#or goodbye lol

There were three stories left in my drafts on this blog that for whatever reason, I didn’t want to part with. So, you’re getting them now, incomplete, but posted. Last vestiges of old writing. It is what it is! Hope you’re all well. 

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(Unfinished - Mar 27, 2016)

When James Potter is seventeen years old, Lily Evans decides he doesn’t know anything about Muggles. 

“My family’s lived alongside Muggles for centuries,” he says, frowning.

Lily eyes him dubiously. “James, who is the Prime Minister?”

“Churchill?” he tries. He’s certain he’s seen the name in one of his textbooks.

By the way that Lily looks heavenward for patience, his answer is a bit out of date. She turns to his wardrobe and starts pulling articles of clothing out. “You’re due for a lesson, mate. We’re going to London.”

James protests that he’s been taking Muggle Studies since third year, so he must know something, but Lily promptly informs him that Muggle Studies is a rubbish class founded upon the same identity politics used to justify British colonialism. James blinks, and lets her hand him a t-shirt and jeans so he can change. 

On their way down the stairs, James shouts to his mother that he will be going out and if his body is found she should send the Aurors after Lily Evans. His mum tells them to have a nice time. 

When they arrive in London, James almost loses her in the crowd. At first he assumes this is normal, considering how many people live here compared to the countryside on which he was raised, but then he notes the shouting. 

“Why is everyone yelling?” he asks Lily. She grabs onto his hand so that she can pull him through the sea of people.

She says something about “wage restraints” and “labour” but her explanation is lost in the din.

James thinks about how dangerous it is to have this many Muggles gathered out in public at once, when attacks have becoming bolder and no longer restrained to the night. Then he wonders how he could be a crowd full of people in a city he visits at least once a holiday and have no bloody clue what they’re protesting. Lily Evans is right; he knows nothing about Muggles.

A man hands James a pamphlet, and he figures out what they’re protesting comes down to money. It’s hard not to feel a bit stupid at that. Gold has never been an issue for his family, and though he’s always known that’s better-off than a number of his peers, the sheer number of protesters over something like this has taken him off-guard. 

He looks at Lily and thinks about how money tends to follow old blood in wizarding Britain. The Blacks, the Malfoys, the Potters. Even as magically talented as they are, Remus and Lily will never have half so many doors open. Money is certainly not the cause of the divide, but perhaps it’s a symptom.

“Is the rest of this day designed to me feel like a prat as well?” James asks, raising his voice as he leans towards her.

Lily grins. “Yes.” 

And in spite of his discomfort, James cannot help but return her smile. “Looking forward to it.”

When the Muggle law enforcement starts to disband the protest, Lily decides it is time for them to make their exit. She blends into the group with an ease James can only hope to mimic, and once she’s pulled him into a shop, she explains, “You don’t have any identification. Couldn’t risk your smarmy arse getting taken in by a policemen and having them deport you when they realize you don’t technically exist.”

“The only identification I need is in these jeans.” James smirks, tapping the wand in his pocket. He expects the sock to his arm that Lily delivers. “Besides, I exist. I reckon it’s all sort of the same government.” 

Lily laughs. “Yeah, I see that going over well. ‘You see, Sergeant, we should all be one government, really.’ Combine that with being out at a union strike, you might as well be waving a red flag at their headquarters.”

Like before, James isn’t sure that he’s caught her whole meaning, but he laughs anyways, because he likes it when Lily does, and they’re standing in a record shop ducking the police. He turns his gaze to the albums, but his attention is still on Lily as he asks, “Is this how it feels all the time?”

She runs her hands over the cover art of a band he doesn’t recognize. “How what feels?” 

“Like people are speaking in half-sentences,” he admits, giving her a side-long glance. 

Catching on, Lily raises her eyebrows. “Sometimes. But it’s not really the same, is it?”

James flips a record over in his hands for want of something to keep him busy. “What d’you mean?”

“I’ve got to do both,” Lily says with a shrug. “I go to school and learn what it means to be a witch, but I come home and return to living like a Muggle. I can’t just ignore it like you can.”

Somehow, this feels like an insult. “I don’t try to ignore it.”

She shrugs again. “You don’t need to try.” Perhaps sensing that his hackles are raised, she adds, “I know you’re willing to learn. I wouldn’t have asked you to come out otherwise.” 

He nudges her with his shoulder. “And here I thought you asked me here for the pleasure of my company.”

Lily finally meets his gaze directly. They pause, a quiet moment in a noisy shop. “There’s that too,” she agrees, and the moment passes.

James clears his throat and suggests they browse the shop in earnest. This, at least, is a subject in which he does not feel so lost. He’s listened to music like this with Remus, even has his own records, and music is not something so dissimilar across worlds. The words may be different, but the frustration is the same.

Lily buys a record for James that she declares “post-punk.” As she is pulling out the correct change, he comments, “I didn’t realize punk was dead. Sirius will be heart-broken.”

Very seriously, Lily tells him, “Punk will never die.”

The clerk chuckles as she hands over the record. “Tell that to PC Plod outside,” the girl says, and Lily laughs. The girl leans closer and lowers her voice. “You ought to come to our gig tonight. Me and my mates are playing down the road at half ten. You can bring your boyfriend,” she adds, with a side-long glance at James. He blushes.

Instead of correcting the girl, Lily tugs on James’s wrist and says over her shoulder, “I just might.”