The Cupboard Under the Stairs

- Sirius never got to know the truth about his brother

- James and Lily both lost their parents before they were 20

- James died thinking that Lily and Harry will survive

- Sirius found James’ dead body when he entered the Potter’s house

- Sirius could have defeated Peter if he wasn’t already half insane because of what he just saw

- Sirius relived this moment every time the Dementores came to close to him

- Remus went to the funeral alone

- Remus probably begged Dumbledore to give Harry to him

- Harry grew up thinking that no one loved him

- Remus was alone every fullmoon for the next twelve years

- Sirius could have escaped from Askaban earlier, but stayed because he blamed himself for what happened

- Peter was the only of the marauders to be there on Harry’s first day of school

- Peter spent more time with Harry than the other marauders

- Remus most likely heared about everything that happened between Harry and Quirrell and in the chamber of secrets and was scared to death

- Dumbledore most likely hired Remus after Sirius escaped

- Sirius was not dead when he felt through the veil

- Remus died thinking that his wife and baby were safe

A/N: IT’S FINALLY HERE!  FINALLY!  I really hope this is fulfilling for everyone (I’m pretty happy with how it turned out) and enjoyable too.  Also if anyone cares I was listening to Say You Won’t Let Go by James Arthur a bunch while I wrote this because it’s fluffy and makes me think of Hinny (thanks @ anon who suggested that as a Hinny song!)

So here it is!  All 6,694 words of it :)

Also available on FF and Ao3!

The air in muggle London is still crisp enough that Ginny pulls her jacket tighter around her middle, despite the proclaimed official start of spring.  Since the New Year, her Quidditch schedule has been fairly demanding, the season rapidly moving toward its close, so her contributions to the wedding planning process were minimal.  So when she gets her first two days off in a row, Ginny strikes out for the muggle shops in the hope of beginning and finishing her honeymoon wardrobe.

Despite her seeming disinterest – which is hardly the case – Ginny’s relatively prepared, carefully organized list in hand as she strides down Brompton Road.  Her eyes downcast, she doesn’t see the frowning woman leaving the department store until they’re both nearly sent sprawling.  Ginny grasps the woman’s bony arms and manages to hold them both upright.  “I’m so sorry I was – “

Her voice dies in her throat as she reluctantly takes in the pinched face of Petunia Dursley, looking equally happy to see Ginny.  “Petunia.”

“Jenny.”

“Ginny.”

Petunia sniffs, tucking her pocketbook strap firmly into the crook of her arm.  “Are you still – ”

She trails off, looking rather like she’s sucked a lemon, and Ginny can’t quite decide where that sentence was going – ‘still with my nephew?’ ‘still living like a country bumpkin?’ ‘still a freak?’ – so she quirks a brow, her friendliest option for a reply at the moment.

“You and my,” she swallows awkwardly and changes tack slightly, “Harry.”

“Yes,” Ginny answers simply, the ring on her finger glinting in the late morning light.

Petunia’s icy blue eyes zero in on Ginny’s hand and her lips purse further – which Ginny previously would have said was impossible.  She glances around, blonde hair stationary despite the blustery day, and murmurs, “I didn’t expect to see you – here.”

Tamping down her rising anger at Petunia’s tone, Ginny crumples the list in her hand, her voice saccharine.  “Harry and I like to do both, since we tend to get lots of attention when we’re not here, as you termed it.”

Petunia blinks, eyes shuttering a bit but she nods, crisp.  “That sounds true enough,” she eyes Ginny’s ring again, “Can I assume you and Harry are engaged?”

Ignoring the less than congratulatory tone, Ginny nods, “Yes.  We’ll be married later this year.”

Passersby jostle them as the early lunch crowd descends on the nearby restaurants and Ginny futilely hopes Petunia will be swept away with the stream.  But sadly, she’s not, and for some unknowable reason she’s pressing on with the conversation, strained though it is.  “That’s lovely.  I’m.  I’m glad he’s found someone to take him.”

Ginny frowns, unable to repress the growl-like tone of her voice, “It’s no hardship for me, I assure you.”

This, thought Harry,was really, really not a good idea. It was a positively stupid idea, if he was being perfectly honest with himself,but the fact of the matter was that he was due to teach his first lesson in tenminutes and Ginny was in Brazil and a series of panicked Floo calls to variousmembers of her family once he’d remembered his children’s school was closed hadyielded no results. Hogsmeade Primary for YoungWitches and Wizards was an excellent school, taking children from nursery toage eleven, but their closure for a training day had sent them momentarilyplummeting in Harry’s estimations. He should have already been in hisclassroom, preparing for the day’s lessons, but instead he was standing in hishallway with his children, staring at them and wondering if he had the nerve todo what he’d just thought of doing. C’mon, mate, you’ve done worse than this,said a voice in his head that sounded very much like Ron’s. Well, he didn’t really have muchof a choice …

an: hello! before anything else, this is modern au, kind of celebrity again because… well idk really! i’m apparently just into that these days. it’s messy, and kind of ends abruptly, so be prepared for that. i asked for jily prompts on here a bit ago (two months ago?) and i got a “they keep meeting in the same elevator and one of them keeps making the dumbest, most ridiculous small talk” prompt from @alex–ithymia​ (thank you!!), among others. i was just writing a short drabble, but as usual, i got carried away. another one asked for a “confessions somewhere where they are trapped” fic or something along those lines from someone else (i lost your message or the note was deleted i’m so sorry!). the second prompt i sort of have already done in the fic constant, which i wrote years ago and is still here, but i might make a part 2 of this fic and incorporate that kind of scene again, only in an elevator. that might follow. i’m super busy and things are cooking so slowly fic-wise and i’m sorry! i’m publishing this just so i’d have something out :( happy reading xx

15th floor. The doors open, she steps in, the doors close.

It’s only a little past 4 AM, and the air conditioning isn’t even on yet. Just in the lobby, maybe. The place is more or less deserted; he passed by two janitors on his way up, and then by Dorcas, who seems to perpetually be around. She was cross-legged and asleep on the floor in front of the Starbucks branch she works in, already (or still?) in her uniform. James wonders how many others are in the building at the moment. The first time he found himself here this early, he thought he was special or some shit.

It’s the view. This early, it’s a quiet sort of stirring dark. At dusk, see, the traffic is horrible. The triangle park’s bustle hums all the way to the penthouse. The lights are erratic. At dawn, the city just… breathes. Awake, but stays put in its bed of dying stars and unheeded traffic lights. Just a few more minutes. Just until the sun rises. He discovered all this, waking up in the penthouse at 4 AM a few months ago, hungover as all flying fucks. Also with no memory whatsoever of what happened the night before, but he skips that part when he tells the story.

Head pounding, muscles sluggish, cheek squished and spectacles lopsided against the glass between him and plummeting to sure death, he looked down at the lattice of fire trees and used-to-be-runways high streets, and saw the city as — as soft — as it had never been in his entire life thus far. None of the wasp-hum of the evening. A different kind of hum. A lullaby.

And that inspired him. ‘Course, it was hell even just getting up then, much more trying to get the words straight. But it was there. The melody. The instruments. The beats. It was all there in the time, in that exact space of cold floor, that exact spot by the window. It was impossible to be awake and just ignore it. That song became the next big hit for the Marauders after so many stale productions, and last week they received their biggest annual music show award yet.

Now here he is, getting over the shock of the elevator stopping on the 15th floor, trying not to gawk at this red-headed girl.

He’s wearing headphones, she’s wearing her own pair of earbuds as well, so he doesn’t say anything.

He thinks she might have been crying. Before he can decide whether or not to say anything, it’s the 19th floor already, and she’s getting off.

@jilychallenge 07/2017 | @bantasticbeasts vs @petalstofish

Summer Tropes | “we have to crush the team of our unbeaten rivals in this waterfight (even if the other side has a rlly cute red head) oh god fOCUS”

Word count: 3000

AO3

would you believe me if i told you it’s still july on mars?

The first summer, it’s just him and Sirius, riding their bikes down to the corner store and using James’ pocket money to buy water balloons. When they get back to James’, they fill them up, and they have a go throwing them at each other. Sirius shrieks the first time he’s hit, and James’ aim accuracy plummets because he’s got water all over his glasses and he can’t bloody see anything, and Sirius will you stop darting around already.

It’s not nearly as fun as it looks in those American movies.

They trek inside, drenched and shivering, and James’ mum shoves them both in the downstairs shower to get the grass off. James doesn’t mind nearly as much as he lets on; a water fight in the English summer is a rather cold affair. Sirius gives his arm a soggy punch and says, “I’m gonna destroy you next time.”

But two days later, Sirius gets whisked away by his parents to France, and by the time he gets back, 17 whining postcards later, school has started and James has a runny nose anyway.

(It’s a disaster).

The second summer, Sirius has the forethought to invite Remus and Peter, and James has the forethought to wait for a day that’s actually hot. Sirius and Remus stay behind to fill up balloons while James and Peter speed down the hill to go get water guns.

Between them they can afford three little ones, or they can get one big one. “It makes more sense,” Peter reckons, “to get the three, ‘cause then we can have one between pairs and then a spare in case one breaks.”

“Yeah,” James says, “that does make sense.”

(They get the one big one).

James and Sirius argue for almost two hours over who should get to wield it before Remus snatches it from the table and climbs up the big tree in James’ backyard and sprays them when they try to follow.

(It’s a disaster).

“Dearest Minnie,

Hope you’re doing well! I’m the same of course, driving Lily up the wall as usual, she sends you her love by the way!

Now I know I told you that you’ll never find a chaser as good as me ever again, but it just goes to show that even the brilliant are sometimes mistaken. I’ve found you (made you!) a replacement who will one day outshine his old man by leagues! Enclosed is a photograph of your new Quidditch prodigy so that you may assess his skills for yourself. We have him chasing the cat for practice. He’ll be unbeatable by the time he starts at Hogwarts! The youngest Quidditch player in a century!

I guarantee it, Minnie. And you know I’m never wrong, though you’ll never admit it!

Missing you and Hogwarts terribly,

Lots of love,

James

P.S. Sirius says his marriage proposal still stands.”

Wiping away a single tear that ran down her cheek and chuckling to herself, she smiled down at the photograph of a small, gleeful, black haired boy zooming along in a toy broom, a pair of legs chasing after him and a young woman laughing hysterically in a corner.

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Lily remembered her sister, how there had been a time she was curious and delighted about magic, before it slowly sank in that she could look and not touch.

The last thing Petunia had said to Lily before she died was a chilly goodbye, ending a holiday dinner where they’d had a shrieking row in the entryway. Petunia had said freak and Lily had hissed better than this, better than this being my whole fucking world, Tune, do you even see yourself, are you happy–

And now here was Dudley Vernon Dursley fussing himself to sleep as Lily walked the halls of the Godric’s Hollow house. His tiny soft hands with their tiny soft fingernails curled under her chin, the same way Harry always had.

She passed James, who was gently bouncing his way up the hall the opposite way. “I think he’s asleep,” James mouthed over Harry’s tousled head. His hair was the same mess, bent down to peer at his sleeping son.

Lily stopped where she stood, her nephew heavy on her chest, her husband smiling, her sister buried. “James,” she said. “How are we going to do this?”

“Oh,” he said. “Hey. Don’t you cry, you’ll start them off– unless you need to cry, I mean, you go ahead, hey, sweetheart, hey, it’s alright, you just let it out.” He stepped forward, shifting Harry gently to his other shoulder, and pressed his forehead to hers. “We tuck them in, okay, that’s what we do next. Then we go to our own bed, okay, and go to sleep, and when we wake up it’ll be a new day.”

“A new day,” she said. “Another day– James, that’s the– I’m so tired.”

“So let’s sleep. It’ll look better in the morning,” he said. “And if it doesn’t look better this morning, it’ll look better in the next one.”

“You promise?”

“Better than that. I’ll show you. Every day,” he said and kissed her cold forehead.

–

Dudley had not shown up on the Potters’ doorstep with the milk bottles. Lily had gotten a phone call from the landline she still had installed in Godric’s Hollow, about an accident, and she had gone down to the Muggle police station to identify the bodies.

The cupboard under the stairs was filled with spiders, broomsticks, and the sewing machine Lily’s mother had given her when she married James– that’s all. Dudley slept downstairs. Uncle Remus taught Dudley and Harry to knock out coded messages through the wall their rooms shared.

In the backyard, beside a rickety porch and an ambitious hedge, James taught them to fly– first on little tot brooms where their toes brushed the grass the whole time, then out of the barrels of practice brooms James used for lessons and coaching Little League Quidditch.

When the boys turned ten, five weeks apart, they both got shiny new Nimbuses on Dudley’s birthday (which came first), and a set of enchanted Quidditch balls on Harry’s, to share. The Bludgers were enchanted to be very kind but Dudley spent long afternoons whacking them far afield while Harry chased the Snitch at his back.

Harry had a scar on his forehead, like a jagged bit of lightning. Dudley had no scars– the car crash that had killed his parents hadn’t touched him where he sat strapped into a car seat in the back, chewing on a stuffed dinosaur toy.

Lily did not believe in lying to the children. She was bare years off being a child herself, and spare moments on the far side of a war. When Dudley asked about his parents, she told him there had been an accident. She pulled pictures off the shelf and wrote Petunia’s old university friends for more.

Photographs came by mailman, the images still and unnatural to Dudley’s eye. Every day he’d gone out to play, for years, he’d been waving at the picture near the back door of his aunt and uncle on their wedding day, and they waved back every time.

“She was very clever,” Lily said. “Your mom liked to know everything.”

“And my dad?”

“Vernon liked… cars?” James offered. “That’s the word, right, Lily?”

“I didn’t know him very well,” Lily said. “He liked drills, I think; he worked for a firm that made them, and he talked about that a lot.”

Dudley brushed his thumbs over the dull edges of the photos. When Lily went off to Auror headquarters the next morning for work, James bundled the boys up and took them on an impromptu invisible tour of Grunnings Drill Manufacturing Inc.

They tiptoed down halls and past water coolers and ringing fellytones. They held hands under the Cloak as they dodged around the machines on the manufacturing floor, thumping and pounding and whirring away loudly enough that Harry and Dudley could whisper to each other under the noise. An elevator took them all the way up to the top floor. Harry whistled cheerily and eerily along with the elevator music while the Muggles slowly edged toward the doors and pressed floor buttons lower than they’d originally wanted.

There were boxes and cabinets and folders and desks and staticky monitor screens full of numbers strewn in endless grids. “Merlin’s knuckles,” said Harry, who was seven and a half and rather proud of this expletive. “People can look at this all day, their whole lives, and not die?”

“Work is hard work,” said James.

“At least mum gets to curse things.”

“But my dad liked it?” Dudley said, peering at a white board that was bleeding enthusiastic marker. “There’s a lot of things, here. Maybe he liked knowing things, too.”

When the boys asked about the scar on Harry’s forehead, Lily and James looked at each other. “You know how sometimes we sit with Uncle Remus and talk about a war?” James said. “Or with Ms. Amelia or Mr. Mundungus.”

“Mr. Mundungus is kinda smelly,” Harry said helpfully.

“It’s not nice to say so though,” said James, and Lily made a face.

“Are we raising them to be nice?” Lily said.

“I’m trying,” said James.

“You talk about a war,” said Harry and shrugged. Dudley nodded.

“There was a very bad man, in those days,” said James.

“Voldemort,” said Lily, and James made a face.

“He was so scary a lot of people don’t like to say his name, even now,” said James. “And he was coming after us because we had been fighting against him, in the war. He came to the house and he tried to hurt you, Harry. But it didn’t work. It hurt him instead, and gave you that scar.”

“Is he going to come back?” said Dudley, who was paler than his normal pink.

“No one’s heard of him since then,” said Lily.

“Where were you?” said Harry, because all his life they had been right there.

“Oh,” said Lily, but her throat closed up.

“We were at Dudley’s mum and dad’s funeral,” said James. “Our friend– our friend Sirius was watching you two. The bad man, he came to the house. He. Well. I.”

“Sirius died,” said Lily, one hand squeezing James’s knee and the other reaching down to brush hair off Dudley’s forehead. “You lived, Harry, and Voldemort vanished. And that’s why sometimes people stare in the streets, baby.” James tweaked Harry’s collar absently.

–

Two days after they had buried Lily’s sister, the Potters had stood together in the first chills of November and buried James’s brother.

Sirius had been burned off the Black family tree years before. Lily and James had talked to his cousin Andromeda, to Remus, and then they had laid him to rest in the Potter family plot. At the wake, they’d told old jokes about squirrel breath, shedding, and man’s best friend. Remus had fallen asleep on their couch and stayed for a month.

–

It took a two hour row with HR for Lily to get two passes to the Ministry’s Bring Your Kid To Work Day.

“He’s a Muggle.”

“He’s not,” Lily snapped. “He’s family.”

She had to get permission, sign a million forms, and she also had to take the boys in early so that Dudley could get smothered in the spells that would keep the Anti-Muggle wards around the Ministry from activating on him. “If a Muggle stumbles in somehow, they just see a funny-smelling supply cabinet and turn back around,” Lily told Dudley. He nodded and dragged Harry off by the wrist to go look at the fountain.

The windows were pouring sunlight into the underground room– the maintenance workers had just gotten a win on their contract negotiations and had banished the grimy rain-spattered windows of the previous weeks. The light hit the falling water, the golden statues, and the small excitable crowd of Ministry dependents who were gathering in the atrium. Dudley was fishing about in the fountain for Knuts to toss back out again, elbow-deep, and Harry was laughing and coming up with weird wishes to make on them.

Lily hadn’t said son. She’d said family, and that was true enough, wasn’t it? She didn’t say son– she had a son, and she had a nephew, a ward, another child who came to her after nightmares and scraped knees. It was not less, it was just words.

Lily worried about stealing more things from Petunia. Tuney had shrieked at her, in ladies’ restrooms and suburban foyers, had hissed at her in grocery store aisles and family dinners, because Lily got everything. And now Lily had her son.

Lily could just imagine it– could just see Petunia’s face twisting and chin stabbing at the air. You could have anything, and you took my son– my son!

“You left him to me,” Lily whispered, but that wasn’t quite right. “You left,” she whispered, and that wasn’t quite right either, so she strode off toward the fountain to ask the boys if they wanted to go see the Auror spellwork ranges. Dudley’s sodden shirt sleeves dripped all over the Ministry floors. Harry’s hair fell down into his eyes and they both grinned bright enough to rival the spelled sunlight.

Keep Reading (Ao3)

I know it’s been a long time since I’ve been truly active on this blog, and now that my wedding is over and I work more reasonable hours I want to get back into running this blog. I miss fanfic! 

Specifically, James embraced a crying Sirius outside grimmauld place while Lily grabbed a trunk and hauled it to a car.

No living soul would ever know how consequential this act would turn out to be, but to a boy in a second floor window, parting ways with his brother forever, the event would go on to shape an entire life. A single question, at the back of Regulas’ mind, are my parents right about this? Does the dark lord truly deserve my support?

The thought, the feeling, festered in his mind as he watched injustice flourish and cruelty thrive, and one day, when Kreacher collapsed at his feet, he acted.

The second time James and Lily Potter thwarted he who must not be named was with a wedding. In times of darkness and despair, a flickering light, red hair swirling as the Order of the Phoenix danced in the arms of those that they loved. Fifteen resolves were strengthened that day, the flagging war effort upheld for another year, the good fight lasting just that little longer.

The third time James thwarted Tom Riddle was with bared teeth and bared fists, a war cry, a seconds hesitation as Voldemort raised his wand to defend rather than strike. The last time Voldemort was thwarted, at least for 7 years, was at the hands of Lily Potter, nee Evans, standing over a cot screaming TAKE ME INSTEAD.

I got pretty fed up with looking for words to replace said because they weren’t sorted in a way I could easily use/find them for the right time. So I did some myself.

IN RESPONSE TO Acknowledged Answered Protested

INPUT/JOIN CONVERSATION/ASK Added Implored Inquired Insisted Proposed Queried Questioned Recommended Testified

GUILTY/RELUCTANCE/SORRY Admitted Apologized Conceded Confessed Professed

FOR SOMEONE ELSE Advised Criticized Suggested

JUST CHECKING Affirmed Agreed Alleged Confirmed

LOUD Announced Chanted Crowed

LEWD/CUTE/SECRET SPY FEEL Appealed Disclosed Moaned

ANGRY FUCK OFF MATE WANNA FIGHT Argued Barked Challenged Cursed Fumed Growled Hissed Roared Swore

SMARTASS Articulated Asserted Assured Avowed Claimed Commanded Cross-examined Demanded Digressed Directed Foretold Instructed Interrupted Predicted Proclaimed Quoted Theorized

ASSHOLE Bellowed Boasted Bragged

NERVOUS TRAINWRECK Babbled Bawled Mumbled Sputtered Stammered Stuttered

SUAVE MOTHERFUCKER Bargained Divulged Disclosed Exhorted

FIRST OFF Began

LASTLY Concluded Concurred

WEAK PUSY Begged Blurted Complained Cried Faltered Fretted

HAPPY/LOL Cajoled Exclaimed Gushed Jested Joked Laughed

WEIRDLY HAPPY/EXCITED Extolled Jabbered Raved

BRUH, CHILL Cautioned Warned

ACTUALLY, YOU’RE WRONG Chided Contended Corrected Countered Debated Elaborated Objected Ranted Retorted

CHILL SAVAGE Commented Continued Observed Surmised

LISTEN BUDDY Enunciated Explained Elaborated Hinted Implied Lectured Reiterated Recited Reminded Stressed

BRUH I NEED U AND U NEED ME Confided Offered Urged

FINE Consented Decided

TOO EMO FULL OF EMOTIONS Croaked Lamented Pledged Sobbed Sympathized Wailed Whimpered

JUST SAYING Declared Decreed Mentioned Noted Pointed out Postulated Speculated Stated Told Vouched

WASN’T ME Denied Lied

EVIL SMARTASS Dictated Equivocated Ordered Reprimanded Threatened

BORED Droned Sighed

SHHHH IT’S QUIET TIME Echoed Mumbled Murmured Muttered Uttered Whispered

DRAMA QUEEN Exaggerated Panted Pleaded Prayed Preached

OH SHIT Gasped Marveled Screamed Screeched Shouted Shrieked Yelped Yelled

ANNOYED Grumbled Grunted Jeered Quipped Scolded Snapped Snarled Sneered

ANNOYING Nagged

I DON’T REALLY CARE BUT WHATEVER Guessed Ventured

I’M DRUNK OR JUST BEING WEIRDLY EXPRESSIVE FOR A POINT/SARCASM Hooted Howled Yowled

I WONDER Pondered Voiced Wondered

OH, YEAH, WHOOPS Recalled Recited Remembered

SURPRISE BITCH Revealed

IT SEEMS FAKE BUT OKAY/HA ACTUALLY FUNNY BUT I DON’T WANT TO LAUGH OUT LOUD Scoffed Snickered Snorted

BITCHY Tattled Taunted Teased

Summary: She’s all looks, Petunia is. Tall, thin, elegant. Sheets of blonde hair frame her face, white and pink pearls adorn her pale neckline. And when her eyes squint and her teeth show—that’s when Lily knows she’s in trouble.

Word count: ~2.4k words

A/N: For the two loves of my life, who share this glorious day as their date of birth. I love you to the moon and back. @bantasticbeasts @yulbos. (Also, thank you @ shawn for letting me borrow your lyrics for the title. Could not have done this without u)

FFN / AO3

*

It’s all very complicated.

At least, that’s what she tells herself.

  i.

They were arguing again—Lily can’t really remember what about, except that it hadn’t been exactly pretty. The second Lily’s insults became directed at her brother-in-law, an awful man named Vernon Dursley, Petunia got all angry and shrilly like usual, and then Lily’s tongue got sharper, and –well.

Her sister had wanted to make a point, and so it was only natural that when she implied Lily was unable to get a boyfriend of her own, which was—supposedly—why she was so incredibly rude to Vernon, Lily would have blurted out that she was in fact, in a relationship, thank you very much.

In hindsight, Lily reckons she should probably get a new mouth, one that waited for her to think before it started talking. Wouldn’t that be fucking great.

ii.

When Lily comes home after school one day, she finds her sister sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through a gossip magazine—either Ok! Magazine, Grazia or Marie Claire, she doesn’t really remember.

“You’re not really dating, are you, Lily?” is the first thing Petunia asks her, with her nose turned up in disgust as she stares down at her younger sister. “No respectable male would be caught dead with you.”

Lily scoffs as Petunia places down the magazine. “First of all, why do you assume it’s a guy when I’m as bisexual as they come—“

“You’re confused, is what you are—“

“—and secondly, I’m not messing with you. I have better things to do with my time than find new and exciting ways to annoy you,” she replies, rolling her eyes.

A dangerous smirk dances on Petunia’s lips, and as her eyes light up, she says, “bring him ‘round for dinner, then.”

“I will,” replies Lily, staring defiantly at her sister’s eyes, daring her to go ahead.

She watches as Petunia picks at her impeccably manicured nails. “Next Saturday, at seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”

“We won’t,” Lily snaps, her voice two octaves too high.

Petunia smiles, showing off her pearly white teeth and perfectly hydrated lips.

“Fantastic.”

iii.

She’s laying on top of Potter’s bed, with her feet hanging off from the side and her face pressed into his pillow. She lets out yet another long and pained whine, and then says, “what have I done?”

“How should I know?” he replies from the leather swivel chair, biting his lip and furrowing his brown in concentration as he attempts a triple head combo on Ultimate Mecha Strike III. “The only thing you’ve done since you got her was complain about a ruined life. No clarification whatsoever.”

“It’s really bad. Like, worse than Sirius’-obsession-with-Gasolina-bad.”

He looks over at his bed and pauses the game, carefully placing the remote control on his lap.

“Get on with it, then.”

“I may have…” Lily’s cheeks are redder than her hair now, and for some reason, she can’t find it in her to face him.

“Yes?”

She gasps for air before blurting out, “I-may-have-told-Petunia-I-was-dating-someone.”

James, the idiot, throws his head back and lets out the loudest bark of laughter, one that can only be rivalled by Sirius’ that one time during the year eleven ball when they saw Dumbledore roller-blading through the venue.

“It’s not funny, Potter,” she huffs, because of course he’d revel in her agony.

“On the contrary, Evans, it’s hilarious.”

“She wants me to bring them over for dinner this weekend,” adds Lily, looking absolutely miserable, and of course, James replies by laughing even harder. “What am I going to do?”

He pauses to think for a second, furiously running his hands through his hair, when suddenly, his eyes light up.

“What?” asks Lily, mid-ponytail-adjusting.

“I could be your fake-boyfriend,” James proposes, shrugging his shoulders like it isn’t that big of a deal. (It is.)

Lily lets out a breath.

“Would you?”

“This will really annoy Petunia,” he prompts, licking his lips.

She looks down at his mouth, but shifts her attention back to his eyes before replying, “so it’s settled then.”

James stretches his hand forward. “Carved in stone.”

Lily takes it, and they both hold on for slightly longer than necessary.

“Brilliant,” she nods. “Thank you for doing this, Potter.”

“It’s no problem. I’ve always liked a good ruse.”

It’s a shame, then, that in reality Lily is completely infatuated with the bloke and would love nothing more than to grab him by the collar and shove him into the nearest closet. And, when Algernon –Potter’s cat– comes in with a bacon sandwich, it almost feels like he can sense how distraught Lily is over the whole thing.

Much later in the day—Potter invited her to stay over for dinner, because of course he did— they’re sat in his carpet, soaking up the moonlight, a bottle of rum that James nicked from Euphemia’s cabinets swinging back and forth between the pair of them.

“You were my first kiss, Potter,” Lily admits.

“You were mine, too.”

She tries convincing herself of how lucky she got, because honestly, it’s quite the perfect set-up. They’ve been mates for so long now, and she’s at his house more often than not, and he took her as his date to his second-cousin’s wedding.

Still, there’s something tugging at her heartstrings, but she vows to try her damn best to squash it. Whatever butterflies she’s got going on have got to go.

iv.

At precisely seven o’clock, Lily rings the doorbell, James at her side, holding her hand. When Petunia opens the door, he tightens his hold on it.

The house looks just like always, but tonight it feels even colder. It’s not particularly pleasant living with Petunia and her husband, but even Lily is not used to the icy blue hue that colours the kitchen. It’s the dead of winter and it almost feels like the weather is doing it on purpose. Maybe Petunia had something to do with it—she’s always liked having connections.

Petunia greets the two of them with a smile, a fake one, of course, and looks Potter up and down as if she’s testing him, as if she’s testing them. She can hear Vernon’s voice coming from the living room, rough and gravelly, and Lily hates it, hates that she feels like an outsider in her own house. James senses this, and presses a kiss on her left temple, all part of the act, nothing short of bittersweet.

They make their way to the dining table, calm and quiet, and James puts his arm around Lily’s shoulders, a silent way of telling her he’s there and she can rely on him for support.

She knows. He is her best friend, after all.

Petunia serves them meatloaf and mash, with green beans on the side. Vernon tucks right in, blissfully ignorant to Lily and Petunia’s silent argument. Vernon Dursley is not dumb, but he’s also not particularly clever, and Lily wishes that was the worst she had to say about him.

Today, however, he’s not important. What matters is that she and James make their sham of a relationship seem believable enough.

It’s harder for her than it is for him, she learns. He doesn’t have to think before reaching up to trace the back of her hand, or to flick her on the nose. Lily guesses he must have loads of practice in pretending, what with every ploy he pulls with the rest of the Marauders, his brothers in everything but blood.

And so, because he knows Petunia, James doesn’t launch into an elaborate story of how the two of them came to fall in love, and then into a relationship. Instead, he sums it up in two quick sentences, tries to act as normal as possible, and stares deep into Petunia’s eyes as if to say ‘I’m on her side.’

If Lily’s parents were here, it’d be different, he’d be different, but they aren’t. They aren’t—and well, Lily finds it best not to dwell on such things. This is what she has to deal with. This is her life now.

She is certain her sister can feel the animosity radiating from James’ body. He’s tense, and Lily can feel his leg jumping up and down in a failed attempt to let go of all the pent-up energy. She places her hand on his thigh. He looks down, and then his eyes trace the skin up her bare, freckled arm, to her exposed collarbone, to her flushed cheeks.

She’s all looks, Petunia is. Tall, thin, elegant. Sheets of blonde hair frame her face, white and pink pearls adorn her pale neckline. And when her eyes squint and her teeth show—that’s when Lily knows she’s in trouble.

*

“She saw right through us,” Lily breathes, holding her head between her hands as she crouches down on Potter’s sofa.

“You don’t believe that.”

“I do,” Lily murmurs, and then her silent sobs become louder and it doesn’t take long for her to be drowning in her own tears. It’s a good thing his parents aren’t home.

“Hey, hey, hey,” James tells her, his voice so gentle that it’s barely even there. “What’s wrong?”

She can’t really tell him, of course. Can’t tell him the way it stings, because he’s a damn good actor and she’s desperate for it to be real. It’s overwhelming, and she’s tired, and she just wants to go home, but where even is that anymore? Certainly not at the house, where she’s treated like absolute garbage, and has been for the better part of two years.

“Lily?” he asks, running his hands through his hair, making it even messier than usual, and Lily wishes it could all just stop.

“I think I’m having a panic attack,” she says, and realisation dawns upon James’ face. It doesn’t take long for him to go into full-blown nurse mode. It’s not unusual for Lily to keel over with anxiety. Now that he has a name for it, he knows how to deal with it—he’s done so before.

“Lily,” he starts, slower this time, “breathe with me, okay? We’ll count to ten.” In and out, in and out. “You’re doing great, I’m right here.”

She closes her eyes and does as she’s told, and eventually her head stops spinning and she clings onto James like he’s her only lifeline. “Thank you,” she croaks out, and he shakes his head and assures her that it was no problem.

“How can I help?” James asks, carefully sitting next to her. Lily shrugs, at a complete loss about what to do. He is, too, until an idea pops into his head, except it’s coming from a place of wishful thinking, and so ridiculous that he doesn’t know if he should share it.

Lily, of course, notices. “What is it?” she asks, biting her lip so hard it could bleed.

“We could… um…”

“Yes?” she prods.

“We could practice,” James coughs. “For when she’s around.” He can feel his flaming hot cheeks burn, but when he sees the way Lily’s shoulders relax and her eyes light up, it’s worth it.

“You don’t have to do that, James,” she tells him, in the quietest little voice. It’s sweet, and somewhat hoarse, and he’s oh so very attracted to her.

“I don’t mind.”

She bites her lip again. “Are you sure?”

“Of course. Besides,” he presses, “it’s not like we’ve never done it before.”

That was true. They’d been about fourteen at the time. It had been right after school, and they were bored out of their wits and wanted to get it over with.

“So there’s no reason for it to be awkward,” Lily replies, excitement starting to bubble in her stomach.

“None at all.”

“That’s great.”

James nods. “I’m going to kiss you know.”

And so he does.

v.

It’s been two months since the beginning of their charade. Neither of them have been able to sleep, the fact that this is only a ruse tugging at their brains, ripping at their insides. It didn’t take much to convince Petunia, to be honest. She just… walked in on one of their practice sessions and that was it. That, of course, only meant that now they absolutely had to keep it going.

Besides, it’s not like they can fake-break up to get it off their backs. No, Petunia’s annoying as is, it simply wouldn’t do to add fuel to the flame. They’re too young to be prey.

It’s the beginning of March and they’re back in his room, the colourful walls mocking their shared misery. In the midst of the strained silence, Lily hears James mutter, “I can’t do this.”

“Huh?”

“This,” he says, this time a little louder, gesturing to the space between the two of them. “I can’t keep this up anymore.”

He wouldn’t. He can’t. No.

“It was your idea!” she counters, panic starting to cloud her vision. She’s desperate, scared out of her wits that this is their downfall. She can’t lose him too, not him, she’s lost so much already.

“Yeah well,” he starts, and Lily notices how he looks about to burst, “I thought I could ignore my feelings, but I guess not, uh—“ his mouth clamps shut. He’s said too much, and there’s no turning back now.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lily asks, the tiniest hint of hope flaring up inside her, and she’s trying to contain it, because it’s likely that she only heard him wrong, but she can’t. She can’t and it’s taking over.

“I’m in love with you.” It’s Earth-shattering. “I’m in love with you, and I can’t deal with it anymore. I can’t stand not knowing what’s real and what’s not, or if there’s anything real at all, because—fuck I wish it was, all of it—“

Suddenly, her body is flush against his. Their lips are tangled together and she’s prodding his mouth open, and it’s desperate, really, the way he’s clinging to her back and she to his neck.

And then, they slow down, and it soon becomes more laughter and smiling and teeth-clashing-against-teeth than actual kissing, but it’s fine, really, because now Lily has her answer. This, right here.

nobody knows who painted it. the other houses speculate, but the hufflepuffs know not to ask, because that’s not really what’s important.

it’s one of the moving ones, of course. sometimes cedric isn’t in it - it’s said that the portrait has a twin, over amos diggory’s fireplace, and cedric always loved his father. but he’s there enough, smiling down at the hufflepuffs who congregate in the common room, watching them as they go about their lives.

the portrait is by the door, next to one of the overstuffed yellow chairs. students sit there to talk to cedric, with some modicum of privacy. at first, it was his friends, the people who knew him and miss him and love him. but as time went on it became those who knew him by reputation. kids seeking advice, help with homework. someone to talk to, on a long and cold night. gradually, he became a legend, spoke in hushed whispers to the first-years as they came in. if you’re ever in trouble, talk to cedric. he’ll always help you.

after the battle of hogwarts, when the furniture was mended and the new students hesitantly made their way in, there was another portrait next to it, of hufflepuff’s favoured daughter. tonks, known by one name only, blew painted bubbles from her world of acrylic and canvas. while students came to cedric for help and advice, they came to tonks to ask questions. she would tell the most wicked stories, and some of them were even true. when someone needed cheering up, when they were wanting to brainstorm their next epic prank, they went to tonks.

she wasn’t always there, either. another portrait above a cot, where a baby with shocking blue hair could look at it and laugh. but when she was, she was always happy to have people come to her. when they did, it felt like she wasn’t just paint and canvas. she felt alive.

happy birthday, victoire weasley

The main thing that happens when a baby is born, George discovers, is tears. The baby cries—the baby howls—such a huge sound from such a tiny thing, and yeah, okay, maybe if you’d just been ripped from inside the only thing you’d ever known, you’d cry too. Fleur cries, but that’s also probably allowed, because she was the one who was ripped apart. And Bill cries, probably because Fleur has a grip like a basilisk. That’s maybe legitimate, too.

But everyone, everyone else cries, crowded around the hospital bed, beaming down at Fleur, beautiful Madonna with her precious infant, and George just can’t. He hasn’t cried since the day of Fred’s funeral, when he cried enough for a lifetime. Literally. There is nothing that could possibly be worse than that day, nothing else that will ever be deserving of tears. So for almost two years, he hasn’t cried. It’s simple.

His is the only dry eye as the baby is passed around. Mum and Charlie, who will weep for England at the drop of a hat, have been at it since they were allowed in to meet her. Others, like Hermione, keep pushing away the tears, clearly trying to pull themselves together and never quite managing it. As he watches, Ron pulls her in close, kissing her forehead so her eyes close, and yet more tears fall. And in the other corner, Percy and Dad are doing some kind of glasses-cleaning thing that fools no one, least of all when Dad puts a hand on Percy’s shoulder, which suddenly starts to shake. George looks away, feeling suddenly like a voyeur. The thing about not crying for two years is that when you see other people doing it, it feels oddly personal and maybe a bit shameful, like you’ve walked in on them in the bathroom.

Someone, Harry, maybe, asks about names, and an expectant silence fills the room. Fleur and Bill exchange looks, and Bill nods, stepping back. It is clear to everyone that this is Fleur’s day, and she basks in the attention, arranging the baby’s blanket just so. “We ’ad a name chosen,” she says slowly, “we were going to call her Marielle. But…we talked, earlier. We thought…” And she trails off, looking at her husband.

It’s obvious that something significant is coming. For a second, George is so certain that they’re going to call the child Fred he almost laughs, but instead pinches the inside of his elbow and looks at the ground, refusing to look at Bill as he speaks. “Neither of us believe in…I don’t know what you’d call it. Cosmic signs. Divine intervention. But we thought…we thought, it cannot be a coincidence that she was born today. Two years after…well, you know. But she’s going to grow up with all this behind her. She’ll be safe and happy and whole. So…”

Fleur speaks again, now. “I always wanted ’er to ’ave a French name, to mark that part of ’er heritage. And so we shall call her Victoire.” Someone gives the tiniest gasp. “It is, ’ow you say, Victoria. But it is also—”

“Victory.”

deciding that he was happier spreading laughter and fun by working alongside his brother at the shop than he ever was an auror

making jokes about his weight gain in order to make his family laugh

trying to become more familiar with the muggle world for hermione’s sake

crying the day hugo gives him a drawing of dad with my hero written in big letters at the top 

rose always calls for dad whenever she sees a spider because he’ll always come and kill it for her despite his arms shaking when he reaches for it

ron almost always forgets his anniversary but it doesn’t really bother hermione since he’s always setting up dates for them whenever she can find the time to take off work

ron listening to harry talk about his nightmares during the middle of the night over a cup of hot chocolate

putting the birthday card on fred’s grave because george can never bring himself to go to the cemetary during their birthday

molly teaching ron how to make cakes so he can make them for the kids and hermione on their birthday

making sure that his kids know how proud of them he is because he never wants them experiencing the same self esteem issues he has