got over a thousand names, so I did a quick search. Fenrir Greyback and Julian Avery both made donations back in May. Avery's an active party member, actually - he contributes a lot. So we've got a link between the three of them."

"You'd think they'd try to make it hard for us just once, even."

"We can nail Greyback on the evidence we've got," Lily continued. "And Carrow, if he brought them there and back. Kingsley wants us to give Avery a little leeway, thinks he's higher up in the organisation and might talk on the promise of a lesser sentence. Greyback and Carrow aren't of elevated rank, they're just thugs from what I can see."

"You're primary, so it's up to you. I'll back you up whatever you decide."

Lily reached over - taking care to keep her hand below the top of her desk - and gave his knee a very quick squeeze. "Let's take it to McGonagall after her meeting and see what she thinks."

James nodded in agreement, and yawned, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses.

"Tired?" said Lily.

"A little," he said. In truth, he'd spent the night before in his own flat, without Lily, and hadn't been able to sleep for wishing she was there, tucked snugly next to him with the covers pulled under her chin. Sadly, Sirius would have smelled a rat if James spent every night at her flat. "Just can't wait to get this week over with."

"I know, right? Bring on an actual weekend," said Lily. They had both worked over the last two. "Got any plans?"

"I've got a date on Saturday night."

"This is the first I've heard of this."

"Well, you're hearing about it now."

She smiled. "Who's it with? Not Orethea Selywn, I hope?"

"Orethea what?"

"Look." Lily pointed at a name on the list. "So many of these names are downright pretentious, honestly. Alastair-Alcott Mulciber, Copernicus Crabbe, Antonin Dolohov, Regulus Black - what were their parents - hang on." She removed her hand from the mouse as if it had burned her. "Regulus Black?"

Sirius, James thought immediately, but Sirius had left to buy lunch twenty minutes ago, and therefore couldn't have overheard, not unless he had the ears of a supersonic dog, which James knew for a fact that he did not. Lily, meanwhile, had swung her chair around to face him directly.

"Sirius has a brother called Regulus," she said. "I'm right, aren't I? I'm not imagining that?"

"You're not imagining it."

"There can't be two Regulus Blacks running around London. This must be him. His own brother, supporting that party?"

"Looks like it."

"You don't seem surprised."

"Because I'm not surprised. His parents were both like that, which was why he ran away from home in the first place. Look there." James pointed to another name on the list. "Bellatrix Lestrange, that's his cousin. I met her once, years ago, and she told me to go back to whatever rat-infested shack I'd come from."

"Did she know that they don't have rat-infested shacks in Kensington?"

"Never got a chance to tell her, Sirius threw a paperweight at her head."

"Fuck," said Lily heavily, and seemed to sink into her chair. She picked up her tea and blew gently on the surface. "Poor Sirius."

"Yeah, his family are rubbish."

"Do you think - bye," she said, nodding to the Superintendent, who had just left McGonagall's office and issued a brief goodbye to the bullpen. Lily lowered her voice a notch. "Do you think he knows about his brother?"

James shrugged.

"But this doesn't actually mean he's involved in anything criminal, right?" she pressed on. "He might just support the party's ideals, and not have a clue about anything else that's going on."

"I don't think it makes much difference to Sirius. His younger brother is propping up a group of white supremacists with what should have been his inheritance. I'm his best mate and if they had their way, I'd be out on my arse immediately."

"I'd beat the living daylights out of anyone who tried to throw you out on your arse," said Lily. "Police officer or not, I'd do it."

"Would you really?"

"As if anyone could bloody stop me."

"You're amazing, you know," he said, and he knew that he was grinning like a fool, but how was he supposed to help himself when the woman he loved was so passionately committed to defending him from racist neo-Nazis? "In a totally above board, non-sexual, workplace-appropriate kind of way."

"Duly noted, Potter."

"Also, I get really turned on when you threaten violence against my enemies."

"That was unseemly, and not fit for work," said Lily lightly, but she smiled at him. "Are you coming over tonight?"

"Am I invited over tonight?"

"Always, my love," she said, and stood up. "Let's go and see McGonagall."

It is June 27th, 2015, and James Potter and Lily Evans are about to embark on their first real date as a couple, having spent the past ten days meeting in secret in Lily's flat, eating takeaway food and cavorting about in various stages of undress. James, who normally doesn't pull out all the stops for a first date (to preserve himself from the clutches of those who favour his money over him) has certainly gone above and beyond what would be expected of him today.

Lily's first clue should have come when James told her to 'get dressed up' for Saturday, though she could have been forgiven for missing it. James Potter was a man of varied interests and eccentricities, and the phrase 'get dressed up' could have any number of meanings. She had once attended a birthday party of his wearing a pretty outfit she'd bought from Zara, only to find James at the door garbed in an elaborate Gandalf costume, utterly scandalised because she hadn't immediately grasped the context of the verbal invitation he had issued the day before. Under the assumption that Gandalf would not make an appearance during their first date – though James was liable to come up with a mad idea at any given moment – she opted to wear her best dress, with not a pair of fake elf ears in sight.

Her second clue should have come when James turned up wearing an expensive-looking suit, but she was so overwhelmed by just how attractive he was in said suit that she completely forgot to find it suspicious. She also forgot to keep her hands and lips to herself in the Uber until they were halfway through the trip, when she remembered her manners, extracted herself forcibly from her boyfriend's arms and issued a fraught, panicked apology to the driver.

He and James laughed uproariously at her for the rest of the journey, and he promised to give her a five-star rating for being so amusing.

Once she got out of the cab, she found herself standing in front of a restaurant that she recognised, of all places, from one of her sister's favourite television shows, and found herself genuinely surprised. Despite the clues she had been given, her stubborn brain had persisted in believing that he was taking her somewhere low key, because fine dining wasn't really his style.

Fine dining wasn't her style either – her favourite meal was beans on toast, for crying out loud – but she couldn't help but feel a little thrill at the thought of eating in such a famous place. Petunia, who had done a poor job of hiding her irritation when Lily told her that she was finally dating James – who was richer than her husband and therefore an unsuitable match for her little sister – would probably die of jealousy if she could see her now.

"This is very fancy, Potter," she said, taking in the restaurant's white sash windows and cast-iron porch. "You know Michel Roux Jr. owns this place, right?"

"Is it? Never heard of her."

"He's a man."

"Never heard of him either," said James, as he shut the cab door. "But good for him, I'm glad he's doing so well."

"How'd you get us a table in here?"

"Oh, you know," he said, with his hands in his pockets, staring aimlessly down the street. "I know a guy."

"That's very mysterious."

"I'm a very mysterious man, Evans."

"Please. You got Peter to give you his table."

He looked at her, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Know everything about everything without any prompting whatsoever?"

"We've been together for a week, and this place has a huge waiting list," she said, pointing at the front door. She was sincerely glad that she'd worn her best dress and given herself a manicure. "It wasn't that difficult to figure out."

"Nah, that's not it." He placed his hand on the small of her back and gave her a gentle push towards the door, which was surrounded by cheerful, red and purple flowers. "I think you're the psychic one, not Booth."

"I think our past holds plenty of evidence to prove that I'm definitely not psychic, just very, very clever."

"Clever and modest, is my girlfriend."

"That still makes me more modest than you," she said wryly, on her way through the door.

The inside of the restaurant was as fancy as the most discerning of critics could have desired. The dark green walls were hung with expensive artwork - Lily spotted a Picasso hanging a few feet away from their table - the carpet was the old-fashioned kind that a wealthy gran might own, and the tables decorated with elaborate sculptures made from re-purposed cutlery. The waiting staff rushed around wearing perfectly pressed suits to the gentle strains of classical piano pieces, and every diner in her line of vision was drinking wine. Wine was everywhere to be seen - in fact, Lily couldn't see one occupied table that didn't have a bottle on display.

To Peter's credit, their table was a cosy little booth, tucked away at the back of the restaurant and bathed in soft, warm light, and Lily couldn't have asked for a more romantic setting. Hilariously, the menu was written in French, and the look in James' eyes when he realised it would have made the entire date worth her time and trouble even if the rest of the evening turned to disaster and they both ended up with food poisoning.

"French," he said weakly, once their host had seated them, taken their drink order and rushed off to accomplish some other task with startling efficiency. "Why did I let Peter send us here?"

"Because you had some grand idea about taking me to a snobby place for our first date, so you put the decision in his hands," she replied, with a delicately raised eyebrow. "Stop me if I'm wrong, but I know I'm not."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You'll have to get over your aversion to France at some point, you know. It's not France's fault that you believed a Disney movie was real."

"If that were true, why did Disney put one of their theme parks in France?"

"I'm not exactly tight with the Disney executives, but I'm going to assume that personally offending you wasn't on their agenda," she said, her eyes skimming through the selection on offer – or rather, through the prices. She and James could have gone for two meals at one of their regular haunts for what this place was charging. "Anyway, the menu has English translations, so you can't go ordering snails by mistake."

"If you order snails on purpose, you're still making a mistake," said James, who was frowning at his menu. He pushed his glasses up his nose with one finger. "Peter said to recommend something-"

"What does Peter think you're doing here, anyway?"

"Going on a very important date with someone who isn't you. It was a filet of something, I think? Why couldn't he just tell me in English?"

"Filet-O-Fish?"

"Don't mention McDonald's when I'm trying to concentrate, it'll just make me hungry."

"Lucky for you, we're sitting in a restaurant."

"A French restaurant," said James darkly. "Where I may or may not end up eating snails by mistake, and then I'll die of sadness and you'll never get over me."

"If you 'accidentally' order snails, I'll know you did it on purpose to give yourself a good story for the next total stranger you choose to discuss our relationship with."

He laughed at that, loudly enough to attract attention from their people at the table next to them, but Lily's personal philosophy was firm in its belief that making James Potter laugh was one of life's greatest joys, so it didn't bother her in the slightest. She beamed proudly back at him, and he set down his menu.

"You're very distracting, Evans," he said, smiling at her with a look in his eyes that could only be described as adoring, and for the millionth time in a week she wanted to pinch herself because how had she been lucky enough to get a second chance with this man? "How am I supposed to pick something from this impossibly French menu with you distracting me?"

"I'm sure we can both manage sitting in silence for a couple of minutes."

"Nah," he said, shaking his head. "It wouldn't work, you're distracting enough just sitting there. We'll need to build a menu fort around your head so I can't look at you at all."

"That'll endear us to the staff."

"So we'll pay them off. I can do that, you know. I'm actually very wealthy."

"Oh, are you now?"

"I checked my bank balance the other day, right? And there was all this money in there," he said, grinning at his own silliness. "I was just as shocked as you are, I know, but then I thought – why not take Lily to a snobby restaurant and eat something I can't pronounce?"

"If I need to put an embargo on rich person jokes, I will," she warned him. "And I hope you know that you really don't need to bring me to snobby restaurants to make me happy."

He nodded. "I know, it's just something I wanted to do for tonight."

"Why?"

"Because I go to Nando's for first dates – I mean, as a rule, it's just what I do. I think I went to some other restaurant one time, because the girl picked, but it was a vegan place so I walked right back out-"

Lily snorted into her complimentary glass of sparkling water.

"—but anyway, you're not –" His ears were starting to turn red. "I mean, you're more important to me than any other girl I've – and I've never felt like, well, this, about anyone but you, and I don't need to take you to Nando's and get to know each other to know that."

"I think we're well past getting to know each other at this stage."

"Exactly," said James. "I already know how I feel about you, and I know that you're special, so I wanted to take you to a special place."

She smiled at him, a smile with soft edges, one that only he would ever see. "Even if it's French?"

"Fuck it, I'd go to actual France with you if you wanted, and I'd be dead happy about it."

Lily could have jumped on him, or laughed, she wasn't sure, but they were interrupted by a waiter who had approached to ask if they'd decided on their meal. After agreeing with James that, yes, Lily was the most beautiful woman in the room, he took their orders - turbot for Lily and lamb for James, who ordered with alarming self-assurance, as if he hadn't been completely flummoxed by the menu minutes before.

"I thought you didn't know what to pick?" said Lily, when the waiter departed.

"Oh, I didn't," he cheerfully admitted. "I just picked a meat at random and figured they'd have it."

It was her turn to laugh then, and she did. The patrons at table next to theirs was starting to give them funny looks, which only made it funnier. "As much as I love that you endured a French restaurant for me, we're definitely going to Nando's next time."

"Fine by me," said James. "As long as there is a next time."

"I'm planning on many next times," she promised. "You're not getting rid of me that easily."

The look in his eyes - happy, hopeful, hinting at something that hid beneath that shining veneer of confidence, something that might not have been as secure in her affections as he let on - made her heart swell. She was so in love with this clever, ridiculous, generous man, and now that they were together, exactly where they both belonged, she intended to stay that way for the rest of their days.

"Can I get that in writing?" he said. "I'd like to make sure I can hold you to it."

"I can give you something better than writing."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, come here," she said, and shuffled over in her seat to be closer to him. "I've got to tell you a secret."

"What sec- oh," he said, but the sound of his voice muffled by her very eager lips. His hands settled on her waist while one of hers curled around his neck and into his hair, the other coming to rest on his thigh, and it was an altogether inappropriate kiss for a restaurant, and thank goodness for booths, and their disapproving neighbours probably hated them and Lily didn't care, because there was nothing better than doing this, nothing at all.

"Oh my days!" cried Peter Pettigrew. "I knew it!"

Lily unstuck herself from James' mouth like a plunger being pulled from a sink. Lo and behold, there was Peter, standing five feet away from their booth, wearing a vacant, yet joyful smile on his face. Helena Hodge stood next to him, wearing a pink sequinned dress, her jaw clenched with fury. Her hands were clasped so tight around her clutch that her knuckles had turned white.

"Lily!" said Peter.

"Pete," said James.

"James," said Helena.

"Well," said Lily, and reached for her water again. "You could tell him you were giving me mouth-to-mouth, but he's hardly going to believe that."

"No," said Helena, glaring at her with deepest loathing. "Not unless you were choking on his tongue."