#on Mac its option-shift-hyphen and on windows its (not completely sure but probably) shift-alt-hyphen? or just alt-hyphen

[moony-to-ur-pads]

THE STAG

young jily pining—>fluff. first jily in a long time so enjoy lmao

@jilychallenge fic with the location: forbidden forest, prompt: “You got me stuck on the thought of you,” (Sunroof)

September, 1977 (Now)

A dry crack of split pine needles under-hoof was all she needed to know that it was here.

“You’re back,” Lily said, not bothering to turn around.

The crisp snap of needles grew heavier as it approached—a crescendo of pops and starts, like one of those little firecrackers she used to set off on Bonfire Night. Still, the bursts came in restrained, careful bursts, the hoof-falls of the creature being as well-practiced and delicately-placed as ever.

“I’ve no idea why you come back, you daft thing,” Lily said, as it drew to a stop—a massive, hulking presence at her side. “I’ve no food, I’ve told you that a million hundred times.”

It gave a soft, cheery snort and settled down onto the forest floor with a heavy thunk. Lily absently held out a hand and ran it down the reddish hide. She shifted her body to accomodate for the truly splendid display of antlers and shuffled into the stag’s side. It was certainly a lot more comfortable than the tangle of roots she’d been perching on for the past few minutes.

The stag slowly turned its head to her and Lily leaned back to avoid the array of potentially eye-piercing tines that swivelled around with it. It turned until one large, brown eye found hers, and held her gaze in a soft, inquisitive silence.

Lily knew what that meant: Well, out with it then, Evans.

A little white ago, she would think it completely bonkers to hold any kind of conversation with a random woodland beast. But now…

She couldn’t say that venting to this creature wasn’t comforting, at the very least. If nothing else, she knew this stag would never go around jabbering about her problems or stab her in the back. In fact, she doubted it understood her at all—although a less sane part of her insisted adamantly that its reactions were all too human for it to be entirely stupid.

But maybe that was wishful thinking. In truth, it was just nice to have somebody to talk to.

Lily sighed, and cleared her throat. “I’ve a predicament,” she told the stag. “It’s pretty terrible.”

It raised its head a little in reply, attention engaged.

“Honestly, it’s… a lot,” she continued, “And I think the best way out of the whole thing is if you stabbed me through with one of ‘em bloody antler-thingies, really—but judge for yourself, here, I’ll give you all the facts.”

…

February, 1975

Lily dropped the crumpled scrap of parchment to the earth and grinded it into the mushy leaf litter beneath her feet with a precisely twisted sneaker. She rubbed an elbow over her face and sniffled angrily, hating how the cold only made her nose run all the worse.

She was not upset. She was furious.

Helpless, and furious, and that only made her want to tear the bloody world to pieces all the more.

Lily dropped down onto the log behind her, taking a heavy seat on a pile of moss that immediately began to bleed into the back of her skirt. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

But that was when she heard footsteps.

It was unnerving, at the best of times, to hear a sudden noise in the silence of the Forbidden Forest. It was worse in the colder months, though. When the birds had gone dead quiet for the season—fled the snow for warmer parts—and the only sounds were the rough whisper of rustling firs in the wind.

In that dead cold quiet, the footsteps over autumn’s leaf litter were disarming, jarring. Yards away, and still they were as loud as if they’d sounded right behind her.

Lily had never been one to cry for the world to see. She was private corners and toilet loos, hair pushed over eyes to hide their rosy-red whites, sniffles and tears stifled on her sleeves until they stuck straight to her skin.

To think that someone had found her here, in this sacred place, this quiet place, this place where she could unmask her heart and let herself be free… it was terrifying. Infuriating.

Lily slipped her wand from her pocket and got to her feet in a swift motion—well-practiced, since a muggle-born had to be on her guard anyhow—and raised it as she turns towards the thing, person, whoever it may be.

It did not cross her mind that it might have been a some kind of dark magical creature—an acromantula, an angry centaur, a vampire—and indeed, she would have preferred that outcome, really. At least you could hex an animal, or scare it away. With a human being on the other hand, you had to be more careful, lest you were indicted for assault or murder.

Lily threw her hair back and scanned the woods behind her, where she’d heard the noise. They were lonely and dark, falling quickly into shadow beyond the confines of the little meadow—or more the parting in the trees—that she stood in. Lily squinted and searched the darkness, trying to make shape and figure come together from the shadow. Nothing.

Except, then—a sudden shift in the blackness. The movement of some tremendous body, with huge arms stretched above its head, and hoofed feet like a centaur's. Autumn leaves crinkled beneath its feet—softer than the sounds she'd heard before, but menacing as it timed its slow approach—and the shadows shifted across its skin as it pushed the darkness aside with those huge, branch-y arms.

It strode, powerful and delicate, into the light, and bit by bit the creature turned from black, to grey, to a deep muddy brown.

And Lily lost her breath, wand falling to her side.

The 'arms' she'd seen held straight above its head were really antlers, and they were magnificent—each three feet tall and ending in a regal burst of tines. It’s head was bowed, and dark brown eyes met hers with a powerful, commanding gaze. It stepped around fallen branches in its way with with meditated care—it looks very human, Lily thought, like a klutz trying very hard not to trip—and emerged with golden grandeur into the sunlight.

“Oh my god,” Lily whispered.

It stopped a mere yard in front of her and stretched an inquisitive muzzle in her direction. Her wand-less hand raised automatically to meet it, and Lily gingerly laid a hand on its snout.

“Oh my god oh my god oh my god.”

It let her run her hand down it’s muzzle, even pushing against her hand insistently like a cat when she tried to pull away.

“You like this, huh?” Lily murmured. She cleared her throat—there were tears blocking her words up like tar, resting heavy in the back of her mouth—and said, “You’re a bloody gorgeous thing, aren’t you?”

The stag gave a snort and Lily pulled away, thinking she’d spooked it, but it only raised its head, and looked rather proud of itself.

“Yeah, you’re magnificent,” Lily told it, and the stag stomped it’s hooves happily. “You’re gorgeous.”

It stepped around her and into the clearing, making way for the old log where Lily’d been sitting a moment earlier. Lily followed at a distance, still a little wary. To her surprise, it plonked down clumsily onto the earth next to the mossy log, and turned an antlered head slowly in her direction, eyes fixed as if to beckon her.

Lily walked over slowly, and regained her perch on the damp moss of the log. The stag gave a satisfied snort. It turned to the wet mush of leaves, snuffling at the patch of ground where the scrap of parchment twisted—shredded, cream against the muddy greyish brown—around the leaf litter.

Lily bit her lip, and watched it nudge curiously at the mess. “The idiots purists write things to the muggle-borns,” she mumbled. “It’s stupid, really. I shouldn’t let it get to me.”

The stag turned one huge head—slowly—to her, and fixed her with a gaze that was as soft as it was inquisitive.

“I guess it hits harder because I know it’s Sev’s idiot friends who send them. And he still hangs out with the lot, would you believe it? I mean.” She cleared ur throat again. “He’s meant to be my friend.”

The stag gives an affronted snort—almost a scoff—as if to say that no, it could not believe it. It could not believe that Severus would do such a thing to her. And no, neither could Lily.

“Yeah. He’s such a jerk.” She kicked out with her sneaker, and disintegrated the offending mush of parchment a little more. “He is so stupid. At least, I hope he is. Either he’s an idiot, or he really does agree with that lot. And I think I’d rather it the first, y’know?”

The stag gave a soft snort of agreement, and Lily smiled to herself, reaching out to lay a careful hand on the reddish mound of its back. It couldn’t understand her, she was sure of that. But the sentiment was sweet. In that moment, Lily didn’t think she had many better friends than this fine old stag.

…

Now

Lily lay her head on the stag’s side and gave a heavy sigh, her eyes fixed on the canopy of interwoven evergreen branches blocking out the light above them.

“It’s certainly a conundrum,” she told the stag. “See—I’m Head Girl this year, did you know?”

The stag gave a little grunt.

“I know, it’s amazing. The thing is—guess who they made Head Boy?”

The stag was silent.

“James Potter, would you believe it?”

More silence. Lily rolled over so she could see the back of its head and it’s antlers.

“And I know we’re friends now and all—I don’t hate him or anything, that’s not the problem. No… he’s actually quite pleasant.”

The stag gave a huff.

“Wait, no—the pleasantness, that might be the problem.” The stag turned to look at her, fixing her with a piecing gaze.

Lily tried not to blush over the next part. She bit her lip. “So… over summer, we owled a little… And Remus and I talked about Potters too. Oh, and… he’s so nice. He’s… he’s changed, so fucking much!”

She gave a frustrated groan and rolled back over to face the canopy.

“And I… I find myself thinking about him, a lot. Like, a lot a lot. It’s scary. Sometimes I don’t even realise I’m thinking about him… it’s like my mind just drifts there, and I’m sitting in class, and suddenly I haven’t heard a thing the Professor’s said for the past quarter hour because my minds been skipping on James Potter like a bloody broken record.”

She felt the stag’s chest move up and down beneath her, like the soft lulling of an ocean.

Lily took a deep breath, and squeezed her eyes shut to manage the last part. “Well fuck me dead, stag, because I think I like him!”

And then—possibly the strangest thing that had ever happened to Lily in the presence of the stag—it gave a startled bark and suddenly staggered to its feet, dumping her clean off its hide and to the forest floor.

Lily scrambled back and looked up at it, as it stomped its feet and turned around in a rather strange little routine she didn’t understand.

She’d leaned on it many, many times before. And she hadn’t poked it, or anything. Maybe it’d been spooked by a rat in the undergrowth?

“Woah, boy,” she said, clambering quickly to her feet. She knew that was what you were meant to say with horses. She hoped it worked with stags. “Woah! Calm down!”

The stag stomped in a circle and turned to her, lowering its head and nudging her lightly with its muzzle. Then, looking quite as if it’d fallen into some kind of craze, it turned and went deer-hopping off into the trees.

“Bye,” Lily said, unsurely, watching it disappear.

…

Now

Remus pressed his hand to his face. “And you just ran?”

James crossed his arms defensively. “I—yeah! I couldn’t stop myself! You know I can’t think straight when I’m a stag. They’re really quite dumb animals.”

“Well of course, the animagus form does mirror the wizard,” Sirius said with a smirk, splayed out across Remus’ bed like a starfish. “Isn’t that right, Moony?”

Remus rolled his eyes.

“Are you calling me stupid?” James said, indignant.

“If you have to ask—”

Remus held one hand up in a fist. “Morons!” They both fell quiet and turned to him. “Listen. This is serious business.”

Sirius opened his mouth with another smirk on his lips, but Remus sent him a death-glare powerful enough to shut him right up.

“Lily likes James. Do you know how long that idiot has pined for this?”

James frowned. “That was fifth-year James. New James doesn’t—”

“Don’t bother lying, darling,” Sirius drawled. “We all hear you talking in your sleep, you know.”

“It’s admirable that you’ve restrained your advances this year, but it’s also understandable that you can’t move on. I, better than anyone, know you unfortunately can’t control love.” Remus gave a resigned and dramatic sigh, but James could see that he was holding back a smile.

“What was that?” Sirius gasped, sitting up on his boyfriend’s bed with a huge pout plastered on his lips.

“Nothing, Pads,” Remus said, turning back to James. “How’re you going to approach this?”

James crossed his arms and rocked from shoe to shoe. “I… don’t know. Do I tell her I’m a stag?”

Remus laughed. “No way!”

“But you know I never meant to intrude like that! At least, not the first time! I walked in on her crying, and she liked it.”

“So you came back, and invaded again and again and again.”

“I don’t tell anyone what she tells me! Except this—but this is a special case. I just sit there, make sure she feels better, and leave. I’m sure she won’t mind it.”

“Lily Evans has her pride. She wouldn’t be able to bear it if any one of us had seen her cry. I’ve been friends with her ages, James, trust me. In third-year I found her crying over a guy and she threatened to obliviate me.”

“I concur,” Sirius said, solemnly raising his hand. “Unless you have a death wish, James-y…”

“Yes,” Remus picked up, “Unless you sincerely want to die, don’t you ever tell her that. It’ll be grounds for an instant divorce.”

James’ mouth fell open. “You think we’ll get married?!”

Sirius leapt to his feet. “I bags best man!”

Remus frowned. “Pads, I want to be—No, never mind! No body’s getting married, alright!”

James gasped. Ever?

“Yet,” Remus amended, and James smiled. “What we need,” Remus continued, heading over to sit on the bed Sirius had recently-vacated, “Is a plan. And possibly an exhaustive script, so you don’t fuck it up.”

Sirius eagerly joined Remus, lying belly-up at the foot of the bed like a dog. James sat down on the covers next to his friends.

“Well, what do you got then, Moons?”

…

Now

Lily enjoyed the quiet of the forest. Even when the stag wasn’t here to spill her secrets to. Sometimes she brought a book, and read it on the border of the woods. Sometimes, she brought nothing at all—just listened to the birdsong, and the whispers, and the quiet.

Today, she sat on the edge of the tree-line—two hundred yards or so down from Hagrid’s cabin—and watched the sunset. It was darkening fast, the sky steeling over with the soft ash cover of creeping twilight. The castle glowed, pockmarked with windows like glowing golden beacons, flooded with light that grew steadily brighter in the gathering darkness.

“Hello?”

A voice.

Lily pulled her wand out quickly and got to her feet, searching the forest behind her for the source of the voice.

“Lily!” it called.

The grip on her wand tightened. You didn’t trust just anybody, just because they knew your name.

She caught sight of something tramping through the darkness towards her, and raised her wand.

“Name yourself,” she said—calm, firm, practiced.

“James Fleamont Potter,” the voice said, and the figure emerged through the gap in the trees.

He smiled at her, ran a hand through his hair in that habitual way of his that had once infuriated her, and now was just a part of him. “The fact that I know my middle name at all should be enough to confirm my identity—it’s very classified information—but feel free to ask me a question if you need.”

Lily kept her wand raised, undeterred by his friendliness. She’d cooked up Polyjuice Potion in her fourth year—it wasn’t hard. “How’d ‘furry little problem’ come to be?” she asked him, after a moment’s deliberation.

“Sirius and I stole a rabbit from Hagrid for a prank,” James recited, in an almost-bored voice. “We called it our furry little problem, but you always thought we were referring to Moony’s thing. Then you referred to his lycanthropy as his ‘furry little problem’ when we were talking about it, we all got really confused, and then we worked out what you meant and the nickname was so good it stuck.”

Lily let out a breath and lowered her wand. “You passed.”

James grinned. “Merlin, all of you have to start thinking of better questions. I’ve been asked that one by Sirius and Peter and Remus.”

Lily sighed. “It’s hard to think of them so fast.”

“I know. I resort to ‘how’d we meet’ every time.”

“Oh, then it’s not like you can complain about mine. That’s horrid!”

James rolled his eyes.

“So what’re you doing out here, Potter?” she asked. “You’re not stalking me?”

“No,” James said, looking guilty enough that Lily was doubly suspicious.

“James,” she stressed, warningly, “You better not be trying to prank me.”

He shook his head. “No! Nothing like that! Evans—I’m Head Boy! You know those days are behind me!”

“So you didn’t switch out Rosier’s spider eyes with chopped up salamander shit on Thursday and watch his potion blow up?”

James snorted. “No, of course not! But it was funny, wasn’t it?”

Lily raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “If you try to prank me I will hex your pants off.”

James blinked. Lily turned red.

“Arse off,” she said. “I’ll hex your bloody arse off.”

James blinked again. He took a step towards her, and suddenly she noticed that he was looking at her very, very strangely.

She didn’t like it. But she didn’t hate it.

It made her skin crawl. But it made her heart flutter.

“James…” she mumbled.

He looked as if he was about to throw up.

“Lilydoyouwanttomaybegetabeerwithme?” James gasped out.

Lily froze. “What?”

“A beer. Us?”

It was Lily’s turn to blink. “Us… how?”

“How? I—at Hogsmede, of—”

“No,” Lily interrupted. Her heart was thudding something crazy—she could hear it in her ears. She had to fight to keep from turning the colour of a ripe tomato. “I mean, how as in—in what way. Friends, or…?”

James’ eyes widened. “I—I don’t know,” he squeaked. “I don’t care! I—friends sure! Or—” James didn’t blush bright like her—it didn’t show so well on his brown skin—but she could see the slightest touch of redness now. He gulped.

Somehow, his nervousness emboldened her.

Lily giggled breathlessly. “Oi, don’t back out now, loser. You’re so close.”

James blinked. Took a deep breath. “Fuck me, Lily. This is torturing me.”

“Ask nicely, Potter. And properly,” she said, through horridly burning cheeks—she’d given up on holding the blush back.

“Lily darling Evans. My friend. My co-Head. Would you pretty please go to the Hog’s Head with me?”

She beamed, feeling dizzy and hot and so so free. “I will, James Potter. I will.”