(AN: this is my first fanfiction. I would appreciate it so much if you read the whole thing and like it enough to review.)

I twisted the slip of parchment in my hands, back and forth. My feet trudged slowly through the halls, my brain barely registering the two distinct gargoyles, hardly conscious of commanding speech; "Toffee" was the word spoken, the sole word written on the parchment, written in that unmistakable script…

Thirty Muggles killed in a single attack. The article in the Prophet had left me numb. Next week the article could be about my town. The burning house with that horrible, bone-chilling symbol hanging above it could be mine pictured front page, my parents, my sister's names listed amongst the casualties. And, like the 5th year Hufflepuff prefect, I would only be able to grieve and wonder, had I been there, if things could have been any different.

I barely questioned how I arrived staring at the closed door in front of the Headmaster's office; recollections of my actions had dimmed since I received the note summoning me to Dumbledore's office after dinner.

I attempted to block out possible reasons for meeting with the Headmaster and failed. I automatically ruled out punishment; I took my responsibilities as Head Girl seriously. I'd never had a private audience with Dumbledore before, leading me to believe that such an occasion in such a troubled time did not have cheerful implications. I tried to repress my nagging suspicion… is this how students related to victims… but my chest clenched at the thought, a cold sweat breaking out on my brow, and I scrunched my eyes shut in an effort to regain control, to push that forbidden thought out of my mind…

The click of the door unlocking snapped my eyes open wide. Smoothing my skirt, I took measured breaths, willing for my lost composure to return before Dumbledore appeared from behind the opening door.

I took a step closer. The door was pushed just enough to allow one body to pass through. Steeling myself, I moved my gaze upwards.

I was not greeted with the wise face of the Headmaster; instead, with shock, I found myself staring at a handsome face I almost did not recognize. James Potter was exiting Dumbledore's office, and his strikingly unfamiliar countenance did not placate my fears.

The usual grinning face of my fellow Head, the mischievous glint in his eyes, his carefree attitude… all had disappeared. He took a step out of the door, the movement stiff and rough. His expression appeared alarmingly serious; eyes downcast, jaw set as stone.

James was not looking at me. He seemed not to realize I stood there. Deliberately, I moved closer.

"James?" I whispered, searching for any sort of indication that he was alright, that he was still the James I had come to be friends with this year. I realized I was trembling.

His somber eyes, still glazed, met mine. He opened his mouth, began to speak-

"Ah, Miss Evans," started Dumbledore, revealing himself in the entrance as he pushed the door fully open.

At the sound of my name, James' eyes regained focus. They widened as they locked with mine. Confusedly, I stared while I watched him quickly glance at Dumbledore's grim face. He turned his head back to me; our eyes met again, his filled with worry, and maybe a trace of fear.

There was a confusing moment where either he, or I, or we both took a step forward, it was hard to tell who initiated it, our hands reaching for the others' almost unconsciously as we stared in each others eyes. If this had been in any other situation, if James Potter had been acting like James Potter, I would have scoffed at ever considering rushing to his side. However, it seemed we were both acting serious, and James was not acting like himself, and I wanted to know why. Suddenly the only distinct worry was him, and it shocked me as feeling completely natural.

"If you would come in, please," Dumbledore continued after a pause, startling me. I lowered my arms.

"James, if you would," Dumbledore said, gesturing to the stairs. James dropped his gaze, and brushed past me. His steps were heavy, and as he reached the top of the stairs, his hand resting on the door frame, he turned his head and paid me one last glance before descending the steps and leaving my sight.

"Lily," the Headmaster said, calling back my attention. I turned back to him, and as I took in his serious visage and posture, all my previous fears rushed back to me. He turned back to me, and a bit stupidly, I followed.

The Headmaster's office was almost overwhelming. So many distracting, interesting things grabbed at my attention while I approached the desk. Portraits of previous headmasters, a number of whirling silver instruments, and the regal, scarlet bird: a phoenix.

Dumbledore glided around the desk, one of the chairs in front of the desk moving out for me to take. Jerkily, I seated myself. I clenched my hands together in my lap; my knuckles were white.

Dumbledore sat down with a collected air. He seemed to study me for about a minute; his eyes, which were so commonly found with a twinkle and a kind edge, were sharp and grave.

"Lily Evans," he started, and I braced myself for what possibly could follow. "I have observed quite carefully, and it has become quite clear to me that you have developed into a brilliant witch."

I felt slightly like I'd been hit in the head. This couldn't be about my parents, then; why would anyone begin a conversation about the death of family members with flattery? I let out a breath I hadn't remembered holding.

"Thank you, sir," I managed to piece together, my mind still reeling at the praise and the realization that my family was most likely okay. Dumbledore gave me a quick, small smile, and we lapsed back into silence. All I could think about was how Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster, had noticed me, a Muggleborn, and had called me 'brilliant.' Later, perhaps, I would smile when I thought back to it, but for now, the mood was still serious, and it was apparent that he had summoned me to his office for more than to pay me a compliment.

I watched as he stroked his phoenix, the great bird cocking its head to the side as Dumbledore laid his hand over the bright feathers.

"Lily, this is Fawkes," he addressed me, his blue eyes turning back to mine. At its name, the phoenix let out a string of beautiful notes. "Fawkes is my phoenix, a loyal, most exquisite bird."

"I have not asked you here to show you about my office," he followed after a pause. "I have watched and admired your talents as you've grown, making me more certain that you should take part…" His eyes flashed a warning as he continued cautiously, "What I will ask you is not to be lightly considered; in fact, it will, at times, be extremely dangerous and on more than one occasion I may ask you to do something that will risk your life…"

My return from the office, in many ways, mirrored my trip there. I found myself traveling in a similar stupor, a million thoughts rushing through my head as I tried to make sense of things. Such an honor, to be asked, to be considered… My heart was racing.

I couldn't go back to Gryffindor Tower, there was just too much to think about for that level of noise, the others wouldn't understand… It was, as I noted from out a nearby window, dusk; the common room would certainly not be empty for another few hours…

My feet answered an unbidden request; they carried me down a familiar route, and I immersed myself back in my recollections, reviewing the conversation I'd had…

A blast of the cold, early spring air stole me from my thoughts. I had wandered all the way to the grounds, I realized, leaning my back against the great wooden doors. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, the raw air biting at the back of my throat. The scent of the fresh plants, recent rainfall… the sound of the returning birds calling, grasshoppers chirping… I opened my eyes, watching my breath materialize as I released it. A brilliant sunset divided the sky into orange, pink, purple and navy, the trees and landscaping about to fade into dark shapes in the oncoming night.

Pushing off of the door, I made my way down the steps from the castle. I wandered through the grounds, the rustling of the young leaves soothing my mind as I brushed my hands along the trees. A new sound of the calm waves mended my path, steering me towards the resonance of water hitting shore.

The line of trees broke, revealing a stunning image in its wake. The vivid hues of the sky colored the tranquil body of water; the silence and stillness, save for the gentle lapping of the lake, spoke of untold wisdom and lingering loneliness. I continued forward, admiring and immersing myself into this quiet moment.

It was then that I finally noticed him. He was a tall, dark silhouette standing against the rich tones of approaching night ahead of me, as still and noiseless as everything around him. From here, I could not see his face, could not tell what he was thinking, did not know if he felt me there, but at that moment I felt this permanent bond, a strong and steady pull that drew me to his side.

James did not greet me as I stopped, nor I him. He remained the same serious James that I had seen earlier, jaw set and solemn eyed, but there was an elusive something, something I couldn't put a name to, that had me not as scared for him as I had been before.

He turned his head, our eyes met. I looked into his eyes, seeming endlessly deep, attempting to read his thoughts. He seemed to search mine, too, and blindly, I grasped his hand.

His palm was warm where it touched mine, and my heart missed a beat when he entwined our fingers, turning to face me.

"Lily," he began, eyes flickering to our joined hands and returning to peer at my face, "I-" but he stopped, his voice hitching, eyes darting away, and suddenly I was faced with a side of James Potter that was unscripted, vulnerable. The connection I felt with him doubled in strength, and I squeezed his hand, reassuring him, letting him know that I would let him finish, that I was listening, that I was there.

"Did he… uh, well… He asked you too," his deep voice ended in the statement, looking back at me intently. Returning his gaze, I nodded, his reaction as he left Dumbledore's office fitting now, as I realized that he had been called for the same purpose.

He exhaled, and I noted that he had moved close enough to where I felt the last remnants of his breath on my forehead. "Well," James hesitated, bringing in a breath, but he didn't immediately continue. He broke our gaze for a quick moment, his eyes returning wider, a little desperate. "What did you say?"

I let out my breath at the same time as him; glancing away, I realized I'd unconsciously matched his breathing. It was at this point I was unsure, I had not been able to make a decision.

"I am aware that to accept might take you a few days to consider, as this decision will have a direct impact on your future. Therefore, I will tell you to take all the time you need…"

Dumbledore had not demanded an answer, and, as he expected, I did not have one.

I still wasn't sure, but I felt that I was coming to a conclusion, that my wandering had led to a purpose, as I responded reluctantly, looking at the boy that always knew the answer, and said, "That I wasn't sure yet."

James blinked. "Oh," he exhaled, eyes shifting out of my gaze, taking a step back.

"What did you say?" I rushed, grabbing onto his other hand, catching his other as it tried to slip out of mine, fear for him creeping up my spine.

Sighing, he met my gaze as I stepped closer to him. "'Of course'," he whispered, hazel eyes burning with pure honesty. "What else could I say?"

"But James," I protested, "consider the risks! I-"

"Lily," he said, closing his eyes, and this time it was him squeezing my hands. "Listen. Let me finish."

I bit my lip, wanting to argue with him, to make him consider all the possibilities, to scold him for making such a hasty decision, but his eyes were open now, pleading with me, and I couldn't find it in me to deny him.

"Listen," he repeated, "I know you think that I'm impulsive, that I have no respect for danger or rules, that I can be arrogant-" I quickly opened my mouth to protest, but a warning glance cut me off as he continued, "Please, let me finish. I know that, and it's probably true sometimes. But I'm not blind. I can read. The Daily Prophet's come out with horrible stuff that's been going on for two years now, and there's just this feeling that's grown inside me."

He paused, breaking his left hand free as I looked up at him. "I can't lose anybody," he stated, his eyes determined, and I softly gasped as his hand came up to lightly cup my face, his thumb gently stroking my cheek. His eyes turned to velvet, and all I could do was look at him as he continued, "Not anybody. I check the paper for my parents every day now, for cousins and relatives. But all my friends… Sirius, Remus, Peter… you, especially not you…" he trailed off, "I can't lose anybody," he restated.

"James," I began, my free hand running up his arm to his hand on my face.

"No," he protested, grabbing my hand and bringing it down again, but he did not let go. "No," he repeated, "let me finish."

I stared at him, his head bent towards mine, resolute eyes searching for an opportunity to explain. "Okay," I breathed, nodding. I could still feel his touch along my jaw line, and instinctively I took another step forward so we were almost chest to chest, craving contact.

"I'm capable," James said confidently, "I'm powerful. I can make a difference," he stressed, his voice becoming softer. "If I have the skill to protect the people I care about, why shouldn't I use it? Why shouldn't I join? It just makes sense…" he ended, looking away from me. "It was the only logical answer."

"So, you're part of the Order of the Phoenix now?" I stammered, trying to find his eyes.

He nodded, looking back at me seriously. "Yes," he simply said.

I felt his breath rush past my ear as I impulsively wound my arms around him. Shutting my eyes, I held him close, savoring the security that seemed to emanate from James as his strong arms returned the gesture, large hands soothing as they ran across my back. I felt his small sigh before I heard it, my head resting on his chest, and I felt him rest his cheek on my crown.

As I stood in that embrace with him, I realized that at some point in time, whether it had been these past minutes, or the months before when we'd become friends, I had passed an irreversible moment where what happened to James directly impacted me. We had never been so intimate -in fact, I could hardly recall a time where we'd hugged- but the thought of pulling away, leaving the warmth and protection of his arms at that moment so inconceivable that I could only squeeze him tighter.

Perhaps I should've been attempting to make a choice for my future, or worrying about the dangers James, and possibly I, would face in a few months time, but as he returned my gesture with a soft kiss to the brow, I decided to dive deep into that instant, and memorize the tender touch of his lips against my skin.

(AN: so that's it. my first fanfiction. review please, I would love to know what you thought.)