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Summary:

Lily took on what was essentially a suicide mission without bothering to tell James. She’d expected fire and maybe a few broken ribs—not an emotional reckoning with her furious boyfriend. But as it turned out, wrangling a fire-breathing Welsh Green was the easy part because when she dragged herself back home it wasn’t the dragon that terrified her most, it was James Potter, waiting for her return. READ ON A03

Lily didn’t tell James and not because she didn’t want to, mind you.

She was just—well—a total coward.

A complete and utter pansy about the whole thing.

How exactly was she meant to say, “Alright love, I’m off to help Alice wrangle a dragon. Don’t wait up, yeah?”

She snorted at the very idea as she trudged up the garden path.

That would’ve gone down a treat.

And really, since James was practically the only family she had left, she probably ought to have left a slightly more detailed note than “gone out with Alice, back soon.”

Still, the fairy lights twinkling round the porch made it feel less like a betrayal and more like... a necessary omission.

It was nearly Christmas, after all.

The thing was, Lily knew him, down to the bone because James was her whole world. She could picture it now: the tight line his mouth would take, the way his eyes would flit away from her face as he tried not to show he was panicking. Then he’d tilt his head forward, hair falling into his eyes, trying to shield his heart behind that ridiculous fringe of his. He’d never say don’t go—not outright—but the plea would hang there all the same.

James might’ve known her just as well, but that didn’t mean he could hide a damn thing from her.

So really, she shouldn’t have been surprised when, after narrowly dodging the teeth and fire of a rogue Welsh Green some berk thought it’d be hilarious to let loose on the banks of the Thames, she came home to find James wide awake and pacing like a mad thing.

The whole cottage was wrapped up like a Christmas card. Snow blanketed the fence, the lights she’d strung last weekend with James blinked happily, and the wreath on the door—Euphemia’s idea, bless her—looked positively festive. If James didn’t chuck her out the moment she stepped inside, she really ought to invite Euphemia back for a cuppa. She’d be well chuffed to see how the snow was up to Lily’s calves now and the whole house looked like something off a Quality Street tin.

But the only thing not looking picture perfect inside, was James. Through the frost-glazed front window, Lily could see him—storming up and down the sitting room like he meant to wear a trench in the floor. Her stomach gave a sickening twist.

The note she’d left had been pathetic.

Hey, Hope the nap was swell. Didn’t want to wake you. Out with Alice; I'll be back soon. All my love, Lily x

She might as well have scribbled gone to Tesco for all the good it did.

Of course he’d twigged because between that bloody mirror of his and Sirius Black living practically on top of the Lower Thames, it wouldn’t take more than five minutes for James to work out she was off battling mythical beasts with Alice Longbottom.

And it wasn’t that James was controlling—he just loved her in that all-consuming, utterly infuriating way that made him forget she was fighting too. He often forgot that she had just as much skin in this war as he did.

Sometimes Lily thought James believed he could chuck a cloak of invisibility over everyone he cared about and keep them safe while he faced the fire. The noble, idiotic git would think that.

The moment her boots crunched through the final layer of protective spells, James froze. She watched him through the window—his head snapped toward the sound, and his whole body tensed.

A second later she heard him bolting for the door. It flung open before she even reached the porch. He didn’t shout, not at first. Just wrapped her up and kissed her, over and over—forehead, cheeks, lips. Lily laughed, weakly swatting at him.

It was lovely, for a moment.

Until it wasn’t.

James pulled back and his expression turned colder than the snow in her hair.

“I’ve half a mind to let you sleep out in the snow,” he barked.

Lily blinked at him, thoroughly unimpressed. She briefly considered marching back down the path and throwing herself at the mercy of a passing Death Eater, just to avoid the impending row. He was fuming—ears gone pink, fists clenched, and that mad mess of hair now in full defiance of gravity.

Trying to pretend like she hadn’t just risked a fiery death, Lily brushed past him. “Honestly, I’ve half a mind to bury myself in it. D’you mind fetching a bit? I’ve got burns that need seeing to.”

The kitchen was a mess.

It looked as if dinner had clearly been abandoned mid-prep. Frozen lasagne left by the stove, butterbeer was still capped, and an untouched glass of firewhisky was on the table by a teacup.

Lily groaned and sank into a chair, peeling off her robes as carefully as she could. A particularly nasty burn on her leg had all but fused the fabric to her skin.

“Right, come on, Evans,” she muttered. “Just rip it off like a plaster.”

She couldn’t because her leg throbbed. Blood and something a bit too white was seeping through. Grimacing, she started peeling the robes back slowly.

When James came in, she looked up and tried a smile. He was carrying an old tin bucket brimming with fresh snow. His eyes landed on her—on the burns, the bruises, the half-peeled robes at her feet—and whatever thread of composure he’d been clinging to snapped.

The bucket clattered to the floor. “What. The. HELL, Lily.”

“It’s fine,” she said, as if that could somehow make it so.

“It is not fine.” He seized a rag, stuffed it full of snow, and stomped over to press it none-too-gently against her forehead.

“Ow,” she muttered, sulking.

“It’s not fine,” he repeated, quieter now.

He turned away, shoving his hands under the tap and slamming the soap about like it had personally offended him. Lily watched him with narrowed eyes, back pressed to the chair.

“You’ve got nothing to say to me?” James said, finally turning round again.

Lily hummed, entirely unrepentant.

As James stepped toward her, Lily pressed herself back into the kitchen chair like it might somehow absorb her. His stare could’ve melted just as well as fire power and as it bore down on her, all she could think was: Brilliant. This is exactly what I bloody needed...another dragon.

And somehow, this dragon was worse, because it was her husband.

Her mind flitted back to that moment earlier in the night when she'd been backed into a scorched alley, the beast’s teeth stained with Merlin-knew-what, and its breath hot enough to melt glass curling over her like steam. And all she could think, heart thudding like a drum, was James. Just James. Not her wand, not escape, not even the fact she was almost certainly about to die. Just him.

She shivered, her eyes shut tight, and she swallowed hard.

If James noticed, he said nothing.

When she opened her eyes again, he was chewing his lip—fighting words back like they were rising bile.

So she did what any clever coward would do: she cracked a joke.

“Right, I can see you’re properly fuming,” she said, gesturing vaguely at her leg, “but personally I’m just delighted to be alive.”

“I’m not fuming,” he muttered, staring at the tiles.

“Oh, no, course not,” she said, arching a brow. “I mean, you’re only radiating pure fury. I’ve already survived one dragon tonight, James I don't nee—”

“Fucking hell, Lily!” he snapped, slamming his palm against the countertop.

She flinched, dropping the snow-soaked cloth with a splat. He recoiled instantly, dragging both hands through his hair, tugging at it like he might rip the worry out by the roots. Her cheeks flushed crimson as silence dropped like a fog over the kitchen.

Lily bent down, picked up the cloth, and pressed it back to her forehead and it came away smeared red.

Blood.

Brilliant.

She hadn’t even realised she’d been bleeding considering the whole night was a blur of fire and utter chaos.

Lily tried to steady her voice. “Look, Dumbledore asked and Alice reckoned my charms might come in handy.” She tried a smile. “Turns out bubble charms are absolutely pants against a fire-breathing lizard with a grudge.”

Nothing for her, not even the hint of a smirk.

“You left me a bloody pub note, Lily,” he bit out. “You made it sound like you were off for drinks. You lied.”

His voice trembled with the effort it took not to shout again. His glasses had slipped halfway down his nose, but he didn’t bother fixing them as he glared at her under the rim.

She didn’t argue.

Instead, she just set the cloth aside and fiddled with the hem of her robes, trying to peel them off her leg without tearing off the skin beneath. The fabric clung and burned. The fire had fused it there like bloody glue. When Lily lifted her leg, the robe came with it—an ugly, puckered mess, that made her hiss.

Every inch of exposed skin screamed with irritation and Lily hated it. Alice had warned her—Welsh Greens weren’t the biggest, but they had a temper like nothing else and fire hot enough to melt concrete. Lily’s leg was proof enough of that, she didn't know if she'd walk in the morning.

The street itself had been pandemonium when Lily and Alice arrived.

Fire everywhere, exploding Christmas lights and muggles screaming and sprinting in all directions. The poor sods didn’t know whether it was a gas leak or the apocalypse. Alice’s squad of Aurors had been shouting over one another, spells flying in every direction. Magical Creatures had someone on scene, but even they hadn’t expected it to take that long.

It took over an hour to catch one dragon.

Lily had been sent to shield the families. She told them she worked for a “special branch” of the government. No one questioned it—not with a dragon torching bungalows in the background. She got most of them out, but she nearly didn’t get herself out.

She was just helping a mum and her kids when it cornered her—dead end alley, nowhere to run, wand useless and if that Magical Creatures bloke hadn’t distracted it at the last second…

Well, she wouldn’t be sitting here arguing with her husband.

A sudden stab of pain brought her back to the present and before she could react, James knelt and ripped the robe straight off the burn. Lily actually shrieked, and bit her tongue hard enough she nearly tasted blood. Her leg throbbed from the pain.

“What the Hell, James?!” Her voice cracked with pain.

“You can’t let the fabric stick to the wound,” he muttered, already examining it with far too clinical a look.

Lily gritted her teeth and gripped her bare thighs, nails digging into fresh flesh as he pressed snow directly onto the blistered skin.

It sizzled.

Sizzled, like he’d dropped a steak into a pan.

“Shit,” she whispered, clutching his shoulder and squeezing her eyes shut. "That hurts, James."

And then—of course—the lecture began.

“I can’t believe you agreed to this.”

She snapped, “Oh, don’t start. You and Sirius go swanning off every other weekend chasing Death Eaters like it’s a pub crawl.”

James froze, snow in hand, eyes blazing. “And I always tell you where I’m going.”

Lily folded her arms. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d get like this.”

“Like this?” he laughed—but it was sharp, bitter. “Worrying that my wife might get herself killed in a back alley in bloody dragon is me being like this?!”

He stood abruptly, throwing a fistful of snow to the ground and she winced at the sound. He turned his back, stalking over to the stove, gripping it so hard his knuckles went bone-white.

Lily slowly stood, wobbling slightly because her leg still felt like it was on fire. She made her way into the sitting room and grabbed the first blanket she could reach, throwing it round her shoulders like a dressing gown. The windows were still cracked, and for a brief, absurd moment she wondered if any neighbours had caught a glimpse of her bruised, half-naked hobble across the floorboards.

When she turned around, James was behind her, just watching.

“Sit down,” he said sharply.

She stood straighter instead. “No.”

“Lily.” His voice was low and flat. “Sit down. Get off your bloody leg.”

She plonked herself onto the couch with a wince, the coarse blanket dragging across her burn like sandpaper. Just to spite him a little, she crossed her arms and stared firmly into the fireplace. James sighed—an exhausted, bone-deep sigh—and some of the heat went out of him with it.

He moved slowly, drawing the curtains shut before lighting the fire with a flick of his wand. The flames crackled to life and it should’ve felt cosy, but it didn’t.

He disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a battered old pail full of snow, a rag, and two bottles of whiskey. He placed them on the coffee table and then—without asking—tugged the blanket off her lap.

“Oy!” she protested, trying to yank it back, but he ignored her, fingers warm as they brushed against her chilled skin.

“Lie down,” he said firmly.

She gave him a suspicious look but relented, easing herself back with a hiss. He dropped to his knees and got to work, disinfectant-soaked cloth in hand. She grabbed the cushions with a death grip as he began to clean the wound, each touch a sting, each pass of the cloth a bloody insult.

Her back arched as he peeled away the dead skin. “Bloody hell, babe, go easy—!”

He didn’t reply, just worked in silence, his jaw tight. When he finished, he charmed the snow into a neat little mound over the burn and handed her a fire whiskey.

She took it, blinking. “whiskey?”

“To settle your nerves,” he muttered, already turning away.

She sipped and it tasted like lead, the way it instantly sat heavy in her stomach.

What were they even fighting about anymore?

She was worried about him.

He was worried about her.

That was the beginning and the end of it.

They sat like that—her half-curled on the couch, eyes tracing the ceiling; James on the floor, back to her, legs stretched long. One bent knee propped his elbow up as he spun his wand between his fingers. It was something he did when he needed to think. She preferred that—this quiet, fidgeting James—over the silent, ice-faced one who’d stood over the stove like it was the only thing holding him up.

James didn’t speak when he was really angry; that's how she knew.

“I’m sorry,” she said at last, voice barely above a whisper.

She reached out—then paused, hovering just behind his shoulder, unsure if he wanted her touch. He didn’t turn to face her.

Just said, “Please don’t keep me in the dark like that again.”

And oh, it hurt to hear it because he sounded so small.

Lily sat up too fast, ignoring the sharp warning from her leg. She pushed herself off the sofa and down onto the floor beside him, wrapping her arms around his frame, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Her head found its place on his shoulder, where she normally laid it, trying to save them from more emotions.

“I was just so angry,” James murmured. “You didn’t even send a Patronus, Lils.”

“I just—” She hesitated because the real reason, the true reason sat heavy on her tongue. “I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t do this. That I wasn’t...that I wasn’t...strong enough.”

That wasn’t it, not really. Or not entirely. The truth was messier, and more tangled. She didn’t know how to tell him about the quiet, constant fear she carried that sometimes wrapped around her chest so tightly she couldn’t breathe.

Dragons were easier than feelings, but James pressed his forehead to hers, his eyes shut, and shaking his head as if trying to knock the thought out of her.

“No. No. Don’t ever think that.” He tugged her gently into his lap, arms wrapping round her waist. “You’re capable of everything Dumbledore asks and more, Lily, I know that.”

“Then why,” she said, pulling back just enough to look him in the eye, “do you always give me that look when I tell you I’m going on a mission?”

“What look?” he said, not quite meeting her gaze.

She scoffed. “Oh, come on, James.”

"What?"

She shifted, straddling his lap awkwardly, blanket slipping to one side. “Your stupid look. The one where you clearly want to say something, but you don’t, because you think I’ll hex your eyebrows off.”

James’ lips thinned and his eyes narrowed—exactly the expression she meant.

“Aha!” she cried, jabbing a finger toward his face. “That look!”

His mouth twitched, almost a smile, almost. He reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“I love you,” he said quietly. “I just...I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

"I'm fine."

His hand hovered over her leg. “Anything, Lily.”

She caught his chin, and tilted his face up until he met her eyes again. “I know,” she said gently. “I love that you care so much. I feel the same way, but we can’t protect everyone."

"I know that," he mumbled.

"You can’t protect me from everything," she rephrased gently.

James frowned. “It’s not about whether I can, it’s that I have to.”

She frowned right back. “Oh, Merlin. Hero complex much? We’re all fighting in this war. We’ve all got dragons to face—some of us more literally than others.”

“No.” He pushed her off his lap—not cruelly, but not gently either—and turned away, retreating into himself like a child behind a slammed door.

“Oh, don’t be such a child,” Lily snapped, pushing herself upright with a wince. “I was going to tell you, alright? I just… I didn’t want to—”

“Didn’t want to what?” James looked up then, sharp as a curse. “Didn’t want to see me worry?”

“Of course I didn’t want to see you worry!” she burst out, voice rising. “Merlin, James, do you think I like lying awake whenever you’re out fighting Death Eaters? You think I enjoy pacing round the house like a bloody widow before it’s even happened? I hate knowing you’re out there—but I don’t make you feel bad about it!”

“I wouldn’t worry,” he snapped back, standing now, his face flushing, “if I actually knew what you were doing! If you’d just stop trying to prove something all the time—”

“Me?” Lily let out a short, scornful laugh. “You’re one to talk, Mr. ‘I-Have-To-Save-Every-Bloody-Soul-In-The-Wizarding-World.’” She jabbed a finger at him. “Here’s a ringer for you: I can look after myself!”

“I know you can!” he shouted, hair already halfway to disaster as he shoved a hand through it. “But I can’t—”

“You can’t what?” she cut in, stepping forward, eyes blazing, “You can’t handle me going out and risking my life just like you do?”

“I’m not brave enough—” he blurted, then faltered, hazel eyes suddenly wide and vulnerable.

“Not brave enough?” she blinked, stunned by the words. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’re a Gryffindor, James. Everyone and their mother knows you’re brave, you conceited, self-sacrificing—”

“I’m not strong enough to lose you!” he roared, cutting her off, his hands gripping her shoulders so tight it made her breath catch.

Her mouth opened—and shut again. The words crumbled away because his exclamation hit her like a spell to the chest. This wasn’t posturing at all; this wasn’t James playing the protective husband or putting on his usual theatrics....this was James, stripped bare.

He stepped away, raking both hands through his already tragic hair. “When Peter told me what happened—about the dragon—I went mad,” he said, voice rough. “I mean, dragons? They’re unpredictable. Wild! At least with Death Eaters, you know what you’re dealing with. But a dragon? Lily, baby, you didn’t even tell me where you were going.”

He started pacing again, gripping at empty air like he was trying to pull something back toward him. “I kept thinking, what if that was it? What if I lost you and didn’t even get to say goodbye? What if that note was the last bloody thing I ever read from you?”

Lily felt her stomach lurch. She hadn’t seen it then, but she saw it now—he hadn’t just been angry, he’d been unraveling.

She knew the feeling too well because if she lost James, there’d be nothing left.

No warmth.

No brightness.

No home.

“James…”

He turned to her, and there it was again—that look she always tried to ignore, like he was doing everything he could not to shatter into pieces. He had bloodshot eyes, his jaw was tight, and his hands were twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

She stepped closer, slowly, and reached up to cup his cheek. He leaned into it instinctively, closing his eyes like the touch steadied him. Lily realised in that moment that they were the same—just terrified in different ways. She hadn’t told him because speaking it aloud made it real.

If she said, I’m going to fight a dragon, then she had to admit she might not come back, that she might never see his face again.

“I didn’t want to tell you,” she whispered, “because if I did, it meant I had to think about what it would feel like to leave you behind.”

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, voice thick with guilt. “I was angry. Properly out of my head. I kept waiting for that damn mirror to light up and it never did.” He scuffed his foot across the rug like a schoolboy expecting detention. “Go on, Evans, tell me I was overreacting.”

“James Potter,” she said, catching his hands in hers, “shut up for once and listen to me.”

He blinked down at her, brows furrowing, but he quieted.

She rose up on tiptoe and kissed him, soft and steady.

“I’m sorry too,” she murmured against his lips. “I should’ve told you. I just...I was scared.”

“You were?” He looked surprised, hopeful even, clutching her hands tighter against his chest.

“Of course I was! I’m terrified,” she said with a watery laugh. “Not of dragons. I’m scared of losing you. That’s why I didn’t tell you—I didn’t want to face the idea of never coming back. And if I told you, it’d be real.”

James brushed a hand across her cheek, tucking her hair back.

“I love you,” he said, voice low and aching.

“I love you more,” she whispered.

His arms slid round her waist, drawing her close. Lily melted into the embrace with a soft, grateful sound, cheek pressing into the shoulder she knew better than her own pillow. Her pulse finally began to settle, no longer roaring in her ears like dragonfire.

Wrapped in James’s arms, the scorched streets and sirens seemed a world away. For a moment, just one quiet kind of moment, the war could sod off. Here in their draughty, half-falling-down cottage was something worth fighting for: Love.

“The risk,” James murmured against her hair, “is always worth the prize.”

“Not if the prize is a leg that looks like I fell into the fireplace,” she muttered, casting a very pointed glare at her burned thigh.

James chuckled properly this time—a warm, open sound that made her chest relax—and swept her up into his arms without warning. Lily squeaked in protest, arms flying round his neck as he cradled her like she was weightless.

“I don’t want to know how close you got to that Welsh Green for your leg to end up half-roasted,” he said with a grimace, kissing her lips before she could offer some flippant reply.

“Thank you,” she whispered once he’d pulled back. “For cleaning it and for always showing up for me...even when I’m being a complete pansy.”

“Thank you,” he replied, sincerity softening his voice. “For putting up with me when I’m a nightmare to love.”

She grinned. “You are a nightmare, but I did just fight a dragon, so the comparison really works in your favour.”

He rolled his eyes. “I saw your face when I opened the door, Lily."

"My face?"

"You were hoping I’d snog you and skip the bollocking.”

“I won’t deny a snog would’ve been a far gentler welcome,” she said, scrunching her nose at him, “but to be fair, most of the shouting was just you dramatically professing your undying love.”

James gave her a playful pinch. “I do love you. That’s the whole problem.”

“I know; you’re hardly subtle about it.” Her brows arched as she added with a smirk, “Especially not in bed.”

He growled in response and ducked to nuzzle her neck in that infuriating way that always made her giggle despite herself. His breath was hot on her neck, nothing like a dragon, more like a summer's day in the park.

“You’re right,” he murmured wickedly. “In fact, let’s go to the bedroom where you can hear me shout properly.”

Lily let out a dramatic sigh and nestled her head against his chest. Their bickering was done, at least for now. Their hearts had found their rhythm again, matching beats in the quiet. They’d be gentler next time. They’d try to remember they were on the same side of the same war.

After all, they came from the same foolish, reckless kind of love, and Lily knew—truly knew—that whatever dragons still lay ahead, literal or not, James would be right there beside her.

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