Today's dedication goes to karl-otto24 because she's great and her comments always make me laugh! Thank you for blowing up my wattpad with your running commentary :)
Lyl ♥️♥️♥️

(1st September 1977)

Lily Evans looked down at the golden orb perched sprucely on her collarbone and felt a comfortable tingle run down her spine and into her heart.

A good luck charm.

That's what he'd called the little ball, a good luck charm. She hadn't been wearing it for more than a minute before the luck crept through her chest like a warm drink on a rainy day. Perhaps it took her longer than it should have to realise that the sensation wasn't felicity, it was magic.

It had been a while since she'd felt connected to magic like it. Such feelings only ever swept her up in a tendril of fury or upset; they rarely convulsed her in such a welcoming, subtle way– almost teasing her. She could barely remember the last time she felt so powerful, so audacious, and all because of a little golden necklace.

When she looked back up the only remaining part of James to watch was the back of his head, tousled raven curls bopped as he walked, giving the illusion he was laughing to himself (or perhaps he was, she would never know).

Lily walked home on her own that day, soaking up the last of the summer before the transition into autumn began to fully take stride, the seasons had only just begun to stitch together like gauche knitting and she was determined to see everything in its blue before they began to perish in a flutter of fiery orange and crimson.

The sun was still warm and so she hadn't taken a jacket with her to the train station but she began to question that decision as she sat on the tube. Dorcas has taken the car back to Cokeworth with her mother but Lily had declined the offer, she preferred to be alone on September firsts, it gave her a chance to think.

Now James was gone she began to feel more like Lily Evans; Simpson seemed to peel off of her like a reptile shedding its skin and she welcomed the transition. As much as she execrated Evans she realised that Simpson was no better.
But despite it all, she had never quite felt as alive as she had that summer, being Lily Simpson, being someone she could enjoy. It wouldn't last but she'd enjoyed it.

Paddington Station wasn't quite as busy as King's Cross but she took solace in the fact she wouldn't have to pass platforms nine and ten, she wouldn't have to ponder what might have been if she ran through the wall like Severus had told her all those years ago.

Lily had barely spared a thought for Severus and yet September first had always done something to bring his tales back to the forefront of her mind; that's all his stories felt like now– fairytales. Over the years Hogwarts had become a place of dreams and fancies for her, less of a palpable place and more an idea, a dream. It had become a dream, Lily loved dreams, and yet this was the one that she'd yet to wake up from.

The train wasn't as crammed as the tube and so she'd found herself a seat she didn't have to share; it faced backwards but that was neither here nor there, she didn't mind it. But it was as she sat alone on the train that she let her mind drift back to James and the others. They were on their way to a fancy boarding school now, filled with promises to write and heartbreaks over leaving them behind.

Lily thought about all of them but mostly it was James that occupied her thoughts. She wondered how he felt right now, if he was sitting thinking the same things as her? He'd told her to write to the post office near his school and he would be able to get the letters from there, she slipped her hand into her pocket and felt the slip of paper he'd written the address on. Was it too early to imagine what she might say?

Being Lily Simpson had taught Lily Evans a few lessons; some she appreciated and others she had taken in a vitriolic manner, but learned all the same. The most vital of the things Lily Evans had learnt was that being Lily Simpson didn't change who she was at all, only how she thought of herself and no amount of sunsets, sunhats, wildflowers and ice cream would change her. She was always Lily Simpson somewhere, she just hadn't known it.

Haply it was the little orb on her neckline talking but with it chained to her, she need never feel like Lily Evans again. Lily Evans: the pushy prefect, the weird child, the outcast. That Lily Evans had died the second she saw James Potter, he'd changed almost everything in her life –or at least made her question it– and perhaps that was what made her feel so magical, not the necklace, but James himself; the memory of him. The warmth of his shoulder; the way his genuine laugh spread across a space like thick smoke; how his smile instantly lifted her mood or how his little quips kept her feeling more alive than she had ever remembered.

Today was the first ever September first, since she was eleven, that she had ever begun with a vague smile on her lips and a spring in her step. Hope was in her heart and a golden necklace was on her collarbone.

Lily Simpson was no longer Lily Evans, but neither was Lily Evans, and yet somehow it seemed perfectly sound to her.
She was Lily Evans, but the Lily Evans she had always dreamt of being. She felt new, powerful, alive, and best of all: there was magic surging through every vestibule, every capillary of her body.

  ♥ ♥ ♥

(1st September 1977 continued)

A letter.

Just a letter.

It had been just a letter for seven years now, perched at the bottom of her jewellery box like an innocuous bit of tea stained paper. The ink had worn slightly, the edges had curled and folded. The whole thing seemed to resemble a very old, very astute person; wrinkled and faded but still brimming with memories and stories to tell that keep one on the edge of their seat.

It had been just a letter for as long as she'd kept it hidden from her family, they had no idea she still owned it, perhaps that's what made it seem all the more powerful as she held it in her hands. It was a silent rebellion, her own way for punishing her parents for the life they deprived her of. They could take her tears of blood and her clouds of ash but they couldn't take the little letter.

Last year it had mocked her, laughed at her misfortune and fed on her weakness, allowing her to become more consumed by its illusory power by the second. Not today. Today it did no such thing. Lily was almost disappointed at how nugatory such an object became when she didn't let it have the power. A letter would not define her anymore. Memories would not be all she fears, dreams will not be all she takes to the grave. This letter, as trivial as it was, would not rob her of anymore resentment or pique.
This letter was hers, not her memories. Deny it, repress it and ignore it all she wants; becoming Lily Simpson and spending time with James made her realise that she still was a witch. Somewhere deep beneath every barricade she couldn't keep the magic out. Magic found its way into her skin as well has her heart and she wasn't willing to let it go. It had been gone for so long.

Her eyes scoured the words on the letter again, scanning what she could have recited in her sleep, and yet somehow reading the letter always put her at a sense of peace. But this time? This time it felt different. Because now Lily might as well burn the letter.

She'd thought about it –even tried to do it– multiple times and yet she never had, because every September first she would read it and remember where she should have been, maybe even part of her wondered if she would need it? Surely not anymore?

It was a peculiarly liberating thing to be rid of the need of something. To be able to let it go. The letter had stayed with her through thick and thin, it had tempted her not so long ago –back when she first met James– but she kept to her unwritten promise, only to read it on the first of September. But now it was rendered fruitless then the prospect that it really was just a bit of parchment was starting to take root in her mind.

How had she allowed it?

How had she allowed herself to be dictated by such a futile object?

Lily shook her head at the letter in her hands. That was all it was, really, just a letter. She doubted the other witches and wizards kept their letters, most would keep them around for the shopping list and then it would end up in the bin someday during term. Maybe that's why she gave it so much power? Because most of the people like her wouldn't think twice about it.

And so she gave it one last look:

Dear Lily J. Evans,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Sincerest Regards,
Minerva McGonogall,
Deputy Headmistress

And then, with a final rebellious smile, she tore the parchment in two, relishing the sound it made as all the power came spilling out and everything seemed just a little bit lighter.

This time when Dorcas came crashing in, her bad mood about Marlene leaving again, she needn't search for a record to listen to. Because Lily's favourite song was already playing, bouncing around the room like the smell of freshly baked cookies rather than the wilting feeling her room possessed when decorated with sad music. Today they listened to Here Comes The Sun and Lily had never felt more in control.

(1st September continued)

Platform nine and three quarters was a fantastic place to behold, but it was also a bloody nightmare to navigate and that was why Esme-Leigh Bisset preferred to be there prematurely. She enjoyed watching the rush take over the platform bit by bit. Not only was it easier to secure a carriage but one could spend hours just observing the world. The romantic reunions, the friendly greetings, the teary goodbyes, the nervous knee wobbling and the fond eyes of parents. Everything seemed so much simpler from the outside, or inside depending on how one wished to view it.

She didn't stir until Marlene McKinnon drew into view, blotting her red eyes with the sleeve of her baggy cable-knit cardigan, it slipped off her left shoulder with the effort but Marlene took no notice, nor did she endeavour to rectify the issue. Esme-Leigh thought it looked better like that anyway. She watched with concern as the blonde head bobbed over to the trains entrance and got lost in the crowd of boarding students.

Esme craned her neck to see the face of Felicity McKinnon plastered with perturbation for her only daughter, a surge of sympathy crossed her heart for the woman that seemed to have aged ten years in a summer.

I'll take care of her. Esme-Leigh willed Felicity to hear her through some sort of telepathy but of course that would have been impossible. Nevertheless she promised herself that she'd keep Marlene safe this year. If not for herself then for Felicity McKinnon.

It didn't take Marlene long to locate the compartment that Esme had secured, it was their usual one after all and if Marlene appreciated anything in life then it was consistency.

"Don't mind me, I'm having a smoke."

It didn't seem to be a question and so Esme elected not to answer, sometimes it was best not to say anything if you had nothing to say, rather than fill a perfectly sound silence with something meaningless.

She had always found that if words were meant to be passed between them it was always Marlene that had the right thing to say and so she waited patiently for such a moment to arise.

"Dorcas was worse."

"No she wasn't."

"No you're right. She wasn't."

Esme-Leigh smiled at her best friend and held out her arms, "come 'ere."
To her surprise Marlene stood up immediately and crossed the compartment to sit on her lap, curling up as small as she could and resting her head on Esme's pastel-pink hair.

"Just think: this is the last year you'll ever have to do that again. And then, when Dorcas and you are both eighteen you can apply to the Ministry to tell her everything."
It was true, seen as Marlene could never marry her girlfriend the Ministry had demised a plan to allow gay and lesbian witches and wizards to apply to allow their significant other to know about the magical world on the condition that if they were to separate then a memory charm must be performed.
Although such an arrangement frightened some and so many gay witches and wizards opted never to tell their partners about magic to save the pain of a memory charm should they ever split. The threat of having their Muggle forget all of their existence was enough to drive some to madness. But not Marlene, she wasn't frightened of anything. And neither was Dorcas and so Esme-Leigh knew for a fact that somewhere in Marlene's diary there was a countdown until the first day the two of them were eighteen.

"I know. I just wish it would be sooner."

Esme hushed her, gently stroking her blonde beach waves with the sort of tenderness that might have belonged to a mother.

Seeing Marlene like this did little to steady Esme in her unspoken promise to Felicity. Sometimes, when Marlene was in this way, it was difficult to imagine the sun would ever return to the sky and leave the jovial, charismatic girl they all knew best. But all storms eventually clear, her mother had told her that when she would wrack with sobs at the sound of a lightning storm. The sun will follow, ma chérie, just you wait. She could almost hear the words of Vianne Bisset if she closed her eyes tight enough.

A small sniff from Marlene was enough to know the the tears were fading and that the storm was calming sooner than she had anticipated. Although she should be surprised. Marlene was made of iron that never seemed to rust. Okay, maybe that's aluminium.

"What are you smiling at?"

"What?"

Marlene let out a breath that sounded although it might be a laugh.
"I can feel you smiling on the top of my head. I'm asking why?"

"Because aluminium doesn't sound nearly as powerful as iron."

This time Esme-Leigh was certain it was a laugh ringing through the compartment.
"You make no sense."

"De temps en temps."

They descended back into a sort of quiet that filled the room like a blanket, wrapping those contributing up in such vehement ardour that they might never want to escape.

Perhaps neither would have spoken again, and so it was a miracle that neither had to. Someone else did a stellar job of interrupting their idyllic company.

"Sorry!...have I interrupted something?"

Mary MacDonald stood in the doorway looking horrified with embarrassment at having disturbed the scene.
Esme turned to face her as Marlene slipped back into her own seat and relocated her packet of cigarettes, finding a new one to smoke.

"Not at all. Do you want to come in?"

Mary grinned, radiance bouncing off her, making her seem angelic with her honeyed hair and pale green eyes. She hadn't changed much over the summer apart from the abundance of freckles the sun exposure had given her. Mary had always been peppered with hundreds of freckles, but now there seemed to be thousands on her cheeks, nose, and forehead. Her freckles weren't anything like Lily's, Esme observed; Lily had freckles that looked like they'd been peppered on like sprinkles or dotted like a clear night sky. But with Mary her freckles were almost aggressive–her face was covered all over like shrapnel on no-man's-land, it was almost impossible to locate a part of her pale skin behind the mask of freckles.

The smile didn't leave her face as she sat down opposite Esme, they locked eyes. Mary's eyes were not the deep sort to be lost in, but they were addictive to look at. She wore her heart on her sleeve and didn't care who knew it and so one didn't need to stare deeply to find what was abundantly clear from a glance at her pretty face.

"So, Mary MacDonald, what's the story with you?" (Marlene had always referred to their roommate as Mary MacDonald, more out of endearment than anything else. It was sort of a pet name.)

Her voice broke whatever spell had seized Esme and she was forced back into the room when Mary answered, once again, with a buoyant smile.

"My mum's pregnant. So most of my holiday was consumed with helping her get everything ready. Shopping for baby clothes, sorting out cribs, car seats, childproofing the whole cottage, essentially."

"Oh really?! That's adorable! Boy or a girl?"

"Two girls!"

"Twins?!"

Mary nodded, gathering enthusiasm as she spoke of her mother, whom she was clearly extremely fond of.
"Yep. And mum says I can choose a name for one of them. Seen as she got to name me, she says it's only fair my dad name one of them and me the other. I like Emery or Jade, my dad likes Rae but my mum says it's more of a middle name."

Marlene seemed to emit an odd sort of choking noise on her cigarette, somewhere halfway between pain and amusement.
"That's Dorcas' middle name," she turns to address Mary: "my girlfriend."

"Really?! Maybe my mum was right. Dorian was his second choice so I guess it'll be that."

"Dorian is nice," Esme assured with a nod, "so is Emery."

Mary blushed beneath her explosion of freckles and the subject seemed to pass between them like a whisper of wind.

"Who'll get the firstie this year, do you think?" Marlene asked, shifting the subject completely away after a moment of content, filled only with the rumble of the train and the sound of Marlene smoking.
The firstie had become a sort of superstition ever since Lily Evans had come to Hogwarts: whichever house was sorted the first new student was said to have been cursed with bad luck. So far Gryffindor had only taken the firstie once –when they were in third year– a scrawny boy named Eddie was sorted into their house and eventually cost them last place in the house cup.

"We've not had them for a while. I suppose we're due some bad luck."

"True enough. Hufflepuff have been lumbered with them for three years running, poor bastards, I think we'd better take the firstie off them out of etiquette more than anything else."

Mary laughed and instantly Esme felt like her joke was a million times more amusing than it truly was.
"It's a stupid superstition, anyway." Aforementioned Mary continued, expanding on Esme-Leigh's point, "if Lily Evans had been here then we'd never have thought of it. Besides, Hufflepuff were second last year!"

"Yes but they haven't won the cup with a firstie. Think about it. Has anyone?"

The trio thought for a moment before Mary shrugged, "s'pose not. Lily Evans must have cast some sort of spell, trapping up all the bad luck into poor students with an unfortunate early alphabet surname."

"Can you imagine the burden of being the firstie. And to think, they don't even know they're a walking curse yet." As she spoke Mary had a face like a content angel, living off every word and it made Esme-Leigh imagine the very opposite of what she was saying. Mary was not a walking curse. She was a charm.

Marlene waited for the moment to slip away before she stood.
"I've got to find James. I'll be back soon."

"Why do you need to find James?"

"In case he's blown up the train?"

Esme laughed as Marlene slipped out the door, leaving her alone with a humming heart and Mary MacDonald.

♣ ♣ ♣

(1st September 1977 continued)

Mary MacDonald was the kind of character that one might have labelled as reticent and demure but it only look a while in her close company to understand that she worked fairly differently to common assumption: often her feelings would build up to a maximum before spilling like a waterfall towards any given person. In this case it was James Potter.

She had just slipped out her compartment with Esme-Leigh and had begun her search for her best friend (a Slytherin muggleborn named Ester Wallace) when she bumped into the quidditch captain and star marauder, alone in the empty compartment she'd just slid into.

It look less than a second for Mary to take notice of the morose expression on the boy's face and instantly Mary remembered the news of Euphemia Potter hitting The Daily Prophet.

"James?"

He turned to face her, rolling on the balls of his feet and attempting a weak smile.
"I've lost Sirius and Remus. You haven't seen them, have you?"

"No but I've found you before Marlene."

"Marlene's looking for me?" His hazel eyes lit up a little with the mention of his friend in the sort of way that would make a lot of girls sigh, but not Mary. By now her emotional waterfall was fit to burst and so she scurried over to James and threw her arms around him instead of gushing a load of meaningless tosh. It felt easier to show him she was sorry rather than have to explain it.

"I was going to send a letter but I didn't know where to send it. I also wasn't sure if we were close enough to be on letter terms?"

She felt James' broad shoulders give a wrack of laughter, "it's okay. I understand."

"You understand everything. That's why you don't deserve this. Any of it."

"You're only saying that because I'm fifty percent less of an arse than I was in fifth year."

"Maybe, but it's still an improvement."

They both laughed, slightly awkwardly but Marlene soon found them to diffuse the tension. She wore a warm smile and watched them for a while, leaning against the doorframe and dreading the moment she would have to interrupt the tranquil.

(6th September 1977)

There was a very solid few things that Lily Evans hated. She found it heinous to despise something with so little remorse and so much malice that it was a sparse occasion for such a thing to occur. Petunia Evans was one of the exceptions. And other was Faith Evans' drinking and yet somehow both seemed to be weighing her down on that drab, autumn night...

On some evenings the sun set with glorious bursts of watercolour stretching across the sky in all celestial colours, but other evenings –this one in particular– were nothing special at all. There was absolutely nothing in the sky, not a lick of rich paint seemed to adorn the open space for miles. It was all just an anaemic display of greyscale and it only did more to put Lily in a lamentable mood.

Faith Evans was never violent when drunk –in fact she often tried to hide her drunkenness– but it was never too strenuous to deduce her intake by the vacant look in her eyes and the way it seemed like a ghost was haunting her body while she roamed the house.

Today was a day of emptiness in the skies and in Faith Evans. She hadn't moved from the kitchen table for half the day no matter what anyone did. Her eyes –which resembled a foggy bathroom mirror– bore into the wall directly in front of her as though she were engaged a miserable contest that had ended months ago.
In days like this, Faith became a thing of shadows and it hurt Lily to see just how much she cared about her mother, despite desperate attempts to hate her, it seemed that nothing could stop Lily from loving her mother, not even the ghost she'd become. (The drinking was what she really hated.)

Petunia Evans, however, did not share the same sympathy for her mother and if she did, it was not out of love. In fact, the only emotion Petunia had managed to feel towards her mother was a sick burning in the back of her throat which she labelled resentment.

Lily realised that it was possible to love someone and to wish them dead all at once. She'd come to learn that to love someone so blindly through a churlish layer of anger didn't bode well. Sometimes things spill out heavier than a bowling ball, a thunderstorm, a waterfall.

When Faith climbed into herself it was often a chore to pull her out, the world would drift further with every blink until, eventually Petunia had enough.

"Mum! Will you stop? Please!"

If Faith had heard her oldest daughter's cry then it didn't reflect on her face. The utter contempt and disgust frightened Lily but Faith remained blissfully apathetic, it seemed.

She did not raise an eyebrow, nor even blink when her eldest daughter picked up the glass of 'coffee' and sent it hurtling towards the back wall, smashing into pieces and making a high-pitched shriek as it shattered.

Lily's eyes welled up in horror, the mug looked awfully like her older sister must feel. Smashed to bits and beyond repair. It was only to easy to know because she felt exactly the same.

"WHY WONT YOU STOP?! DO YOU EVEN CARE ABOUT US AT ALL?"
Petunia's voice was raucous and it cut Lily like a knife, leaving her beaten and ruined, damaged beyond repair like the mug on the floor. With a glance she realised it was a mug Lily had painted when she was a child, and given to her mother for her birthday. She was so proud of herself and refused to allow her mother to drink out of anything else for weeks. Now it fanned across the floor in a fatal carpet of confetti.

It was impossible to tell if the tears in Faith's eyes were from the drunken prohibition to blink or genuine terror at the registration of her daughter's broken voice and shattered heart.

Petunia just stared for a moment, heaving breaths of oxygen in attempt to calm the pit of fire in her stomach and acid in her throat.
"No." She said in an eerily calm manner, "of course you don't."

Her next words were not chosen sedulously at all, but when they left her lips it was as if a weight was lifted off Petunia's shoulders; like she could finally be done with her poisonous odium. They were barely a whisper but anyone in the room could hear. Lily heard them, from the corner of the room where she clutched the windowsill like it was the only thing on the planet not spinning; and Martin Evans heard them from the doorframe, for some reason he wasn't surprised. It was only a matter of time before someone said it.
"I hate you."

I hate you.

I hate you.

Lily felt the ground give way beneath her feet.

This is my fault. All my fault. I hate you.

A thousand things went around her in a blur but only one made it to the surface and to her lips where it was accompanied by a venomous tone and a glare that clouded her vision. She shouldn't speak up for her mother but she did. She always would.
"Take that back. Now."

I hate you.

Three words that did not nearly mean what Petunia implored them to. They did not mean she hated her mother, they did not mean they hated her drinking, but, to Lily, it meant that she hated her little sister worst of all.

"No."

"Take. It. Back. You don't hate her. You hate me. Because if I wasn't... what I am, then none of this would have happened."

Petunia turned and locked eyes with Lily, they were a piercing, almost achingly so, sky blue and they were fixed on her with a look of raw and painful revulsion. A look that Lily had never quite seen before.

"You're right. I hate you."

And then something broke. Lily swore she heard a shatter, swore there was a glass that turned to powder, but later she would realise that it was just her heart. Because it was true: Petunia really did hate her little sister.

Because it was her fault. Because it wouldn't be happening if she hadn't cried blood, rained ash and blossomed flowers. Maybe, just maybe, if she was normal then Petunia might still love her, Faith might not have drank and her father might not have smoked too many cigars.
There was a chance that in another life, the Evans family might have been happy. But they weren't. And no one had ever brought themselves to say it until now but it was true. They weren't happy. And Petunia, for one, was tired of pretending. Tired of such a sick farce where eggshells were the lightest part of walking.

And so Faith stared at the wall with eyes like mist; Martin closed his own eyes and tried to forget he wasn't there; Petunia looked away from her sister as though she never wanted to lay eyes on her again and Lily did her best to push down the climaxing emotion that could only be an outburst of magic. It didn't work. Every single picture frame fell off the walls, off the mantle and off the shelves around the room and crashed onto the floor in perfect synchronisation and still nobody flinched, Faith still did not even blink.

The Evans family sat in their own thick layer of resentment. None willing to move, to break out the spell of heartbreak.

Until, finally, Faith Evans stood up, eyes still clouded, but she did not waver on her feet, and collected a dustpan from the kitchen. Wordlessly she set to work on clearing up the shards of broken mug. Lily watched as tears streamed down her cheeks and wished with all her might that her heart could be cleared just as easily as the inconsequential bundle of ceramic.

(6th September 1977 continued)

James Potter leapt up the staircase two at a time before he reached the Head's common room portrait (a little girl with pigtails that Remus had remarked looked like Pippie Longstocking).

"Alohamora!"

The little girl waved brightly at him before letting the painting swing open and reveal the common room.
The living space was currently empty but a blazing fire roared and sent dancing shadows across the homely stone walls. The plush maroon chairs were empty but one had been distrusted not so long ago judging by the wrinkles in the plump, golden cushions.

"Honey, I'm home!" James called caustically, allowing the portrait to swing shut behind him as he stepped inside.

"Oh, my hero!" An equally sarcastic voice came from the Head Girl's bedroom before she materialised in front of him and, keeping up the melodrama, threw her arms around his neck.
"Prongs, you worried me! It's nearly midnight and all that prank planning with the boys can be dangerous!"

Marlene McKinnon, Head Girl, let go of him and placed the back of her hand on her forehead, fanning herself with the other, "I was worried sick!"

"Well I hath returned, my dear, and I bring a proposal from my fellow Marauders!" He puffed out his chest in continuation of the facade while he followed her to sit on one of the sinking sofas.

"Pray tell! Pray tell!"

"Well, they want the password to this common room. Of course you can give it to Ez and any of your other friends– Aliona and Trudy if you want. Maybe Mary if she'd not opposed to breaking a rule."

Marlene scoffed but it was clear by her eyes she was considering it, the way they lit up was enough for James to know exactly what she was thinking. And she was grinning, alight with mischief.
"The boys would use the password as a weapon of mass destruction."

"Maybe. But what's the point in coming up with such a cool password if we can't tell people it?"

"I suppose alohamora is a good password."

James laughed, throwing a cushion in her face, "don't pretend you don't have a taste for mass destruction, Marlene McKinnon!"

"I prefer the word talent, if you will?" (Her tone back to excessively ornate.)

"Ah, my sincere apologies."

It had been a long time since the two of them had laughed like they did then. Most of the time they'd spent alone was in reassurance and mourning. Since they'd been made Head Boy and Girl that had been swapped out for detention chaperoning, prefect rounds and point deducting. They worked well together in the sense that they were always seconds away from disaster. They walked the fine line between a perfect pair and sheer ruin; neither of them had previously been a prefect and so they had to borrow knowledge off Remus (whom had been nicknamed Hogwarts' worse prefect for all the pranks he'd let slide –or organised but that was neither here nor there– no one could prove that.) and occasionally they would take advice from Mary, she'd also been a prefect but had always maintained to Marlene that she didn't want to be Head Girl, she'd rather be helping operate the system rather than be the face of it. She also maintained that Marlene had more student's respect and therefore did a much better job.

Despite this, James' quidditch captaincy was also to be considered which would cause serious burden once the season started and so Remus had offered to help take the weight off a few rounds a week when the height of the season took place.
And finally the MPP was a new angle that hadn't yet been looked at. James had told Marlene he planned on letting Aliona pull more weight in the club as an apology for her attack last year (but Marlene knew the real reason was because this way Trudy would be second handedly involved with decisions if Aliona took the wheel. He'd promised to help Trudy last term and he intended to keep his promise.)

Once the laughter died down Marlene wore a more serious expression. He sensed a lecture washing over her face and he sighed audibly, leaning his head back on the couch and pulling his packet of cigarettes from his robe (not actually his packet, he'd nabbed it off a fourth year kid trying to smoke in the hallways and since they couldn't exactly get them back, James assumed the 'Confiscated Items' box wouldn't miss them).

"Let's have it then."

"Esme-Leigh's got a new ring."

"That's lovely," he commented, sounding bored as he lit the cigarette; not bothering when Marlene stole one too.

"It is. I saw it when I was in the old dorm hanging out with her. She was taking a shower before dinner and had left the ring on her dresser. It changes colour with her hair, you know?"

He lifted his head and pushed his rectangular spectacles up his nose, "splendid. Anything else?"

"Yes, actually. I never saw it before but the inside is inscribed. It says Ez."

"Really?" (Still seeming aloof).

"You're the only person that calls her Ez, Prongs."

His head jerked up and he nearly went springing off the couch altogether.
"Shite."

"Mhm. Was that what you bought for her birthday? I knew you didn't need to go to Diagon Alley to get something for her!"

Finally relenting to a persistent and stern looking Marlene he sighed, "yes, I bought her it. So what? She doesn't wear it on her left ring finger, does she?"

This did nothing to calm down Marlene, she made a noise that was perilously close to a growl before snatching the cigarette between his teeth and throwing it in the fire.
"No she doesn't, but that's hardly the point."

"Then what is the point, Blondie? Do enlighten me!" Sarcasm was easy to spot on James because he rarely used it, but when he did it was nearly as deadly as Remus could be.

"Eventually you're going to have to pick, James. And for the record I don't like that tone." Her stare was dead-set and her arms folded across her chest.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that you're going to have to choose. Between Esme and Lily."

"Oh shut up! There's nothing to choose from! Esme-Leigh's been my friend since second year and Lily doesn't take a breath in which she doesn't wish me ill health. Besides, I don't see what a ring has to do with any of this. It was a birthday gift."

"Don't you see it?!" She was frustrated now, jumping off the couch with acid for irises and barbed wire for a tongue.

"No, I don't!"

"You're blind, James. Truly. It's not my place, but you're blind. Just..." she sighed, cooling slightly and stroking his shoulder briefly in a gesture which James guessed was sympathy and yet he couldn't puzzle as to why.
"Just... think about what I said. And maybe try not to be so bloody blind!"

She didn't need to apologise in order for him to know she was sorry and all it took to accept her friendship and offer his own apologies was a nod of his head which she took to mean exactly what he intended it to.
A weak smile and she was gone. Leaving James alone.

(6th September 1977 continued)

Lily didn't quite remember what happened immediately after the picture frames shattered but now she was in her bedroom, sitting on her desk chair which overlooked the cul-de-sac, giving her a decent view of the hills of Derbyshire, but it was what lay on front of the landscape that had Lily's undivided attention. She wasn't even sure she was blinking as she stared at the Potter's house. Of course it looked empty in that moment, James' dad must have been working and his mother was no longer there to occupy the grounds.

In fact, if she squinted her eyes then it was easy to imagine the house before the Potters had moved in. It was an eerie looking place before, almost derelict, as if it might turn to ash at any moment but now there were flower beds on the outskirts of the garden and the windows were polished clean, and yet still she could see that house, lost and abandoned. And she thought of herself before James showed up with his bright eyes and dimpled smile, irradiating her like the flowers around the garden.

Since the night of his mother's funeral she'd found it difficult to look at a sunset and think of much else. His smile seemed to be in the sun, his eyes in the hills reflected with golden light and his humour in the small group of laughing children she could hear just off the park in the distance.
James Potter had transformed her, alright. She might not he Lily Simpson but she wasn't Lily Evans either, or at least not the same one she left behind.

The world works in rather arcane ways, she had come to learn. Everything has its purpose, everything slots into place. And for the first time since she'd met James, she wondered if her place might be with him? She'd never been religious but if something was present itself to her, she would not ignore the pull of fate; James had brought her magic back so easily, just being around him seemed to change her whole behaviour, things would cloud with magic to the point she was almost choked with it. Before he'd come along she feared she was losing it altogether. Was James Potter brining it back?

She elected not to vocalise that thought for fear of it sounding as vapid as she felt it might, just sitting inside her head, bouncing around like a forgotten marble. It couldn't be true. That's not how it works. But then again, Lily knew next to nothing about magic, discounting the little Severus had taught her about when they had discovered she was a witch.

Severus. That was another unanswered question in itself. The night they had passed him in the street he seemed to barely register Lily was there, much more fixated on James, almost animalistic in his aversion for a boy he had supposedly never met.

The sun had set during the time Lily had spent ruminating on various topics, which seemed interlinked in a peculiar, distant sense. Almost like all the millions of stars in the sky, sprinkled around like sugar, dispersing as they dissolved with the midnight, trying to swallow them.

Perhaps the image was beautiful. Or perhaps Lily Evans had spent too long transfixed on daydreams, hazy sunsets and galaxies? She may never know...

(6th September 1977 continued)

James Potter sat on the balcony alone and watched the sunset; likely one of the last of its kind as the summer nights began to be fewer and fewer. This sunset was still spectacular, however, and James thought that if it were the last all year than he would be content.

The orange burned brighter than Lily's auburn locks and instantly he could smell the faint aroma that her hair carried. Was she watching this too? He hoped so.

James sat there for a while, smoking a cigarette and watching intently until the stars replaced the blaze. It almost looked like the sky was on fire, which sounded like a tragedy but was really the most breath taking sight known to man. It was Lily that thrived in fire and tragedy; somehow she had made both beautiful.

James sighed. He knew he would have to choose in the end. Just because Marlene decided not to get angry with him did not mean she wasn't right. Somewhere inside him he knew exactly what he was doing when he bought Esme-Leigh the ring but he forced himself not to confront it now. He had plenty of time for that. For now he was enjoying the stars.
But as he looked awhile longer it was difficult not to see the freckles of Lily Evans sprinkle the skyline.

Well thanks for reading kids! Sorry it's been so long since I updated but I'm going back to school soon and I've kinda been losing it aha! That might also be why it's so short and why it's likely the worst chapter in this book and has no structure lmao!

Also I've just finished The Hunger Games and I know how insanely late I am to the scene but it was so good I might just have to die. Imma need 3-5 business days at least

But since I going back to school then my updates might be further apart, sorry!

Love you lot!

Abbi ♥️