Jilymicrofics

Written for @jilymicrofics Prompt: Wink Word Count: 491

From his vantage points in the shadows of castle corridors, hidden passageways, and behind enchanted tapestries, Wipple had watched countless relationships unfold over the years.

Students became friends. Friends became sweethearts. Sweethearts became bitter enemies.

Enemies occasionally became sweethearts.

Yet no relationship had ever confounded him quite as much as that between Mr. Potter and Miss Evans.

To Wipple's eyes, they had a great deal in common. Both were unusually polite to the house-elves. They possessed a highly creative interpretation of school rules and they displayed an alarming willingness to hex, punch, or otherwise attack individuals they believed deserved it.

By all reasonable measures, they should have gotten along splendidly.

Instead, they seemed to alternate unpredictably between friendship and hostility.

One week they would be arguing loudly in a corridor. The next they would be laughing together. Then they would ignore one another entirely.

It was deeply confusing.

Then, several weeks ago, something had changed.

Mr. Potter and Miss Evans had emerged from the library together and proceeded down the corridor toward Gryffindor Tower. They had been talking the entire time, exchanging jokes and teasing remarks.

Most remarkably, neither had attempted to insult the other.

Wipple had been so surprised that he nearly walked into a suit of armor.

When they reached the portrait hole, Miss Evans turned toward Potter.

"You know," she said, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, "you're much more tolerable than I was led to believe."

Potter placed a hand over his heart.

"Evans, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't let it go to your head."

"No promises."

She laughed softly.

"Good night, Potter."

"Good night, Evans."

She took a step toward the portrait hole, then paused.

"Oh, and Potter?"

"Yeah?"

"If you keep looking at me like that, people might start to think you have a crush on me."

Before Potter could form anything resembling a coherent response, Lily gave him a wink.

Just once. A tiny movement. Nothing more.

Miss Evans climbed through the portrait hole and disappeared. Mr. Potter remained standing in the corridor.

Completely motionless. His expression suggested that every coherent thought had abruptly abandoned him. Wipple had honestly wondered whether the boy required medical attention. Several minutes passed before Potter finally stumbled away, still looking thoroughly stunned.

Wipple never learned what transpired between them in the days that followed. What he did know was that shortly afterward, both students began appearing in the kitchens.

Separately and frequently.

Mr. Potter would sit at one table staring into space.

Miss Evans would appear on a different evening and do exactly the same thing.

Both seemed thoroughly miserable. And Wipple could not for the life of him understand why.

He had witnessed the entire incident.

There had been no shouting.

No dueling.

No crying.

Just one wink.

@jilymicrofics <3 | Ao3 Collection

“So Mr. Bingley says Jane is ‘the most beautiful creature he has ever beheld’ –”

Lily narrows her eyes and nods, “Right.”

James crunches down on a slice of cucumber and points an accusing finger at Lily’s chest, “And you say it’s romantic and adorable.”

“Obviously,” Lily folds her arms across her oversized ‘Obstinate Headstrong Girl’ t-shirt and deepens her scowl, “It’s the only reason I don’t want to ring his neck half the series.”

“And yet –”

“Don’t even,” Lily slides the cutting board away from James’s grasping hand, “Don’t even try to argue that calling your wife the ‘creature from the black lagoon’ is even close to Mr. Bingley waxing poetic.”

“You have black goop on your face!”

When he reaches for another slice of cucumber she slaps his hand away. “Snacks are for nice husbands.”

“I was flirting.”

LIly levels a glare at him, scooping her chopped veg onto a plate with a side of tzatziki already in a ramekin, like a healthy, civilized adult.

“It’s true - the kids call it ‘negging’.”

“I call it being a prat.”

James slips an arm around her middle and tugs her back against his chest. “Forgive me?”

Written for the @jilymicrofics Mystery Microfic May 2026!

Read on AO3 (100 words) or under the cut:

Written for @jilymicrofics Prompt: Creature Word Count: 582

All house-elves were supposed to perform their work unseen by the wizarding population. It was no easy task in a castle filled with hundreds of people wandering its corridors at all hours, which was why most house-elves did their work at night.

The arrangement had given many wizards the mistaken impression that house-elves were nocturnal creatures. They were not. Night simply offered the greatest opportunity to work without being observed.

Wipple was particularly skilled at navigating Hogwarts' maze of tunnels, secret passages, and hidden shortcuts. As a result, whenever the Office of House-Elf Relocation assigned a new elf to the school, it was Wipple's responsibility to guide them through the castle and teach them how to move about unnoticed.

It also meant that Wipple witnessed far more than most elves.

He saw students sneaking from their dormitories after curfew. He observed clandestine meetings, illicit study sessions, secret duels, and romantic rendezvous. He overheard whispered gossip, dramatic confessions, and elaborate schemes shared by students who assumed no one was listening.

The students rarely noticed him. It gave Wipple a great advantage in observing and learning about wizard behavior, studying the species up close without them knowing. 

"Hello, Wipple."

Wipple looked up to find Mr. Potter stepping into the passageway ahead. Unfortunately, Mr. Potter was not most students.

Wipple had long ago abandoned any attempt to hide from Potter and his friends during his nightly rounds. If he stopped to conceal himself every time one of them appeared, he would never accomplish any work. They seemed to spend almost as much time wandering the castle after curfew as they did attending classes.

"That's a rather large pile of laundry you've got there," Potter said, eyeing the stack balanced in Wipple's arms. "Need a hand taking it to the wash?"

"No, Mr. Potter," Wipple replied. "Wipple can manage."

"Of course you can," Potter said cheerfully. "But I'm happy to help if you need it."

As always, Wipple found himself unsure how to respond.

Mr. Potter was not like the other pure-blood students Wipple had encountered during his years at Hogwarts. Most barely acknowledged the existence of house-elves. Some ignored them entirely. A few shouted at them. Others treated them like pieces of furniture that happened to move on their own.

Potter, meanwhile, greeted elves by name. He asked how they were doing. He thanked them for their work. He spoke to them as though they were people.

Wipple did not know what to make of it.

Surely Potter understood the natural order of things. Every wizard child learned that house-elves existed to serve wizarding families. Yet Potter behaved as though that distinction did not matter.

At times, Wipple wondered whether Potter was playing some elaborate joke that only he understood.

Yet if it was mockery, it was a remarkably committed one.

Potter had somehow convinced Mr. Black—who was far more distant with the elves than Potter himself—to learn the names of every elf they encountered. On one memorable occasion, the pair had personally escorted a frightened young elf, newly assigned to Hogwarts, all the way back to the house-elf quarters after she became lost.

How they had discovered where the elves lived remained a mystery that continued to trouble Wipple. Most wizards never gave a single thought to where house-elves went when they were not serving meals or cleaning rooms.

Potter had apparently investigated.

Yes, Wipple decided as he watched the young wizard disappear down the corridor.

A/N: Excited for these microfics. Hoping the muse sticks with me haha. Thank you for organizing @jilymicrofics!! <3

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“It bewitches the mind…esnares the senses…”

“Isn’t that Polyjuice?”

“Amortentia you dunces,” James groans, grabbing Lily’s hand before she can wander off the path again, “And you have drunk neither. You’re just a couple of ijits who decided firewhiskey and the Forbidden Forest make a perfect pair.”

“Hey – Jemmy,” Sirius hisses in what he clearly believes is a whisper, “Let the whiskey liberate your inner mischief manager.”

“I’m clearly already a class A mischief manager,” James grumbles, hooking a finger in Sirius’ nearest belt loop and tugging him in. Hopefully they either purged before he got here or he’ll at least have Remus on assist when they get back to the tower. 

Lily leans against his shoulder, which really shouldn’t make his heart thud while she’s honestly being a bit of a prat, but it does and he’s probably more of an idiot than either of the drunken asses he is currently herding toward the castle. 

While he briefly considers whether doing this as Prongs would be either A) more enjoyable or B) more effective, Lily grasps his tie and nuzzles a little too close for his sanity. “Ja-,” she clears her throat and puts on her best prefect impression, “James, I ‘m not an ‘ijit.’”

Written for @jilymicrofics Prompt: Liberation Word Count: 426

The Hogwarts house-elves were not accustomed to visitors in the kitchens.

Occasionally, a professor would wander in for a late-night snack, or a student would accidentally stumble through while searching for a bathroom or a secret passage. Those visits were brief and infrequent.

What the elves were not prepared for was the steady invasion of two particular students who, entirely independently of one another, had decided that the kitchens were the perfect place to hide, mope, and wallow in their feelings.

"Now, Tipsy," said Giggy, scrubbing a cauldron with far more force than necessary, "Giggy is not one for talkings of liberation, but if Miss Evans and Mr. Potter is coming down here for one more evening of sighing and staring into space, Giggy shall knit himself a sweater and be leaving."

"Don't be saying such awful things!" Tipsy squeaked, swatting him with a drying cloth. "Tipsy does not like hearing about elves leaving!"

Wipple looked up from the sink where he was polishing goblets.

"Perhaps," he said thoughtfully, "it is not the elves who is needing liberation."

The kitchen fell silent.

"Then who is?" asked Tipsy.

"Mr. Potter and Miss Evans, of course," said Wipple. "They is trapping themselves in a terrible prison of feelings."

"A prison of feelings?" Giggy repeated.

Wipple nodded gravely.

"Mr. Potter sits at that table and sighs."

"He does sigh very loudly," another elf agreed.

"And Miss Evans comes down two hours later and sighs at the very same table."

"Sometimes at the same spot," whispered Tipsy.

"Exactly," said Wipple. "They is both believing their love is unreturned, when any elf with eyes can see different."

A murmur of agreement spread through the kitchen.

"It is making the soup taste sad," one elf complained.

"And the bread," another added.

"The whole kitchen is suffering," said Giggy solemnly.

"So Wipple thinks we should help them."

Tipsy's eyes widened.

"Help them?"

"Help them see what every elf in Hogwarts already knows," Wipple said. "Then they can be courting each other somewhere that is not the kitchens."

"Oh!" Tipsy clasped her hands together. "That would be a wonderful service."

"It would be a great service," Giggy agreed. "House-elves serves Hogwarts, and Hogwarts would be much happier if those two stopped moping near the pastry shelves."

"Hear, hear!" cried several elves.

Wipple straightened proudly.

"Then it is decided. Operation Liberate Mr. Potter and Miss Evans shall begin at once."

"And when they is finally together," Giggy declared, raising a wooden spoon like a sword, "the kitchens shall know peace again."

For @jilymicrofics January prompt: gallant Words: 539

Harry gets a little pushy while playing at Arthurian make-believe. Read on AO3 or below the cut

James isn't sure if he failed or succeeded at online dating Written for May 2026 @jilymicrofics Prompt: Profile

James: Just so you all know, your “great genius idea” was complete rubbish.

Sirius: You’ll have to be more specific, dear Prongs. All my ideas are brilliant.

Peter: He made a WandMatch profile.

Sirius: No. You actually did it?

James: You told me it was the best way to meet girls who weren’t Evans.

Sirius: I didn’t think you’d actually listen to me! Show me.

@jilymicrofics prompt: May 2026 #21 — Clue | WC: 747. Part 1 | Part 2

Part 3 - 31 October 1978

‘James?’ Lily blinked, her eyes still unfocused from sleep. 

The tiny bedroom was still dark, save for the weak grey light creeping through the gap in the curtains. Rain tapped softly against the windowpane. 

‘Lily,’ he said, mouth dry. ‘I… need to ask you something.’ 

They were eighteen. She’d say no. He knew she’d say no. But he had to ask. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t. 

‘I… I know —’ pausing, he started over: ‘Actually, I know very little.’

Lily snorted. 

‘Well, yes there was a time I used to think I knew quite a bit, but now… I really only know a few things.’ 

Lily pushed herself up slightly, the duvet slipping down her shoulder and stomach, her green eyes serious as she surveyed him. Did she already guess where this was going? If she didn’t, she would know in a second: 

‘I know I love you. And I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. And I always thought we’d get married when the time seemed right.’

He really ought to have waited a day. Planned his words a bit more carefully. 

‘But now it seems a lot to ask for. That we should all be alive… mum, dad, your parents, Sirius, Carl….’ Peter. Remus. You. Me. 

Lily’s fingers tightened slightly in the bedsheets, and he could practically feel her desire to pull him close to comfort him. But this was not the moment.

Exhaling, he repeated: ‘I know I love you. I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I think—I hope, at least—you feel the same. So why wait?’

He looked at her, studying her features, wanting to see any clues as to which way she was leaning. She had gone pale, but her lips twitched as she repeated: ‘Why wait indeed.’

Her voice was quiet, but there was no hesitation in it. James felt his heart lurch painfully against his ribs. There was hope, after all.

‘Lily Evans,’ he said, feeling his eyes burn anew, having experienced too much in the last twenty-four hours for anyone to bear: ‘will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?’

Then he realised he’d forgotten—

He reached into his robes and extracted the silver bracelet: ‘It’s not a ring,’ he said quickly. ‘This used to be my great grandmother’s, and I thought that you might like to have it until we get a ring. Or.. I mean… it’ll be yours after that too—’

‘—James,’ said Lily, placing her hand on top of his, ‘are you going to let me answer?’

Oh. There was that. 

Heart hammering, he met her gaze once more. For one, breathless moment, time stood still. Then: 

‘Yes!’

‘Yes?’

‘Of course, you fool.’

The relief that swept through him was almost painful. James let out something between a laugh and a shaky breath before he cupped her face and kissed her hard enough to send them both falling back slightly against the pillows. Lily laughed into the kiss, one hand tangling immediately in his hair as the other gripped the front of his robes. 

‘I think,’ she muttered after a few glorious moments, ‘if you hadn’t asked soon, I would have.’

‘Really?’ grinned James.

But Lily didn’t smile back as she reached out and brushed some hair out of his face: ‘You nearly didn’t come back yesterday,’ she said, seriously.

The grief, the guilt, everything flooded back in, as he replied: ‘But I did.’ 

Rob didn’t, a small voice offered unbidden, but he pushed it away. Just for now. There would be plenty of time to mourn him.

‘You did,’ she agreed, face relaxing.

‘I am still here.’

‘You are.’

James kissed her softly, one hand still wrapped around hers where it rested atop the silver bracelet between them. Even when they pulled apart, James could still feel her breath against his skin. 

‘Now all we have to do is stay alive until after the wedding,’ she teased after another kiss. ‘Easy.’

He kissed her nose: ‘Maybe we should push it far into the future after all?’

‘Don’t you dare,’ she said, biting his lip, ‘Nothing would annoy Petunia more than if I got married the same year as her.’

‘But that gives us —’ 

‘About two months. Getting cold feet, Potter?’

James shook his head. What was it Robert had said: Time was precious. They were going to get married and the wedding couldn’t come soon enough.