Chapter Text
Lily and James were absolutely not together.
Well — they were together, quite a bit, actually. They’d gotten over their blow up in fifth and developed somewhat of a friendly relationship by the end of sixth year, had hung out a couple times over the summer because of their shared friend group.
Head duties made it worse — or better, depending on how she looked at it. The endless patrols and meetings meant they were forced into each other’s orbit, and there was no denying how well they worked together. Where she was methodical, he was instinctive. Where she overplanned, he improvised. Somehow, it balanced. Somehow, she no longer dreaded the hours with him but found herself… looking forward to them.
Then somewhere in between those late-night patrols and shared reports spread across the Heads’ office desk, the edges of rivalry softened into something resembling friendship. Real friendship, the kind where she trusted him enough to hand over part of her workload without double-checking, the kind where he’d listen — properly listen — when she was tired or cross. He teased her, yes, but it wasn’t sharp anymore. She teased him back, and sometimes their banter left her smiling long after the conversation ended.
It had slipped into something more intimate now, something she couldn’t quite name. She caught herself seeking him out in the common room, choosing the seat beside him when there was space, brushing against him without thinking. His hand would rest at her back when they walked through crowded corridors, warm and steady, and she wouldn’t pull away. When she leaned over his shoulder to peer at his parchment, her hair falling against his cheek, he’d grin up at her with such unguarded warmth it’d make her chest flutter.
There was a physicality to their closeness lately that didn’t belong to simple friendship — knees brushing under the table, his arm slung over the back of her chair, her fingers tugging playfully at his tie when he annoyed her. It was all casual, innocent on the surface. But there was heat beneath it too, unspoken and undeniable. Flirty, maybe. Touchy, definitely. And yet if anyone asked, she would have sworn — sworn — they weren’t together.
Because they weren’t.
But they were also not not together, in a way that made her restless.
Their friends had started treating them as a unit, sliding benches closer at mealtimes, saving two seats instead of one. It wasn’t even subtle anymore — Mary once asked if ‘they’ were going to Hogsmeade, and when Lily blinked at her, confused, Mary just smirked and said, “you know what I mean.”
Remus had started making jokes about drawing up a rota for their patrols since they seemed to prefer doubling up anyway, and Marlene never missed a chance to grin when James ducked his head close to Lily’s to point out something on a page, their hair brushing together, his hand on her arm.
Even McGonagall had noticed. She’d begun to pin Lily with knowing looks during prefect meetings whenever James leaned back in his chair, arms crossed but gaze fixed only on Lily as she spoke. Once, when they handed in a disciplinary report signed jointly in the margin, McGonagall’s mouth twitched like she was suppressing a smile, and Lily had flushed scarlet without knowing why.
And then there were the moments Lily couldn’t explain away, the ones that felt too close, too deliberate. The way he hooked a finger through her belt loop to tug her back when she tried to walk off mid-argument, grinning when she narrowed her eyes but didn’t shake him off. The way she smoothed down his tie before he walked into a prefect meeting, fingers brushing his chest longer than they needed to, gazes locked. The way his hand lingered at the curve of her hip when he shifted past her in the corridor, his breath brushing her ear with a murmured apology that didn’t sound sorry at all; the resulting pulse of heat, low in her belly.
They had gotten close enough that Lily sometimes wondered when, exactly, she had stopped bristling at him and started… waiting for him.
But anyway.
They weren’t together.
Which didn’t explain the borrowed scarlet jersey, frayed at the seams, her frame swallowed up by letters that weren’t her own.
Lily wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened.
At some point over the past month it had ended up in her things — left draped over a chair in the Heads’ office after a late-night patrol, or tossed her way when James had been digging for parchment and muttered, “hold this a ‘sec?” She’d meant to give it back. She really had meant to. But then it stayed, tossed absentmindedly over the back of her chair with a few other jumpers…until tonight, when the November chill had her reaching for something warm.
She’d pulled it over her head without thinking, only to freeze at the mirror when the name on the back stared back at her.
POTTER.
Bold, unmistakable, the ink a little cracked from years of washing but still shouting louder than anything she could say.
She should’ve taken it off immediately. She told herself she would. But her hands lingered at the hem, tugging it down over her skirt, and instead of changing she found herself slipping into her boots and heading out the portrait hole.
The walk down to the Quidditch pitch was worse. People noticed — of course they noticed. A group of Hufflepuff girls on the staircase dissolved into whispers and giggles when she passed, their eyes darting pointedly to the name sprawled across her back. A pair of fourth-years offered her sly little smirks, like they’d just been handed proof of a rumor they’d been dying to believe. And then there were the smiles — genuine, a little knowing — from people who actually knew them, who thought it was fitting somehow, her in his colors.
Her cheeks burned hot enough to rival the autumn wind, and she ducked her head, marching on and biting back a smile.
And then—
“Lily?”
She froze.
Severus stood at the bottom of the steps leading out toward the pitch, a potions text clutched tight in one hand, his expression going slack the moment his gaze landed on her. His mouth fell open. For a second, he looked like someone had hexed the air from his lungs.
“You’re—” His voice cracked. He swallowed, eyes darting to the bold lettering, the gold ‘captain’ emblem on the side of her chest, then back to her face. “You’re wearing his jersey?”
Her stomach clenched. She willed herself not to fidget, not to tug at the fabric. “It’s just—”
“Don’t,” he snapped, sharp and ugly. His face had gone pale, but his eyes glittered, fever-bright. “Don’t tell me it’s nothing. You… you fancy him, don’t you?”
Lily opened her mouth — to deny it, maybe, to deflect — but the words tangled somewhere in her throat. She couldn’t say no. Not with James’s name pressed warm against her spine, not with the way her heart had been flipping over in her chest every time his grin caught her off guard.
Her silence was answer enough.
Severus’ jaw tightened. He looked like he’d been struck, like something precious had been wrenched away from him and he couldn’t quite believe it. “Unbelievable,” he hissed, the word shaking at the edges. “Him? Of all people—”
“Enough.” Her voice came out steadier than she expected, firm and cold. “You don’t get to stand there and judge me, not after—”
She cut herself off, the memory of mud and shouted slurs still raw. His face twisted anyway, like she’d struck the nerve on purpose. For a moment, they just stood there, the space between them straining with things unsaid, things long past mending.
Then Lily lifted her chin. “I have to go, Sev. The game’s starting.”
And she brushed past him, heart hammering, the jersey heavy on her shoulders but not uncomfortable — comforting, maybe. Severus flinched when it touched him, burned by the name on her back.
Good. Let it burn.
He had no right — not after the things he’d called her, not after the choices he’d made. He didn’t get to stand there and sneer like her happiness was some kind of betrayal. If she liked James — if she liked the way he made her laugh, the way he steadied her without asking, the way his quiet attention made her feel seen — then that was hers. Not his to comment on, not his to ruin.
Her fists unclenched slowly as she strode across the grass, the wind cool on her face.
Whatever this was, it belonged to her, and she wasn’t about to let Severus stain it with his bitterness.
Mary and Marlene caught up to her halfway across the grounds, linking arms on either side like they’d been waiting to pounce.
“Is that—?” Marlene tugged at the fabric of Lily’s sleeve, grinning when she saw the lettering. “Oh, that’s brilliant.”
“Potter’s jersey?” Mary added, eyes bright. “Jesus, Lils, you’re not even trying to be subtle.”
Lily groaned, tugging the hem down. “It was just—warm. It was on the back of a chair, I wasn’t thinking—”
“Mm-hm,” Marlene sing-songed, exchanging a look with Mary that made Lily’s ears burn.
By the time they reached the stands, she was half tempted to vanish under a Disillusionment Charm. But Mary and Marlene were merciless, dragging her right up to the Gryffindor section where Sirius, Remus, and Peter already sprawled across a row like kings of the castle.
Sirius spotted her first. His jaw actually dropped before splitting into a feral grin.
“Oh, Evans.” He was nearly vibrating with glee. “Prongs is gonna fucking lose it.”
Lily froze mid-step. “What—”
“You may have actually killed him this time,” Sirius went on, eyes wide in mock horror. “Forget Zabini—he’s going to spot you in that and fall straight off his broom to his death. You ready to have that on your shoulders?”
Remus pressed a hand over his mouth, clearly stifling laughter, while Peter just blinked, then broke into a wicked little chuckle.
Lily folded her arms, trying very hard not to combust. “It’s just a jumper.”
“Jersey,” Sirius corrected gleefully. “With his name on it. And it’s so big on you, everyone in the stadium’s going to know it’s his. Evans, you’re basically waving a banner that says ‘taken.’”
“Fuck’s sake, Sirius, I’m not—”
But he wasn’t done. He leaned forward, eyes alight. “Honestly, you’ve outdone yourself. You could’ve written him a love poem, serenaded him under the Astronomy Tower, and it still wouldn’t touch this. This—” he gestured grandly at her back, and then, apparently lost for words, let out a low whistle and shook his head.
Remus finally lost his composure, laughing into his sleeve.
Lily dropped onto the bench beside them, cheeks aflame, trying to ignore the way people around them kept sneaking glances and whispering. But Sirius was still grinning like Christmas had come early, exchanging a knowing look with Remus. Lily sneered at the latter — you’re supposed to on my side — but he didn’t even look guilty, the prick, just shrugged easily and regarded her warmly.
Mary and Marlene flanked her on the bench like proud escorts presenting their prize. Lily sank down, wishing the wood would splinter open and swallow her whole.
Sirius leaned so far forward he was practically nose-to-nose with her, eyes gleaming. “Evans, I swear on my good name—”
“You don’t have a good name,” Remus muttered without looking up from unwrapping a Chocolate Frog.
“—on my name,” Sirius barrelled on, “that Prongs is going to combust. He’s going to see you in that jersey and just—poof. Gone. Obliterated. Nothing left but a broom handle and a smoldering pile of glasses.”
Peter snorted, nearly choking on his Pumpkin Pastie.
Lily folded her arms, forced her voice flat. “You’re all ridiculous. It’s a jumper. A practical garment for chilly weather.”
“Jersey,” Sirius corrected again, deadly serious, like the distinction mattered somehow. “Not just a jersey; his jersey. The holy relic of Gryffindor Quidditch. And you’re wearing it like a badge of honor.”
Mary elbowed Lily, smug. “He’s not wrong.”
Heat climbed Lily’s neck. She tried to focus on the pitch, on the players swooping in warm-ups, but her chest was tight with something she didn’t want to name. Because Sirius was being dramatic, yes—but the smug gleam in his eye hit a little too close to the truth she hadn’t dared put into words.
She liked wearing it. That was the worst part. She liked the weight of it, the faint scent of him still clinging to the fabric. She liked the way it made people look at her—like she was already something she wasn’t ready to admit.
Remus looked up from his chocolate frog, one brow lifted. “Honestly, Sirius, don’t make her regret sitting with us.” Then, with a sly grin in her direction: “Though, Lily, I will say — you’ve no idea how intolerable James gets when he thinks you’re impressed.”
“Oh, Moony,” Sirius sighed in delight, collapsing back dramatically, “she’s gone and handed him a win before the match has even started. At least he’ll die happy.”
Lily pressed her lips together, willing her cheeks to cool. She hadn’t meant it to be anything. She could keep telling herself that, even as her stomach flipped with every sly glance thrown her way.
Across the pitch, the Gryffindor team huddled, scarlet robes fluttering in the wind. James’ tall form stood at the center, already animated, gesturing wildly as he rallied his team. Even from here, Lily could see the grin stretching his face, the easy confidence in the way he carried himself. The sun caught on his glasses, flashing bright.
And despite herself, her heart gave a ridiculous little lurch.
She shoved her hands into her sleeves, trying to look unimpressed, but Sirius caught the flicker in her expression and grinned like a man possessed.
“Oh yeah,” he murmured, smug as anything. “Dead man flying.”
Lily rolled her eyes and forced her gaze back to the pitch just as Madam Hooch’s whistle cut the air. Players shot upward in a rush of scarlet and green, the stands erupting around them.
Beside her, Sirius was already leaning so far forward he might topple off the bench. “Come on, Prongs—show them what you’ve got.”
“He always shows them what he’s got,” Remus said fondly, unwrapping another Chocolate Frog. “Usually in the most obnoxious way possible.”
“Effective though,” Marlene pointed out as James swooped to intercept the Quaffle, red and gold robes whipping in the wind. He tucked into a roll and shot straight past Slytherin’s Chaser, moving so fast Lily barely tracked the motion.
And then he scored. Clean, effortless, like he’d done it in his sleep.
The Gryffindor section roared. Sirius was on his feet, bellowing something that was probably obscene. Lily’s chest lurched against her will, pride sparking hot in her ribs.
“See that, Evans?” Sirius dropped back down onto the bench, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head toward her. “He’s showing off for you.”
“He’s not—” Lily began, but her voice snagged as James pulled off another steal, cutting neatly across two Slytherins and passing behind his back to the other Chaser. Smooth, confident, laughing as he flew. He looked like he was born up there.
Her heart betrayed her again, thudding in rhythm with the crowd’s cheers.
The match tilted quickly, the scoreboard climbing red with every rush down the pitch. James flew like he had the whole game mapped in his head before it happened, darting into open space, flicking the Quaffle off in seamless passes, looping back to intercept before Slytherin had a chance to figure out what was going on. A handful of their attempts scraped past the hoops, but the Gryffindor Keeper batted most away, and every save was met with another counterattack that ended in a goal.
It stopped feeling like chance and started feeling inevitable. Ten points, then twenty, then thirty, the numbers climbing until the difference gaped wide. James was everywhere — laughing as he stole possession, sharp as he threaded the Quaffle through the smallest gaps, relentless in his momentum. Even when he didn’t score himself, his touch was on every play.
By the time the Slytherins managed a desperate goal of their own, the Gryffindor section had already roared itself hoarse, their lead towering, the rhythm of the game entirely theirs.
Then a gasp rippled through the stands — the Slytherin Seeker was diving, hand outstretched, green robes streaking toward the glitter of gold. Lily’s stomach lurched as he closed his fist, triumph flashing across his face. The whistle cut sharp, final.
For a heartbeat, the air seemed to collapse. Gryffindors groaned, Slytherin roared, and Lily’s hands dropped uselessly to her sides.
But then the scoreboard flared to life.
Gryffindor 210 – Slytherin 190.
The stands exploded.
Lily was on her feet before she realized it, hands cupped around her mouth as she screamed herself hoarse. She was clapping so hard her palms stung, stamping the boards beneath her boots in time with the roar of the crowd.
“They’ve done it! He’s done it!” Mary shouted in her ear, hair flying.
Marlene was jumping beside her, shrieking with laughter. “Look, Lily!”
And Lily did look. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. James was circling the pitch, scarlet robes streaming, fist punching the air with wild, glorious triumph. His grin was so bright it nearly knocked the breath from her chest.
“Let’s go Prongs!” Sirius was hollering at the top of his lungs, standing on the bench now, waving both arms.
Remus was smiling wide and clapping, caught up in the noise, while Peter chanted “Pot-ter! Pot-ter!” with the Gryffindor side of the stands eventually joining in.
Lily’s voice cracked from shouting, but she didn’t care. Her heart was racing, cheeks flushed, a giddy thrill fizzing through her veins. She’d never been so completely carried away by a game before, so invested, so—so proud, god help her.
And when his broom swooped low near their section, his gaze flicking up toward the stands, her breath caught hard in her throat. For one impossible second, she was sure he saw her, screaming his name louder than anyone.
Her stomach flipped. The world was a blur of scarlet and gold, but James Potter was clear as day, grinning like victory itself, and she couldn’t stop smiling with him.
The stands shook with thunderous cheers as students poured down the steps, a tide of scarlet and gold flooding onto the pitch. Lily barely registered Sirius vaulting the barrier ahead of her, Remus and Peter close behind, before she was swept along with Mary and Marlene, laughter tearing out of her chest.
The team was mobbed — arms slapping shoulders, banners waving, someone hoisting the Keeper up onto their back. And at the center of it all was James, still astride his broom, grinning like he’d swallowed the sun. His hair was plastered to his forehead, glasses askew, cheeks flushed with triumph.
His eyebrows hitched when his gaze snagged on her — on the flash of red hanging oversized across her shoulders, his name stretched bold across the back. She saw his mouth part, the faintest pause in his descent as though she’d knocked the wind out of him. Then color rose to his cheeks, unmistakable even in the chill air, and his grin bloomed, slow and irrepressible.
She couldn’t stay away if she tried.
It was as though the crowd parted for her, as though some invisible pull was drawing her straight toward him. James had just swung his leg over his broom, feet hitting the grass, chest still heaving from the match. The team was rushing in around him, hands clapping his shoulders, voices booming his name — but she hardly saw them.
She didn’t think. She just moved.
His feet had barely touched the grass when she collided with him, arms flung around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist. He caught her on instinct, hands gripping her thighs as he staggered back a step, laughter bubbling out of him in surprise.
“Lily—bloody hell—” His words cut off as her mouth crashed into his.
The world snapped out of focus. His lips were warm and stunned under hers for a heartbeat, and then he groaned — a sound that vibrated through her — and kissed her back, hard. He clutched her tighter, fingers digging into her thighs, kissing her like he’d been holding it back for years.
She pulled back just far enough for air, her breath ragged against his, but he followed, chasing her mouth like he couldn’t stand the distance. His glasses knocked her cheek; she didn’t care.
Between kisses, his voice broke against her lips, laughing, disbelieving: “What the fuck are you wearing, Evans?”
She smiled into the kiss, breathless. “Figure it out, Potter.”
He groaned again, half laugh, half something guttural, and kissed her deeper, mouth hot and insistent. Every time she tried to breathe, he was there again, lips brushing hers, teeth grazing, tongue sliding, pulling another startled gasp from her. She tightened her legs around his waist, fingers in his hair, and he responded by holding her closer, like she belonged there.
The crowd was shrieking, Sirius and Peter howling, but none of it mattered. James was kissing her like obsession, like he couldn’t stop even if he’d wanted to, and Lily — for once in her life — let herself get carried away.
When they finally broke apart, both of them gasping, James’s forehead fell against hers, eyes wide and shining behind crooked glasses.
“Merlin,” he panted, still clutching her like he thought she might disappear. Then, softer, stunned: “This gonna happen every time I win?”
Her chest tightened. “One good match and you think I’m yours, huh?”
James’ answering grin was crooked, dazed, boyish in a way that made her stomach twist. He lowered her to the ground and leaned down to catch her mouth again, not desperate this time but firm, certain, like he wanted to memorize the shape of her lips.
When they parted, breath mingling, his voice was rough with laughter, something raw beneath it. “Fuck, I hope so.”
Lily blinked up at him, heart stuttering, and for a suspended moment it was just the two of them — eyes locked, grins breaking through, a quiet wonder that neither could hide.
Then the world crashed back in. The crowd was a blur of red and gold, Sirius was howling himself hoarse, Mary and Marlene shrieking with excitement. Gryffindors were chanting James’ name, stamping their feet on the grass.
Lily laughed, breathless, tucked into his side, and James just stared at her like he couldn’t believe his luck.
His fingers tugged at the fabric on her shoulders, eyes flicking to the bold letters across her back. “Please don’t ever take this off,” he murmured, just for her.
Her smile turned sly. “It looks better on me anyway.”
James didn’t even try to argue. His mouth twitched, breathless laughter spilling out, and the look he gave her was pure agreement — reverent, adoring, like he’d never been so glad to lose a point.
“Looks so fucking good, Evans,” he muttered, heat flashing in his eyes as he let them trace down her body, drink her in.
Her breath hitched, fire blooming hot in her chest at the rasp of his voice.
The crowd was still thundering around them, Sirius’ voice carrying somewhere over the din shouting something about a party, but Lily hardly heard it. All she could feel was James — his arm wrapped tightly around her shoulders like he was claiming her, his breath warm against her cheek, the dizzying realization that this had just changed everything.
And that she didn’t mind one bit.