Chapter Text
of second chances
The morning dew settles on the lush green of the peaks like a blanket—the very definition of picturesque serendipity—with true summer air only hours away. Still water rests mere meters off, matching the peaceful lull the early morning rays provide, a greying blue to match the cloudless sky overhead.
A pencil angles over the paper under his index, hazel eyes shifting back to compare the scene with the sketch. His glasses slide slightly, but he ignores the slipping—too far gone into the sketching pad that rests against the slope of his thigh. With one leg bent, foot resting on the edge of a stone that dips into the water, the other shin soaks in the shallows, cool and calming.
His eyes slips, rising lazily, drops back down, and then snaps up instantly again to the flare of red he thinks he saw; breath catching, heart stuttering. One blink, then three, then five—none which reveal the glint of red in the distance, nor change the muted colours of the scene before him.
When he looks up again, it’s to find that the wisp of red remains elusive, but his eyes still search the stonewalls of the house that stands proud beside his own, scouring the dark brown of the door replacing the shade of wine for her, for a sign that she’s returned, because—it can’t be.
It can’t.
A minute passes, and he stands up—assigns the sighting to the excessive imagination, made more unreliable by his sleep-addled brain—dragging his eyes away to study the rocks instead, and then the grass. Setting path for the front door, sketchbook closed between his thumb and fingers, he curls them tight to match the steady grasp around his heart—achingly similar to the one she once incited with her presence.
That particular shade of red had been far too familiar to him before, but he knows she isn’t here.
Because she hasn’t been for the past five years.
James’ first mistake had been to ask Sirius whether she was back. His second had been to confirm the truth of his sighting as the others woke.
And now, as he seats himself at the stool by the kitchen island while Remus and Peter devour breakfast, he considers making his third—stabbing his hand with the butter knife within reach if only to focus on something other than Sirius’ mockery so he doesn’t commit bloody murder.
It, rather unsurprisingly, requires a great deal of resistance.
A few hours later at the town market, the clamour of the crowd provides something to lose himself in so as to ignore his mate’s comments—which grow increasingly inane by the minute.
It takes a few more stalls to scout before he tunes in again— and Mum did say that she hadn’t heard from Evans in a while —and gives up a startled gasp when James realises just what Sirius is talking about.
He whirls around. “You called mum? ”
“Ah, so he does listen.”
He cuffs Sirius over the head, before grabbing at his arm to weave between the stall beside them and the next, a small corridor set back from the main street.
“Fucking hell— please tell me that was just bait.”
Dark waves of artistically messed hair waver from their place as Sirius shakes his head, grin growing wicked at the reddening of James’ own ears. A hiss blows past his teeth, the tell-tale clench of his jaw following seconds after. “I’m going to murder you.”
“Then you definitely won’t get the information I got from the call.” he grins, arm twisting out of James’ hold, brushing past and leaving him no chance but to follow. “And the information is—well, it really is something .”
“Mum and Lily...they still talk after all these years?” he asks, hand punching the leather clad arm despite the harmless question.
“Oi, play nice and you’ll get your reward.”
“ Prat —”
A scathing riposte sits burning on the tip of his tongue, ready, but a look from Sirius silences him—because he, pathetically, does wish to know about the aforementioned information.
Even if he is bluffing, as statistics largely indicate.
After Sirius’ purchases make another dent in his wallet and his mate pushes his luck by leading him in the general direction of the motorcycle supplies shop, James considers bailing because this sure as hell isn't worth it. He stops his grumbling when the path quickly diverts to enter the food junction, Sirius surprisingly even more excited.
The reason as to why the traitor is so delighted becomes acutely apparent when they reach the glass door to a cafe.
He spots red, but not before Sirius does. And while James stands still, hand fastened to the jumbled mess of the paper bag handles, his mouth parts in surprise. Though he hadn’t been quick to note it, too busy throwing daggers at his mate, it’s unmistakably hers.
Back facing the till, his eyes follow Sirius, who makes a purposive bee-line for the two ladies sitting in their own—soon to be destroyed—bubble by the glass panes of the cafe.
Their heads rise, and the shift in their line of sight reveals her face, constellations upon constellations of red flecks scattered generously across her nose, attenuated tendrils of vibrant crimson hair tucked behind pale ears as the others gather in a high rise ponytail. Pulse picking up pace, he stares, minutes ticking away as his entire vision fills with her, smile bright, fingers curled gingerly around her cup and sporting an assortment of rose-gold rings. A white button-down shirt hugs her torso, ends tucked into faded blue jeans and sleeves rolled just over her elbow. The soft sunrays catch on green irises, vivid and beautiful —the familiarity and, ironically, the nescience of which takes his breath away.
It’s her, she’s here , the years haven’t dampened her beauty, and he doesn’t know what to do with the fact except marvel .
He debates going after Sirius, standing long enough for a few customers to bump into him, but when laughter rings from their table, his decision is made. Stepping forward, the move as tentative as it is eager, he reads the surprise on her face, quickly followed by warm recognition.
Courage gathered, he walks to them, thoughts spinning for a conversation starter, but none come to mind even as she grows closer, closer yet —and then he’s standing beside Sirius and she’s looking at him .
James is almost certain that the shift in her demeanour, the sudden frostiness, isn’t imagined, but a courteous smile blooms on her lips all the same.
A hand claps hard on his back, eliciting a grunt from him, his quick reflexes the only thing that avoids a stumble onto the table, and Sirius continues on, “I reckon you remember this bloke, Evans.”
Offering a weak wince in greeting, and making a mental note to wreak havoc on his mate later, he glances at the seat across from Lily. He is met with the sight of deep set, vivid blue eyes and raven hair framing soft features, all resting on her palm, scarlet lips curved into a grin—her elegance of unnerving.
“I do. Jeremy, was it?”
James’ eyes shoot back to Lily’s, blinking, “I— what? ”
The smirk resting at ease atop her lips reveals the jibe in her statement, but he isn’t given a chance to recover when her friend poses another—”Lily, you didn’t tell me he was this hot.”
“It didn’t seem relevant when he was such an arse.”
“You know, I’m right here.” he waves as if to alert them of his presence.
Eyebrow raised, she looks at him. “ Was hot. Was being the key word here.”
Her friend scoffs, “Ah right, ‘quite fit’ were your words, weren't they, Lily?”
A glimpse back at Sirius reveals that he’s failing at stifling his snickers, and then he looks back to a hand raised at him. Habit has him shaking it, even as he trips over the strange friendliness of the gesture, confused.
“Marlene McKinnon. Charmed.”
“I—er, James Potter. Not—not Jeremy . And, um, pleased to do the charming, I—think?”
“Pleasure’s all mine. Though I think you ought be enchanting her. ” she tilts her head towards Lily, grin widening. “I’d like to be right about you for once—”
“Mar, shut up .”
“—and perhaps by the end of the week, too. If you can manage, that is.”
He is a fish out on land, air gone even as it surrounds him— what the fuck?
A derisive snort from his side and a glare from Lily prompts him to wonder whether he’d said it out loud.
Sirius twists the third seat at the table, and sits with the backrest separating his legs as he rubs his hands, “I’ll have chips to go with the drama. Anything else worth ordering?”
Silence descends amid the quiet chatter within the cafe, until—
Chair legs drags against the wooden floor, and Lily stands up, frowning, “Show’s over. We were just leaving. You can have the table to yourself.”
Marlene stands too, apologetic in her smile as she drains her coffee, and sets course behind her friend, but not before throwing a suggestive wink at Sirius.
James blinks, ordering his mouth to open and get her to stay, or say something, anything —”Evans?”
She turns, crimson tendrils swaying, “Yeah?”
“It’s—er, it’s good to have you back.”
Her footsteps stills, her surprise evident. A second passes before he can see the beginnings of a hesitant smile.
“Thank you.”
She swings around, already out of the door when Marlene twists her lower lip in theatrical distaste, mouthing the words ‘do better’ . And then they disappear into the crowd, red untraceable.
James sets the bags on the floor, sliding into the seat she occupied moments prior. A slow, idyllic smile slips into place as hazel eyes meet amused grey.
“You heard that, right?”
“I did.”
James pauses, grinning wider. “...I’m quite fit.”
His jaw tenses, “Oh, for fucks sake. ”
The bliss of the exchange—and reconciliation—brings about a smile large enough to last their trip back home and hours after. It chiefly helps that Sirius is irked by the reaction it’s wrought from James— she’s still pissed at you, Prongs —but the assertion does nothing to dampen his mood.
Though he knows it to be true, the smile she’d offered with the ‘ thank you ’ had seemed like a step in the general direction of forgiveness, and he’s more than willing to take it.
And determined to gain her friendship after that’s done with.
His first set-back comes in the form of the neglect to notify him that there was to be a party the next day—neglect from mates he seriously contemplates replacing.
Black marble stone of the kitchen tops bask awash in the aureate of the evening sun, the windows overlooking the lake’s dark, glimmering waters.
It’s Remus, who he finds by the island unloading the groceries, who tells him that he’d run into the girls—citing the incident with a knowing gleam.
“They invited you?!”
He nods, strands of sandy hair falling to his eyes as he pops open the plastic container carrying the blackberries before holding it under the sink. “It’s tomorrow at ten.”
“Didn’t you go out after we came back?”
“Did you ever entertain the possibility that she may not want you there, Prongs?”
“But— why? ”
“I— seriously? James, you were the reason she lost her best friend.” he frowns.
“The bastard bought that on himself— "
"Not exactly how she sees it."
"—and, besides, she's got a better one now!”
There’s a pause as Remus levels a glare at him to show just how fruitless he knows the statement to be. The berries finally drenched, he picks a few from the assortment and slides the rest across the counter to Sirius, who sits stubbornly avoiding involvement in the conversation by scrolling through his phone.
“Nevertheless, she still blames you—though you should thank me because I vouched for you.”
James blinks, confusion settling on his features. “Vouched for me?”
“She asked if you were the same since then—”
“I’m not! ”
“—and I said no. Lily seemed surprised, so I told her that she should invite you so that she can see the proof for herself. Whether she’ll actually do it, I dunno.”
“Oh,” James frowns, hand running through his hair. “Thanks. I’m still— why hasn’t she invited us yet, though?”
Remus shrugs as Sirius finally lifts his head to divert his attention to the berries before him, scoffing. “Oi, speak for yourself. Evans already invited me.”
A strangled sound escapes him, “I— when? ”
“At the cafe.”
“ Bullshit . I was there.”
“You were too busy staring at her from afar.”
James opens his mouth, gaping at the audacity , before he closes it at the lack of a retort at hand. Sirius smirks at him through the silence and he grits his teeth.
“Just when were you going to tell me this?”
“A few minutes before we leave for the party, of course. By the way—” he scowls at Remus, “—fuck you for destroying those plans.”
James leans over the counter, plucking a few blackberries and launching them at his mate.
The morning is relatively uneventful, vacant of Lily’s presence in person, but certainly not in his thoughts.
It’s startling, albeit not much, how quick he is to succumb to the habit again.
Afternoon passes by with him deliberately cooping himself in the pool room, teaching Peter for the lack of anything to do. Evening ascends in golden rays and warm hues bleeding into the sky, and the hour hand of the clock nears seven.
He sets himself down on the table, deliberately turned away from the clock as he starts on his designs for work, the refusal to look back for the time wearing thin.
It’s pointing at eight when he moves to the couch to devour his seventh American Girl novel of the summer of Samantha’s stolen sapphire—Nellie has just started becoming a suspect—but he doesn’t get far.
It’s eight thirty when he finally sets the book down in defeat.
Nine, and Sirius starts throwing candid glances at him, expectant and waiting—but James stubbornly keeps quiet if only out of pure spite. He makes himself a bowl of ice cream to accompany his Brooklyn Nine-Nine rewatch—a binge of the heists and jimmy jabs episodes—as he continues ignoring the ticking clock.
It’s a quarter past ten when Peter joins them, mousy eyebrow raised at his position on the couch. When he doesn’t respond to the silent question, he shrugs, holding up the case of bottles with a grin, “Ready?”
Sirius nods, standing up from the couch opposite to him as he slants a knowing smirk. “You coming, Prongs?”
James fiddles with the remote, pausing the episode just when the lights go off in the fifth heist, frowning, “I don’t think I’m going to come,”
Momentary silence fills the room, smirk slipping to allow room for the groan that catches between his lips, his hand raking over his face.
“What unhinged story are you convinced on now? ”
James ignores the offence, sitting upright and facing him, “Alright look, you said it yourself. She doesn’t like me—and she’s pissed. Rightfully so, and—”
“What the fuck has that got to do with you coming to this party?”
“Will you listen? She invited you . Not me. And if I go, she—er, she might be pissed at me.” Sirius stares at him, evidently missing the pressing factor, and James adds emphasis, though it doesn’t do the trick. “ Again .”
He falters towards the end, abashedly abysmal now that the—well, fact —is out. And only twelve hours after the thought had materialised—if he wasn’t currently so unnerved, it would have been something worth a small celebration.
From somewhere by the door, Peter lets out a bewildered “— heh? ” before letting out a huff of air, “I’ll just be outside with Remus if you guys need anything.”
An untempered sigh escapes Sirius as he waves him away, clapping his hands before rising them joint to his forehead. “Alright. You’re overthinking, you twat. Now, get off your arse.”
He sits still, insulted gasp the only resonation that transpires through air, and after another lapse of silence, the other grits his teeth, “ Please. I’d like to be there before anyone chooses the playlist.”
“No.”
They stare at each other, hazel defiant and grey squinting, hands bound in black leather crossing over his mate’s chest—and, instantly, James knows he’s drawing up a plan.
A realisation that dawns on him far, far too late.
“Fine. I’ll tell Evans how much of a baby you’re being so that she can come collect you herself. Maybe I'll tell her an anecdote or two in thanks.”
“You—no.”
“Yes.”
" No .”
“Hell, yes. I might even do it unprompted, but if you’re at the party you might at least have a chance at stopping me.”
Shortly thereafter, rather inevitably, he joins them at the threshold of the house, glowering at Sirius all the while.
Entrance packed, he moves in, amber hues from the hanging lights diminishing deeper into the room as the laughter scales higher on the spectrum of octaves.
The music has already elevated through the air, triggering Sirius to set out in the direction of the speakers, and Peter joins the mass gathered by the table of myriads of drinks, mixed and neat—Remus by his side, slow smile fastened with the progressing beat.
James hesitates, unsure as to where he should even start. There’s plenty of people he’s noticed from the town, more that he personally knows, but the person he truly wants to speak with doesn't make an appearance.
A few more instants pass, vigil under the curve of the archway, and he gives in—following Peter’s path to the drinks to strike up a discussion with the sous chef of the restaurant, eyes still scouting for brazen fire.
James is on the stairs frowning into his drink, caught mid grimace after a sip, when she finds him.
She’s a vision in black sequins, shining resplendent even under the scant light, contrasting with her pale skin and setting off the dark green in her eyes—turning darker still as she advances closer. Her hair falls in cascading waves, strands going as far as her elbows, let loose and free.
The gesture—that she unexpectedly approached him and extended the olive branch—has his mind spiralling until her voice penetrates through.
“Heard you were worried I’d kick you out.”
Perhaps, the wish to let the—now seemingly ridiculous—notion go unnoticed was impossible to grant when he had that bastard for a best mate. “Sirius?”
She grins, and the sheer reality of it throws him off, “Actually, it was Remus. Seemed to think it was funny.” Her eyes sparkle at the groan he draws out. “And it is .”
In a single maneuver, Lily plops beside in a burst of giggles, and three realisations unfold.
The first; that she is utterly drunk, but still somehow impressively articulate. Second; that her intoxicacy is likely the only reason Lily ever initiated a conversation with him.
Lastly, the third, and undoubtedly the best realisation of them all; that her touch burns .
In the entirety of its transience, the brush of her leg over his awakens his synapses, colossally heightening his senses. Thoughts hone in on the softness, sensation inspiring something akin to a thrill from within. Heat encompasses his body, settling deep into his bones, scorching enough to battle the harshest winter. His heartbeat quickens, blood coursing, pounding —and it’s a miracle she hasn’t called it out on it’s traitorous beat yet.
Lily has clearly said something while he’d been swept away, now awaiting his response. A smile rests on her lips lazily, tempting, quirking further upwards on one side and—it’s unfair.
Unfair that she should look at him like that tonight—like she might not hate him as much as he feared.
James turns away, focusing on the post at the end of the stairs, and takes the risk of ignoring her unheard question, murmuring his own in reply, “So, will you? Kick me out, that is.”
At the precipice of his vision, she lifts a shoulder, resting the chin on her palm as she fixes him with an unreadable look. “Dunno, really. They all say that you’ve changed .”
On cue with the snort that follows, he relaxes slightly.
It’s one thing to hear the proclamation from anyone else, but from her —it seems unreal that she’s acknowledging that he’s trying, and changed.
“And, so far, they seem right. Besides, Mar seems to like you enough for the both of us and I trust her judgement, so—” she takes a gulp from the liquid in her glass, frowning with concentration, “Remus did say that second somethings are good for the soul, you know.”
The tension ebbs away, and James chuckles, lips curving. “Second somethings?”
“Dunno. Something to do with second chances...” Lily sighs, hand waving at air as if to disperse the problem away, “I—let’s call it a truce, shall we?”
James nods, now grinning, “Sure.”
Lily stands, hand on his shoulder—on his shoulder —to steady her stumble. “Now that that’s out of the way, I believe Sirius owes me—so, don’t let him forget, yeah?”
“I wouldn’t dare, Evans.”
She smiles at him, lifting the bottle to her lips without breaking her eye contact, and it feels like a moment —something he shouldn’t easily shatter, doesn’t want to shatter—and he holds it.
But green eyes blink and look away, and he’s left to wonder whether he’d imagined it all as she starts down the stairs, a hand beckoning him to follow. He does, a happy spring to his step, grinning because he’s got second chance—
She stalls at the last step, whirling around with a finger raised, “Oh, wait— wait , there’s one more thing to sort. Last one.”
“What’s that?”
“I do have a boyfriend—charming fellow, really—so if you so much as make a move on me I’ll have you know that the deal is off for the second chance—truce—whatever you want to call it.”
She looks up at him, head tilting to the side once she notices his silence, “Potter?”
James feels like he’s been blindsided, punched, kicked , and this shouldn't have to hurt so damn much.
The words run themselves ragged over spiraled tracks in his brain, cruel in it’s repetition, eviscerating in its implication, but—
But he’s gotten a second chance, willingly given, and he isn’t going to jeopardise this.
He’s not .
So instead he smiles back, nodding, “Does asking you for a dance count as making a move?”
“Considering no one but my best friend has asked me all night, I think I’ll let this one slide.” she steps forward, the twinkle in her eye more prominent, an enticing challenge.
James holds out his hand, Lily takes it, and he tries to ignore the heat of her skin. Tries to not let his gaze linger. Tries, and fails.
She’s none the wiser.
Five years ago | paracosm
The rush has easened into the point in mid-day when the customer levels start dwindling, slow enough that he can exit the humid confines of the back of the house through the swinging doors — and he does so, playing waiter.
A family of four sit by the glass panes facing the snow capped mountains and the lake resting at its feet, another couple two tables away along the same window — the view clearly a favourite. He resorts to clearing the tables away while a few more trickle in, the beginnings of lunch visitors apparent.
But when a familiar boy with hair as dark as his — but significantly more gelled — enters to seat himself at a coveted place by the windows, he goes behind the register and takes a menu and a notepad all too eagerly, unfortunately missing the redhead who follows through minutes later . But, once he discerns the newcomer, that does nothing to dissuade him from approaching.
All without reading the room, affectionate laughs from her side, and ignorance of the tar eyes persistent on her.
He'd made a joke about his hair, a tradition, and then a snide comment on whether he was even worth her attention.
That, perhaps, had been his first blunder.