I can does a jily!

Lily doesn’t know when it starts. When James Potter goes from annoying toe-rag to acceptable acquaintance, but it happens, naturally enough, and suddenly she’s okay with him borrowing a book. Or passing her the last piece of treacle tart at dinner, or just, you know, existing.

And she also doesn’t know when he then transitions from fellow Gryffindor into actual friend. But she accepts it. Eagerly, even. Because Lily thinks getting along is much nicer than not getting along. It makes her pause, this friendship, but James is so… so good, so kind, so…James, that she doesn’t bother worrying about it too much. Friends are good to have, right? More friends the merrier, as her Mum used to say.

So then one day, when Lily watches him laughing with his friends down by the lake, and her breath gets caught and her mouth suddenly feels dry, it’s nothing, right? And when he smiles at her on the way to class, his hazel eyes crinkling with good humor and warmth, it’s still nothing. Nothing at all.

Except Lily knows it is something. Feels it down in her bones. That this, whatever this thing that is happening to her is real. And important. And powerful, judging by the way he shows up in her dreams at night. Sometimes he even keeps his kit on, she is thankful to note (dream James likes to parade around, apparently, but then so does dream Lily).

And then she knows she is in the thick of it - whatever this is - and she doesn’t even try to fight it - to fight him. And one night, when he walks her back to the common room after rounds, he puts his hand on her elbow to guide her through the entrance. It’s so silly really, she’s been doing her own walking for years now, but she can’t help it, she feels a rush of warmth move through her at his innocent touch.

And he sees it. He sees her wide-giving-it-all-away-eyes- and then his eyes fall to her lips and then back up, hope and disbelief traveling across his face in equal measure. Lily doesn’t wait two seconds to see which emotion wins, and she’s kissing him, hard. Pushing him up against the wall in a blur and it is everything - everything that she has always known (somehow) that she wanted.

And apparently it is everything that James wanted, too, because his face is pure bliss when they finally break apart and his eyes are full of wonder.

“What brought this on, Evans?”

”I don’t know. Is it…is it all right?”

Catcalls and hoots suddenly fill their ears, and Lily turns to find that practically the whole of Gryffindor Tower is gaping at them. Sirius has a mildly shocked, yet amused look on his face, Remus is giving them a big smile and a shake of his head, and Dorcas is just staring at them, but clearly proud of her.

“Real subtle, Lily!” Dorcas cries out and the room laughs and then Lily is laughing, because she can’t help it. The only one not laughing is James. But when she turns her head to look at him, he grins and runs a hand through his hair and nods back at the entrance.

”You know, Evans, I think we forgot to check the third floor,” he murmurs, voice a bit gruff. He grabs her hand and squeezes it.

”Did we?” Lily asks, marveling at her own breathless voice.

sorry for my melancholy, I’m sad

thanks @magic-girl-in-a-muggle-world for another amazing prompt

DAY 5: Lily denying she fancies James

It didn’t make sense for her to be sad about it. In fact, it made no sense for her to feel anything about it. Sadness or happiness, it didn’t matter, it was stupid to let herrself be shaken anyway

Okay, James was talking to Amelia, who seemed very close to bursting with happiness at that, and okay, she had played with his hair and made him laugh, but it didn’t matter, because she didn’t care about any of it.

No, she didn’t feel anything for James to feel that tightness in her stomach when she saw him pull the laughing girl closer, inviting her to a dance. Definitely not.

She should be happy! James had finally given up on her, stopped harassing her, and moved on. Yes, that was it.

The end of an era.

Lily wanted to laugh, imagining that now it was Amelia who would have to put up with that boy who gets in too much trouble, and is more beautiful for his own sanity. It was she who would now be his pair on the Hogsmeade visit, and Amelia looked forward to it.

Sirius loved her too, she at least thought, because the boy smiled from ear to ear at James, commenting on something with Remus that made him laugh and deny, before Peter made another comment and the three laughed; they definitely approved of that girl.

Amelia liked Quidditch, she was all witty like James, beautiful and intelligent. The perfect combo.

The taste for Quidditch should also weigh a lot, as it would be fun to have someone who understands what you are talking about. As much as Lily now understood a little, she did not come close to Amelia, an enthusiast.

It was silly to feel anything if not happy for the couple.

The way she smiled at him, Lily thought she would never be able to repeat that. Which was good, because she was never trying to seduce James.

Even though today he lifted his shirt to wipe his sweaty face and she admired his abdomen a little too much.

It was just a body and she was a teenager.

The new couple went on talking, and for some stupid reason Lily wanted to cry, which could simply be missing her mother and the fact that Petunia told her that she was not welcome at her wedding.

No, it wasn’t because Amelia had kissed James on the cheek and the boy was flushed like a tomato, laughing and denying something she had said, looking a little nervous.

It was good for him .. Move on. With a pureblood still, which helped a lot in those times.

It was definitely not jealousy that made her leave the common room in the middle of the post game party. Without slamming doors or drama, just leaving the room behind while walking towards nothing, imagining that it was stupid to want to be Amelia and to be congratulating James for the goals he had made.

It was very, very stupid.

Lily sat alone at the top of the Astronomy Tower, looking up at the sky in front of her and feeling the wind on her skin.

It must have been good for Amelia that she was welcomed by the Marauders, Lily knew that they - apart from Remus - were not so fond of her, and they was right. She would also hate anyone who made her friends sad.

Not that she ever made James sad on purpose, but still.

Hugging her own body, Lily sighed, feeling stupid for thinking she liked James now that he no longer cared about her.

No Lily, she said to herself, you don’t like him, it’s just stress talking and making you feel all this confusion.

remus doesn’t die

sirius doesn’t die

james doesn’t die

lily doesn’t die

dorcas doesn’t die

marlene doesn’t die

regulus doesn’t die

alice doesn’t get tortured into insanity

frank doesn’t get tortured into insanity

I'm gonna tag a bunch of people even if I don't necessarily know them

@goldenm00se @theredhalo @karles363 @mypotaetoe @nobodygotnamesuggestions @relative-curiosity @he-le124 @underratedwriter123 @scare-you-myself @stay @chickennoodlesoupman3 @imaclownbutyouarethecircus @merlinfreya27 @satansmellssuperwholock @megafandomfreak @radiantcade @draginfyre16 @flowersoupuwu

“You’ll be fine. If you see anything shiny just dive for it.”

Ginny smirked, “That’s your technique, huh?”

Harry shrugged, “Honestly, yeah.”

“Wow. Best seeker in a century’s advice for the championship game is to be a magpie.”

He grinned, “Just hope no one has a watch on.”

“Oi, Gin,” Ron stuck his head round the portrait hole, eyeing them, “Team’s leaving. Bye mate.”

“Good luck.” Harry said, grimly, and Ron looked sympathetic.

“I’ll be a minute,” Ginny, drumming on her exposed thigh with a finger, “Harry’s giving me winning advice.” Ron gave her a look, but left anyway, flexing his fingers.

“You don’t need advice,” he ignored her legs, “You’re a good seeker. I’d let you play it more if it wouldn’t put me out of a job.”

“Come off it.”

“I would.” She was grinning and he couldn’t help himself, “I keep you as chaser so I can keep playing. It’s a real sore spot for me, actually.”

Ginny, lightning quick, perfect Malfoy impression: “Scared Potter?”

“Of you?” Harry didn’t think, “Absolutely.”

Ginny blinked. The world was stupidly unfair. Ron’s sister. Ron’s sister. Ron’s sister.

“So, become a magpie, avoid watches?” She was backing towards the portrait hole, stepping through, still looking at him.

He smiled. “Something like that. Good luck.”

Number 12 Grimmauld Place is no longer hidden. It sits neatly between Number 11 and Number 13, its wrought iron polished and shiny, its windows clean of dust and grime. Muggles can see it, though they rarely give it more than a moment’s glance; wizards and witches will occasionally approach cautiously to lay down a wreath of flowers, or a handwritten note addressed to The Boy Who Lives Still. Their wary respect is well-intentioned but unnecessary- Number 12 is second only to Hogwarts in the number of protective spells and wards place around it.

It is empty most of the year.

Fall winds blow and disturb no one’s slumber inside. In winter, snow gathers on the steps and railings; the windows remain dark and the curtains drawn. No flowers peek out from the windowsills to celebrate the arrival of spring. 

In the summer, they arrive.

From the outside, there is nothing to unite them. There are loud, boisterous teenagers and shy, quiet children no older than twelve; there are some dressed in the latest Muggle fashions and some whose jeans are patched and worn. They are of all races and ethnicities, all shapes and sizes, from all parts of the British Isles; they can be heard chattering in accents that clash and meld and somehow become harmonious. From the outside, they have nothing in common. But since when has someone’s outside reflected who they really are?

Molly Weasley was the first person Harry told about his idea. She and Arthur help him expand Number 12′s interior, adding bathrooms and reading nooks and bedrooms. Ginny chooses the squashiest armchairs and sturdiest furniture, tracking down bargains with a fierce glint in her eyes. When he realizes he needs an outdoor space, Hermione helps him to link his back door to an empty field. Ron helps Bill put up Quidditch hoops while Neville transplants trees and Hannah stations benches beneath their shady branches. Parvati paints the rooms in swirls of bright colors- green and red and blue and yellow mingle on the walls. 

In the summer, Number 12 Grimmauld Place becomes a refuge for lost children. They are the ones with no home to go to when the term ends, the ones who don’t have someone waiting to pick them up when the Hogwarts Express pulls into Platform 9 ¾. They are the ones whose homes are not safe, who grow anxious as June approaches and spring turns to summer. They are the ones who are no longer welcomed by those who share their blood, who have had to make family out of friends.

Harry Potter greets these students at Kings Cross and he takes them in.

In the summer, former DA members stream in and out of Number 12′s brightly polished door. Luna brings suitcases packed with odd creatures she’s discovered on her travels; the students sit in the sunny field as she pulls them out one by one and tells of hiking up mountains and wading through marshes. Ginny gives flying lessons and organizes Quidditch matches; the Harpies donate their old brooms when they switch sponsors (something that happens far more often than any other team in the league). There is a greenhouse where students with a green thumb can tend their own plots and assist Neville with his herbology experiments. Justin and Hermione drill them on Muggle subjects; Justin teaches algebra, geometry, and basic sciences while Hermione covers history and literature. George always spends a memorable week showing off his newest inventions while Ron drops by almost every evening to play chess. Students entering their fifth year can spend the summer shadowing people in careers that pique their interest; the Trio rarely use their fame for their own gain, but they wield it with fierce determination in the service of others. 

In the summer, these children are fed by Molly Weasley, hugged by Hannah Abbott, told bedtime stories by Luna Lovegood. They can spend all day reading under a tree or playing Exploding Snap in the kitchen or arguing about how best to make a phone work at Hogwarts. They can wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and make their way down to the kitchen, where Harry will meet them with a mug of hot tea and a listening ear. They can stay in bed on days when the world is too cruel and lonely, when the emptiness in their body is too heavy to bear. They can see others who struggle with it too and realize that family is not limited by blood, that being lonely doesn’t always mean being alone.

In the summer, Number 12 Grimmauld Place opens its doors wide and vibrates with life. It becomes a place where Sirius Black would be welcomed along with Severus Snape, where Harry Potter and Tom Riddle could spend their summers side by side.

In the summer, Number 12 Grimmauld Place becomes a home.

Source

He looked down into her cauldron to see it rippling pleasantly, a silvery sheen on the surface, a thick layer of turquoise blue at the bottom. ‘How are you at that stage already?’ he asked, amazed. ‘God!’

‘You don’t have to call me God, Sev,’ she said cheekily, grinding a sphinx claw into a fine powder.

He laughed. ‘I definitely wasn't – you don’t have the beard for it.’

‘God doesn’t have a beard!’ she exclaimed, glancing up at him disapprovingly. ‘God is a woman.’

He laughed again, returning to his own cauldron, but glancing at her across the desk. She had crouched down as she measured out the powder, keeping her face level to the scales. Her bright green eyes were focused completely on it, which he was pleased with, because it meant he could stare at them and wonder how she got so witty.

***

‘There’s no need to call me sir, Professor.’

It wasn’t charming, or clever, or funny. Not like the way Lily had said things like that. She never would have said that to him – not as a teacher, at least. It occurred to him in a flash that she had said cheeky things to teachers before, but she had always done it with a smile and it had been endearing – she had made them laugh. She never would have tried to humiliate him in front of students.

She had never stood there, the picture of arrogance, basking in the approving grins and shocked gasps of the rest of the class, green eyes glinting in the low light.

He scowled as he snarled his response. It infuriated him more than anything because part of him feared it was deliberate. He always feared that, when he recognised the expressions or the odd little quirks and turns of phrase – the way he sometimes lost his poncy southern accent and used a short ‘a' on words like grass like someone from the midlands, though he supposed that was more to do with his aunt.