“Here’s to surviving another year of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”

Lily Evans tossed her hands into the air, fire whiskey exploding out of the bottle and splashing callously down her wrists. The night was still young; woodsmoke swirled into laughter as her friends swayed around the clearing with mouths bruised by burgundy wine. Marlene Mckinnon spun in drunken hazard around a preoccupied couple and tossed out her tousled blonde hair, looking ready to torpedo into a promising month of summer holidays. There was no sign of Alice or Mary anywhere, but Dorcas Meadowes was sprawled over a makeshift bench with an arm looped around a boy’s shoulders – all smiles and jagged seduction with her harsh North-country tongue full of insults that were also backhanded terms of affection.

“I’m so excited for summer!” Kathleen Courtley leapt into Lily’s blurred vision, glossy dark hair threaded through with glitter, “We can party all night long, we can play those little Muggle discs and dance on tables, we’ll drink everything in sight!”

“You live in bloody Durham, Kathy,” interrupted Marlene with an impressive roll of her eyes, “That’s a thousand mi-iii-les away from Lils’ place.”

“Pedantics, Marls, pedantics!” Kathleen cried, reaching for a glass of punch, “It’ll happen!”

Lily felt a grin tug stubbornly at the corners of her lips, and she steadied her friends by the shoulders as they teetered on their feet, “We’ll make it happen, no matter what. I promise! Mum and Dad will be so happy to see you all again. And I love you both!”

“Love you more –”

“No way –”

“Yes, Lil –”

“Alright, Evans?”

Lily knew that voice. Reeling a little, she turned to observe for herself what was underway. From the silhouetted treeline came none other than James Potter, taking the lead of his infamous Marauders and running a hand through messy black hair. Girls swooned and parted before him like the red sea – he was undeniably charming, all cool indifference and sparkling secrets, but Lily forgot that in minutes when every word that skipped out of his mouth deserved a solid punch.

“Potter,” Lily said coolly, “Didn’t think this was your sort of party. Too low-key, isn’t it?”

“Thought I’d lower my standards,” he shot back easily with a lopsided smile.

“Standards,” Lily repeated, crossing her arms with the perfect fire of a sixteen year old witch not yet settled, “That’s a funny word coming from someone who once tried to ride his broom into Halloween dinner.”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

“Only because McGonagall wasn’t there to see it,” she countered quickly, “What are you doing here really, Potter?”

He quirked a shoulder up and down, so fast she could have dreamed it. For the length of a heartbeat he said nothing, and Lily felt only the humming of the air, and its scorching touch as it eddied round and past her. 

“Relax,” he said finally, hands shoved deep into his pockets. “We’re not here to crash your party. Just came to say hi… and maybe steal a drink or two.”

“You don’t need to steal,” Lily replied, half turning back to the fire. “The punch is over there. Knock yourself out. Literally.”

But James didn’t move an inch. He had a way of holding any conversation balanced on the palm of his hand by keeping an insolent smile turned to the world while watching carefully how the recipient tipped in his favour. Lily supposed it was a necessary skill of the sports – which he obsessed over to satisfy the jaunty demands of his body – to intimidate the opposition without necessarily offending them.

“So,” he continued casually, “big plans for the summer, Ev?”

“No,” replied Lily, “Studying. Writing to friends. Not thinking about you.”

“Ouch,” he said, but his grin didn’t falter, “That last one might be tricky. I’m unforgettable.”

Lily smiled wanly. “I’ve managed.”

He shifted a little from foot to foot, a bit awkwardly despite his cocky confidence for his figure was lanky and his arms extended a little too far when he gestured. For the first time that night James Potter looked – just barely – sixteen.

“I meant what I said, Evans,” he said, “I’m not here to ruin your night.”

Lily blinked, startled. Earnestness didn’t suit him – she didn’t know what to do with it. For five calendar years she’d known him as the bully of her ex-childhood friend, the charmer, the prankster who didn’t know when he went too far. It was unusual for her to see him serious.

Before she could reply, Kathleen came sauntering back, cheeks flushed a shade of indigo in the smoky light. “Lil! Dance with us! They’ve got music – Remus has some sort of spell going!”

“I –” Lily glanced at James, then back at her friend. “Go on ahead, Kathy. I’ll join in a minute.”

Kathleen raised a brow, glanced suspiciously between the two of them, and then relented, disappearing into the crush of bodies coalescing near the fire.

James shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, rocking back on his heels. “You really should dance, Evans.”

“And you really should mind your own business.”

“Never been good at that,” he smirked. “But you already knew that.”

And there he was again. James Potter – king of mischief and never-knowing-the-right-behaviour-for-the-right-situation. Lily narrowed her eyes. 

“I’m not dancing with you, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

James’ grin widened. “Didn’t ask. Yet.”

“Hmph. Don’t.”

A laugh ripped itself right from his chest. “Okay, Ev. No dancing. Then how ‘bout this? Last one to the lake has to snog the Giant Squid.”

He bolted in a scatter of footsteps, great whoops of triumph preceding him, and Lily, cursing her better judgment, found herself running too. The summer wind burned through her hair as she tramped in her sandals across the moonstruck field, all dry sticks and the smell of wild mint underfoot. Her heart was hammering right through bone. Still half-wild. Her soul not yet settled in her.

“Slow down, Potter – you bought yourself a bloody head start!”

“You’ve got longer legs than me, Ev!”

Lily pushed harder if only out of pure spite, pelting after him and away from the blur of gold and sound that was the party in the clearing. Her sandals slipped on pebbles, some of which were as large and smooth as duck eggs. Between them, brown-gold bladder-wrack still damp from the lake’s foaming ripples. James was just a few strides ahead, barrelling over shrubbery toward the black mirror of the lake under half-moon.

“No magic!” Lily called, breathless. “If you cheat, Potter, I swear to Merlin –”

“Scout’s honour!” he yelled, and at the last second, he twisted, threw a grin over his shoulder, and skidded down the embankment.

She leapt the final stretch and slammed into him just as his trainers hit the pebbled shore. They went down in a tangle and broke immediately apart, breathing heavily. 

Lily shoved herself up on her elbows, glaring down at him. “You – are – infuriating.”

“But,” he said, catching his breath, “you still chased after me.”

“Idiot.”

“– Guilty.” James smirked. 

They passed a few moments there, sprawled beside each other with the water sluicing impishly up, sometimes reaching the tips of their toes. With the last of the party behind her, Lily paused and took a long look out to the lake. In the dark, the water spread flat across the horizon – so solid-looking and without depth, that one might be tempted to make a sharp turn right and try walking on it, and only when it opened and took him down discover that it was a trick of the eye. 

“You ever think,” came James’ voice suddenly, a low hum, “maybe you work too hard at not liking me?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “You ever think maybe I just don’t like you?”

His grin softened into something she didn’t recognize. “Yeah, Ev,” he said, and he sounded almost resigned. “I’ve thought about that.”

The words surprised her so much that she forgot, for a few seconds, to be annoyed. In front of her, he was fiddling with the top button of his shirt. He had a habit of acting busy when he didn't know what to do with his hands, she found. He tilted his chin, thin brows drawn in boyish concentration, a little moisture lighting the down of his upper lip, and for the first time that night Lily met his eyes. To his credit, James took her unflinching gaze with just a slight jerk of his shoulders, and an almost imperceptible intake of breath.

“It’s late,” he said, the words tumbling out of him quickly like they'd been swallowed wrong, “I’ve got McGonagall first thing in the morning. I’d better get my mates and head up to bed.”

This was very different from the boy Lily had once known - or thought she'd known. She didn't know what to make of it. A little breathlessly, she stood and brushed the sand from her freckled palms. “Okay. Me too. Goodnight, Potter.”

James lingered for a moment, standing beside her with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. When he turned his jaw, the moonlight caught in his glasses, two white reflections hiding his eyes.

“Night, Evans,” he said finally, mouth quirking up into a smile like she'd become a secret he wasn’t ready to tell. “I’ll see you around.”