In the spirit of Christmas, could we get a snippet of TFTDC? 👀🌲🥰❤️❤️❤️
No pressure!! Loved your newest fic as well. 💞
of course! and ty so much 🥰
i actually cannot believe it's been 2 years since i wrote JHF, where does the time go!!! 😭
this is actually from ch. 9 of TFTDC (july pt i), and it's from a plotline i'm very excited about 👀
“I met someone tonight,” she says hesitantly.
Fleamont raises a brow. “Oh? Who?”
“Lucy Avery,” Lily says.
Fleamont sets down his stack of dishes. “Oh,” he says again, but there’s something deeper running beneath it. His brow is furrowed slightly, but after a second he goes back to stacking. “I suppose you’re wondering why Effie and I invited her, considering the circumstances?”
as promised, i did some work on this yesterday! 🥰 i think this is no longer the opening scene of the chapter (in any case, it starts mid-scene, so there’ll be something leading up to it), but it turned out quite plotty and non-jily...so i added an extra scene from a little later on (still the same night in the fic!) to make up for it 😉
hope you all enjoy!
JAMES
Avery raises a brow. “I hear he’s still in St. Mungo’s. Terribly tragic that you haven’t caught the perpetrator.”
“Unfortunate Moody can’t talk yet,” James responds tightly. The urge to grip his wand is so overpowering, so similar to the adrenaline that floods him whenever he’s in a duel that he almost flinches.
Avery’s face doesn’t flicker, a smooth mask locked into place over his cold eyes. “The world is a cruel place, Mr. Potter,” he says and inclines his head. “Good day.”
James doesn’t respond, shoulders locking tight, and he’s just winding up to walk away when—
“And do send my regards to your wife, will you?”
He can’t hide the slight inhale, and he curses himself for a bleeding, fucking fool when Avery’s face almost imperceptibly flashes with satisfaction. “What?” His voice is a low growl. His hand hovers by his pocket, tense.
“I was remiss in not sending my congratulations for the happy event,” Avery says. His lips twitch, though there isn’t an ounce of humor in his expression. “She’s such a…unique woman.”
Woman. Not witch.
You cannot kill him in a Ministry corridor, James chants in his mind, over and over. His neck strains, entire body locked tight. He hates this prick, with a furious rush of anger.
Avery doesn’t seem to be thrown by his lack of response; he just laughs softly to himself, the sound as equally devoid of amusement as his smile. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Potter,” he says and steps away, carries on down the corridor.
And James…he doesn’t move. He doesn’t follow Quinn Avery’s disappearance with his eyes, he doesn’t follow to strangle him with his bare hands. He stands there in the green stone corridor as Ministry employees pass around him, mentally counting to ten, twenty, thirty, forty in his mind.
On forty-five, his fingers uncurl and he breathes in, body unlocking very slowly.
Rage simmers beneath the numbers echoing in his head, and he doesn’t let himself dwell as he turns sharply on his heel. His footsteps echo, echo—
“I’m doubling the tail on Avery.”
To Lena’s credit, she doesn’t start at his slamming entrance into her office. She looks up at him, blinking slowly. Her lips go thin. “Potter,” she sighs. Dry. “Do come in.”
James ignores the obvious displeasure on her face. The second the door clicks forcefully shut behind him, he’s speaking again. “Lena, he—“ His words cut off, strangling in his throat as he notices for the first time that they’re not alone in the room.
Aurelia Bernadette blinks at him from the corner. She’s standing with her arms crossed, a blank expression on her face. She inclines her head a little at him.
James leans back on his heels, trying not to look thrown. He swipes a hand through his hair. “I—uh…”
“You were saying?” Lena prompts, arching a brow. She looks thoroughly resigned about something, though he can’t imagine what.
James pulls himself together. Forget Aurelia. “I’m doubling the tail on Avery,” he repeats. “He’s doing something and we need to make sure that we catch him when he slips up. Amelia’s wrapping up her Norten case, so I can have her do extra—“
“Potter,” Lena says and it’s exhausted enough that it makes James stop talking, as nothing would. “We’re pulling the tail on Avery.”
James’s hand bangs against the edge of her desk. “What?”
Lena shakes her head. Her face looks more lined than usual. “The Office thinks it’s a drain on resources,” she says. “Moreno’s been gone for months, and the lead on Moody dried up. There haven’t been any new curse victims in over six months. It’s time to let it go.”
“The Office,” James repeats, experiencing the odd feeling that he’s underwater. Fuck it, no, he’s angry. “You are the Office.”
“I answer to the Department,” Lena says sharply. Her lips have disappeared, so thin and tight with her tension. “We all do.” The warning in her voice is clear. Remember your job.
Aurelia speaks up quietly. “I argued against it in the Minister’s offices.”
James starts, having forgotten she was there. He isn’t sure what he feels when his gaze settles on her—confusion? Anger? Suspicion?
Her face is hard to read, but her words don’t seem false. “I said you were onto something, but without Auror Moody heading the Department and no evidence…”
Oh.
He’s not an idiot. He’s not a fucking idot.
Aurelia trails off, exchanges a look with a grim Lena.
“They’ve lost faith in me,” James says. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “The Department thinks I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Lena’s silent, then she sighs. “James,” she says. “Maybe this is for the best. You’ve been running yourself ragged for a year.”
“I’m fine.” James realizes he’s in real danger of yelling, and he forces himself to calm. “Moody is lying unconscious in a hospital while the bastards who got him are walking free in Denmark, and Adrian could be murdered—“
“Or he ran,” Aurelia says. She purses her lips. “And as I understand, Alastor had his fair share of enemies. Any one of them could’ve struck.”
“You’re wrong,” James snaps, uncaring that he’s glaring at a superior. Lena makes a grumbling noise. He steps back, clutches his hair. “It’s—Lena, you can’t believe that everything that happened this year is a coincidence, can you?”
“No,” Lena responds and James’s shoulders drop, then she adds, “But part of being a good Auror is knowing when to follow orders.” Her eyes bore into him. “You’re a good Auror, Potter.”
The words in his throat choke. What if I’m not? he thinks, wild for one second, but then reality catches up with him. Lena. Aurelia. The office. The job he’s made his life for a decade.
His shoulders slowly drop from their tense position. There’s a horrible taste in his mouth.
Lena sees it, and she relaxes as well. “Tell your wife,” she says and her words are a bit gentler. “I’m sure she’ll be relieved to go back to St. Bart’s. And Dearborn and Black.”
Your wife.
Those words in Avery’s cold drawl made his blood freeze, but now that same phrase in his boss’s calm tone makes a flood of longing so sharp it’s almost bitter flood him. He wants her here for a moment—Lily. She’d understand why he feels like throwing something at the wall, why he can’t make his brain stop, why he can’t believe that he’s been told to give up—
No, he realizes suddenly.
And do send my regards to your wife, won’t you?
No. Whatever happens with this fucking case, he wants Lily as far away from Quinn Avery as possible.
Aurelia’s face is hard to read when his eyes go over to her in the corner, and he can’t describe the feeling that sweeps through him. Resentment is certainly in there.
This wouldn’t have happened with Moody here.
Moody’s in the hospital, his brain reminds him, hissing low. He could never wake up. And you’re going to let it all go, because you’re such a good Auror, aren’t you?
His jaw hurts opening. “Alright,” James says and steps back. His words are stiff. “I will.”
~
*some redacted scenes of dangerous intrigues later*
LILY
She’s smiling, but it fades when she gets a good look at him. Her brow pulls tight. “Are you alright?”
James starts a little, then he’s shaking his head with a sigh. “Fine,” he says and continues to look at her. His eyes are shadowed by his specs. “How was your day?”
“Long,” Lily says with a sigh of her own. She leans back against the kitchen counter. Worry continues to prickle, but he seems normal enough. “You?”
“Same,” James murmurs, then he’s suddenly in motion, striding across the sitting room.
Lily catches his body against hers, barely has time for a half-laugh of unsurprised surprise before he’s kissing her. His hands slip beneath her robes, find the loops of her jeans and tug.
“James—“ It’s half-gasped, then fades into a sigh when his mouth—hot, familiar, mind-melting—moves against hers. His lips trail over her jaw, down the side of her neck. Lily’s head spins, and only the counter behind her and James’s body pressed on her front keep her standing.
His hand slips along her hip. Fingers play with the zip of her jeans.
Oh, Merlin, she thinks or maybe she says it aloud, addled. Her hands have somehow made it to the nape of his neck, and she tugs at his hair gently to make his mouth return to hers.
James makes a noise, an odd intensity to his ensuing kiss. He seems to be trying to get her as close to him as possible, his other hand gripping at her lower back, his leg between hers, and he doesn’t show any inclination for patience or teasing—the zip of her jeans is tugged down, his fingers slipping into her knickers…
Lily’s back arches, a strangled moan escaping. She breaks their kiss, head falling back. Her cheeks flush, flush right down her exposed neck, and the lights of the kitchen sparkle in her vision.
She lets herself get lost in the sensation without a thought—the tension winding tighter in her stomach, the sparks and shudders with the circles of his thumb on her clit, the warmth of him in front of her.
“James—“ She gasps his name, lifts her head again to focus on him with hazy eyes, but then she’s thrown.
Because he’s looking at her, as he often does while he touches her, but he looks…he looks like James. Wild hair, hazel eyes, a jaw tight with the weight of other people’s burdens. His eyes are different tonight, though. The color is darkened by shadows, and by a mix of longing and intensity and—
He sees her looking and he inhales, something flashing on his face, but doesn’t stop the movement of his fingers. He leans in, kisses her softly.
Lily’s fingers trail from his shoulder to his cheek. She lingers there, some unknown emotion rising.
Are you okay? she wants to ask again. By now she’s certain he isn’t, but she’s equally certain he won’t tell her if she presses him. She might not recognize the look in his eyes, but she’s become a scholar in the study of James Potter over the years. Just as surely as she’s learned to love him, she’s learned to know him too.
So she kisses him back, lets her mouth break away after a second to gasp out his name, a hot swear. Her fingers cupping his cheek fall to his shoulder, grip tight when her orgasm washes over her a moment later.
James murmurs things into her hair as she catches her breath. The warm lights of the sitting room glitter softly around them. Lily’s face is hot, and she presses it to his chest. Her heart is pounding loudly enough to eclipse the sound of his, but she remains there nonetheless.
Okay, she thinks. Okay. We can do this, too.
It’s a slightly nonsensical thought, but it soothes the pinch in her chest that wants to demand James crack himself open and spill his every secret to her.
“I love you,” she whispers instead. Her cheek rests on his chest. It’s one the nights where the words come easier than usual, where she doesn’t stumble over them as much. She doesn’t know why she asks, when she knows the answer. “And...you love me.”
James is silent for a moment, then he exhales, low and slow, and his chin presses to the top of her head. His fingers sweep down her back, warm. “I do,” he says quietly. “Forever.”
There’s another pinch, in the recently forgotten corner of her mind where her anxiety dwells. Forever. What is forever? Does forever have a ticking clock, a pair of lovers with cracks in their souls?
Does forever end, is what she wants to know, but James’s odd mood is enough upset for tonight, so she forces her mind blank. “Okay,” Lily says, voice muffled by his shirt. “You better have brought back dinner.”
Hi Ange! If I’m not too late (or if you haven’t done this one yet)…hand 👀
hey kelsey! 🥰 there's a lot more of jily [redacted] in this chapter than i thought there would be tbh. i'm sure all of you will/won't enjoy that, depending on your persuasion 😂
Lily laughs, the sound slightly strained and pulls away. Her eyes are slightly red and her hands linger on his shoulders. “Right,” she says. “My mistake.”
Happy writing cave, lovely Ange, word ask - pain <3
hi hi 🥰
James’s heart riots, and the sickness mingles with care so strong it almost makes him ill. He wants to grab that agedness, the exhaustion in his friend, the years of pain, and crush it into nothing. He’ll do anything, trade anything, give up his own right arm—
can you give us lil bit snippet from tftdc chapter 8? 😆
of course! 😊
this chapter is all about James, and I've got tons of notes for what that will look like, but i haven't fully dived into yet (I'm excited to, character introspection is one of my favorite things to do). but i do have this little bit 👀
Self doubt isn’t a look James Potter wears very well.
“You can’t do any good for anyone outside this office, Potter,” Lena had said. “Especially not for your wife.”
And Dumbledore, all those years ago during that fateful meeting, when he was sullen and angry in his office. Eighteen years old. A whispered confession that his Headmaster certainly shouldn’t have been able to pry out of him when his own mates couldn’t. “I don’t think she’s coming back.”
“James,” Dumbledore said quietly to him, eyes bright and old. “Don’t think of the hurt that has been done to you. Think...of the good you can do for others. That’s why you’re joining the Auror force, is it not?”
His heart had ached and he didn’t feel like he could do much good at that moment, not without her, but he was eighteen. He was young and the world outside went on, and he could make himself believe in possibility.
The hall outside the lifts is silent, except for the suddenly loud ticking of his watch.
If you stripped away his job and his desk, his house and his wealth...Merlin, he thinks with a yawning feeling of terror, what else is left?
since life is insane and it'll probably be a little bit until June, here's a lengthy (and with hints of plotty spoilers for people with eagle eyes 👀. things are going to heat up over the summer for jily & co.) snippet from ch 8!
“I hate you,” she weeps.
Something breaks in him. “Lily…”
His voice is raspy, and he ignores the burning pain in his chest, straining to sit up. He only gets a few inches before he has to stop, panting.
The shattered look in Lily’s eyes get worse and she inhales. “Don’t move,” she says. “Please…don’t.”
James ignores her. The burning has spread down his ribs, into his gut, and he feels ill and shaky, like someone is yanking at his skin. “You don’t hate me.”
“Of course I don’t,” she cries loudly and wraps shaking arms around herself, grip tight. “I could never hate you, because I love you so much, but I hate that you—that you—what would happen if you—“ she goes silent, voice cut off so sharply there’s nothing left, and her eyes are suddenly overflowing, bright orbs of tears.
Fuck.
James clenches his jaw tight enough to snap and shoves himself upright. He groans, head spinning and eyes briefly going dark. Lily’s instantly moving, pushing him down as she breathes in and out shakily, still crying—
He doesn’t let her push him back to the pillow and catches one of her hands in his own unsteady one. He’s never felt this out of control of his own extremities, but it doesn’t matter. “Lily,” he says roughly. “I’m not going to die. Not for a very long time. I won’t leave you.”
Lily exhales, wet and shuddery, and looks at him, perched on the edge of his hospital bed. “You don’t know that,” she whispers. “Your job is dangerous.”
“I’m good at it,” James says. His heart is thudding and he feels like he might be sick, and he’s not even sure if he believes what he’s saying—but he won’t show that to her. Not when she’s clearly afraid. His thumb shakes, but he brushes it over the back of her hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anything bad happen to me, I promise.”
Lily stares at him, mouth trembling, and for a second he’s sure she’s going to yell some more—he’s not sure if he can take it right now, as terrible as he feels physically, but he’s bracing himself nonetheless when her face collapses and she falls forward, half into him and half into the headboard, and she cries.
~
His father once called him a do-gooder to a fault. “You’ll carry the world until your back breaks so no one else will have to bear its weight,” he sighed, and fourteen-year old James just scoffed.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, stubborn as a mule. A cut from a werewolf stinging on his lip and stolen potion ingredients in his pocket. A Mandrake leaf, the third time already, waiting to be placed on his tongue.
Fleamont looked at him, then he huffed a laugh filled with weariness—and maybe, James was sure he wasn’t imagining it, a little bit of pride. “Sure you don’t,” he said. “Stay alive to put that head of yours to work out in the real world, son. I pity what will come to those who stand against you or the people you care about.”
He wants to take a breath, but the room is suddenly strangled of all air. Evans does that to him—he’s yet to figure out why, and he dislikes it in an imprecise sort of way.
Last year, he would’ve said he disliked her.
