A/N: Please don't take this as me shipping Lily/Sirius - it is definitely not! Give it a chance, and keep in mind that Sirius had to be as close to Lily as he was to James. (Or, at least, in my mind he was!)

Love y'all!
Mina :)

Five Times Lily Doesn't Kiss Sirius (And One Time She Does)


It's year one. New beginnings. Except this is a really new beginning, with new people and new rules and new feelings and new everything, but the way the older kids are egging her on – cheering her on, she'd like to think, as the bottle spins, spins, spins and stops on her – kind of makes it better, doesn't it?

Doesn't it?

The other boy, she thinks his name is Serious, though she doesn't know why a mother would name her son something like that, grins wide, even though she knows that he's a pureblood. Briefly she wonders, as she feels her face filling with blood, as he scoots closer to her, his eyes dancing, what he would do if he knew she was a muggle-born. Severus told her that people here don't really like witches that were born from muggle parents, but this boy seems okay. Or, at least, he just doesn't know yet. He wouldn't try to kiss her if he knew, would he?

When he's, like, right there, and she can feel his breath on her face, kind of chocolatey, really kind of gross, if she's to be honest, she closes her eyes. That's what they do on the movies, right? And then he'll press his lips on hers for, what, two seconds or something? And then that'll be that.

Except nothing ever happens. She opens her eyes and sees them all laughing, hears them chuckling over one another, feels her face grow hot. The room kind of spins for a second and she's almost tempted to snatch up that stupid glass bottle and throw it at stupid Serious' face, but that'll get her in trouble and McGonagall scares her. A lot. Besides, she doesn't want to get shipped off back home before she can learn any magic.

But she does glare at him and shove past his friend, that kid with the messy hair and the glasses, as she storms up to her dorm room. It almost makes her feel better, the angry look on his face. Like he wanted to kiss her instead. Or like he was about to punch Serious in the face.

Either way, she smiles a little at the thought.


She knows he's a smug bastard before she even knows what that means. The way he walks into a room, the way his hair falls in his eyes, the way his smile is kind of sharp in the most irritating way. He's a smug bastard and she doesn't like him, never has, not at all, but there are girls in her dormitory that talk about what it would be like to snog him and once they start, she can't get it out of her head.

She's thirteen and she hasn't had her first kiss yet, but Dorcas and Siobhan and Mary have. It's not like she doesn't want to. She does. And she's really embarrassed when they talk about how theirs went and she doesn't have anything to add. She tells them she's waiting for the right person, but why shouldn't it be with one of the most popular boys in school? He almost kissed her once, two years ago, even though it was a joke – she'd been ready for it, and if he hadn't been such a smug bastard he probably would've.

Even though she hates him.

So she marches down to the common room one night when the girls start giggling too much, determined to find him and hold him down and kiss him. That'll show them. She'll be the talk of the school.

Potter's down there on the hearth, doing something weird with his shoe, she doesn't want to know, and she approaches him because, God, when are those two ever not together and when did they get separation surgery?

"Where's Black?" she demands, hands on her hips.

Potter raises an eyebrow and jerks his head in the direction of the portrait. "Went to the kitchens. Why?"

She's momentarily thrown off because isn't that against the rules? Her arms fall to her sides, and she's almost, almost tempted to sit next to him, but she's got a boy to kiss right now. And Potter's not a boy. "Well, okay. Thanks," she says to him. "Have fun with your… shoe."

She climbs out of the common room and has taken but two steps when she runs right into him. He steadies her – mostly because he's about to fall over and she's an object he can use for leverage – and then laughs when he looks down and, how about that, it's her.

"Evans!" he says. "What are you doing out here?"

She sighs. "Look, I need to kiss you. Or you can kiss me. Whichever. But we need to kiss, okay, because I haven't yet and the girls are ragging on me loads and you're real popular – "

He laughs. It's loud and obnoxious and he is such a smug bastard, because he puts his hand on her shoulder like it's going to be a comfort to her and leans down a bit so he can put his smug, irritating face right on her level.

"I can't do that," he says.

Her "why not?" is near to crying, she's that desperate.

"Because," he says, and stands up straight again, turning away from her. It's a non-answer. Because she's a mudblood, right? Because she's got red hair and freckles and is pale like snow? Because she's too short, too thin, too brainy? What?

"Why not?" she says, louder this time, because he's halfway straddling the portrait hole but mostly because she's pretty angry. What's so wrong with her that he won't kiss her?

He smirks, makes that tsk, tsk sound between his teeth, and blows her a kiss. "Because you're not mine to kiss. Au revoir, Evans!"

The portrait swings shut. She stands there.

What the hell is that supposed to mean?


She's naked. She's stark nakedin the middle of the hallway, her towel pooling at her feet, and he's just standing there, staring. Mouth wide open, eyes bugging, face flushed. It's the middle of the night and she could've sworn she checked the common room to make sure everybody was in their rooms before she snuck out, but of course she was wrong. Of course he's awake, stalking parts of the castle that are supposed to be dead at this time of day.

She's not sure who is more embarrassed to be caught, but, well, there it is.

"Uh," he says.

The sound relieves her of her momentary paralysis. She grabs her towel in a flash and whips it around her body, holding it shut with both hands this time, damn thing, and avoids his eyes. She tries to walk around him like nothing had ever happened here, nothing to see, move along, move along, but he catches her wrist and, okay, she cannot ignore the way his hand is warm against her cool skin.

"Let me go, Black," she snaps, trying to yank her arm back and keep her towel on at the same time. She also tries to keep her voice from wavering but that doesn't happen. "What are you doing out here so late? Let me go!"

He pulls her closer. Why is she not resisting as hard as she should be? She keeps her eyes steely, her face smooth as stone, as he places another warm hand on her waist. Right now would be the perfect time to shove him away. Right now. Now.


"Evans," he purrs, and if she had pushed him back, maybe he would've gotten the point. But she didn't. And she hasn't said anything. He moves in closer. "I think I might want to rethink that kiss proposition. You game?"

For a moment, she thinks of saying yes. He is so warm and she is so cold and his eyes are like the cloudiest of skies, but then she hears the echo of his laughter and sees the shape of his lips as they pull into a smirk and she remembers that she hates him and never, ever wants his stupid, smug lips on hers.

She shoves him away. "I hope Potter knows what you're doing right now."

It works. She feels a dark satisfaction at the glare on his face. He storms away, leaving her there in her towel, but she doesn't regret the low blow or putting the thought in his head.

At least that's what she tells herself the next day when Potter isn't looking at either of them.


Gryf-fin-dor! Gryf-fin-dor! They chant, the room spinning wildly around her as she and Dorcas and Siobhan twirl around one another in celebration. Gryf-fin-dor! Gryf-fin-dor!

They let go of her hands, giggling as she is sent twirling into a pair of arms and a solid, shaking chest. She looks up and smells the Firewhiskey on his breath first, which, ew, gross, but then she meets his eyes and she can't help but grin at his laughter. Gryf-fin-dor! Gryf-fin-dor!

"'lo, Sirius!" she greets, putting her hands on his waist to wait out the rotating room. "You were brilliant out there, I saw you save James from that bludger to the head. Very, very brilliant, sir."

He looks down at her, looks and looks and looks, and she pinches the skin on his waist to bring him out of it. His eyes unfog just a bit and he laughs and nods and says, "It was pretty brilliant, wasn't it?" but he doesn't have to ask her because they are both beaming at one another, just beyond drunk with victory and alcohol.

Lily's had too many Firewhiskeys, she thinks. Gryf-fin-dor!

Sirius' hands slide up to the small of her back. Alarm bells, though dulled, ring in her head. She puts her hands on his chest and pushes gently, aware that his face is closer than it should be and that she doesn't know where in the room James is right now. Gryf-fin-dor! The thought is sobering – at least, it's enough to instill in her some sense.

"We're drunk," she says, making sure to laugh. She tilts her head to the side and blinks her eyes at him, running her fingers up his chest until they hit his collar. She tries to ignore the way he shivers. "You're drunk, right?"

Sirius nods, his hands moving up to enclose her wrists. Gryf-fin-dor! He smirks. It's kind of endearing. "Smashed, darling. Positively pissed. This should… probably stop happening, shouldn't it?"

She's not sure if he's talking about him getting wasted or the two of them ending up like this, yet again, but Lily sighs with heavy relief because nothing's happened, nothing at all. "Yes," she says. "Help me find our triumphant Captain?"

Gryf-fin-dor! "I think I saw him with Garrett, over near the booze mound." He leans down and grabs her legs, swinging her up and over his shoulder. The motion is so swift she thinks she's about to vomit all over his backside, but his shoulder jabbing into her stomach must be blocking its exit or something. All she can do is wrap her arms around his waist and wait.

"Prongs! Come claim your victory booty!" Sirius bellows. "I found this thing near the bookshelf and thought it would be perfect, you being our fearless leader and all. Gold medal, mon capitain!"

Lily can't see James – can't see much but the deep crimson of Sirius' shirt – but she hears him laugh as they approach. "What – a maiden, all for me? Paddy, you shouldn't have!"

Sirius places her on her feet and she is immediately taken into James' arms. He kisses her, deep and long, and the room starts spinning again as she feels his pulse thrum steady against her hands. His hands fit around her waist and hers on his chest and when they break apart he is glowing, his eyes full of everything her heart is screaming, and she guesses that's what it's all about, in the end.

"Told you," Sirius says, clapping James on the back. Gry-fin-dor! "Perfect."


"You can't."

Sirius rolls his eyes and throws on his shoes. James does the same, albeit behind her back and infinitely more subtle, but Lily will deal with him later. She clenches her fists, tells herself to calm the hell down, already, this isn't as big of a deal as she's making it, but her temper is as fiery as her hair and she'll be damned if they're going out tonight.

Except "you can't" seems to be her only argument and it's not like Sirius listens to her, anyway.

"You're being stupid!" she shouts, maneuvering around the couch to snatch his wand from his grasp. She tosses it into another room and turns to poke a sharp fingernail into his chest. "Stupid, irresponsible, inconsiderate, reckless, rash, stupid – "

"We're going," he says. He moves around her, entering the dining room to retrieve his wand. She hears his head thunk against the underside of the table. "And I'm sorry, Lily," he says as he returns, tucking his wand into his jeans. "Because I know you and James have things to plan for your wedding, but this is important."

She begins to see red. Important. Like her marrying James isn't important. She'll show his stupid, irresponsible, inconsiderate arse what's –

James grabs her waist from behind and hauls her away from Sirius and the assault she was surely about to commit. She squirms out of his grasp and stomps away from the both of them, throwing open cabinets in their kitchen. Where in the world did they put that stupid teapot? When they were unpacking, she told James to put it in one of the lower shelves where she could reach it, and he had said "yes, dear" but by that time his mouth was on her neck and she hadn't been thinking much about cardboard boxes or what they should place in the tiny cabinet above the refrigerator.

Eventually she finds it in one of the cabinets by the oven. She has to consciously steady her hands as she reaches for the spigot, and the water makes her bladder expand as it hits the bottom of the teapot. The anger in her stomach is so much heavier.


She places the teapot on the stove and keeps her back to him. "If you're going to go and endanger both of your lives, you stupid, reckless buffoon, then go. But I don't want to see your face ever again if anything happens to James."

"Nothing is going to happen, you're being dramatic," Sirius sighs, grasping her forearms to turn her in his direction. She glares at his chest. "We've done this before. We always come home safe. You know that."

"And you know I mean it. You're being an arse, Sirius Black. Voldemort is out there, tonight, and you think rushing into the thick of things is going to help? You think putting your lives in danger is going to do us any good? It's Voldemort. He will kill you."

His voice is low as he grips her chin in his hand. She can't resist the iron force in his grasp, doesn't have enough strength to turn away, and ends up staring at his eyes. They're both angry now. "Who else is going to go, Lily? Who else?"

It kills her. It's going to kill her, waiting up for them to come back to her, alive. The worry is going to kill her, the what ifs and the millions of terrible scenes running through her head. She is going to bite off all her nails and lose a few handfuls of hair and there'll be a few splinters in her feet from all the pacing she is going to do, if she doesn't have a panic attack first.

But he's right.

Stupid, smug bastard.

"Alright," she says. She leans forward – almost, almost tempted to give him a tiny kiss, just in case he never comes back, just in case this really is it – and presses her forehead against his chest. She allows a few heartbeats to pass them by. "Alright."

He rubs his hands up and down the gooseflesh on her arms. "Alright?"

"Yeah," she says, pulling back. "Just… please don't make James do anything moronic, okay? I really do want to keep him."

Sirius laughs softly before sighing. "Yes, ma'am. No detours, no alcohol, no partying, no women. Straight there and back, just as planned."

She swats at him with a dishtowel.


She can't believe it – she's married. She's married to James Potter, of all people, and wouldn't her younger self have a heart attack at that little piece of news? But he's wonderful and gorgeous and everything she's ever wanted in a man and if he doesn't stop staring at her from across the room like that, dancing with her grandmother, she's going to have to politely steal him away and have her dirty way with him in a closet somewhere. They have a thing with closets. Closets and lavatories. And locker rooms.

They have a thing with enclosed spaces.

"That look doesn't bode well," Sirius says, champagne glass in hand, as he saunters up to her side. "As a matter of fact, I think I've seen that face on a feral cougar in heat once, but I could be mistaken. Care to dance?"

"I don't know," she laughs. He sits his glass on the table and she places her hand in his anyway, walking with him to the dance floor. It's their first Bride and Best Man Dance of the night. "Are you sure you want to dance with a feral cougar? I could jump your bones at any minute."

"Ah, but you are recently wedded. Prongs is more prepared to handle that than I am." His hand finds its spot on her waist and his other takes up her free hand. Soon they are swaying, joking about the few guests that they invited, about how Dumbledore and McGonagall really do look like the perfect pair, don't they, and would they have seen this coming all those years ago?

"God, Padfoot, I hated everything about you," she says, laughing, unafraid to tell him this now, when she knows they've earned one another's love. She finds herself growing teary-eyed at the thought and has to look at the buffet table over his shoulder to compose herself; it's an emotional night, she reasons, and she's crying over the smallest of things – it should be okay to cry about this. "But, you know… it's just… you're…"

"I know," Sirius says, and Lily doesn't think she's ever heard his voice this soft. She looks up at his blurry face and smiles, then laughs, as he is unable to continue, either. "I know that this is… we are… I…"

She leans her face into his neck. "We've never been too good at this, have we?"

"Not in the slightest," he says. She swears there's a waver in his voice, but she's too contented to move from the comfort they've created here to look at his face. They sway a bit more, their steps out of sync with the beat of the music. He takes a breath, then, "Love you, ma cherie."

Crying is harder to refuse now. She reaches up with a damp face, gently presses her lips to his, and then opens her eyes. There is no laughing, no smirking, no anger. He is still a smug bastard and he still drives her insane, but she gets it now. It's everything they've been working towards for years, this understanding, this balance, and she doesn't care about smudging her makeup or messing up his shirt when she presses her face against his heart and hugs him close, because she's married to the most amazing man on the planet and Sirius Black is her best friend and what did she ever, ever do to be so lucky?

"Love you, too," she whispers.