She spluttered into her drink and looked at him incredulously but he held her gaze steadfast, unwaveringly confident.

“You’re pretty presumptuous, aren’t you?”

“I prefer the term confident.”

“Mmmm a narcissist's favorite excuse.”

“You know what they say about narcissists,”

“That they’ll never love another more than they love themselves?”

He scoffed, “Sure, or that it typically doesn’t come unearned.”

“Not only is that literally not a saying but what I have heard is that lying to yourself can be even worse than narcissism. Causes premature wrinkles.”

“Please, look at us. Barely a wrinkle between the pair.”

“That’s because I’m honest. Never told a lie.”

“Now is that so?”

“Yep.” She punctuated the p sharply, smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as she leaned back in her chair.

“So now if I were to ask if you were attracted to me, you’d have no choice but to tell me the truth,” he leaned in closer, eyes sparkling down at her.

“Now see, I don’t lie,” she dropped her voice to a whisper and leaned in closer, “but my mother also taught me that if I don’t have anything nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all. So perhaps it’s better if I bite my tongue on that one.”

He laughed earnestly, warmly, head thrown back in a way that filled her with immediate satisfaction, warmth spreading across her chest.

“Wow. Beautiful, clever, and cruel. You really were made for me, weren’t you? C’mon now, loosen that quick tongue for just a second. Tell me what you really think.”

She leaned back in her chair and made a show of looking him up and down, eyes slowly trailing his entire figure. He practically loomed over her as he remained standing, leaning closer and closer down over her seated figure. And damn if he wasn’t ridiculously fit. And exactly her type. Dark blue button down tight across his shoulders, sleeves sinfully rolled up to his elbows, seamlessly pressed grey trousers.

“Well, if I were to speak purely objectively,” he leaned in closer and nodded.

“You’re pretty fit.” His entire face lit up, pleased and smug, whole body shifting slightly closer to her as she leaned in closer. “Shame about the personality, though. Really ruins the whole vibe.”

He threw his hands over his heart and winced, “You wound me, deeply.”

“You asked! Don’t ask for the truth if you can’t take it, another lesson from my mother.”

“Well you can blame my mother for my inability to take criticism. While yours taught you sensible things like to only say the nicest and most truthful and deeply hurtful things, mine taught me that I had invented and then hung the moon and therefore the rest of the world existed because and for me.”

“Poor woman, she must have been deluded early on. A face only a mother could love and what not.”

“Prefer to think it’s the ‘what not’ part of it all. Speaking of mothers, fancy becoming one?”

She choked on her drink. He patted halfheartedly in between her shoulders - and no she did not notice how his hand was so big it spanned practically completely across her shoulders and why is that even attractive? - and passed her a napkin.

“I don’t mean tonight, of course, if that’s what you’ve stopped breathing over,” his pats turned to a light rub along her back. “I just thought maybe you’d like some additional practice.”

Her eyes narrowed as she regained control over her breathing and she twisted in her chair, forcing his hand to drop off her back, immediately missing the contact.

“I don’t go home with presumptuous and cocky boys.” Her words were biting, although traitorous butterflies were still running rampant in her stomach from their brief point of contact.

“Well, do you go to dinner with them?” His tone turned polite, mild even, as if they were discussing the weather and he hadn’t just offered to father a child with her. “Or maybe lunch or coffee? Coffee might be more the cocky guy from the bar date but really I’m partial to dinner.”

“Are you pleased with this turn of conversation?” she spat through gritted teeth, “Seriously, are you happy with how you’ve handled this?”

“I’m talking to you so I’m happy. And I’m happy I said whatever I said that gave you this lovely flush you have now,” his finger traced up from her neck to brush her cheek lightly as if tracing the blush, sending tingles shooting down her spine.

He caught her eye and her mouth went dry. Deep hazel, flickered with gold, filled with something that looked eerily close to hunger.

“I’m James, by the way. I feel like we might be on a first name basis now that I’ve asked you to join me for essentially every kind of meal.”

“Charmed, really,” she waved two fingers towards the bartender until he nodded in acknowledgement and moved to pour her another drink and ignored the traitorous conscience in the back of her brain screaming that she was only meant to be here for one.

“This is usually when you’d tell me your name, if you’re new to this,” he had leaned down to whisper the words in her ears, hot breath on her ear, one inch closer and his lips would be on her.

She chewed on her lip momentarily, hearing Mary’s voice screaming louder and louder in her head about letting loose as it spoke over the whispering voice of her mother reminding her that this was a strange man.

“Evans. Lily Evans,” she spoke into her drink and took a deep swig.

“Evans. I like it.”

She scoffed at him, eyes narrowing in on him instantly, “so glad you approve.”

“I do, really. Lily Evans. Rolls off the tongue, truly. But you know what might sound even better?”

He sat down on the barstool next to her now - finally, a voice in her head whispered as they were now perfectly aligned eye to eye - and tugged it closer to sit closer to her own. She tilted her head slightly, silently requesting he continue.

“Potter. Lily Potter.”

Her eyes narrowed instantly, “and I suppose Potter is what, the name of a good friend of yours?”

“I do consider my father a good friend so yes, I suppose in a way.”

“Dinner, a child, marriage. You’re really willing to commit to living a full life with a random girl in a bar. For all you know I could be a murderer. A serial killer. A lying, nefarious, arsonist with a family in three different counties wreaking havoc and crime along the countryside.” His eyes never wavered from hers as she ranted, crinkling in the corners, drinking her in and practically sparkling.

“What can I say, Miss. Evans, I trust my gut. And my gut says that if you truly are a lying, nefarious, philandering woman with likely multiple warrants out for her arrest, well then I guess I’ll be the Clyde to your Bonnie.”

Their heads were barely two inches apart, she could feel the warmth of his breath as his hand ghosted along to cover her own that rested on the bartop.

“Alright then, Clyde.” The words came out as a faint whisper, “You’ll probably be needing my number then. To organize our crime spree and what not.”

His grin overtook his face, eyes somehow turning more beautiful as they sparkled at her, “and what not, yes I think that’s for the best.”

She turned away from him and reached into her purse fishing out a pen, not allowing herself to think through her actions or words for another second, lest she hesitate. She scribbled her number on a paper coaster and stood up before turning to look at him, just barely taller than him for the first time that night. He sat there, perfectly patient, quieter than he had been all night.

She passed the coaster to him wordlessly, a fresh blush flaming up the back of her neck as his hand brushed hers to take the coaster and held her hand, not letting her pull back just yet. “It’s been a pleasure, Bonnie.”

“Likewise, Clyde.”

She squeezed his hand once before slipping away and out the door without another look, knowing that just seeing his face again would make her go back and go home with him that night instead of waiting for his call.

She had walked two doors down from the bar when her phone began to vibrate in her purse. She fished it out and pressed it against her ear while hailing a cab, assuming it was Mary checking in.

“Hello?”

“Go to dinner with me tomorrow night, Bonnie.” She almost dropped her phone in surprise at the deep voice that was decidedly not Mary.

“Don’t know,” She croaked out, “I thought coffee was the more appropriate meal for a cocky stranger in a bar.”

He chuckled lightly, “Maybe. But we’re not really strangers anymore are we? I even know your name now.”

“Alright then,” she breathed out as a cab pulled up, “dinner it is. It’s a date.”

She hung up without hearing his reply, swinging herself into the cab. She looked down at her phone’s call log, considering saving his contact when a Bumble alert came through with a match.

After the first few she was able to write them off as a coincidence, simply neurons firing in her brain as a way of dealing with spending so much time with him during the day as co-heads. Especially as they became friends over those first few months, it was really simple and logical, just her brain dealing with him being so present in her life and working it out as she slept. Considering it’d been years of them fighting and screaming, the sudden shift to friendship and laughing was obviously a lot to process.

The dreams didn’t occur every single night, at least not at first, more like once or twice a week at max. Just enough for her to spend some time thinking about them during a boring Ancient Runes class and processing them, but certainly not enough to cause any real worry or concern over her well being.

Even when they increased in frequency, from twice a week to six times a week plus that one time she zoned out and started daydreaming during History of Magic (which didn’t really count because he was sitting next to her and smelled so good of course it was going to leech into her dreams). It wasn’t hard to rationalize those either. It was completely logical that she’d daydream about lying on the Quidditch pitch alongside James, looking up at the stars together, hands intertwined, because after all they had stood near each other in Astronomy that day and he had pointed out Venus’s moons to her. It was natural, truly.

And it wasn’t difficult at all to make the connections between that day at lunch when she’d almost tripped but he’d caught her with a strong arm wrapped around her waist with that evening, when she had dreamt that same arm was wrapped around her tightly as she sat in front of him on the back of his broomstick as they flew over the school.

They were just dreams. Harmless imaginings of the imagination and the kind of stuff that was covered in day one of Petunia’s psychology courses at muggle Uni. Easily explainable and not in anyway shape or form telling of any real emotions she’d possibly be having.

Except that considering how simple and natural some of the dreams felt, she occasionally started mixing up what had happened between dream James and Lily and real life James and Lily. Was it real James or dream James that had brushed her hand while passing a quill in Transfiguration and set a wild blaze of electricity firing all up and down her arm? Did she actually hear real James’s breath hitch when she had brushed against him while reaching for the bottle of scalamander eyelashes during potions? Was it real James or dream James that she had stood so close to, close enough to feel his chest rising and falling against her as they hid from Filch in a cupboard?

It shouldn’t have been much of a surprise (but of course it still was) when the dreams turned a little more… intimate. When instead of dreaming of lunch in the Great Hall, the scene began to shift to lunch in the Three Broomsticks, just the two of them, followed by hand holding through the streets of Hogsmeade.

Friday night escalated things to nightmare level. Lily had been studying in the common room with Dorcas when the team returned from practice, led by James. Sweaty, grass stained, hair mussed, quidditch gear wearing, James. Lily felt her throat tighten and heart accelerate. His eyes landed on her and instantly smirked, nudging Marlene to point them out before the pair of them headed straight towards her.

“Evans, Meadows,” Lily’s mouth was too dry to respond. She nodded weakly as Marlene flopped down next to her and looked at her strangely.

That image of him haunted her, snuck deep into her subconscious, permeated her thoughts and took root there to flood her dreams. Filled them with him, sweaty and red, but for a reason far different from quidditch, leaning over her, whispering into her ear while she gripped his shoulders and left scratches in a trail down his back.

She couldn’t meet his eye the next day at breakfast.

This process seemed to repeat for the next several weeks: notice something about James during her waking hours that her subconscious would latch onto for the evening, wake up embarrassed, flushed, unsatisfied, and try her hardest to ignore him and stop the cycle. She never succeeded.

The night that really ruined her was right after they’d been partnered in defense. When she’d struggled with the incantation and he’d placed his fingers overtop of hers to show the correct positioning. When she felt how strong and flexible his hand was, how warm and long and rough his calloused fingers were. She felt shivers up and down her neck as he breathed closely to her, smelled mint on his breath, smelled the warm musk that was just so James.

All night she twisted and turned in her sleep, feeling those fingers trace up and down her arms, down her chest, twisting and lapping around the valley of her breast, circling each bud, pushing lower and lower, carving out waves of electricity as they squeezed her hips until she could just feel his fingers circling her clit. She could feel the callouses, could see him smirking at her as he’d bring his head down to meet his fingers, following the same trail of his fingers with his mouth, leaving a series of kisses across her skin.

She’d woken in a tangle of sheets sticking to the sweat on her skin, his name on the edge of her lips.

It’d taken a long, ice cold shower, to clear her head successfully. She stood in the freezing water attempting to justify the dream as just a way for her subconscious to deal with the fact that her close friend was decidedly fit. She tried desperately to cling to the idea of the dreams being a symptom of teenage hormones. However, in spite of her most sincere attempts, it was becoming shockingly clear that the dreams were much more a symptom of her real, genuine feelings for James. Romantic feelings. Spurts of butterflies and rampaging elephants that flooded her heart when he smiled. The fact that he could make her feel so on edge with excitement and anticipation when she saw him coming yet also immediately comfortable and the ability to talk to him about anything.

But she missed her chance. He’d been into her before, sure, but that was long over now. He’d essentially told her as much back in September, when he asked for a ceasefire now that they were both Heads. He’d told her he had grown up and would stop asking her out and bothering her if they could be civil, wasn’t that admitting that he’d left any possible romantic feelings for her behind him? He was over her. He was over her and it wasn’t his problem that she’d just now begun to realize how very badly she wanted him, all of him. She’d just get past it too.

How she was going to possibly get over him when his every waking action filtered through her dreams each night was the real issue. Her fingers were beginning to go numb from the frigid water, nearly shaking as she reached to turn the water off.

She wrapped her towel around her tightly, sheltering her like armour as she met her reflection in the mirror. Cheeks still flushed.

“Get over it,” she whispered to herself. She’d avoid him. That was the best solution. The only way to remove him from her dreams was to remove him from her waking moments as well. It’d be hard to avoid him forever, but at the very least she couldn’t be alone with him. Groups would be safer.

XXX

The next several days were difficult. Filled with eyes flitting away, nodding answers to his questions that had clearly been asked to engage in a conversation, ducking into bathrooms as he came down the corridor, and in a moment of absolute desperation brought on when she saw him standing there waiting for her in the doorway after potions, clearly attempting to walk with her which was essentially an ambush, and she had no choice but to strike up a conversation with Slughorn on the merits of using crushed salamander spleens verses the ever controversial chopped spleens. He’d gone on for about six minutes before James had given up and moved on to lunch, Lily counted to thirty before cutting Slughorn off and dashing away.

In the end she lasted three days of almost complete avoidance. He found her in the library. She’d done her best at hiding, choosing to study in the dusty Arithmancy section that maximum one person and one ghost seemed to visit per year and the table needed a solid Scourgify charm before she was able to sit down. She’d made it through half of her Charms essay before his hands slammed down on the table.

“Lily, I need to talk to you.”

His voice was tense and without looking up she could envision his rigid shoulders and sharp jaw looming over her. Her grip tightened on her quill as she set her shoulders and took a breath.

“Little busy right now, can it wait?”

He scoffed and pulled back the chair opposite her. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

“Not avoiding,” she squeaked, sneaking a glance up to see his gaze locked in on her and quickly averted her eyes back down. “Just busy, very, very busy.”

She could feel the eye roll.

He reached out across the table and closed the textbook she’d been reading from with a thump, forcing her to meet his eyeline with a glare that he unflinchingly met with his own.

“You can’t prove anything,” she crossed her arms across her chest.

“The only proof I needed I got when you suddenly, desperately had to talk to Flitwick about the best technique for forging charms which we all know you mastered three years ago. Or when you needed to discuss that stupid Salamandar debate with Slughorn that was clearly boring even you stale.”

He stated it all dryly, matter of fact, leaving no room for question or debate. They sat there silently for 93 seconds (she counted) as James leaned back in his chair, a vision of casual confidence.

“Fine!” She broke first. “I’m avoiding you. Are you happy? Are we done here now?”

He barked out a laugh, dropping his hands onto the table and folding them together. “We’ll be done when you explain whatever it is I did that made being around me so awful when we were just getting to a place where I thought we were friends, or at the very least capable of being in the same room and having a civil conversation.”

“I think it's time I go.” She pushed all her stuff into her rucksack hastily, hearing an ink well shatter as she did, and practically running to the door. One of the only benefits of the Arithmancy section is that it at least had a fast exit route, away from the main drag of tables, up the side of the aisles. She could hear James scrambling out of his chair and running to catch up with her but she refused to look back, getting as close to running as she could without risking the wrath of Madam Pince.

She was so close to the exit, the taste of freedom on the tip of her tongue. If she could just get out of the library, she could go left out of view and hide in an alcove until he passed or gave up looking. From then it’d be a simple matter of hiding away in her dorm for the next two to six days before she felt capable of facing him. She was rounding the corner to the exit, nodding tightly to Pince, when she felt his fingers wrap around her wrist and yank her into the nearest aisle.

She stared longingly over her shoulder at the exit as it disappeared as James pulled her along, weaving through aisles. Past Charms, past their table in Arithmancy, straight through Potions, all the way deep into the Divination section where the dust on the books appeared to be older than Lily and James combined.

It was there he finally stopped. Pulling her to the center of the aisle and standing strong in front of her.

It was silent for a tic as she stood there counting the seconds, mentally hoping that if she stayed quiet long enough, James would give up and leave.

Instead he cleared his throat. The noise was jarring in the otherwise silent aisle and without thinking her head turned on its own accord away from the dusty tombs to meet his eyes instead. Big mistake. His eyes were positively smoldering, a storm of hazel and gold glaring down at her. She’d always loved his eyes.

“What?” she bit out, forcing herself to break eye contact and stare somewhere around his shoulder instead.

“Start talking, Evans.”

His shoulders looked solid, no way she could charge past them. The way his shirt was pulling taut across them made her wonder if they’d feel as solid as they appeared and how’d they feel on her hands if she dug her nails into them while she-

She ripped her eyes away from his shoulders and down to his shoes instead. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered, studying his laces and fidgeting slightly.

He scoffed and brought his free hand to her chin to tilt her gaze up to meet his once more. There were the eyes again.

“It’s a little late for all that, Lily.” He spoke slowly and quietly, as if she was a young deer he was worried would scamper off. “Now talk to me or I swear to god I’ll learn Occlumency just to get a peek at what you’re thinking about up there.”

Well that was a horrifying thought. Her brain reeled through all the images he’d see if he had actually taken a peek, his body pressing hot up against her, the two of them sitting in a sunlit field, picking dandelions, him wiping away a butterbeer mustache off her top lip as they laughed in the Three Broomsticks, him winning the Quidditch Cup and picking her up to spin her around in front of everyone.

“There,” he whispered accusingly, “that blush all over you right now? You’re hiding something from me, Evans, and that ends right now.” The tone was soft but the words were strong, gaze remaining level with her own, eyes searching her own as if the answer was written within them.

“I’ve been having dreams,” she blurted out, too flustered to be aware of her words and instantly regretting that they had come out. Her insides shrank as she squirmed under his gaze, shifting her weight.

He held steady, keeping his hand still tight on her wrist, not allowing her to move more than a breath away.

“What kind of dreams?” Nothing had changed in his voice, still controlled and level.

“I don’t know!” she snapped out, voice far louder than his own, “the embarrassing kind, okay? Are we done?” She twisted her wrist out of his own, somewhat surprised when he allowed her to. She was free, a part of her knew she should run right now and make her grand escape but a much larger part wanted to see what James would say, do, now that the truth was coming out.

She could practically see his wheels turning, mentally piecing together her words with her actions and the ramifications of it all. He was being too quiet, taking too long, and the words were boiling up in her now, desperate to fill the silence.

“They’re just dreams, okay? They don’t actually mean anything, it’s really not that big of a deal even,” she insisted, repeating the words she had spent the last several weeks telling herself out loud for the first time.

“If they don’t mean anything, why are you still blushing like that? And why would I be avoiding me? And what kind of dreams are the embarrassing ones exactly?” His brow was furrowed and a hand was rooted in his hair.

“They’re just stupid and random and unrealistic,” she spluttered, feeling the blush reach down to her toes.

“So tell me about one!” He demanded, “what happened in the most recent one? Did I kill you or something?”

“Oh please you don’t get it at all, you buffoon.” The embarrassment quickly was turning into rage and the words were pouring out.. “You didn’t kill me, you kissed me. Okay? More than kissed me really. You happy now?”

James was decidedly not happy. His expression turned only more incredulous with each passing second as her words took effect on him. His left hand dropped from her wrist to join his right firmly rooted in his hair, pulling and twisting.

She stared at him expectantly, waiting for a response, a realization, a reaction, anything. But instead he just stood there. Dumbfounded or disgusted or downright confused.

The seconds ticked by and her discomfort level rose as each one passed. The rage faded back to embarrassment and formed tears pricking at the back of her eyes, blinking furiously and squeezing her nails into her palms to try and stop any from leaking out.

“Are you going to say anything or just stand there ripping out your hair?”

He continued to stare, unmoving.

“Goodbye, James,” she spat out, crossing her arms tightly across her chest and pushing straight through him.

She heard him splutter something and got about six steps ahead before hearing his thundering steps behind her catching up to her. She pushed ahead until she felt his hand grip her shoulder and turn her around again

There was a scream on the tip of her tongue as she was pulled around to face him. “What, Jam-”

Her exclamations were silenced as he pushed his lips down onto hers. She hesitated for a moment in shock before throwing her arm around his neck and pulling him against her, leaning up on her tiptoes and responding enthusiastically. His hand from her shoulder pushed up to caress her cheek, other hand pressing hard and unforgiving into her hip.

“Was it like that?” The words were a whisper, hot against her face, barely a breath of space between them. “In your dream, was it like that?”

She barely nodded before pulling his lips back down to meet hers.

It was harsh and unyielding and not the kind of first kiss she had ever imagined for them but was certainly something taken right out of her dreams. She felt his hand tilting her head, adjusting their angle to fit perfect against each other as his tongue reached out to meet hers. Hot and heady and unbelievably perfect.

She didn’t notice them turning until her back was pushed up against the shelf. Corners and spines of the dusty volumes pressing up against her barely registering when there was so much of him to feel up against her. His scent surrounding her entirely, permeating the air around her until all she could think, smell, feel was just him.

He pulled back again, still barely a centimeter away and clearly reluctant to do so. “Wait, wait,” he heaved, “what exactly about a dream like that is ‘unrealistic’?”

She stammered unintelligibly for a moment, head filled with fog and fist curling tighter in the fabric of his shirt to anchor herself and him next to each other, “I just meant that we were friends now and you didn’t want to be…. you know.”

He cocked an eyebrow inquisitively, “enlighten me.”

“With me! Romantically speaking!” Her cheeks burned again, and eyes flitted down to where her hand was twisting his shirt.

Until she heard laughter. Actual laughter. One quick look at his face confirmed it, James Potter was actually laughing at her.

“Dear God, Evans,” he brought his hand to caress her cheek, thumb tracing her lower lip. “Evans, if I ever, and I mean ever, say I don’t want to be with you ‘romantically speaking’ you might as well Avada me right then and there because that is clearly an imposter.”

He didn’t give her a second to respond, crashing his lips back down onto hers.

And then he was snogging her again, harder. This instantly shut down her brain, eliminating the potential to analyze the implications of what he had just said because of course there would be time for analysis later but right now, in this moment, there was no time for that. There was no time for that because James Potter was snogging her in the depths of the library and it was so much better than any dream she’d ever had. She had no idea how long they’d stood there snogging, hands pulling hair and bruising skin and leaving her so utterly weak in the knees that she became vehemently grateful for the support of his arm around her back and the shelf she was leaning on. Minutes, hours, days, years, until she was so out of breath that she was practically sighing against his lips as they both slowed down, exhausted but so unwilling to separate, lips still brushing as they breathed in and out.

Her eyes remained closed and she pressed their heads together, lips no more than a centimeter apart.

“Hey Evans?” He sighed out, kissing her again chastely.

She hummed in response, rubbing her nose against his lightly and pushing up for one of those chaste kisses of her own, feeling his glasses press into her nose.

When he walked in the room and sent that smirk in her direction or ran his hands through his hair she felt her face warming and heating. She began to anticipate the red flush to make its way up her neck as soon as he entered a room and that bothered her more than anything. Far more than the cocky way he walked or the way he effortlessly sashayed through life. The way he could affect her so easily was haunting. The way he could instantly get her heart racing just by looking at her, send a shiver down her spine with a smile. 

She knew it wasn’t just her who was affected, although she imagined she was the one who was hit the deepest. Regardless, adoration of James Potter was rooted in the hearts of nearly every student. Every second year whos name he learned, the fifth year group he tutored in Transfiguration, his friends who would lay their lives down without question, they all had the look. The James-Potter-Admirer Look. Every kind interaction she witnessed sent another line of fire to her stomach. How could he be so good, so kind, and so brutally magnetic.

Her friends didn’t understand why she wouldn’t want him in those very early days, overlooking the attitude and behaviors so easily, just as everyone did. He walked through the Great Hall and everyone turned to watch. Everyone wanted him, wanted to touch him, be him, know him. She had no interest in being with someone in the center of everything. She already had too much attention on her just by being her. 

It didn’t matter how attracted to him she was. It didn’t matter that he had grown, no longer the boy who pulled her pigtails but now the man who stood up for injustice and fought for the innocent. It didn’t matter that they were a part of the same magical world now, James Potter was far too golden to be real. Something to admire from afar, but she couldn’t dare get close.

He sparkled so much she had always assumed he’d outshine her, leave her standing in shadows. But that wasn’t it. Once he eventually had worn down her walls, forced his way into her life and forced her to admit it, she figured it out. She quickly came to learn that when he smiled at you, it didn’t blind you with the light, it surrounded you. Warmed you to the core. Lit her whole world up in gold. Made her shine just as bright as he did. Made everyone around him shine brightly and beautifully, diamonds in the sun. 

He wasn’t perfect. Far too loud and hot tempered, fidgety and emotional, to ever be perfect. But he was good. Good and noble, honest and real. She learned to trust him and believe him when he said she was safe with him, even though she was no longer safe anywhere those days. Believed him when he said she belonged there, with him. Believed him when he said he needed her there, shining alongside him. Believed him when he said that his world wouldn’t spin or exist if she wasn’t in it.

But after months and months of blind dates and terrible tinder dates and people thinking he’s a catfish on tinder just because he used to be a somewhat famous football player, he’s nearly given up hope. He was researching rescue organizations to get a brother cat for Prongs (he was thinking of naming it Padfoot, had a nice ring) when Sirius walked in and spotted him. Sirius turned on his heel and walked out the instant he realized what he was doing and immediately submitted James to be the next Bachelor.

He got picked. At first he fought Sirius on it, nobody actually finds love on those shows. It's all just trashy reality TV but then Sirius got Euphemia involved and it was essentially settled right then and there.

The response had been overwhelming after the announcement. He’d gained three million Instagram followers within the week and was offered multiple sponsorship deals. His management team was thrilled. The show had reportedly received a record number of applicants from women, all hoping to end the season engaged to him or with a couple million followers and an influencer career all set up.

That first night, it all felt very surreal. He was standing there on the edge of a red carpet in a stiff tux and what felt like hundreds of cameras on him. Sweat pooling in his armpits, waiting for 35 women to appear by limo and introduce themselves and potentially become his wife.

Peter kept trying to tell them that there was no way any relationship with any of these women would last because obviously they wouldn’t be there for the ‘right reasons’. Peter felt that there was no right reason to go onto a reality tv show but he was outvoted as Remus insisted that if anyone was ever going to find love on a reality show, it'd be James.

Each one seemed more amazing and beautiful than the last. There were some he instantly knew he’d want to talk further with and some he knew he’d be fine never speaking with again.

First was Ariana, stunningly gorgeous and tall, olive toned skin perfectly complemented by the sage green dress she wore. She had served in the Air Force for two years before returning home to become a teacher and he felt instantly excited to speak with her and totally intimidated.

Ariana was followed by Layla. She was undoubtedly stunning but kept their conversation very surface level, shaking his hand and saying how excited she was and hoped he was excited as well, and then asked for a hug and tried to feel if he was excited to see her.

Violet showed up riding on a horse which at first felt cool until the lights all spooked the horse and she almost fell off which felt like a near death experience but she played it off casually and sweetly and told him about growing up around animals on her parents farm. She seemed funny and down to earth and had a smile that made his entire chest go numb.

Ava, a cardiologist, instantly made his mouth dry up when he saw her step out of the limo, stunning and confident, navy dress with a daring leg slit that was just enough for a glimpse of her perfect dark skin to peek out through. She brought him an anatomically correct plush heart and asked him to keep it as a representation of her own heart and keep it safe. It was one of the cutest introductions so far and he instantly knew he’d want to spend some time speaking with her tonight.

It felt ridiculously unreal and just bizarre. All completely beautiful and mostly genuine seeming, with careers ranging from actual Runway Models to YouTube vloggers to doctors and financial professionals. It really just felt… awkward and stilted. He was meeting the most engaging and impressive women in the world but the whole thing just felt so stale and staged.

Until, that is, Lily. The limo pulled up and instantly all he saw was red. Long milky leg peeking out from the leg slit of her deep red sparkly dress that clung to every single beautiful curve. Her head was tilted down as she got out and he watched as her heel twisted in her dress as she got out, causing her to instantly stumble and trip as she tried to stand.

“Ah fuck it all ,fucking hell” she swore as she tumbled out, grabbing the door for balance and nearly falling on her face.

He raced over to help her up, her long red hair swinging between them. She flipped her hair back and tucked in behind her ear as he reached down to take her hand and meet her eyes and oh my god her eyes were perfect her face was perfect she was perfect and now his mouth was dry.

“Hi! I’m Lily,” she smiled up at him, righting herself but not stepping back anymore, less than a few inches between their faces. Close enough he could smell her, something warm and vanilla, and completely perfect.

“James,” he choked out, the word croaking as he cleared his throat.

“Should we um… move over there?” She gestured to the carpeted foot of the stairs where he’d stood to greet every other guest.

“Oh, yeah probably.” He led them there at one, hands clasped together.

“So um, I’m Lily Evans, I guess you could say I’m falling for you?” she cringed as she said it, visibly flushing.

“It seems like you’d be used to falling.”

Her eyebrows shot up into her hairline, “are you saying I look clumsy?”

“No, erm I just mean like. You fell right then and also it seems like you uh fell from heaven?”

He could feel Sirius laughing at him already. Lily just smiled lightly, looking him up and down. “Well, I guess I’ll be going inside now. Very nice to meet you.”

“You too, Lily.” His hand instantly shot into his hair as he watched her walk away.

“Exactly! You’d think! But I mean, Mark. So mundane. I just assumed the person would be mundane as well. Probably an accountant or a lawyer, blech. Not to mention I was a bit nervous, been a little since my last date if I’m being honest. Not that there weren't offers.” She gripped his hand tighter, “There were offers, Mark. Don’t start thinking I’m desperate. I had offers.” She dropped his hand and folded her arms as if he had suggested otherwise. 

“I didn’t say- I’m not, I'm sorry can we back up for a-” his words and thoughts were a jumbled mess.

“Anyway,” she huffed, rolling her eyes and relaxing her arms, “anyway. Anyway, what was I saying? Mark! Yes, Mark. So as I was saying, I didn’t want to go on this date at all but Mary was all ‘it’ll be good for you! He’s so cute! We’ll get drinks first!’ and so I agreed to come meet you, but may have drank more than three margaritas but in my defense it was 2 for 1 and Mary was paying and I can never pass up a good deal. So that's why I’m late. But I am here. I am here with you, Mark, and you are far less boring looking than I expected. Yes, much cuter than any Mark I’ve ever met. Mary did well.” She nodded approvingly, sitting back in her seat and smiling constantly. 

From the corner of his eye he saw Sirius walk into the restaurant and see the woman in the chair Sirius had been meant to occupy. James immediately tried to signal with his eyes, “HELP, HELP, HELP” without alerting the redhead in front of him when Sirius, the bastard, winked at him lightly, turned on his heel, and left.

She hadn’t noticed his desperate face as she was busy scanning the menu over and when she wasn’t calling him Mark or yelling in his face she was quite pretty. Extremely pretty, actually. Like exactly the kind of person he’d want to have one a blind date. Or a non-blind date. Any date really. And the girl clearly needed food in her stomach to soak up some of her margarita, really it would be irresponsible to leave her like this. The least he could do would be to keep her company, pretend he was Mark to try and minimize her embarrassment, and then make sure she got home safe. 

“You know,” she met his eye over her menu as he spoke, “for someone who seems to have a lot of opinions on my name, I don’t believe Mary ever told me yours.” 

She laughed lightly, a beautiful wind chimey, tinkly noise that sent delight shooting down his spine. 

“Lily, Lily Evans.” She reached her hand across the table again, this time for him to shake. “Pleasure to meet you.” 

“Pleasure is all mine, Lily, Lily Evans.” He shook her hand lightly and looked back at his menu. 

XX

Dinner seemed to fly by. Once Lily got some food into her system she sobered up rapidly, yet sobriety in no way impacted her ability to keep him completely enthralled and entertained. Each passing minute made him more inclined to legally change his name to Mark and live the lie for the rest of his days. 

Sure their life would be a lie, he thought as she threw her head back laughing over some asinine story he was telling of Sirius, red hair swirling around like flames, but it would be fun. 

Not only was she bold, she openly mocked his ordering bourbon, ruthlessly holding nothing back despite only knowing him for a matter of minutes, but she was also unbelievably sweet. Listening intently to every story he shared, telling multiple of her own where despite being an ass kicking journalist she somehow also found time to volunteer at the animal shelter and had fostered three different dogs in the last two months. Ruthless, for sure, as she batted her eyes at him over her water glass causing all sorts of feelings to start to stir. She would give James, correction- Mark, a run for his money and then some. Barely an hour of sitting across from her and he was pretty sure he’d take his dinner knife to Mark's throat if the bloke ever actually did show up. Whether it be from jealousy or fury that any human being could ever stand up this goddess in front of him. 

The conversation flowed easily. Leaping seamlessly from her parents professions to his childhood mischief to the time she dyed her sister's dog key lime green. Her dad had a thing for flowers, apparently, marrying a Rose and insisting on making their daughters Petunia and Lily. 

“You could keep up the tradition, you know. Get your kids some flower names. Maybe something unique,”

“What?” She scoffed, “and subject them to years of cheesy, thoughtless bouquets of a flower you hardly like just because it’s your namesake? I don’t think so.”

“Then make it a flower they’d want to get! Or an herb, like Basil. Everyone wants a Basil plant around.” He pointed his drink at her as she spluttered incoherently, “are you telling me you don’t love a basil plant?”

“You’re right, how dare I overlook such a top quality name as Basil.” She drawled out in a monotone, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I suppose we’d go with something more colorful though, like Anemone!” She looked like the idea was pure genius and now he was the one spluttering in her face. 

He tried not to let his heart burst at her use of we. 

“I’m sorry, isn’t that the ocean thing? The Nemo thing? The sea anananamename thing where they live? That’s what you want to name your child?”

Her eyes were screwed shut as she clutched her chest, gasping for air through her laughs. 

“What?” He grinned at her, not caring if he had somehow said the wrong thing or appeared dumb when her laughter was so intoxicating. He felt a tingling run straight down his spine. 

“A sea,” she gasped out through choked laughs, “anemone!” 

“That’s what you just said!” He continued to argue. 

“Whew,” she wiped a stray tear from one eye, “truthfully you’re not that far off base at all. Same exact spelling. But they do have anemone for flowers that are on land as well as the sea. I’ve just never heard someone butcher a word so spectacularly.”

“Yes well, you know I’m quite good at that.” He leaned back in his seat as her eyebrow quirked up. “In fact, so good that I have been named the anti-Spelling B Champ,” he nodded matter of factly and continued on as if she wasn’t gaping at him, echo of a laugh still present on her face. 

“It’s true! Annually, all the people that hate spelling b’s gather and compete to see who can truly butcher a word the most. I’ve won every time. You’re sitting with a nationally ranked word ruiner.”

“Oh wow, however could I have not known. Do you have any secrets of the trade you could share?”

“I usually would never divulge such confidential information but just because you asked so nicely and because you are in fact stunningly gorgeous, I’ll give you one.” He leaned in conspiratorially, hitching a finger for her to do the same, and dropped his voice low. “To really put yourself over the top and seal that victory,” he looked side to side dramatically, checking for eavesdroppers before looking back on her, “is all about the silent Q.” He sat back again and watched her shoulders shake lightly with poorly concealed giggles. 

“Personally,” he grinned strongly, all pretense of secrecy gone, “I like to throw a minimum of three in there just to really set myself apart. Once I did a silent q followed by a silent x. I nearly sent the judge to an early grave.”

“You know I bet what would have really done him in is if you followed the x with a p but you pronounce the p like a-“

“Lily?” James reared back to find some bloke standing next to their table staring anxiously in between the two of them. “Are you Lily?” Lily nodded lightly, eyebrows scrunched in confusion, eyes flitting between the newcomer and James. 

“Um yes I am, I’m sorry do I know you?” 

A wave of cold dread overcame him, realization sinking into his chest. The newcomer, just about their age, polo and khakis, easily could have been a lawyer or an accountant. He had to explain before she realized as well and he looked like a total lying creep. 

“Lily, I can explain-“

“I’m Mark, I’m so sorry I’m so late. My car broke down and I didn’t have your number.” 

They spoke at the same time, the real Mark reaching a hand out to shake Lily’s. 

She didn’t take it. Instead she swiveled dumbly between the two staring accusingly at the real Mark. “You can’t be Mark. I’m having dinner with Mark. You must be here for someone else.”

“Lily, I really can explain if you’d just-“ James started again as Lily whipped around to face him. “You! You liar! Who are you?” She pushed back in her chair looking at him as suspiciously as if he had just announced he liked to moonlight as a serial killer in his spare time. 

“I’m sorry, your name is Mark as well?” The real Mark stared down at James politely inquiring, as if this was all perhaps a genuine mix up and not a case of an imposter stealing his date. 

“Not quite, its erm James. But truly if you think absolutely it the names are quite similar, the whole second letter being an A and the part about being in the Bible and what not.” Mark's eyebrows rose and Lily did not appear amused by his comparison. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to lie or anything, I just… you sat down and assumed I was Mark and I was actually meant to be meeting a friend but you were just so pretty and funny and I didn’t want you to feel like you’d been stood up so I thought I could come clean later but I just wanted to get to know you. I’m sorry, truly.” She looked at him, hurt and confused, and he just wanted to hang his head low and apologize another half dozen times. 

“I can leave so you two can get on with your date,” his heart sank as he stood, gesturing the open chair to Mark without quite meeting his eye. 

He forced himself to look up at Lily, “I really am sorry. It was really nice to meet you, have a nice evening.” 

He turned lightly and began to head out of the restaurant, feeling Lily’s eyes burning into the back of his head even while he heard Mark sit down across from her and apologize again for his lateness. 

He was barely out the door when he heard her yelling his name, his real name, from behind and spun back around to watch her jogging to catch up to him. 

He braced himself for her to yell at him or hit him or completely tear him a new one and gave her a forced smile. 

“Lily, I-“

“Is your name really James?” she huffed, somewhat out of breath. 

“Erm yes. Just James. No Jim or Jay or weird nicknames really…” his right hand came up to ruffle the back of his hair, still anxiously waiting for her to scream at him. 

She reached up on her tiptoes, hand snaking around the back of his neck (oh god she was gonna try and hold his head still so she could really hit him strongly) and used it to pull herself up closer and his head down and touch her lips lightly to his. 

The light kiss sent shockwaves down his body as he froze, processing what was happening. 

“I like the name James so much more.” She whispered against his lips, barely a breath away. That was all he needed to throw an arm around her waist and tuck her snugly against him, the other hand going to caress her cheek and bring his lips back to her, stronger than before. They kissed deeply and sweetly and he felt it down through his toes and in every single nerve in his body. 

When they pulled apart, still wrapped up in each other, and she lightly hummed his name against him, he felt suddenly very sure that there was no sound better than her saying his name. 

“So, I’d really like to do that again. And the date again. With you knowing my name the whole time preferably. Preferably right now. What's to say I go take care of the bill and you take care of the real Mark and we go get some ice cream, maybe?”