#***writing

i. the mirror

ride or die is a coming of age story. it’s all about a girl figuring out who she is and her first experiences in romance and everything in between, we all know that. and when you have a story that focuses so much on figuring yourself out and finding your place in the world, the first question you ask is “who am i?” — an introspective question that can be akin to looking into the mirror.

which, coincidentally, is how the book opens. MC is shown to look at herself in the mirror both literally and metaphorically. first in the car chase with logan:

and when she wakes up that same day:

but just as the book starts with the mirror, it ends with it as well:

after MC looks at herself in the mirror, the player is given the choice to define MC. what is MC feeling? is that really her? how does she look like? ala mulan reflection who is that girl i see. and it all fits well as ride or die, at its core, is a coming of age story.

ii. logan

logan is the first LI introduced in the story. aside from being MC’s potential LI, he is also narratively used to show MC everything she isn’t. while all the LIs are different from MC by virtue of them all being criminals and having a more jaded view of the world, it’s most reflected in logan. the line i see this most come out is in his chapter 3 diamond scene:

logan also goes on to mention how he doesn’t know where his mother is. you could say he “lost” his mother, similar to how MC lost her mother years ago. the difference is that logan’s mother was in the world of crime, as she was in prison and gave birth to him prison; MC’s mother married a detective. 

he then tells the story of how he totalled his first car because he was reckless. contrast to chapter 15, MC also gets her car fucking rolling in the parking lot, but by the next chapter we see it repaired. the difference between them was that MC was the one in control of the situation i.e. setting a trap for the brotherhood. and in turn, she gets to keep her first car, unlike logan. 

iii. colt

colt is the second LI introduced in the story. colt mirroring MC is the most obvious out of the characters, IMO. his father is the head a crime group, MC’s is the head of capturing said group. they both have fathers who want to control where they go in life, and they both want to prove themselves to said fathers. 

if you pick colt in chapter 11, manipulative ass bastard (who we love anyway) he may be, it’s demonstrated how colt and MC have a understanding of each other due to their similar experiences. 

in chapter 14, if you chose colt to take you to the prom and pick the option to dance with him (instead of kissing him), the narration uses the term twin stars circling each other, further showing how MC and colt are similar. contrast that to logan’s line in the final chapter where he says he was “just a rock in space lucky enough to burn in your atmosphere.”

iv. mona

mona is the third LI introduced and like many fem LIs, is locked behind the paywall. in chapter 9, we learn more about mona. how she wasn’t born to be as cynical as she was, how she was just like MC, until she met a girl and thought it was love. 

you could say that mona has more in common with MC than colt does, and yeah kinda lol. but at this point, colt is meant to mirror MC as she is the present, while mona is meant to show us how MC could turn out to be in the future if she chose to lead the life of crime. it’s especially more prevalent if MC’s primary love interest is mona. 

however, unlike mona, MC doesn’t get sent to jail and survives the encounter with the brotherhood because the people she meets truly care for her, if not love her. mona, even if arguably a bit OOC, takes a bullet for her, saving her the way mona’s former girlfriend didn’t for her.

v. ingrid and jason

both jason and ingrid work as narrative devices to show us that MC cannot have it all. 

the first chapter foreshadows that MC will inevitably have to make the choice between her two lives. she can’t have it all. and even despite riya’s encouragement, mc is not ingrid.

however there is one more character who just as similar to MC as colt is to her, and you could also argue even more, and yes that is everyone’s least favourite cunt, jason shaw. 

the book makes it explicitly known that shaw and MC are foils. it’s a lot more “in your face” and conveniently not paywalled (compared to the LIs), as it should be, because it adds a great layer to the story. and of course, not to mention, it’s technically the primary source of conflict in the story. 

MC and shaw are both living two lives they can’t reconcile, and they both know they can’t have both. 

but the difference between MC and shaw is that shaw still tries to have both, and that’s what makes him fall. MC, in contrast, i like to interpret as her leaving both behind but creating a new life for herself from those experiences. 

which is why i find the ending of rod so great, especially for MC. she’s heading to the east coast, to her dream school, the one she lived the “honor roll, goody two-shoes” life to achieve. but she’s heading there in a car given to her by people in her second, adrenaline-filled life, the same people who gave her the chance to be who she really wanted to be. the ending wasn’t her choosing the quiet life she had before mercy park, it’s her putting the two together and moulding one that isn’t entirely dictated by others.

ride or die is a seriously incredibly choices book and i’m so glad i looked past the whole “bad boy romance” tagline and gave it a try. granted, what i said above isn’t the only parts which make it narratively great (there’s the whole colt and teppei icarus and daedalus, and how riya and darius are used as narrative devices as well) but i hope i at least gave light to some parts which i loved about it. 

if you made it this far, you’re the mvp lol

The man raised his cheerful eyes from the newspaper, and peeped at her for a few seconds with his most innocent look. When her severe expression made it clear that he couldn’t get easily out of this one, he tried to hide his sheepish smile behind the publication.

“Something for James. I’m waiting for the owl to come back to send it over,” he muttered, hoping that she would be satisfied with this answer.

Of course, she wasn’t.

“Fleamont,” Mrs. Potter took a step toward the brown wrapping, and lifted it in the air to inspect it. “I swear to Merlin, if you get my son into detention once more -”

Mr. Potter clicked his tongue on his palate, and dropped the Daily Prophet on his lap, half-purposefully slapping the Minister of Magic’s squeamish face, “May I remind you, darling, that this was an accident. Minerva oughtn’t to punish her students because-”

“Somebody’s hair has turned into sheep fur? No, surely not,” Mrs. Potter burst, trying to decipher the letters that labelled the bottle—for it was a bottle, in the parcel—through the thick paper. “Mind you, maybe when one or two students get such a relooking, one could think of a mistake in the shampoo brewing. But when half the staff walks around the castle with a fleece on their head for an entire week, with not charm to solve it-” When she looked down from the little package, her husband had found cover once more behind an outraged Minister of Magic. “ Fleamont .”

“Fine,” Mr. Potter said, sending the newspaper flying to the other end of the room. “I might have sent James some Mutton Mixture for testing last time, but this is a completely safe product.” He stood up, and gently took the parcel from his wife’s hand. “Which I am going to send right now, with a public owl, so there will be peace again under this roof.”

Mr. Potter left a little peck on his wife’s cheek, took his hat from the coat rail, and opened the door.

“Fleamont,” Mrs. Potter called again, “What is it for?”

She just heard the words “impress” and “girl” before she was alone for good in the house.

 ***

James’ feet-tapping had become so irksome that Sirius couldn’t get himself to gulp down any food anymore.

“Alright. What is it, Prongs?”

For an answer, James only beamed—and Sirius very much felt like throwing him the rest of his porridge square in the face. Hadn’t it been for Remus-

“What Pads is trying to say, Prongs,” the lanky boy articulated between two mouthfuls of tart, “Is that you’re fucking annoying, beating some dumb rhythm and looking like you’ve been told that Snivellus got bitten by a Blast-ended Skrewt.”

“Has he?” Peter shrilled. His eager expression faded when Sirius muttered that no, but he wished.

Ignoring this, James leaned toward the pumpkin juice carafe, placed between their four plates.

“I have a plan,” he whispered, and his eyes immediately darted to the redheaded girl that was sitting at the far end of the bench.

Sirius dropped his head, and Remus and Peter groaned, but the three boys listened nonetheless.

***

Everything was clear in James’ head.

Ever since Lily had come back from summer vacations, she hadn’t stopped going on about this Muggle spy movie. She loved the actor, she loved the story, she loved the character, and she couldn’t stop gushing about it all.

Of course, this annoyed James very much.

It’s not like him and Lily were good friends—or were friends at all, to be honest—but they were on fairly good terms, and James was working his way to become her hero—it is a truth universally acknowledged that girls fall in love with their heroes. So the fact that a fictional bloke was standing in his way was clearly the worst of all things.

To bypass the whole my-crush-of-forever-keeps-swooning-over-a-fictional-dude-and-thus-does-not-notice-me-as-she-should situation, James had first brooded quite a lot. But as he was not too much of the emo type—it made him too similar to a certain slimehead he found absolutely repulsive—, he had tried to get Marlene and Dorcas to talk Lily out of her fangirling. Which would have worked, had he not gotten not too politely rebuked for apparently acting like a creep.

James had considered every other solution, but had come out with none that would work: dueling, arranging a date with another girl, and pranking would of course be pointless, as the guy was fictional, for Merlin’s sake;  throwing a tantrum or threatening to fling himself from the astronomy tower seemed to be a bit dramatic, and he doubted that McGonagall would ever forgive him if he wrote “Hey Lily, I am here,” on any wall of the castle.  She still hadn’t forgiven him for the last time he’d done it.

So, at this point, James had found himself in quite a dead end, and Lily kept talking about that cold-blooded, heart-stealing spy with flushed cheeks.

Yet, one day-

One day, James heard the name of the character, and something clicked in his head.

He had a plan.

***

“Do we tell him or-?”

Remus slapped Sirius round the head, “Come on Pads, James is our best friend. Between having a good laugh, or telling him the truth, we shouldn’t even hesitate.”

As they watched the bespectacled boy climbing the stairs to the common room, parcel at hand, the three-fourth of the Marauders grinned, loyal to their rebellious teenager natures.

“‘Course we ain’t telling him,” Peter concluded.

***

As James got out of the bathroom, an electric silence fell in the sixth year Gryffindors’ room.

“So?” he asked, wiping the mist away from his glasses with the fabric of his t-shirt.

The three other young men thanked Merlin that he couldn’t see shit without those, because it let them enough time to regain their composure.

“Mate,” Sirius said, when his best friend's hazel eyes finally put his face into focus.

He whistled, and that seemed to be enough to James. He looked at his friends with expectancy,

“Are you coming to witness my triumph?”

A little silence followed, and Remus considered throwing himself out of the window to avoid chuckling. But this would mean missing the next scene, so not thank you.

“‘Course,” Sirius said, his face professionally solemn.

“Wouldn’t want to miss that,” Remus added, skillfully turning his snort into a cough.

James sought Peter’s answer, but the boy just nodded. (Fact is, he had a part to add too, but he was chewing the inside of his cheeks really hard, and didn’t trust himself to contain his laughter otherwise.)

James beamed, and turned around, riding one of his hands in his messy hair. (That hadn’t changed.)

As the boys followed him toward the common room, Sirius let out his umpteenth groan, and Peter nearly suffocated.

***

“Oi, Evans!”

At the sound of James’ voice, Lily prepared herself to execute the most massive eye-roll in history of eye-rolls. What did he want, now? Couldn’t she study in peace on a Sunday morning? Considering the looks she spotted on her friends’ faces, their inner voices were shouting the same.

Still, when Lily turned around, a salty remark already on the tip of her tongue, all the air was knocked out of her lungs, and her jaw dropped somewhere near the floor. 

For a second, she considered that the sunlight coming through the window might be playing her some wicked trick.

“James-” she whispered in shock, struggling for words that didn’t want to line up in her mind. “You’re- you’re-”

“You’re blond!” Marlene squeaked, raising a hand to her mouth, only to let it drop soon after.

To her cry, all the students in the room looked up from their books, essays, or games of exploding snaps. Some of them gasped, while the other half choked on their saliva.

“Yes,” James said, puffing his chest up with a smug smile. “Like that Muggle spy you always talk about, Evans.”

He wriggled his eyebrows at Lily, in that ridiculous way that he surely believed was charming.

Some sort of noise escaped Lily’s throat—similar to the squeaks that Peter made when somebody told him it was exams day—and said boy had to take one of the cushions from the couch to muffle his wave of giggles.

From the floor, Mary and Dorcas were still staring with open mouths, and the former braced herself, blushing for James, hoping that Lily wouldn’t be too hard on him: it was a cute thought, after all.

“What,” James asked, when the awkwardness in the room became so palpable that even he could sense it. “Have I grown a horn or-”

“See, Prongs,” Remus finally said, torn between a smile of pure amusement, or one of slight guilt. “The fact is that-”

“You look like him,” Lily cut across the lanky boy, springing from the floor. “You exactly look like James Blond.”

Sirius’ expression went from I’m-on-the-verge-of-dying-from-laughter to excuse-me-but-what-the-fuck??

“It’s-” her voice came out a bit strangled, laughter threatening to burst from her throat at the realization of his misinterpretation, but she checked herself, and swallowed.

She couldn’t entirely bite back her smile, though, but made it as gentle as she could. There was even a slight hint of red on her cheeks.

“It was kind of stupid of you, Potter-”

She was close enough to him now for his nose to face her forehead. One of her hands rose, as if to touch the pseudo-sunburned streaks of his hair, but she seemed to ditch the idea. Instead, she propped herself on the point of her toes, and left a swift kiss on his cheek.

“But it’s a nice surprise.”

When she left towards the dormitory, holding a hand to her mouth, the Marauders were so surprised that Sirius forgot to whistle.

***

It turned out that Mr. Potter had been quite mistaken about his affirmation: they dying lotion wasn’t as safe as he’d believed. Just like it had happened with the Mutton Mixture, the Blonde Brew lasted one week before starting to fade away.

Now, I could leave to you the task of imagining how these seven days went by, but something tells me that, maybe, you’d like to hear it from me.

The first to notice, apart from the Gryffindor students, was a very confused Filch. During his morning stroll, before which he had maybe drank a cup too much, it caused him a shock to see a blonde replica of James Potter—for his first thought was that it was a clone of his worst nightmare wandering around, you see. Filch ran to Mrs. Pomfrey in panic, and swore to never drink a drop of firewhiskey again, or it’d cause him a stroke, sooner or later. He instead moved on to vibringvodka.

When Professor McGonagall and a couple of other teachers came across James, in the hallways, they blinked furiously for a couple of seconds, but did not even try to understand. There was some relief in their countenance, as if they were just glad their own hair hadn’t been turned into something else, this time.

Professor Dumbledore eyed James’ mane very intently during dinners, and envied him this dazzling color for a while, while Professor Slughorn got quite distracted by the change, and blew some cauldrons during lessons.

As for the core of the Hogwarts student, anyone who even thought about telling James about his little mistake ended up jinxed, spluttering slugs instead of words. Said students never knew how it happened to them, but when they turned around to race toward the Hospital Wing, they’d always bypass a redhead, her rosy cheeks stretched in a fond smile.

Logan had never been particularly lucky when it came to foster parents, the previous ones had neglected him and the ones before that even worse. Though it appeared that this time, the universe had decided to give him a moment to breathe. And while they weren’t perfect, they cared, which made all the difference to a kid like him. For once in his life he didn’t feel smothered, and he didn’t feel like he was smothering them.

Felicity, a woman in her mid-thirties, placed a wet rag on Logan’s forehead, the skin burning up. “Oh, what am I to do with you?” she tutted, and gave the young boy a small smile. In her eyes, albeit tired, kindness shone true. “You’re a tough kid, Logan. Pull through and beat that flu’s ass, won’t you?”

Logan doesn’t remember what she said next, or even if he said anything in reply. On some days he thinks that maybe it didn’t even happen at all, that maybe it was all just a fever dream, or an aspiration that was much too mixed in memory. But he swears it was real, that for at least a moment he was cared for, truly cared for. And he will continue to hold hope in his heart that he will find something like that again.

Because he remembers how Felicity, how always-busy-and-tired-with-work Felicity, had looked at his sickly, twelve-year-old self and taken the time to care for him. Had taken the time to brush his too-long hair out of his face, to comb her fingers through his hair and lull him into a peaceful sleep. And for a second, even if it were for just a second, she made him feel loved.

--

Most people would assume that it was Logan who swept the local goody two-shoes Miss Valedictorian Ellie Wheeler off her feet. And in some ways, he has, quite literally, swept her off her feet. But that was only one fragment to an even larger story, a story where Ellie was the hurricane and Logan was but someone who got caught in the wind. 

Logan didn’t expect to fall for her. He knows the plan: befriend her, earn her trust, see if she knows anything about the Brotherhood, anything to survive. He knew they were using her. Exploiting a girl’s desires for a life outside of the walls of a home which smothered her all too much. And for a taste of a life with a little more spark, she took the bait, and now balanced on the thin line that separated her two lives.

And now he feels all too guilty, being with her tonight. Logan watches as Ellie takes the medicine kit in her hands, tending to the gashes on his chest. When he hisses in pain while she cleans his wounds, she places a kiss on his skin and asks if it helps. “More than you know,” he says, because it is. It’s more than she will ever know. The mere fact that she willingly offered to fix him up matters so much more to him that she will ever know, more than Logan could ever put into words. 

Logan allows himself to think for a second that maybe after eighteen years of a bitter existence, he’s finally found someone who cares for him, truly cares for him, again. But this time without legal obligation, without mountains of paperwork binding them together. Just two people who found each other and cared.

But then he remembers why she’s here, why she’s really here, and the guilt squashes it down. 

Logan winces when he feels the cut on his face burn. Ellie pulls her hand back, but he takes it in his. His voice is soft when it comes out, longing and disbelief etched in his words as he confesses what feels to him like sin, “Ellie...nobody’s ever really taken care of me like this.” 

The look Ellie gives him is a tender one, no pity to be found in it; it’s nothing but compassionate and ridiculously naive. Logan almost wants to cry. From remorse or yearning or just the feeling of being cared for, he doesn’t know. 

Logan rests his head on her lap and shuts his eyes, and for a moment he lets himself pretend that they’re just normal teenagers together, without the weight of a withheld secret on his shoulders. Without the guilt he lives in. Without the knowledge that one day, Ellie will find out the truth behind her being with the Mercy Park Crew, and Logan will be hit with the harsh prospect that perhaps her affections were conditional, too.

Ellie kisses him. Logan’s breath catches in his throat but softens almost immediately, and he lets himself be caught in her kiss. But his conscience won’t let him go, and he apologises after. He apologises that he put her in that situation earlier in the night, but he knows that he owes her much more. She tells him he wants her whole, but he says it might be too late for that. He doesn’t want to believe he’s not whole, but he doesn’t want to let himself down chasing pipe dreams either.

Gaius Augustine wonders why they didn’t just cleave his head off in his old throne room, but he supposes that would have been too easy. He deserves the sentence they gave him, to make up for his mistakes and attempt to do some good in the world when in reality he’s probably chasing pipe dreams of redemption. Gaius saw the look in his former lover’s eyes, ones that once looked at him with such tenderness now shot him nothing but biting cold ice. He noticed how his soldier looked at him, with all the respect gone and replaced with contempt. Then there was the glare of pure anger in the eyes of the new blood, the same one whose father figure he killed at the doorway of his home. 

Then there was her.

The one he had driven a blade up to the hilt of; her friend’s blade, nonetheless. The one he had killed. The one who let him live. He still doesn’t understand why. 

Gaius remembers her choosing to sit next to him on the boat, choosing to tell him that he’ll find something to live for, choosing to hold him close and wrap him in her arms. And as he treks through the snowy forests of Europe, he wonders why. Surely the blood on his hands — her blood — should’ve been enough reason for Amy to hate him and curse his name just as all the ghosts of his past have. 

So why didn’t she?

As much as he hates himself for it, he finds himself entertaining the notion that perhaps, she had done it out of...love?

Love? For you? The man who killed her, who hurt her and everyone she’s cared for? You think it’s love?

He wishes it was. He detests that thought. He doesn’t deserve it.

In Gaius’s nearly three millennia of existence, he’s been many things. He’s been a soldier, a conqueror, a king. He’s had more lovers than he can count, but now he wonders how many of them truly loved him. How many of them had loved him without fear, loved him truly, endearingly, so heart wrenchingly so? 

There was one, Gaius reminds himself. Ariadne. You eloped in the middle of the night.  A sweet girl, but died at age seventeen. You watched as the light left her eyes. Have you been the same since?

That was over two thousand years ago. He’s changed plenty, far too much for his liking. His mind’s been tossed around and toyed with, manipulated and rewritten then given back to him. And when it was finally returned to, he’s forced to deal with the consequences of what he’s done. Forced to deal with a conscience that tears him apart.

A conscience given back to him, of course, by Amy. 

It always goes back to her.

The kindness she’s shown him, the sympathy in her eyes, it haunts him almost as much as the ghosts in the walls do. 

He wishes it was love. Some dark, twisted part of him — or so he likes to believe — wishes it was love. Whatever compassion, whatever affections she’s shown him, he’ll return tenfold, if not in full, given the chance. 

Lily giggled at the two -- who already bickered like an old couple, at the age of seventeen -- and focused back on the messy-haired young man standing tall in front of her. She prompted herself on her tiptoes, but with no better result than before: his outstretched arm held the box too high for her to reach it.

Puffing, she stomped her heels back on the floor. Her hand travelled to her pocket, but she remembered that her wand was not in it anymore.

“You’re the worst of the gits, Potter.”

James’ shit-eating grin widened. “Stop it, with the compliments, Evans. I might blush.”

The playful punch that hit his shoulder surprised him at the point of forcing him one step backward. “Oi!”

“At least give me back my wand.”

“So you can properly hex me? No, thank you.”

Against her will, Lily smiled too.

It was already late in the afternoon, the sun outside was mild, and the common room was peaceful and warm. It would have been a perfect ending for her birthday, if James wasn’t refusing to let her open her last present.

“Why are you so mean to me, you pratt?”

James turned toward Marlene -- who looked sorry that she had not brought some popcorn to enjoy the scene -- and smirked, “See? My girlfriend calling me tender names.”

Marlene burst in a wave of snorts, and Lily’s tip of her ears turned the same shade as her hair. “I’m not your girlfriend, Potter.”

The young man hummed. “Not yet.”

Something in Lily’s chest took a fly to the Moon. She would have wanted to dig a hole, transfigure as a mouse, and disappear under the crust of the Earth.

James’ eyes softened at her confused expression. And at her lack of refusal.

“I’m sure the package is empty, anyway,” Lily mumbled, playing with the sleeve of her sweater.

The boy shook his head, as his heart drummed in his ears. “I just want to make sure you deserve it.”

“Give it to me, then” Lily said, recovering some of her fierceness.

James tilted his head sideways, his hand still holding the red box up in the air. “Ok,” he said. “Just try to reach it one more time.”

Her hair smelled of flowers, like always. He sensed the scent wrapping him. He let it turn his mind numb. He let his senses get lost.

And he leaned forward just as Lily stretched toward the contended object.

At first, he felt nothing but the warmness of her pink lips, the smoothness of her skin gently pressed against his. The world had stopped spinning, his head was, instead.

For a moment, he feared that she would push him back, slap him, and that he’d have to go to set on top of the Himalaya, and live there until his beard grew enough to reach the bottom of the mountain.

But then her hands grabbed the collar of his shirt, and he dived into the passion of a kiss he had long hoped for.

What had left Lily’s chest in direction of the Moon came back to her with such a cheerfulness as to make her dizzy. She felt her heart waltz, her pulsion climb up. She was standing on her tiptoes, but it felt as if she was flying.

Sirius, not giving two twisted ties about Remus’ intimations to stay sit, jumped from the couch and threw his fists in the air. Marlene ran to him, and they started crying and laughing together when Peter joined their group hug.

“What a bunch of suckers,” Remus muttered, but his scarred face was embellished by a sheepish grin.

When James and Lily pulled apart, both reddish and out of air, he was beaming and she was shining.

The boy desperately wanted to say something clever, but she beat him to it, even though it was said quite shyly,

“I think, Potter, that you’re less of an idiot when you kiss.”

There is no need to say that Sirius, Marlene, and Peter -- who had somehow managed to get their composure back -- started fangirling again.

“According to your usual complaints about me being a jerk, Evans,” James said, as he ran a hand through his hair, “I guess that, for your own good, you should kiss me again.”

He didn’t have to say it twice, as Lily reached for his mouth a second time.

James shrugged, and tapped his quill on her right fist.

She opened it, shaking her head, and revealed an empty palm. “Bad luck.”

The young man fit the tip of his quill between his teeth, and felt a cracking sound that announced its breaking. Another one.

“I suppose you won’t show me, then,” he resigned himself to go back to his work.

The redhead seemed to think about it, biting her lip. “I wouldn’t. But I really want to, now.”

“So show me.”

“Nah.”

James raised his stare to the roof, “What have I done to get you as a girlfriend.”

From the other side of the room, Sirius croaked something like “six years of bullying everybody,” and was rewarded with a cushion in the face.

Lily giggled, balancing her red, loose bun on her neck, completely careless that the whole Gryffindor house -- hung portraits included -- was paying more attention to their dialogue than to their legitimate occupations.

“Okay, I’m going to show you,” she said, and James exaggeratedly sighed.

To the count of three, the witch opened her fist, and a shot of golden zoomed upward. It circled around the couches at a vertiginous speed, sent a couple of panicking first years to the floor, and knocked on the back of Remus’ head -- “What the fu-” -- before disappearing up the boys’ dormitory staircase.

James’ stare remained fixed on the open door for a second, before coming back to his girlfriend’s face.

He was gaping.

“You caught it?”

Lily ripped her own dreamy look from where the snitch had disappeared and nodded, breaking her solemnity with a sideways smile.

“How?”

James’ astonishment was very visible, and his girlfriend would have scolded him on it, had Marlene not spoken,

“Nearly breaking my neck.”

“She saw it entering the window yesterday, and she made us close any exit,” added Mary, as she carried a pile of books toward the back of the Fat Lady’s portrait. “Door and windows.”

“We spent half an hour locked in there, twiddling our thumbs, until she finally caught it with a jump,” Alice repressed a chuckle, which turned into a sneeze.

“Obviously, she landed on Marlene, who couldn’t resist the urge to be in the middle of the way, and who landed on the floor,” Dorcas finished.

While Sirius and Marlene widened the conversation -- “That’s what you were doing? I thought you were planning a prank.” “Well, that too. One has to occupy herself when locked in a room for an hour.” “Alice said half an hour.” “Same shit.” “No, it’s not.” “Whatever, beware of your socks.” “Fuck, Marlene.” -- James looked at Lily with an expression that showed both admiration and pride.

“Whoah,” he whispered. “Woah.”

Gently, Lily leaned forward, and left a delicate kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Maybe, in another life, I’ll be a seeker,” she said playfully.

“A ginger seeker? Mmmm… That sounds possible.”

“And we’ll have enough kids to make up a whole team,” she added.

“Kids?” James’ choked on the world.

“Well, yeah. You know, that kind of miniature humans that run everywhere and eat anything except vegetables.”

She was as read as her hair when she pronounced the last word, and her boyfriend quickly followed.

He was one lucky guy.

“Er- but we’ll make them like carrots, at least.”

Lily hummed her agreement. “We’ll make them like carrots.”

And, as Remus cried at them to “get a room already,” the Sun set, wanting to end that day with a pair of blissful smiles as a conclusion.

Caught in his excitement, James didn’t notice Marlene’s sideways smile as she shouted at him to right his glasses, nor did he hear Kingsley's imprecations as they nearly collided before the Fat Lady’s portrait. He didn’t laugh at Remus’ hot chocolate mug almost ending up on the floor as he suddenly appeared in the hallway, nor did he take time to stuck his tongue out to a very flustered Filch -- “No running in the corridors, you duke of limbs!”

In less time than it would have costed Sirius to enrage Professor McGonagall, James’ boots were drowned in the outside snow, his eyes frantic behind his glasses in search of a spot of color among the whiteness. A red spot, to be precise.

“Good morning Potter.”

She was to his right, a foot behind him, grinning like a four year old who’d just won a game of hide and seek.

His heart skipped a bit.

“‘morning Evans.” His tongue was as numb as the rest of his body.

The clarity around made her cheeks look like a rose’s petals, and James sucked in a deep breath at the sight of her red lips.

Her smile widened as she stepped forward. “You almost look decent today.”

He wanted to answer. Really. Something witty maybe. But he could have opened and closed his mouth a thousand times, nothing was going to come out of it.

Merlin, she was gorgeous.

Lily gently tilted her head, amused by the boy’s lack of his usual readiness. “Are we going to stay here for long? I’m becoming an ice cube.” 

James shook his head, and premorously offered her his arm, making her laugh.

They began their stroll in silence, her looking at the sky in innocent distraction, him holding her as close as he could without being awkward. The way was empty, except for a couple of squirrels that seemed eager to follow them while rolling in the snow.

The temperature was not as low anymore, and the boy assumed it was because the sun was on its way to the roof of the sky. Or was it because of the growing heat on his face? 

If she had been there to watch the scene -- which seemed to come right out of a Peynett drawing -- Euphemia Potter would have told her husband that ‘They look very much in love.’ After an amused look from Fleamont, she would have added ‘The squirrels, of course,’ and then hid her malicious smile -- the one Sirius had taught her -- behind her handkerchief.

But the Potter parents were not here.

It was just the two of them, on a date, finally.

James and Lily.

And the squirrels, of course.

“So, Potter...” He glanced sideways at her perfect profile. Her words, when out of her mouth, turned into graceful clouds. “Justify yourself for making me skip my saturday morning visit to the library when it’s below zero outside.”

The first draught of the day sent chills running down his spine. Or maybe it was her grip, tightening delicately.

James cleared his throat.

“Reading too much isn’t good for your eyesight, you know.” She couldn’t hold back a snort, one of those she used to offer him when he widely flirted with her, but she was ready to decline. Except this time she hadn’t. “It’s true! Plus, it’s not good for your mood, breathing book dust all day long. You’d turn into a red headed Moony. We don’t want you to wear unmatching sox and become addicted to chocolate, do we?”

Her laugh was a bubbly hint of spring in this early stage of winter. James could have sworn she sounded like flowers blooming.

“So what should I become addicted to, Potter?”

The mischievous glint in the green of her eyes was something that had only very recently appeared, in the last months. 

He was going to fall back into muteness, embarrassed by what this question could mean. After all, he assumed that it was what she wanted: to have the last word.

But a Potter never accepts a defeat.

“Learned to be tricky, didn’t you?”

“Yes. From a real expert.” Hadn’t she been so close, James could have thought he’d daydreamed about her wink. “So?”

What could he do but smile?

“So you talk too much, Evans. I say you should make your feet work more and your tongue rest.” Lily raised her eyebrows, and her look followed the direction in which he was pointing. “See the bridge? Shouldn’t be more than thirty meters away. The last to get there is a-”

But she had already sprinted forward, ready as she always was to win a competition, the two squirrels trailing behind her with happy squeaking.

It took James a good fraction of second to stop gazing at the flames of her hair against the white landscape, and to move from his position. She had gained some advance, but he could make it before her easily.

A Potter never accepts a defeat.

He felt the air burn in his lungs, his muscles awakening after a week without Quidditch practice, and the adrenaline shooting him forward like one of Dumbledore’s spells. He heard her broken breathing, some meters before him, and pushed harder on the ground, his boots making the snow creak like broken shell nuts.

He was not more than three meters away from her…

Her inhaling waves were stressed.

A Potter never accepts a defeat.

Two meters…

She glanced behind her shoulder, and let out a high-pitched cry of surprise.

A Potter never accepts a defeat.

One meter…

Anybody else would have surrendered, preferring to let their heart recover a normal beat instead of winning a stupid race.

A Potter never accepts a defeat.

When they were just a few bounces away from the river, James gave one last effort.

But, right when he could have bypassed her, his legs slowed down, and a moment later she was perched on the first of the three stone stairs that started the bridge.

A Potter never accepts a defeat.

But a Potter knows to choose the right victory.

Holding her ribs, bent in two, struggling to inhale any air in between her chuckling, she was the best view James had ever had the chance to see.

“Nice run, Evans.” He was quicker than her to stabilize his breath, obviously. His hair was ruffled, he pushed his glasses up with a finger that would have been all sweaty, in another season. “Let’s see if you can do it again, shall we?”

“Shut up, Potter.” She muttered. “You talk too much.”

He bursted in a loud laughter, and stepped forward to offer her his help.

Had the squirrels not been there, maybe nothing special would have happened that morning. But the little animals found themselves right on the spot where James’ feet was set to land, and he lost his balance in an attempt to avoid them at the last moment.

He was going to fall sideways, but Lily was fast in catching his arms, pulling him near her. They found each other nose to nose, close enough to inhale the same air.

James’ heartbeat had climbed up to his ears.

“Look.” Lily whispered with a shy smirk. “I’m taller than you.”

Her eyes were magnets that attracted his.

“Only because you’re on a step, Evans.”

This was his very breathless attempt to cool his nerves down.

There was a pause. They didn’t notice the icy wind anymore.

“I’ve dreamt of this for quite some time, you know.”

“What? Being taller than me?”

“No.” She leaned forward, and James’ mouth became incredibly itchy. “This.”

Her lips were as soft at the snowflakes that were falling from the sky, sprinkling their hair with Nature’s pureness. The skin of her face brushed against his, her hands getting lost in his hair.

He had dreamt about it countless times, inflicted his wild imaginations to his friends for years, depicted the most hopeful scenarios, but nothing of what he had pictured was worthy of being compared to this moment.

Eyes closed, James kissed her back, circling her waist with his hands, tenderly pressing her body to his. A cherubs’ choir had set up a grandiose show in his mind.

On the border of the path, the two squirrels had stopped chasing each other. Their little eyes were fixed on the young couple, their muzzles shaking, as if in approval. One of them even seemed to sketch a malicious smile.

James felt Lily’s cold wrists on the back of his neck, her smile against his.

It was evident that the snow was falling, now, that they should probably head back to the castle if they didn’t want to be buried.

But before that...

“What do you think about this, Evans? Want to withdraw your affirmation?”

He was referring to the time she had told him he was probably awful at kissing.

A lost sun ray reflected in her white teeth.

“I guess you’re an ok kisser, Potter.”

“I know r- What? No. No way. I am an outstanding kisser. You were just too amazed to realize it.”

Her hum of indecision got a smile out of him.

“I’m really not sure, Potter. I think you’re just average.”

“And I’m telling you, you’re wrong.”

“Oh, really. Then what? It’s my word against yours.” Lily whispered.

She was teasing him, and it turned his inside into a big knot.

He could have shrugged, rolled his eyes.

But a Potter never accepts a defeat.

“I say have the right to a second round, to prove you wrong.”

The squirrels turned their back on the river and sped toward their tree, leaving the place entirely still. The mass of clouds above them separated, letting the sun bath this white parcel of the world, the wind sat down, waiting to see.