Tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear, Lily poured tea into two delicately-patterned china teacups.

"Any sugar?"

"Please," James replied.

They sat on separate armchairs in Lily's living room, sipping their tea and glancing at each other gently over the gold-edged rims. Soft smiles were shared between them, sweetened by the sugar.

The room was so different to James' own living room. Where his was chaotic and vivid, hers was muted, almost fragile, curled in a cloud of pale blues and pinks and greens that seemed to fade even in the silenced sunlight that collapsed like dust on the whitish floorboards.

"Your house is very beautiful."

"Do you think so?" She sniffed, looking about the room with mild distaste. "I don't."

He felt a smile slide onto his face at her expression. "And why is that?"

"Are you particularly keen on hearing me talk about decor?"

"I'm keen to hear you talk at all, darling."

She bit back a smirk. "Alright. I don't like it because it's... bland. Mild. Whatever word you deem fits best - there's no real life in this room, because it's all been stifled by perfection."

"I agree with you entirely. It doesn't suit you at all."

"No?"

"Of course not. You'd fit much better in a house that was much more chaotic and vivid."

"Like yours?" she asked, not bothering to hide her smile this time.

He chuckled sheepishly. "Yes?"

"I thank you, Mr Potter, that is very kind of you to say."

Suddenly the room wasn't so fragile. It couldn't be - for in the middle of the swathes of forced softness was the brilliance of Lily, life in every move she made and every word she spoke.

James felt his heart fall again, as it often did in her presence. Every time he made the effort to be better, he thought of her. Every time he walked by the river, he thought of her. Every night, before he slept, he thought of her.

She accompanied his every waking step, not a shadow to follow him but instead the very path he walked, leading him towards a destination that he did not see and yet he knew he would reach.

"Mr Potter?"

"Yes, Miss Evans?"

Lily smiled her bright, crinkly smile. "You're about to spill tea on my floor."

"Ah, bugger." He put the cup on the table before him, then leaned back, settling into the cushions.

"Tell me about England."

"England?"

"Yes - I have only paintings to know what it's like."

Lily ran her fingers over the patterns on the arm of her chair, brow furrowed. "What do you want to hear?"

"Let's start with the weather."

"That's boring."

"You're boring." They grinned. "Tell me."

"It's... grey, usually. The sky tends to be grey, often it rains. Sometimes in summer the sun appears though, and it's almost like Florence then. Almost as hot, and then there are sometimes storms that rack the houses and make the windows rattle." She looked at her hands. "You don't get storms in Florence much. I've not seen one, at any rate."

"We don't," James said. "We generally have sun and slightly-less-hot sun, but beyond that I don't suppose there's much variation."

"I enjoy it, even if it makes my freckles pop something awful."

"There's absolutely nothing awful about your freckles."

"Ask anyone around, you'll be met with much disagreement."

"Well, they're wrong," James said firmly, taking a meaningful sip of tea.

Lily grinned, unusually shy. "Well, then, thank you."

"Do you miss England?"

She pressed her lips together in though. James had a swiftly-stifled thought about pressing his lips to hers in that way. "I did, at first. But over there, people aren't so friendly. They're generally polite, yes, but I wouldn't be able to make friends with a stranger."

"You made friends with me."

"Exactly - you didn't feel like a stranger to be avoided. You were another person, walking this earth alongside me."

"Perhaps we weren't meant to be strangers, then."

Her eyes glowed. "Perhaps not."

They stayed there, reading quietly. The only sounds were that of their turning pages and their soft talk now and then, and the birds that sang from the balcony and the occasional clink of teacups against saucers.

Alright, perhaps it didn't seem so quiet, but it was all naught but a cottony lull in that hazy autumn evening, in which the sun dyed the sky pink and orange with its clumsy brushes.

Their conversation held no rhythm; in this carefully patterned space, their jumbled words seemed unfitting. But perhaps that was best, for who would wish to remain within boundaries imposed by others?

"Have you met my friend, Sirius Black?"

"Only in passing. Why?"

James shrugged. "I feel in a strange way that you might have been close with each other, had life been somewhat different."

"How different?"

He smiled ruefully. "I can't explain."

"You talk in riddles."

"You're a riddle."

"How?"

"I can't figure you out, you're like knotted string to me."

Lily blinked, confused. "What's there to figure? I'm not the most complicated human, quite the contrary."

"I'll have to disagree."

"Disagree then, I have no patience for people who insist they are right when they can simply pretend to admit defeat."

A bark of laughter. "I've said that before to someone."

"Who?"

"Can't remember, I know a lot of people."

"Oh, look at you, you're famous."

"The most famous."

"Very funny."

He sighed. "Dammit, Miss Evans, I cannot keep pretending to myself that every second I spend with you doesn't cause me agony."

Lily looked offended. "May I ask what you meant by that, Mr Potter?"

"Not like that! Just... I just meant that you've taken my heart, and now I'm at a loss as to what I'm meant to do without it or without you."

There was a silence. Even the birds had stopped their song, watching the two of them.

"Your heart?"

"It's yours, Lily. Yours in its entirety."

"Why?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why did you give it to me?"

A breath. "You are the most vivid person I have had the fortune to meet. You do not sit meekly as you are expected to do, you stand with the life you have been gifted. And no one has ever before made me so aware of my own flaws without having me retreat into ego to protect myself from them."

"Those are fairly good reasons, I must admit."

"You are not required to love me back. I know that it is common practice to force a woman to marry you, but I shall not. I simply wish for you to know."

"James..."

He looked up at the sound of his first name, realising he had been staring at his feet, to meet Lily's gaze. "Yes?"

"You never realised you had my heart too, did you?"

He swallowed. "I did?"

"Yes, you fool. Yes you did."

"So... will you allow me to court you?"

"Not marriage?"

"You may change your mind."

Lily snorted. "I might, but you may too."

"I doubt it, darling. I couldn't find anyone else."

They shared a look in the quiet, scattered with birdsong and shifting shadows. Some time later, James said, with much regret, he had to leave, but would be back the following morning.

At the door, Lily offered her hand, and James pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "Till tomorrow, Flower."

"Till tomorrow."

After James left, Lily closed the door and made her way into the drawing room, where she was greeted by an extremely excited Alice (Marlene had left earlier for some reason and had not yet returned. Lily suspected a man).

"So? What happened?"

Lily sat, a grin alighting on her face. "Well..."

The rest of the night passed with their talk, laughter ringing out in the otherwise quiet darkness like bells in church towers.