A/N: My very first Jily one-shot, just a short fluffy rambly mush of popular songs from the 60s and 70s (and one from 1842. Whoops.) And yes, I am aware that mixtapes had been invented by the 1970s, but they weren't all that popular until the 80s. Hope you like the story and all that.

Imagine your favourite song. That's what getting reviews feels like. Comments/constructive criticism are much appreciated!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, which belongs to the marvellous JK Rowling, nor do I own any of the songs mentioned (obviously.)

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(Kaleidoscope Eyes)

Lily, James decided, was Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds personified. He told her so.

She burst into giggles, the type that makes her scrunch up her pointed nose and stick out her tongue just the tiniest bit, the kind of laughter that seeps into every freckle of her arms and neck and face before eventually settling in her eyes, emeralds alight.

"James, you do know that song's about drugs, right?"

"Yeah," he said, because he did. And he was right; Lily was completely and utterly Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.

(Birds And Stars)

Other days, Lily was Close to You.

She had been Close to You for the longest time, starting from when James thought he loved her but really didn't, when Lily thought she hated him and absolutely did, when James thought he was in love with her but really wasn't, when Lily thought she hated him but no longer did, when James thought he was head over heels but was not quite there yet, when Lily thought she liked him but in truth really, really liked him.

"So," said Sirius, years and years ago, with a smirk on his face and a cigarette between his teeth. "Evans walks by and you hear The Carpenters playing in your head, yeah?"

"Shut up," James had replied.

Sirius blew cigarette smoke in James' face in response.

So after years and years of chanting "I love her; I love her; I love her", when James finally found out what on earth is this love business about ("It turns out that it's bleedin' brilliant, Moony. Five out of five. Would recommend."), he was delighted to find that the familiar melody didn't cease playing whenever he saw his wife all that time later.

(Changed Times)

When Lily was angry, she seemed to be every single Bob Dylan song James had ever heard. She was just so passionate about everything. From women's rights to music, to how narrow minded the blood purity propaganda was to Quidditch.

"It was probably because of her hair," shrugged Peter, who was the only one of his friends who could stand Younger James' lovesick speeches.

Later, James voiced this to Lily mid-rant. She gave him an unimpressed look, but the corners of her mouth had twitched upward.

"Are you implying that there's some truth the whole gingers-are-fiery-cliché?

"I would never," said James, not bothering to fight to grin on his face.

Lily rolled her eyes.

(Sun, Sun, Sun)

Lily, James decided, could not be encompassed in a single song. Lily was a record shop. She was absolutely every lovely and melancholic and wild song that James had ever heard in the way she talked with her hands and sang Fleetwood Mac songs instead of lullabies and wrinkled the sheets and absolutely loathed pumpkin juice (although James had particularly liked the day when Lily had been Mendelssohn's Wedding March.)

She was the chorus of Killer Queen and the guitar riff of Ziggy Stardust and Karen Carpenter's voice accompanied by the crack-crack-crackle of their record player.

Most days though, Lily was Here Comes the Sun.