"Stupefy! Lily, six o'clock!"

I don't usually enjoy these missions, but I have to say fighting alonside James is exhilarating. When he battles he emanates power; power that I can only compare to Dumbledore, plus something Dumbledore has not . . . I can't quite put my finger on --

I wheel around at James's warning, and face not one Death Eater -- but eight or nine, about 100 meters through the woods -- I can't take on this many at once -- my Stunning Spell bounces off the first one and they keep running, more like machines with orders than men with purpose --

I lift my wand and turn my head to James desperately, and his wand comes flying out of nowhere -- the bastard's magicked away James's only defense -- irrepressible anger flares inside me and while my wand is still pointed at the approaching Death Eaters my fury takes the form of magick and his opponent's wand suddenly disappears into thin air --

Now it's man-to-man, fists flying, cloaks billowing with a blur -- and in the split second I'm watching him fight, his hazel eyes flashing, I realize what it is James has so much of that I've never noticed in anyone else before: passion.

As much as I'd like it, I don't have much time to dwell on this. The Death Eaters are nearing -- I raise my wand and conjure a shield, thin and transparent but sparking black.

It holds them back -- but it's draining me . . . my power . . .

I can't do this for long -- the Death Eaters are throwing spells at it madly -- but I need to do it as long as possible.

My mind is slipping; its disconnecting from my arm. I'm confused, there's a rushing in my ears . . . I drop to my knees, every remaining shred of thought focused on keeping my wand raised, keeping the shield up . . . but I can't think, can't hear, can't see . . .

And then I feel James' wand hand close over my own. An immediate, shocking surge electrifies me, cuts into my wand hand; my eyes fly open to see James kneeling next to me, his wand extended exactly parallel to my own.

The shield engulfes the Death Eaters completely and then with a hundred large cracks they are forced to Apparate with the spell.

I drop my arm. It's done.

The woods are silent except for a slight night breeze rustling the trees. James's hand is still clutching mine. We're both breathing fast and hard from the exertion, and again I can scarcely think, except this time it's because I'm reeling with astonishment at what we've just done . . . the sheer power of what we've just accomplished. I'd felt connected to him; he'd touched me and he'd given me my failing strength.

"You all right?" James asked quietly, standing up, but never letting go of my hand.

"I'm good," I murmur. I stand up as well, feeling only a little dizzy. I press my hand to my forehead. Only my palm is bleeding. "You?"

When he realizes I can stand up okay, he lets go of my hand. "The safe house isn't far."

The intimacy between us has passed, and I'm glad. It's easier this way.

We walk in silence now, through the trees. Minutes pass, but finally I see a faint yellow light shining in the distance. It's a candle burning in the window of what looks vaguely like a log cabin -- I can't see very well in the waning light, but the structure definitely isn't a vacationable cottage.

We walk inside; James goes to the fireplace and starts a fire. I shed my cloak as I look around. The floors are dirty wooden planks. Besides the window from which the candle was shining there is only one other window -- on the opposite side of the cabin. The glass has five long scratches down it. I try not to think about what had tried to get in. My gaze flicks to the single bed in the corner. I look away from that, too.

"How long are we here for?" I break the long silence. James points to the window.

"Vampires. We were supposed to be in and out before dark, but. . . . It looks as though we'll have to stay until dawn now."

I groan, wiping dust from the table in the middle of the room. "This makes my house look luxurious."

"Nah," James said, stepping back from the fire. "Add some sunshine and a vase of daisies, call it home."

If looks could kill, James would wish he had nine lives. As it is, they don't, so James took my annoyed glare with a smile and continued, "Come closer to the light, I'll fix your hand."

I come to the fire and conjure some bandages and tape. "It's all right, I got it." But the bandages are already turning red in my hands even before I've wrapped them on. James takes them from me promptly. "Lily . . . Come on, you're known me half your life, isn't that enough to trust me?"

I don't answer. He smiles at me as he bandages my hand. I look down at our hands.

Half my life . . . But he had only just started calling me by my first name. I'm still used to Evans. That's what he called me during school. I usually called him Fat-Head.

I can't believe how much has changed since then -- how he's grown, how I've grown. And I can't believe that a man with so much strength can be so gentle . . . his fingers look bruised from punching the Death Eater earlier, but his hands are so soft on mine. Finally he tapes the bandage tight. I expect him to let go of my hand, and watch intently, savoring it -- but he doesn't let go.

My heart sinks. That's the sensation -- it doesn't flip over or twist -- it settles in comfort.

My eyes are now fixed on the buttons of his shirt. I am extremely aware of his hazel eyes on me.

"You fought well out there," I say, perhaps a little too loudly. I don't want him to notice that I'm trembling.

"I could never be as strong as you. I've realized that," James replies softly.

I shake my head, and force myself to look into his eyes. "I only had what you gave me."

"I gave you nothing; I only restored what you already had."

I smile a little, trying to ease the tension. It's almost unbearable. "I suppose we could argue all night who's stronger with magic."

"We could," James says. He stands a little closer, so I can feel his breathe in my hair. He runs his thumb back and forth against my palm. "Although I have some other things in mind."

"Oh -- Don't --" I take my hand from him and turn away. I close my eyes -- my heart's beating so fast . . . I can't believe he said that --

James puts his hand on my hair and says softly, "What are you so afraid of?"

I open my eyes to see we're both facing the bed in the corner. My stomach twists and I turn away from it. "You know what I'm afraid of." Please don't look at me like that. Again, I'm not meeting his eyes, but I know his gaze is piercing.

"Why?" James whispers. I swallow hard; James's presence is swallowing me. My heart will not slow down. It wants only to beat against his.

I reach out and put my hand on his shirt above his heart. It's thudding powerfully. "Because . . . I want it so much."

James puts his hand on my cheek. I look up at him.

His hazel eyes seem to shimmer silver in the firelight. His fingers touch my lips . . .

And he kisses me. In a second the tension which had seperated and magnetized us is gone, indescribable comfort left in its place. We haven't kissed for months -- since school --

And it's different . . . he's never kissed me like this -- My hands move up from his chest to his hair; James wraps his arms around me, and his hands never stop moving -- they caress my back, my shoulders, so slowly, softly. . . . My lips trail from his to his check and neck. I stand on my tip-toes to reach him better -- we rub together, and James moans against my skin.

I'm reminded strongly of battling in the woods as my legs begin to fail me, my breathe is taken -- I let out a shuddering sigh and bury my face in James's neck; his hands are on my hips now. He lifts me effortlessly, and I part my legs and wrap them around his waist. I pray he doesn't carry me to the bed, because I know if he does, I'll lose myself completely.

But he sinks to the floor with me. I'm still sitting in his lap, my legs around him, trying to kiss ever inch of him I can reach. James lifts my shirt, presses his hand against my bare skin -- without another thought I pull my shirt off. He blindly unclasps my bra and it slips off my shoulders.

His hands against are unceasing -- rubbing me -- all over as he kisses me gently, sweetly. . . . My fingers work at the buttons on his shirt. I kiss his chest. It's so hard but his skin is so smooth -- I move my lips against him feverishly -- I can't taste him enough. His hands entangle themselves in my hair . . . I look up to meet his eyes. Their expression overpowers me -- he kisses me, holds me, and finally we're skin-to-skin. My heart beating with his.

James is sitting with his back against the leg of the chair in front of the fire, his legs outspread with me in between them, my head resting against his chest. I'm clutching his shirt to my breast as a blanket.

"You're not cold?" I ask concernedly.

"Not at all," James replies. I can almost hear him smiling. I settle against him comfortably, tuck my head under his chin. His arms tighten around me. I could lay in his arms like this forever. . . .

But we only have until dawn.

"When we were on that mission, I so dreaded coming here," I murmur sleepily.

"You dreaded it?" James says with surprise. "Why on earth?"

"Because -- I knew we would be alone for a length of time. But it turned out okay. Now I never want to leave."

"Just say it. You wanted me."

I pause. "You really are a jerk. I don't have the slightest idea why I love you."

He pauses. Longer. Then -- "You love me?"

I tilt my face up to him and grin reassuringly. "I love you." He looks at me inquiringly. "What?"

"Then why didn't you want to sleep with me?" he asks.

"Because we aren't married," I answer nonchalantly. James nods, but I start thinking -- is he angry with me now? Should I have --

I sit up and turn to face him. "Is that okay? I mean, I wouldn't refuse you if -- if you asked me to."

He gazes at me contentedly. How could I have wanted so to hide from those eyes earlier? He reaches up and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear, smiling. "It's tempting," he says. "But it's okay. I can wait."

I lie back down in his arms. My ear is pressed to his heart; I listen to it beat away the night.