Chapter Text
Have you ever thought just maybe you belong with me?
“You Belong With Me”, Taylor Swift
Have You Ever Thought Just Maybe…?
The thing that is truly grossly unfair is that James Potter never even liked to read. That is the first thing that crosses her mind when it is announced at the staff meeting that the new school library will be named in honour of one of the school’s alumni.
(Later – once she gets home – she will protest to Dorothea – her cat – that the use of the word alumnus here seems a disproportionate overstatement. “It is too weighty. All he did was write a couple of Fantasy books. It’s not as if he cured cancer or managed to avoid the outbreak of World War III, did he?” Dory meowed in – what she had chosen to believe was – vehement agreement.)
It quite simply felt unreasonable and certainly excessive to name the room after him. Even more so given the fact that he had only added a measly four novels to it and that – when he had been in school – he had only entered it to flirt his way out of the fines he had seemed to collect as if it were a sport. (With him nearly everything had been a competition, so she would not be surprised if this had been the case for the penalties he had assembled, too.)
“The James Potter Reading Wing,” Mrs Pince had announced breathlessly and with an air of importance, her cheeks pinkened with excitement.
Lily had very nearly snorted in response, almost blurting out: “Are we naming it for the fact that no student collected more late fees than he did in the history of the Hogwarts Library?” She had not been given the chance to showcase her wit, though, for Mrs Pince had gone on to wax poetic over his latest novel, employing terminology such as ‘ground-breaking,’ a ‘literary masterpiece’ and ‘a poignant exploration of the human condition’ to praise it.
Lily had wondered if the librarian had been quoting the New York Times review which Mrs Pince had had framed and had sent to all of Hogwarts’ employees through a staff email:
In crafting Mischief Managed, J.F. Potter has conjured a literary masterpiece that will undoubtedly leave readers spellbound. With its engaging narrative, vibrant characters, and enchanting world-building, this novel stands as a testament to the enduring allure of fantasy literature.
Whether you're a seasoned aficionado of the genre or a newcomer eager to embark on a magical adventure, Mischief Managed is sure to cast its irresistible charm upon you.
(Never mind that she had – once she had gotten home and read this – bought the Kindle edition of his latest, reading the first two chapters as she had prepared her dinner, finding it difficult to put it down, finishing the novel some two days later.)
What was even worse about the whole situation, however, was that she had realized – and thankfully she had kept her grumbling to herself – that she had sounded very much like the colleague - another former classmate - she much preferred to ignore, even if he had been trying to catch her eye throughout Mrs Pince’s speech. Sharing the same department with him, after all, was bad enough as it was. She did not want him to think they had anything other than their subject area and their similar educational background in common.
To top it all – as if the reminder of James Potter’s existence had not been enough – Mrs Pince had happily crowed that the author had agreed to open the fully refurbished school library, cutting a ribbon and smiling for the cameras as he did what he had always done best: gloat. “Gilderoy Lockhart will come to write a little something for the Hogsmeade Gazette, too.” (Like all locals, another former Hogwarts student. One that had become the face of the local news and acted as if he was a BBC news reader of repute as a result.)
She did not care, of course, that Potter would return to the school where she had first met him at eleven and where she had said goodbye to him at eighteen. Sure, she had booked an appointment at the hairdresser’s, but she had been due for a haircut anyway, and the skirt and blouse combo she had picked for the day might have been a favourite look of hers, but this was all mere happenstance. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that he would be back, that they would be reunited even if for a matter of minutes.
Yet, she wondered if they might shake hands, if he would recognise her, if he would smile her way and showcase his dimples. She wondered if he might call her Evans in that familiar teasing tone that had always driven her mad when they had been in school and he had been the Head Boy to her Head Girl.
(Not that it would matter. She would be fine either way. She absolutely would not care if he did not acknowledge her at all. She was thirty-three years old, definitely thirteen no longer.)
All her fantasies set aside, she knew that realistically nothing would happen, that their reunion – if that is what it may be called – would most likely be terribly underwhelming. So, as she got out of her car on the morning of the library’s opening day, she entered the staff room to get herself a cup of tea before she would make her way to the assembly where James was set to speak, zero expectations of what would occur that day or how her life might be changed. This was, after all, not one of his novels. Real life rarely exceeded fiction and she had long reconciled herself with this fact, albeit with some reluctance.
Perhaps this was why – as she added a dash of milk to her builder’s brew – she started so, spilling the dairy all over her nicest pair of shoes, when a voice, laced with amusement, said: “Lily Evans, breaking hearts since 1991. I am pretty certain teachers did not look this good back in our day, did they?”
She bit back a curse, staring rather morosely at her feet before looking up to find him – well, fucking hell, the dimples were there – smiling down on her, arms crossed as he leaned casually against the countertop next to the coffee machine.
“Do not let McGonagall hear it. Did you not once describe her as the love of your life?”
His smile widened into a smirk. “Oh, Minnie knows I love her. I doubt she will let any compliments I send your way come between us. In fact, I think she would welcome it. She did always encourage me to use my words.” Then, deliberately dropping his eyes to where she knew – it had seemed such a grand idea this morning – she had left one button too many unbuttoned, he added: “I once considered – halfway through tearing my hair out as I wrote my first novel – going into teaching, you know. I now see it was a mistake not to let this brainwave take root.”
Her nostrils flared, a huff escaping her lips. Halfway through tearing my hair out as I wrote my first novel. “I’ll have you know that the saying those who can’t, teach is a terrible underestimation of the many excellent people within this profession.”
She willed herself not to think of her less than stellar colleagues, the ones that made her want to scream into the void once she got home after another unnecessary long staff meeting. Thankfully, as had been the case when they had been in school, he was kind enough to offer a distraction.
“Oh, Evans,” he pushed off of the countertop, taking a step towards her, her breath hitching in her throat, “I have only ever thought you can.” His hazel eyes were crinkled around the corners, his glasses a compliment to his sharp features and for a second – no more than one, maybe two, or all right three – she let herself get lost in his gaze.
Then, she shook herself, stepped back, grabbed a tissue and crouched down to dab at the tips of her pumps. “What is it they say about writers, anyway? Those who write, imagine?” It hardly felt like the stingy jab she had intended it to be and she cringed at her non-existent, unintelligent wit. So far for impressing him, for showing him she was anything but weak (for him).
“I’m certainly coming up with lots of different scenarios to play out between us,” he spoke, laughing when she looked up at him with wide eyes, mouth dropping open. “You were always so easy to rile up, Evans. I see that not much has changed, has it?”
No, she thought, I am right here where you left me, Potter. A little older, perhaps, missing a Head Girl badge, but other than that I am largely the same. It is as much a disappointment to myself as it will be to you when you speak to me for longer than a couple of minutes. “Looks like you did not either.”
“Nah,” he shrugged, fingers of his left hand getting lost in the curls that she had always admired so when they’d been in secondary themselves, “as much of a shit as I was before, to be honest. I just tend to hide it a little better.”
“Not now,” she told him.
“Yeah,” his smile was charming, lopsided, “you always had that effect on me.” He cleared his throat then, dropped his hand from his hair. “Anyway, I never thought I’d see you here. I was convinced you’d be in a lab somewhere, on your way to winning the first of many Nobel prizes. When Dumbledore told me –”
“Well, yes,” she dropped her gaze, her words biting in her embarrassment, “not everyone manages to turn everything they touch to gold, Potter. Some of us are mere mortals, you know.”
“I didn’t mean –”
“I’m perfectly content, be the way,” she felt flustered, getting up from her crouch, fingers brushing her skirt as if to remove some imaginative fluff. “Teaching is a noble profession, dynamic, too. No day is ever the same and I love the students –”
“I never meant to imply it wasn’t, you know,” he seemed a little out of sorts as well, his memory clearly lapsing seeing as he had just told her that teaching had been his second choice, rubbing his success at escaping it in her face. “This is a classic foot in mouth situation, which is – in all fairness – ironic, seeing as I am supposed to have a way with words.” He pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “I think it’s brilliant that you’ve become a teacher. You were always very patient with Peter when he needed your help. I would argue that you are the one that got him through his exams.” He shrugged helplessly, his smile a little sheepish. “How lucky your students are to have you.”
Did you know I only helped Peter in the first place, because you asked me to? That everything I did back then was for the hope of it all?
“Well, tell my Year 11 that, please. They need the reminder.”
“I’ll tell them when I get up on that stage,” he nodded solemnly. “Not that I am under the impression that any of them know who I am. Reading is not exactly Gen Z’s thing, is it?”
“Most of them are Generation Alpha, I think.”
James whistled, shaking his head. “Fuck, Evans, when did we get old?”
“It was the pandemic, I reckon,” she replied with a shrug. “All those Zoom meetings did our head in, made our brains melt.”
“Must be, yeah.” He had an odd look in his eyes as he said it, his smile uncharacteristically soft, a sharp contrast to his earlier schoolboy joy glittering down on her like the gel pens she had used to embellish her notes in Year 7 and 8.
Feeling just a tad uncomfortable, she turned back to her tea, picked up her mug which – she hated herself for choosing this one – held a geeky Chemistry pun: Be like a proton and stay positive! Chemistry teachers always have a solution. “Anyway,” she started, “I should probably head to the Great Hall. I wouldn’t want to miss this one famous author’s address.”
“Ah,” he replied, “I heard he’s a bit of a tosser, really. A real twat.”
“He was Head Boy, once upon a time. It might have inflated his ego just a bit.”
“I hear it was a position that he only managed to keep, because the Head Girl was so very brilliant and was ready to cover up all his mistakes, though.” She could not contain her own smile, prompting him to say: “Do not let that get to your head, Evans. I hear he’s pretty successful these days.”
She rolled her eyes, raising her mug to him. “Well, who is to say that isn’t her influence?” She arched an eyebrow. “Congratulations, Potter. If we were to have a school reunion, you would most certainly win the ‘Least Likely To Succeed, But Look He Did It Anyway’-award.”
“It would go up on my mantelpiece, next to the awards that I have won for my writing,” he grinned. “Don’t worry, though, Evans. I can leave some space for your first Nobel prize or the ‘Favourite Teacher’-award you are sure to win consecutive years in a row.”
She shook her head, flushed, refraining from pointing out the obvious: why on your mantelpiece, Potter? Are you planning on murdering me and receiving all my awards posthumously? “Good luck, James,” she told him, walking away. “It was really good to see you again.”
She could feel his eyes on her all the way out of the staff room, only just managing to keep a shiver from running up her spine.
… You Belonged With Me?
“Roses are red, violets are blue, though I am blinded, I see only you,” Mary clutched the Valentine’s card to her chest, kicking up her feet as she fell back on Lily’s bed. “Oh my god, Lily! You do realise there’s only one person who could have written this?”
At just fifteen years old, Lily had a good inkling whom might be the author, but she did not want to state it just in case her friend thought differently and her hopes and dreams would be crushed. Warding off the inevitable disappointment she might face, she thus said: “Honestly, I think it’s tacky, don’t you? Whomever this is could have at least written me an original.” She acted so blasé, but was anything but. When she had found the card in her locker - You're the chem to my istry. Let's bond and create some heart reactions together! – she had snorted with laughter, covering her mouth with her hand and checking her direct surroundings to see if anyone had overheard the embarrassing noise that had bubbled up from within. She had been so far removed from cool about this that it was a wonder she had been able to keep the card in her bag until they got home to show her friend.
“It’s cute!” Mary exclaimed. “Don’t act as if you don’t think so either. You love puns and he got you a Chemistry one. He knows the way to your heart, that's for sure.”
All of what Mary said was true and she could just imagine him buying the card, carefully selecting it, his dimples revealed through his smile. Yet, there was something that itched at the back of her mind, a possibility that made her feel rather uneasy.
“What if it’s Sev?”
“Ugh,” Mary’s nose crinkled. “Believe me, it’s not. I could sniff him out from miles away and this –” she held up the card – “– has a decidedly different vibe about it. Snape wishes he had the confidence to pull this off.”
“If it’s not him, though –”
“Oh, come off it, Lil, you know it’s James!”
A blush stained her cheeks, made her pull up her knees to her chest. “It’s not –”
“Is too!” Mary pointed at the neat cursive on the card, scribbled there with such care: “Though I am blinded... he is very clearly giving you a clue. I think you should just go up to him and snog him senseless tomorrow.”
“I can’t!” She buried her face in her hands. “I’ve never kissed anyone before. I’d be far too scared to do it wrong. He’d definitely make fun of me for it and you know that Sirius Black would never let me live it down.”
“You can’t get it wrong,” Mary crawled over to where she sat, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Besides, it’s not like he’s got all the experience in the world. He kissed Marlene when they played Spin the Bottle on her birthday, sure, but that hardly counts.” Lily groaned into her hands, the memory of that soul-crushing moment coming back to her. “Come on, babe, live a little. What is holding you back?”
“Potential disappointment,” her voice was muffled by the forearm she rested her forehead and lips against.
“But what if it’s all you ever dreamed of? You can’t just sit around and wait forever. If you don’t acknowledge it, he might move on and find someone else to crush on. You could end up regretting it for the rest of your life!” Her friend paused for a moment, before she spoke resolutely: “I think you should message him, you could tell him that you think of no one but him day and night –”
“Mary!”
“You should!”
“But what if –?”
“No buts! You buck up and do what you have to do.” Mary grabbed her by the shoulders then, shook her gently. “Think about it: it could be true love, Lily! Do you want to ignore what fate has in store for you? Black even teased him for doodling 'LE' in the margins of his notebook. Surely, even you can't deny that means something?”
When Mary had left, Lily grabbed her copy of Maus, hoping to get through some of the reading McGonagall had assigned for the next day. Ten minutes in, however, she huffed, placed her bookmark back into the book and then wandered over to her computer, starting it with a press of her pointer finger to the button. She chewed on the nail of her thumb as it started, the whole process taking far longer than she felt it normally would.
Once it had, though, she navigated to MSN Messenger, opening it up and, taking a deep breath, sending a message to PotterForCaptain.
Petals
Hey
PotterForCaptain
Hey
Petals
How are you?
PotterForCaptain
Good
You?
Petals
I’m all right.
PotterForCaptain
Cool
Petals
Did you do the reading for McGonagall yet?
PotterForCaptain
Yeah
Breezed through it
It's got pictures
I like that much better than words
Petals
LOL
PotterForCaptain
You?
Petals
Just got started.
I couldn’t focus, though.
I’m a little distracted.
PotterForCaptain
Oh????????
Got anything in the mail today then, Evans?
Her heart pounded in her chest, she was almost nauseous with it, her hands trembling as her fingers hovered over the keys.
She typed a response, deleted it, eyed the card that she had pinned to the corkboard over her desk. She inhaled sharply.
Petals
No, you?
PotterForCaptain
No?????
Petals
Should I have gotten anything?
He typed for a long time before his answer appeared, her heart shattering as the words registered.
PotterForCaptain
How should I know?
That was that then. The silly fairytale was over. How stupid she had been to – even if for just a couple of hours – believe that he, too, might have thought that she belonged with him.