#lovedrought

They were both only in their fourth year at Hogwarts. He was still stick skinny, and she was still barely fitting into her A-cup bras and recovering from a horrible spur-of-the-moment-regret-it-for-months decision to cut her own fringe. They were only intermediate students, still children really. Her fantasies were all very tame based less on her own meager sexual experiences and more on stories that the sixth-year Hestia Jones would tell them about her trysts with Benjy Fenwick.  

Lily mostly just cared about James Potter’s eyes. They were hazel, but really they were green and gold and brown, like blooming sunflowers surrounded by blades of grass. This information was not easy to come by, because his eyes were often covered by spectacles, as he was more or less blind without them. On rare occasions, though, he would remove the spectacles, and if Lily were lucky enough to be near by, she would sneak a peek at those eyes. His sunflower-grass-hazel eyes.

And his lips were worth watching because they were always breaking into smiles. And he had the best smiles. They made his eyes glow and his lips twitch. James was one of those rare people who when they smiled the corners of their lips turned down instead of up.

And his hair. His stupid hair that could not stay in one place. His hair that fell into those eyes of his. His hair that looked perfect for grabbing onto and made her question if it was as soft as it looked.

And his hands were good too because his fingers were long--much longer than hers--and she sometimes wondered what they would feel like against her skin. Some nights she would stay up late squirming against her sheets and thinking about his fingertips trailing up her thighs.

Lily had still never been properly snogged, but she often imagined James Potter’s lips on hers and his hands on her skin and his eyes closed and her fingers in her hair. And the fantasy of that felt so good and made her spine tingle just so that she wondered if maybe it was better than an actual kiss. It was certainly better than the actual kisses she had experienced thus far.

 But all things considered, her habit was manageable because she was able to stop thinking about James Potter’s eyes and lips and hair and hands when she needed to. More often than not, she could focus on the spectacles and not the eyes behind them. She could ignore his smiles and do her best to forget about his hair. She could force herself to stop thinking about his hands.

So she did. Lily loved being a student at Hogwarts, and she took her school work seriously. She did not spend every minute in the library, but she did her assignments and received good marks. She had a great group of close friends and many acquaintances. Yes, she snuck into the kitchens every now and then, and once in a while she brewed illegal potions so long as she gave Slughorn his favorite crystallized pineapple. And she might have gotten more than a little bit drunk on firewhiskey after the last Quidditch match and then puked in Mary McDonald’s shoes. No one was perfect.

Still, she wanted to be made a Prefect. That meant cutting down distractions. That meant doing excellent work, always being seen as following the rules (even if not actually following them), and occasionally sucking up to McGonagall. It also meant ignoring the buffoons who teased her for being Muggleborn, taking some Calming Solution every time a letter from her sister arrived, and resisting the urge to hex her roommates when they woke her up from a perfectly good dream. She managed easily enough.

However, when they came back to school for their fifth years and Lily was actually given that Prefect badge, life became more difficult. Whereas Lily returned feeling proud that she was proving herself at school -- and that she finally had advanced to a B-cup--James had returned having grown what seemed to be another four inches and yet somehow having also filled out. Gone were the knobby knees and overly large Adam’s apple. In their place, were broad shoulders, a slim waist, strong legs, and muscled forearms.

Lily had never known that thinking about the length of someone’s arm from the wrist to the elbow could drive her to distraction, but fifth year was a brand new world. A brand new world of marveling at the genius that was a men’s button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

She had learned on the train that he had been made Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor and had spent the majority of the summer with Sirius running drills.

Upon hearing this news, Lily did not know whether she wanted to weep for joy or from frustration. But she bit her lip so hard she almost broke the skin.

Now, it was not just James Potter’s eyes and lips and hair and hands. It was also his forearms and his shoulders and his voice, which seemed to have deepened by an octave.  

As James got more attractive, he also seemed to become more and more of an insufferable git. James Potter had always been popular, for good reason. He was attractive, wealthy, well-bred, bloody brilliant, and dead witty. He and his close knit of friends were also infamous pranksters. Everyone, including Lily, looked forward to their pick-me-up hijinks during exams and the parties they threw after Quidditch matches.

Lily might have worked hard to appear to be a rule-follower and someone who would make for a good role model for younger students. If McGonagall were walking by, she would be sure to give ruler-breakers a stern talking to. But she loved nothing so dearly as a well-thought out prank. Something clever, something harmless. Something unexpected. Something a little bit naughty.   

After catching her sneaking back into the Common Room six hours after curfew, Sirius Black had once called her an “absolute rogue in disguise.” Lily bore that title as a badge of honor.

But in fifth year James’s pranks became more than naughty; they became mean, personal, pointed. Particularly when the butt of the joke was Severus Snape.

James strutted around the halls like Dumbledore himself had made him Headmaster. His antics increased, his cheekiness grew, but his popularity only further escalated.

Lily recognized that James usually only ever targeted those who themselves tormented others, but she still did not approve. Particularly concerning Snape. He was no victim; he provoked James and threw out the first curse more than half the time. He was not even Lily’s friend anymore. She was doubtful that he could ever go back to being a decent person now that he had spent so much time with his Pureblood friends--if he ever was a decent person to begin with. But she did have some sympathy for him; at least, she thought she had. She was not so sure anymore, if she were honest with herself. But she was good and rid of him, at least.

Before she ended their friendship, Severus had accused her of liking James Potter. She had denied it at the time, to save face, but Snape had been right.

Lily was furious during their confrontation at the end of fifth year by the lake. But sparring with James was more thrilling than she felt comfortable admitting. James Potter might be a git, but there was something about his increased bravado, even when he was being an absolute berk, that was dead sexy.

He had asked her out then, but Lily figured it was just a joke--just something to rile her up even more. Afterward, though, Mary McDonald had asked her about it. Repeatedly. Wanted to know if James had ever done anything to make a move before.

The answer: an astounding no. She got off to thoughts of James Potter on nearly a daily basis. If he had showed sincere interest in her, Lily damn well would have noticed.

Mary had only sighed in disappointment. She had said they would make cute babies.  

Merlin, Lily had imagined just how they would make those babies. At least a thousand ways since. She was particularly partial to the fantasy where he took her against the door of the Trophy Room after she snuck into his detention wearing nothing but his Invisibility Cloak.

After fifth year, things had only become worse. She could not look at him without imagining him licking up her thighs. She mentally kept track of his class schedule and the girls he smiled at in the halls. She had all the dates of the Quidditch matches in her diary, and planned to be in the Common Room when the freshly-showered team got back from practice. She knew his favorite food was treacle tart, that his favorite color was three shades darker than Gryffindor red, and that his favorite shop at Hogsmeade was Zonko’s. She knew when his birthday was and always made sure to look nice on that day, in case he would notice and ask if she dressed up for him, so she could shrug and say she forgot it was his birthday.

Lily Evans was an absolute tart with an unhealthy obsession with James Potter.

Not that she had ever acted on it. She still had kissed only two lads, and both times she had pulled way first. And then wiped her mouth.

And not that she would ever admit her obsession to anyone. Most days, she refused to even admit it to herself. She was only in lust with James Potter in her mind. And that’s where she wanted the obsession to stay.

Lily told herself that these were just normal observations that anyone with half a decent memory would note after having spent five years in the same house as someone.

But she could not list nearly as many facts about Peter Pettigrew--or even Remus Lupin, her fellow Prefect.

James Potter could make her completely lose her train of thought during a Transfiguration class just by sitting there and taking notes. She would make sure that her observation of him was not too obvious, but as she took her own notes, she was acutely aware of what his body was doing--and how that made her body feel.

One day, she spied him lick his fingers to turn a page, and she nearly fell off her stool.

As a general ethical principle, Lily was strongly opposed to house-elf enslavement and thought that they should be allowed to live however they wished and properly compensated for their efforts, should they choose to seek employment. She had mentioned to the Head Girl more than once that she thought that as students they should do more for the creatures who took care of their basic needs without ever being seen or heard or paid.

But because of the embarrassing number of wet panties Lily had needed laundered during her fifth year, she was tremendously grateful that the house-elves kept to themselves.

Lily was not ashamed of her desire. She was a teenager, surrounded by teenagers, with--let’s face it--very little adult supervision. Half of the upper-level students seemed to be shagging on a regular basis.

On days where she was more willing to be honest with herself, she saw her lustful fantasies as normal. Yet, that recognition did not make her happy.

It was not the lust itself but the object of her lust that troubled her.

James Potter was one of the fittest blokes in all of Hogwarts, so she could admit that she wanted his body. Specifically, she wanted his naked body on top of her body--or beneath her, or thrusting into her from behind, it varied from day to day. This image could make even the dullest History of Magic Class pass by in an instant.

What bothered her was that while she could daydream about his eyes and his lips and his hair and his hands and his shoulders and his forearms and the tenor of his voice for hours, actually paying attention to the words coming out of those lips in that low voice made her, at best, roll her eyes and, at worst, want to put an everlasting silencing charm on him.

Because James Potter was an absolute git.

An absolute git whom she desperately wanted to have sex with.

And what was the worst part? The absolute worst?

They were in their sixth year now, and he wasn’t even a git anymore. He was smart and considerate--even sweet. Two days ago, she caught him helping a first-year boy with his Transfiguration homework. And the entire time she watched the exchange, Lily wondered what he kind of father he would be like if the boy were their child. And that’s when she knew: it wasn’t purely physical. She didn’t just want to have sex with James Potter or bite his lip to force that devastating smirk off his face or ride him like a broomstick. Lily liked him--as in she wanted to knit him sweaters, meet his parents, and actually listen to him as he told her about his day.