I have a headcanon that Lily, ironically, loved flowers and during fourth or fifth year James found out. So when he tried to woo Lily he would always have a bunch of flowers as well. Every week there would be a new type of flower (don’t even ask how much trouble he got into with Professor Sprout), roses, daffodils, daises, tulips, just about every flower you could possibly imagine.
This carried on until early sixth year, until one day Lily had received an angry letter from Petunia about how she was such a freak and how her boyfriend, Vernon didn’t want to come to the house anymore because she was so weird. Lily was absolutely heart broken, when James showed up with a bunch of petunias.
“Evans, I got you some flowers…” he said. At that point, Lily burst into tears and was violently sobbing. James was shocked because she’d never broken down before when he gave her flowers.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he said and he helped her back into the Common Room, where they sat down. “Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”
Lily really needed a friend right now and maybe, just maybe, Potter would understand. First she just talked and talked about her sister, but she realised how good James was at listening, so she kept talking about everything. The war, how scared she was, that Transfiguration test she was so sure she would fail. James listened like he’d never listened before, and when she was done he pulled her into a hug and told her everything would be okay.
And that was the day Potter and Evans became friends.
It’s a warm October afternoon when Lily decides Head business is business best addressed by the Great Lake. Subsequently, sheafs of parchment lie strewn about at their feet, amidst quills dripping ink and nodding wildflower heads and gently browning blades of grass.
James’ hands are soft and familiar in her hair as he twists ropes of it into braids. She tears another chunk of bread off the loaf she’s holding and tosses it into the Lake. Only a few seconds pass before a large tentacle slides up to grab it. Sunlight dances warm on the planes of her cheeks, her fingers, her calves. Her laugh startles a flock of owls in a neighboring tree.
“Come off it,” James is saying, a smile in his voice. “I’d be a great professional hair stylist.”
“Oh, of course,” she says, mock solemn. “I really do love the miracles you create with my hair. Like this one, what’s the technical name for this style? Rat’s nest?”
“Oi, I’m getting better at these – whatsits, French broads?”
“Braids,” she laughs. “French braids, you git.”
“Ah, right.” He takes a moment to wrangle with a particularly stubborn lock of hair. “Listen, you’d save a fortune in hair products and styling every year. Think about it: you walk into some hair potion shop, ask for some Sleekeazy, they ask for a Galleon, you point to me and say – “
“I say, ‘I’m not contributing any more to this wanker’s trust fund,’ right?”
He laughs. “Yes, exactly that.”
“Hmm. You put up a very tempting offer, but I’m afraid you’d only be saving me a Galleon a year, if that. Not everyone has to use a bottle a day to tame their wild mane, you know.”
“I resent that comment very much,” he replies, and nicks a piece of bread.
There’s a short pause in which no one does much of anything. Then Lily tilts her head to one side, peering at him over her shoulder. “I s’pose I could keep you around for entertainment value, at the very least.”
“That’s a lifetime’s worth of employment,” he says. “Spectacular job security.”
“Yeah, you could hang ‘round my flat all day, cracking jokes and tripping over things. I wouldn’t be able to pay you much, though.”
“S’alright, making you laugh is worth it,” he says, unthinkingly.
A warm flush stains her cheeks. His hands still in her hair at the sight.
“Alright, Evans?” he asks, trying to calm the sudden racing of his heart. “Looking a little sunburnt there.”
She pauses for a split second, then jerks around to face him fully. The half-finished braid unravels against her back, along her neck, by her temples. “Would you just,” she says, “kiss me already? Honestly, James, I don’t know what you’ve been waiting for – “
He doesn’t wait a second longer.
We should have a baby, Lily. My hair, your everything else. That baby would be unstoppable.
askwhathasthiscometo 