Screaming and Fighting and Kissing in the Rain

“He’s incredible,” Emmeline said.

“He’s amazing,” Marlene said.

“He’s perfect!” Alice said.

And Lily Evans knew they were right—Dominic McLaggen was all that and more. He was six feet of Ravenclaw brain and Quidditch brawn, charming smiles and sensitive words, six feet of Prince Charming from Muggle fairytales. Lily knew that she was the envy of plenty of girls—and why not? When she talked, he listened—he respected her opinions. He made her smile, he made her blush, he made warmth and safety seep all through her. He never forgot her birthday, or their anniversary, or Valentine’s Day—he always had a kind word for her bad days, and a compliment and a kiss for her good days. His kisses were innocent and sweet, delicious and smooth like chocolate.

She and Dominic were meant to be—everyone said so. Why then, did she dream of someone else entirely every single night, without fail? Lily never quite knew the answer.

She dreamt of heated words and screamed insults, hard, desperate, fiery kisses under the deluge of rain on a dark Quidditch pitch. She dreamt of hate and love and passion and stormy hazel eyes, dark with desire for her. She dreamt of spontaneity and secrets, moments that made her breath catch in her throat, that made her forget how to breathe. She dreamt of standing on a precipice on a starlit night, holding someone by the hand, knowing they were both ready to jump, and knowing with a bone-deep certainty that she would jump with him, no matter how tall the cliff was or how the river snarled over the boulders at the bottom.

She dreamt of laughter and tears, of being pushed so fast and hard and unexpectedly past the edge, of soaring through the air one second, of plummeting beneath the earth the other, and of loving every second of it.

She dreamt of James Potter.

X

There was a day when Dominic found her moodily flicking pieces of shredded parchment into the fire.

“What’s wrong, baby?” he asked her, and she turned to him with molten emerald eyes.

Without another word, he smiled softly at her and told her he’d be there to talk if she wanted to, never questioning her anger and giving her as much space as she wanted.


X

James was an entirely different story.

There was a day when James found her moodily flicking pieces of shredded parchment into the fire.

“What’s wrong, Lily?” he asked her, and she turned to him with molten emerald eyes.

He slipped onto the sofa beside her, his glasses reflecting the light, and his mouth tilted up at one corner, his arm pressed against hers on a seat meant for two first years instead of a beautiful redheaded girl and a tall, messy-haired boy, both poised on the brink of adulthood, both so previously incompatible.

And she found herself spitting, “Why do you care?”

Even the venom in her tone could not make him move, and he said only, “Because something’s wrong.”

And she found herself spilling it all to him, long-ago memories of childhood vacations spent with her other half, building sandcastles and licking ice cream cones, the scent of salt mingled with the scent of sunblock under a burning bright midsummer sun, more recent memories of Petty’s poisonous words and scathing insults, the hate in her eyes that even Lily could not doubt.

Without another word, he smiled softly at her and told her that her sister was insane, because Lily was Lily, and nothing, not even the strongest magic in the world, could change the person that she was. He never gave her the space that she wanted, but butted in and intruded, as only someone as stubborn as James Potter could, suffocating her with his laughter and his cheeky smile and the scent of wind and grass and leather, wrapping her in the embrace that gave her the closeness that she needed, though she knew that they were long over.

And when she talked, he never just listened—he reacted. He made a few snarky comments here and there, wove into her tale a thread of humor and perspective, and before she could figure out just quite how he did it, she was laughing with him and his crazy best friends, caught up in the whirlwind that was James Potter and enjoying the ride.

X

They’d been together briefly before, James and Lily, and it had ended in disaster. But they were both different now—he’d changed, and she’d changed, and the more she was with him now, the more she knew that, though their puzzle pieces had not fit together at first try, they had, through sheer force of will, changed and reshaped how they were so that they meshed together now in a perfect fit, with nary a seam in between to tell that they had even been two separate pieces in the first place.

X

It was 2 a.m. when Dominic and Lily finally made it back to the common room, empty of nobody but them, and Lily knew it was time.

He couldn’t believe his ears.

“Why, Lily?” he asked, and she could see the sheen of rage and despair in his eyes. “Why him again?”

“Do you want to know the truth?” she replied, and hoped that he would say no, because she wasn’t sure if she could put it into words. There was a short pause, but he nodded curtly.

She was silent for a second, and then blurted it all out. “Because you’re wonderful, Dominic, you’re absolutely amazing, and you’re everything that I ever wanted, but not everything that I never knew I needed. It’s the way he would throw himself in front of a train for his friends, how he grew into somebody who fights so hard against the darkest part of himself, because injustice goes against the very grain of his being. It’s how he makes me feel like I can’t take anymore, like if I have one more emotion in me, I’m going to burst apart into a million pieces because I have no more space for anything. And for some insane, crazy, mental reason, I love taking the risk, because it brings me so much closer to him, to understanding how he can be who he is. After I’m with him I can’t think of anything else, because there’s not space anymore in my mind for anyone other than him. It’s overwhelming and utterly, utterly intoxicating. I’m drunk on the feeling, and I can’t stop anymore than a drunk can stop drinking wine once he’s begun. And…and that’s not fair to you.”

Dominic was perfect and Dominic was amazing, so of course Dominic didn’t yell at her. She could see the heartbreak in his face, and her own heart burned in response, but she could not regret tumbling heads over heels for somebody else, because that somebody else was the response to the question that she was, the answer to her heart and her mind and her body.

Dominic was perfect, but even perfect people could not even begin to understand how Lily Evans’ entire being sang only for James Potter, wanted only him with such an unquenchable need that no substitute could manage to stand in his place. As such, Dominic could not reassure her that he bore her no hard feelings, and Lily found herself alone in the empty Gryffindor common room.

“Damn you, James Potter,” she said half-heartedly to the dying fire. “I can’t believe I fell in love with you.”

X

It was raining again the next day, but she knew he would be at the Quidditch pitch anyways, as per her owl.

Sure enough, when she started down the stands, there was a tall figure in black robes standing in the very center of the pitch, staring up at the goal hoops. As she approached him, he turned towards her, a slight smile on his face. His head was uncovered and the water had plastered his dark hair to his head. He wasn’t wearing his glasses—they’d probably fogged up.

“James,” she smiled, looking up at him from inside the warmth of her cloak. “Put on your hood! It’s practically storming.”

He laughed. “If you’re standing in the rain, why try to keep dry? You’re not making any sense, Lily.” He quickly slipped off her hood.

The first drop of rain hit her on the nose, and soon she was as soaked as James. She grimaced at him, but he only smiled and pulled her closer to his warmth as they both tried to catch raindrops on their tongues.

“So why am I out here?” he asked eventually. “Besides to swallow gallons of rainwater.”

She frowned slightly. “I’m not quite sure how to put this.”

“Just spit it out,” James advised. “That’s how I told Sirius that the hot older bird he’d been hooking up with was actually a part-troll fifth year armed with a few glamour charms.”

“Alright then,” she said, and pulled his face close to hers. “Listen carefully, it’s really rather important.”

Raindrops clung to his eyelashes and his bangs, dripping miniscule rivers down his face, as he nodded, squinting at her.

“The thing is,” Lily began. “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

Before he could react, she was on her tip-toes kissing him, and almost on reflex he was kissing her back.

Her words sunk in soon enough, however, and he laughed into their kiss, bringing her even closer to him so that their bodies met without an inch of space. The wild, joyful edge to their kiss spurred him on, and she tasted sweetness and spice, lazy summer sunshine and Butterbeer on his lips. She took of him and he stole her prizes back, and they fought and soothed until they had to break for breath.

He started laughing, and she joined him, breathless laughter that wasn’t quite tamed, their hands clasped together and her cheek against his chest.

“Well,” he said, and contrary to his casual tone, she could see the longing and triumph in his golden-hazel eyes. “I suppose that’s alright with me.”