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jilymicro-oops · 2 months ago

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A Crisis of Faith

| A @jilymicro-oops inspired by @jilymicrofics's May theme: Mystery | AO3 |

When the war finally ended, when the wreckage was finally mended, when everyone was nourished with the certainty that they would see the sun, free from fear and apprehension, Lily thought she would be happy again.

She would open her eyes with the dawn, look out the window and see peace. She would then try to lazily untangle herself from James's arms and watch him resist her escape in a jumble of arms, legs, and smiles, and would remain there, sharing the warmth and love of their bodies for another ten, fifteen, thirty minutes or so, until she heard the little grumbles coming from the room next door. She would then share a complicit smile with her love and hurry out of the room alongside him, eager to live a whole life beside their baby boy.

At that moment, she would open the door cautiously, only to find the most beautiful smile she had ever seen in the world, completely toothless and yet perfectly capable of illuminating an entire continent. She would run towards him and pick him up, while the same arms from a few minutes ago would crush them in a tight embrace, a hug that would say they were awake, they were together, they were alive.

And so, the day would follow, they would make breakfast together, play together, walk along the dam and shop at the grocery store. On workdays, she would count the hours to leave the apothecary and run back home, to find her favorite boys sprawled on the floor, covered in paint and with smiles wider than imaginable. They would make dinner together and, at the end of the day, after many lullabies, she would rise from the chair gently placed beside the little one's crib, only to find James standing at the door, smiling and enamored, stretching his arms towards her, inviting her to return to her greatest safe harbor, her home, her love, him.

Oh, how good it would have been. Long baths in hot water, whispered vows of love, toothpaste-flavored kisses, the persistent smell of grass in her husband's hair, intertwining fingers and watching him sleep, certain that tomorrow would bring the same.

Static. All the same.

How she wished it were.

And then restart with gratitude and sameness. As it should be.

It would have been good.

But it wasn't.

When the war finally ended, when the wreckage was finally mended, when everyone was nourished with the certainty that they would see the sun, free from fear and apprehension, Lily could not be happy.

But they were there, they were alive, she herself had checked the day before, how could she not rejoice in that certainty?

James was lying beside her, his heartbeat was calm, he slept peacefully. The room next door was empty, because Harry slept in the crib placed at the foot of the bed, equally at peace, a perfect mirror of his sleepy father. The scars on both their bodies were almost imperceptible now. They were alive. Both of her boys.

Alive.

Right there beside her.

Alive.

They were alive.

A l i v e ...

And then her eyes would close and there she was, plunged into a great flash of green light. She could hear James's voice in the distance, shouting for her to run, shouting for her to save Harry, shouting... he seemed to be in pain. No. Lily couldn't bear to live with the possibility of seeing her love in agony, she had to help him, but why wasn't she reaching out to him? She always turned in the opposite direction and then, nightmare. She could hear Harry crying, the air in his room too heavy for them to breathe. She would pick him up and start crying too.

(Run!)

Whose voice was that?

(Run!)

She couldn't run, her boys were there, they needed her.

The door always opened with a bang and then someone was there. Him. It was him. The icy, echoing voice, penetrating her veins like an ophidian venom transmitted through the wind. She tried to plead, but nothing seemed to come out of her throat. Her heart melted in pain; her lungs collapsed in fear. There was anger in the air, in the figure in front of her, in the walls of the room, in the streetlights, and even inside herself. She needed to get out of there. She needed to save them.

(James, Harry, help them. Now! Move!)

WHOSE VOICE WAS THAT!?

Her body would thrash and contort until everything was nothing but silence and darkness.

At the height of her incomprehension, at least there was the certainty that, in the next second, she would feel James's arms around her. And so, it was. Every day. There he was. With tired eyes, certainly fed up with the endless nights like that, but he was there, comforting her in his arms and repeating that they were fine. There were no green lights, no cries for help, just James and the soft purring of Harry in the crib beside them. Nothing. There was nothing but the safety of her family. They were alive.

And there at that moment, she could meet her tears, for hours on end until exhaustion took over her body and she perished to sleep, only to be visited by the same scenario once more.

Lily didn't understand why. The war was over. The spell had worked. The ministry swore to everyone who needed to hear that Voldemort had succumbed and their world was finally at peace. So why did she continue to have these visions? Why dream of something that didn't happen? Or did it happen? Was she trapped in a cruel dream trying to convince her that she was alive? Was she, in reality, immobile on the bedroom floor, beside her love, waiting for the void of the afterlife to receive them?

She couldn't say. What she seemed to have here, with James and Harry, the happy life she had dreamed of seemed real. The smiles were, the love too, but the dream also seemed very realistic. The pain from it refracted in her cells without leaving room for questions. It hurt, and a lot. It couldn't be just imagination.

She was going mad. She was trapped in an endless repetition. A deeply cruel trick played by time. She couldn't sleep, she couldn't wake up, she couldn't die, she couldn't live. So she remained there, begging for answers to her questions, for an end to her suffering. But until that day came, she had to live with her own ghost, haunting her own narrative, waiting for the day she would find a way out of that deranged mysterious abyss.

Would that day come? That too was a mystery.

#jilymicro oops #maker: oakheartedmuse #jily #jple #james potter #lily evans potter

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jilymicro-oops · 2 months ago

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WE ARE NO STRANGERS TO ZONKO A @jilymicro-oops written for the @jilymicrofics April 2025 prompt list. Prompts: 1–30. Words: 2140.

I had forgotten about this; it was meant to be for April Fool's Day, but alas. This micro-oops is dedicated to @nena-96 because if she were a holiday, it would be April Fools.

The faded sign of the Hog’s Head Inn groaned, swinging roughly on rusted hinges. Ice latticed the windows, catching the pale midday light and setting the disturbed orange flicker of the sooty candles permeating the filthy panes askitter. Bright snow lay thick over the whole village, with paths cut for access to shops, but here, away from the high street, it was stamped down to a trail of dark sludge. The door to the tavern was heavy, taking two of the boys to ram it with their shoulders before it unstuck from its hold.

They fell inside, a dozen sets of eyes meeting theirs. All were silent. Watching. Waiting.

“Padfoot, I don’t like this, man,” murmured the thinnest boy in the ear of the prettiest. “Let’s just go back.”

“It’s too late for that,” replied the bespectacled boy in the pretty one’s stead. He’d spotted their man—a tramp sitting alone at a round table. He nudged the pretty one, Padfoot, whose long hair swung as he followed the subsequent nod.

“Right,” Padfoot whispered. “Moony, Prongs, you go get drinks. Wormtail and I will butter him up.” Then the boy stepped forward and with a winning smile said: “As you were, gents.”

A croak of laughter from the day drinkers. Dull chatter resumed.

Off Padfoot sauntered with Wormtail in tow, while thin and bespectacled, Moony and Prongs, picked their way to the bar through the straw-strewn floor, steering clear of a hag in the corner.

“Four Butterbeers and—” glancing eye contact “—glass’a whisky,” Moony asked of the barkeeper.

The burly old wizard looked each up and down. “How old are yeh?” he grunted, never ceasing his polishing of a snifter growing greasier with every pass of the grey rag.

Moony swallowed, juvenile Adam’s Apple bobbing. “Seventeen.”

“Oh yeah? What year were yeh born?”

“Nineteen fifty-seven. In July.”

The barkeeper’s eyes rolled beneath his thick brows. Prongs, sensing failure, dug out his coin pouch and set it on the bar, which was an inch thick with filth. Eight Sickles he pulled out for the cost of the Butterbeers, followed by a Galleon. Fat, gold and glistening. “For the whisky. Campbell’s Finest.” A casual shrug. “If you have it.”

The barkeeper scoffed. He set down the snifter and sighed. Then, he walked off, pushing through a small door, which thudded resolutely shut behind him. The boys glanced at one another. Was that it? End of? No. He soon reappeared, huffing and puffing as he hauled a filthy crate of clinking bottles from his storeroom. He set it on the bar with a heavy clank and pulled out four bottles of room-temperature dust-covered Butterbeer. He took the Galleon, pushing the Sickles back at the bespectacled dark-haired boy, then uncorked an unlabelled bottle of dark amber liquid and half filled the grease-streaked snifter. He eyed them crossly as they nodded their thanks, took the drinks and change, and picked their way to the far corner of the tavern where sat their two friends and a stranger.

The stranger—a lean man in thick robes with hollow cheeks and thin hair—sniffed the whisky he was handed then downed it in one, letting out a sharp “Ahhh” as it went down.

“Very nice,” he said, in a smooth sing-song accent. “I’m not being funny, that is a tidy drop.” He set down the glass with a heavy whack sending the lone tallow candle flickering. “So.” He sucked his teeth. “Why is it that a bunch of Hogwarts kids want to meet with little old me?”

“Who said we’re from Hogwarts?” Padfoot countered.

The man, who was known loosely in particular circles as Owain Ifans, leant back in his chair and crossed his arms. He sucked his teeth again.

“Okay. Maybe we are. What we want is to purchase some…” the pretty boy looked over his shoulder, checking for eavesdroppers, then lowered his voice. The other boys tensed. “Equipment.”

“What sort of equipment?”

“You know——”

“No. Not you.” He pointed to Wormtail, who shrunk under the man’s gaze. “You. Let’s hear what the little man has to say.”

Wormtail swallowed, looking to his more confident friends in a panic. “M-me?”

“Yes. You.”

“Well, we——” He dissolved then into a coughing fit.

From his left, Prongs popped the cork from one of the potentially expired bottles of Butterbeer that had sat hitherto untouched and passed it to the choking boy.

“Thanks, James,” he wheezed, “I-I mean Prongs.” He took a long horrified drink, cheeks burning bright red as he gulped down the sweet foamy liquid.

Moony’s face was buried in his hands, Padfoot had set his mouth in an emotionless line, and James was intently uncorking the other three bottles and passing them around.

Owain sighed heavily when the flushing boy had finally recovered. “Alright, here’s what I reckon. I reckon you lot heard about what I sell and thought you’d have yourselves a bit of fun, eh? Bit of bang-bang? Cause a stir at school?” He motioned to the barkeeper for another drink. “Haven’t you ever heard of Zonko’s? Shop down the road? Tell you what, let’s this time forget it. I’m going to enjoy another tidy whisky, you lot are going to toddle off and get yourselves some crackers, and——”

“Look.” To the shock of his three compatriots, it was Wormtail who interrupted the peddler. The barely pubescent boy had gathered up all of his bravery, confidence, strength, set on redeeming himself or dying trying. He leant forwards, pressed his elbows into the table and steepled his fingers, leaving Owain to close his half-gaping mouth in his own time. “We are no strangers to Zonko. We’ve bought his whole range ten times over and, honestly, we want better. We’re looking for something big, and we hear you’re the man to talk to. We’ve heard, in fact, that we won’t get better from any other. The best in the biz. So will you help us? Or should we take our business elsewhere?”

Owain squinted at the blond, sizing him up, having obviously misjudged him the first time. Then he smirked. “Alright, no need to get chopsy.”

He pulled out a sheet of folded parchment and tapped it with his wand, muttering, “Heb ei fai.”

As he unfolded the sheet and set it on the table they watched words slowly form upon the once-blank surface. The boys grinned at one another then leant in to watch closer.

“A list of my merchandises. I’ve got Chinese Flaming Mountain Powder, Hoods of Hypnosis, Beltaine Spitzers, you name it. But I have to warn you.” He pulled the parchment back a fraction, covering the list with long splayed knobble-knuckled fingers. “These aren’t your average Nose-Biting Teacups.”

The boys nodded eagerly, and he released the enigmatic parchment to their greedy clutches. The barkeeper trudged over, casting a single beady eye on the parchment as he refilled the snifter.

“Leave the bottle, would you? Downright thirsty, I am. There’s lovely.”

The burly wizard did so with a grunt. Meanwhile, the boys read aloud in reverent whispers:

“Loki’s Looping Laces, three Knuts a pair,” read Wormtail.

“Pocket Archipelagos, two tins for ten Sickles,” read Moony.

“Igor’s Inviolable Ice Imps, one Galleon a dozen,” read James.

“Kelper’s Ultimate Destruction Extra-Extra-Extra Large Supernova,” read Padfoot. “Why’s that one crossed out?”

“Can’t get the things into the UK anymore.” Owain shook his head. “Bloody shame.”

The boys sagged.

“But Agni’s Tongues are a cracking alternative. Seven heads on it for maximum effect. More bang for your buck as you Sais like to say.” He laughed liltingly.

The boys put their heads together. The Djinn in a Bottle they thought best left alone, but Pernicious Pucks and Loki’s Lace Loopers were all too thrilling to the young troublemakers. Finally, when all were in accordance, they passed the parchment back to its owner, who tapped it again with his wand and said this time: “Heb ei eni.” The ink quickly faded, returning the page to its initial blank state.

They watched with starry eyes as the Welshman folded the parchment and tucked it into the inner folds of his robes.

Padfoot grasped his Butterbeer by the neck, held it aloft, and repeated—reverently—the secret phrase he’d been sent by carrier pigeon that bleary morning: “Never a better day was there to pick daffodils.”

Owain Ifans smirked as the boys too raised their half-empty bottles. He picked up his whisky, sang, “Iechyd da!” and sank the full glass in one. “Ahhhhh. Very tidy indeed.”

“Hey, out of curiosity, what’d you use for that?” Sirius asked as Owain corked the bottle with a squeak.

“What?”

The pretty boy motion the pocket in which Owain had stored the parchment. “Your catalogue. Dissapearing ink?”

Owain grinned. “Not likely, boyo.” Then he clapped his hands and rose from his chair, setting two Galleons on the table and slipping the bottle into the opposite side of his robes. “Right, lads. We’ve business to attend to.” And he strolled out the door.

The thin boy twisted in his chair. “Listen, I just wanna tell you how I’m feeling,” he whispered as they re-wrapped their scarves and re-gloved their hands. “I still think this is a bad idea. We can’t trust him. And the barman was pretty eyesy with the list. What if he dobs on us? It’s not too late to leave.”

Padfoot scoffed.

“He’s given us an out, let’s take it.”

“Don’t be daft, Remus,” Padfoot whispered back as they too rose from the table, their bottles unfinished, and hurried out the door, glad to be leaving the stale inn behind. “He’s testing us. If we don’t show up now he’ll find us and, I don’t know, kill us. Maybe if Peter hadn’t spewed out James’s name——”

James smacked the pretty boy on the head. “Shut up, Sirius. It won’t help.”

Sirius grumbled but did indeed shut up.

They huddled together to protect from the cold and trudged after the lone set of footprints in the thick pale snow.

The footprints led around to the back of the building. There he stood, fairly tall if not for his hunched nature, wrapped up in cloaks with three hoods drawn low. The red glow of a thin hand-rolled cigarette cast short shadows across his gaunt face. When they reached him, he smiled, snuffing out the butt against the wall and flicking it to the snow. With all the fanfare of a circus ringmaster, he pulled open his cloak to reveal the holy grail of the pubescent practical prankster.

Psychedelic pouches, bandied boxes, unending tubes in the most violent colours all pinned to the lining. It was all there. Dancing Deluges, Arrows of Apollo, a Soul-Sucking Toilet Seat. Even the infamous Antarctic Almonds—One Bite for the Worlds’ Most Agonising Brain Freeze!

“Tell me now, how far are you lads planning on taking this?”

The boys looked at each other and grinned.

“Full commitment’s what I’m thinking of,” said Peter. “And I think you’ll find my friends agree.”

“Very well then.” And then, to the sound of angels singing above, he pulled back a second cloak. Within was enough to make the heads of four teenagers spin. Here was the Big Stuff, the Bad Stuff, the Flammable Things. Everything they had ever dared to dream of. And more. Snapping-Turtle Rockets, Noxious Nizzle-Bangers, Chinese Dragon Crackers…

They didn’t have enough hands. No matter. Owain, as it turned out, came prepared. He had—likely stolen—bags from Honeydukes and Zonkos, each modified with the best display of undetectable extension charmwork any of the boys had ever seen. One had to wonder how such a nifty wizard ended up dealing through the black market.

“Happy Days, Happy Days,” Owain clucked as he unloaded the goods into the unassuming bags.

It saw their money pouches skint and their chests fit to burst with glee.

“Alright boyos, you know rules and so do I,” said Owain as he pocketed a now heavy sack of coins. “No telling, no blabbing, no snitching, no prattling, no teachers, no mummies, no daddies, no dropping of products and most especially no smoking near your stash. Otherwise there will be consequences. Got it…? Tidy. Tara then.”

Remus glanced at the cigarette butt which had melted a small divot in the dirty snow. He said nothing.

Owain Ifans trudged down the lane, turning on his heel as he reached a wood-heap and vanishing with a soft pop.

The boys grinned at one another. Sirius let out a holler. Weighed down by bags, they spun about, hurrying past the grimy inn and its swinging sign, past houses and shops, until they were in the High Street, swinging their bags like any other happy shopper, blending in brilliantly with all the other students enjoying the first Hogsmeade trip of the year.

Boy-oh-boy, did Hogwarts have a big storm coming.

AO3

#jilymicro oops #maker: uncertainwallflower #james potter #lily evans #jily

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jilymicro-oops · 2 months ago

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Day 03 - No

For @jilymicrofics April prompt list: Affectionate April.

Read in AO3 and FF.net

No.

Just a word that was getting too much power for James’ liking.

Usually words could be helpful, they could help him build a map, help his friend with his Furry Little Problem, explain how a broom could move to get a better hold on it and learn a manoeuvre.

Yet ‘No’ had James in shambles for longer than any other word had.

And the word had not even been uttered last time he tried to ask Lily Evans out.

Yes, he knew, logically, that a few years had been since the time he had been an idiot and hanged her best mate from his ankle. Not that Snape hadn’t deserved it at the time, but that was a weird way to ask someone out on a date. He supposed he was dreading the “no” as much as he was now.

But James was in Gryffindor. He was supposed to be brave, wasn’t he?

He was sure that if Godric Gryffindor had met Lily Evans he would have been terrified too. She was gorgeous, yes, but she was smart, funny, and had a mean slug hex that would make anyone reconsider getting on her bad side.

Which was why James was dreading going up and asking the redhead for the next Hogsmeade Weekend.

‘No’ felt devastating, more so than the prospect of a hex or jinx. It felt like it would make everything good in the world disappear.

If his mother was around she would remind him that he was 16 and that probably that was why he felt like everything was so daunting.

“If you don’t go over there and ask her, I will.” James heard a voice next to him say.

He didn’t need to turn to see his best mate, Sirius, resting on the sofa, legs on top of the coffee table as he wrote someone on the Evening Prophet, probably solving the crossword puzzle.

“It would be embarrassing for my best mate to ask someone on a date for me.” James replied.

“That’s not how I meant it, and you know it.” Sirius answered without skipping a beat, “You have two more words before I make my move.”

James knew Sirius’ threat wouldn’t be empty, but he wanted to banter a bit, make more time, delay the (literal or not) upcoming punch. But Sirius could see through his bullshit. He always could.

Sighing, he ran his hand through his hair nervously and stood up, “Wish me luck.” he mumbled, more to himself than to his mate.

“Don’t forget your wand, you could at least use Protego if needed.” Sirius said, not taking his eyes from the paper. James always forgot his wand when he was nervous or tired.

James rolled his eyes and turned to grab his wand from the sofa, “Always so supportive.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” James heard Sirius reply as he made his way towards Lily Evans.

Once Sirius knew James’ focus was not on him he put the paper down. He wanted to see how it would all develop, he wasn’t sure Evans would reject James, but his best mate was so nervous he might have fallen on his face before getting to the redhead.

James' body felt restless as the horrible word kept playing in his head, he was sure he was walking the plank towards rejection. His hand wanted to ruffle his hair one more time, he remembered Lily not exactly liking that particular quirk of his, so the hand stayed put.

His palms were sweating, it was the middle of winter, yet his body reacted oddly. Quidditch never made him so nervous, he was not sure why Lily had him react like that.

On the other side of the room was Lily Evans, sitting on a table with Mary MacDonald, both doing homework and chatting. It was good that Lily was not surrounded by half of the Common Room, James was not sure she would like another public asking. And he knew the No would come with a hex due to public displays.

Mary was nice, she sort of liked James enough to not make him more nervous.

Arriving to the table he cleared his throat, both girls turned to see him.

“Evans, MacDonald.” he greeted.

“Potter,” Lily replied with a kind smile. Lately she did not seem to dislike him as much.

“Can we help you with anything?” Mary asked.

James blushed a bit, he hoped that they wouldn’t see it. “Actually, I wanted to talk to Evans for a moment. Would you mind?”

Lily seemed to be about to protest but Mary was quicker. “Not at all, I need to stretch my legs for a bit and grab the Herbology book. I’ll be back to finish the assignments.” she told this last to Lily who seemed to want to convey something with her eyes that Mary ignored.

James just swallowed hard, because he knew that this was already going terribly wrong.

“So… Evans, do you have any plans for the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend?” James said quickly, hoping to soften the blow of the rejection.

“Why are you asking?”

“I… eh…” James swallowed hard, Sirius’ threat in the back of his mind, his heart racing as he thought of the upcoming rejection. “I was wondering if you would like to go with me?” he said almost too quietly.

“With you, alone?” Lily asked. James felt the cold sweat down his spine.”

“Yes…?” he answered tentatively.

The redhead took a good look at him, James’ heart wouldn’t last much longer under the green gaze.

She folded her arms over her parchment, leaning forward towards James, a tiny amused smile on her lips. “Ask me properly.”

“I… what?” James blinked, not sure if he was about to be humiliated or not, but he was surprised that he was not outright rejected.

“Ask me properly. If I’m going to say yes I need a proper question.” a faint blush could be seen on her cheeks, but she didn’t want to give much more than that away.

‘Yes’, a word of hope resonated in James' mind. Of course Evans wouldn’t play with him, she was better than that, he was an idiot to even consider it.

“Lily Evans, would you like to go on a date with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?” James asked, properly, no stuttering or quietly, just loud enough for her to hear.

“I would love to, does 12 sound good? I would like to sleep in.” she offered with a smile on her face, the blush on her cheeks more prominent, but James was just focusing on her answer, how she was so confident and affirmative, and… they were going out!

“Perfect.” James replied with a smile.

“It’s a date.” she declared, as Mary came back from the dorms.

James nodded, and said bye to the girls, leaving them to giggles and gossip. He should have learned a long time ago that when he asked Lily Evans out, a simple “no” was never an option for an answer.

#jilymicroops #maker: siriuslychessi #jily #lily evans #lily potter #james potter #jple

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jilymicro-oops · 3 months ago

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You Always Come First

a james potter birthday smutfic. words: 2,469. based on @jilymicrofics march 27th prompt: rising. though, it is both a @jilymicro-oops and jilypad, so...sue me i guess.

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The door to his private dorm squeaked softly as James opened it, tired hands already working to remove his tie as he entered. Kicking the door shut behind him, James tossed his tie onto the floor, turning towards the mirror above his dresser as he started on the buttons.

“Want some help with that?” came a voice from behind him.

James yelped, spinning around. “What the hell, Padfoot?” he demanded, a little breathless from the shock. Sirius lay on James’s queen-sized bed, his head propped on his elbow. His laugh was half-wicked, half-mirth as he slid fluidly off the mattress, his own button-down already undone. Only his undershirt remained tucked into his trousers, and when James glanced at the spot where the white shirt disappeared, he noticed his friend’s belt was unbuckled, too. “Were you just preparing to defile my bed?”

“No,” Sirius answered, his tone completely unserious. “I wouldn’t dream of it…” James’s heartbeat quickened as Sirius meandered towards him, hands in his pockets. “Not without you, anyway,” he added easily.

The words zapped James’s brain like a backfired spell. Sirius was already directly before him, long fingers reaching up to start undoing James’s buttons, when the Head Boy remembered how to speak again. “Er, sorry,” he started, trying to sound casual, “What do you mean—?” Sirius lifted his gaze to meet James’s eye, and he lost his breath at the heat behind the boy’s gray orbs.

“You know exactly what I meant,” Sirius stated. His hands were on the final button now. With the faintest pull on the fabric, he tugged James a step closer, bringing their noses to touch.

All the air left the room. James couldn’t understand what was happening, couldn’t hear himself think over his heart thundering in his chest. Just as he sucked in a breath to speak, Sirius tilted his head and pulled James the rest of the way to his lips.

And just like that, James was kissing his best friend—was being shoved back against the dresser by his best friend, having his shirt torn off by his best friend, was tearing his best friend’s shirt off in return. They couldn’t get close enough. Their hands shoved at one another’s undershirts until they found flesh, then grasped each other by the waist to press themselves together. James groaned as he felt Sirius’s length rub up against his own, his head swimming with a desire that crowded out any fear or uncertainty. Sirius brought his hands up to either side of James’s face and kissed him so hard that he whined, fingers digging into the skin of his friend’s back.

He recognized the soft knock only after the door’s squeak pulled him out of the kiss. “James?”

At the sound of his Head Girl’s voice, James pulled himself as far away from Sirius as possible, the mirror jostling as the dresser shook against his weight. “Lily!” He yelled her name as though doing so would cue Sirius to step away, but the other boy didn’t seem to care whether Lily caught their indecency or not. “This,” James pushed against Sirius’s abdomen, though it did nothing to move him, “isn’t what it looks like.”

Read the rest on AO3!

#we’ll allow it!#jilymicroops #jilypad

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jilymicro-oops · 3 months ago

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Arrrrr

A restless waves rise and fall microfic (series). 🏴‍☠️ Pirate Jily AU. @jilymicrofics March Prompt 21: Detour || 1020 Words

The strength of the sunlight momentarily stops Lily in her tracks as she emerges from below deck, Harry swaddled securely around her front, his little head resting soundly against her chest as he sleeps. Not wanting the sun to wake him but knowing that the fresh air would be good for his recovering lungs, she plucks the large-brimmed hat off the top of her head and holds it over him as she blinks a few more times and steps onto the deck.

Around her, life goes on as usual, though hers had been stopped. For a whole week, she had been stuck in her and James' quarters, doing her best to soothe their sick little boy as he coughed and fussed through night and day alike. Several times James had insisted that she take his place with the crew and let him care for Harry, but their son's feeding schedule unfortunately made it impractical.

Twice in the dead of night, she snuck up on deck while James and Harry slept. It had been enough to maintain her sanity, admiring the way the moon reflected off of the dark waters around them in the peaceful quiet that seemed all-too-rare in the five or so months since Harry's birth. Still, though—as much as she loved her son with every inch of her body, something deep in her soul had been yearning for the predictable chaos of a typical day above deck.

Now, with the December sun gently warming her skin, she rounds the corner to sit her and Harry on the steps to the quarterdeck and takes in the scene before her.

All is as it should be. One of the Prewetts is working with David Sims to clean up some of the knotted rigging on the foremast, Peter and Benjy are sparring to a small audience (including an apprehensive looking Remus), and somewhere nearby James, Sirius, Frank, and Henry all have their heads bent together as they look at something splayed out on a table.

Though she's curious, Lily enjoys the tableau for a moment. She watches as her husband's brow furrows in thought before his gaze shifts to Sirius on his right and his expression changes to one of eagerness and authority. Three years at sea has melded him into the most unique captain she'd ever seen; kind, sharp, decisive, all with an unparalleled sense of honor and responsibility for everyone on board. She revels in it—the change from boy to man. The evolution of uncertainty to fearless.

As though he can feel her eyes on him, his gaze catches hers across the deck and it sets her chest ablaze, even as she smiles back serenely and carefully moves to her feet. When she reaches their huddle, she's welcomed into the fold as naturally as anything else.

"Good to see you out, Evans," Frank nods, attention turning quickly to where Harry stirs, his green eyes blinking slowly as he looks around under the protection of the wide-brimmed hat. He salutes the infant. "Little Mate, I heard you've been giving these two quite the headache."

James chuckles at this and Lily hums tiredly, her eyes having already descended to the map splayed out between them all. It's a tattered old thing, and though some land masses appear familiar, much of the writing is faded. An unmistakable X is visible, however, and her captain's hand is resting near it. A swooping, wistful sensation sensation erupts in her stomach and her heart's pace speeds up.

"A treasure map?" Her eyes dart up to her husband's, and she ignores the snickering of Sirius somewhere to her right. "Seven days I'm waylaid below deck and you lot go and find something fantastical."

As it stands, they're on course to see James' parents in Eleuthera. The thought of a detour—for something so frivolous as a treasure hunt—both thrilled and annoyed her in equal measure. It's been so long since she's gotten to partake in any sort of piracy or landing parties, and she sorely misses it. She's told James as much—during those sleepy, hazy nights where they whisper back and forth so as to not wake Harry.

"Peter haggled for it at the last port stop. We've spend the week confirming its validity to make sure we're not walking into any sort of trap but..." James trails off and looks over at Frank, then Sirius, then back to Lily. There's a sparkle in his eye that ignites Lily at her core—a challenge, a promise. "It's only a half day's detour on our route."

It's convenient, and she tastes hope.

Sirius chimes in. "Negligible difference, really. With good wind."

Pressing her lips together, Lily looks down at Harry, who's happily kicking his feet and transfixed by the intricate hilt of Frank's sword. Today's been so much better than the last week of croup. Her little boy is so much happier, so much more like himself. It fills her with an indescribable joy and she realizes—she wants to feel more like herself too.

Breathing a sigh of what almost feels like relief, Lily raises her attention to where James has been carefully watching her and meets him with a mischievous smile. "How cross is your mother going to be if we keep her from her grandchild an extra day?"

Shaking his head, a wide grins breaks out on James' face. "You leave that to me and this little one here," he tells her, nodding at Harry, who's craning his neck towards the sound of his father's voice. "Two days until we arrive."

"Aye," she acknowledges, unable to keep the excitement from her response and the grin from her face. "We'll be ready, won't we Harry?"

"He'll be learning from the best," comes James' voice, and it shouldn't affect her the way it does but she can feel the blush on her neck and gives him a smile before turning abruptly on her heel before the others can notice, walking Harry over to watch the sparring match on the middle of the deck and eagerly counting the seconds until they cast anchor.

Read on Ao3

#jilymicroops #maker: kay elle cee #jily #james potter #lily evans #pirate!jily #jple

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jilymicro-oops · 4 months ago

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This month's list is a little special because it was provided by people in the community! Think you can work out which word belongs to whom?

How Does This All Work?

See a prompt you like? Go for it! Canon or AU. It’s all up to you! @ us in your creation to be reblogged! You don’t have to stick to the theme.

Limit your pieces to 1K words or less. For longer inspired fics tag @jilymicro-oops in your post!

FAQ | PREVIOUS PROMPTS | AO3 COLLECTION

For any additional questions, feel free to DM one of the mods @annabtg or @eastwindmlk ! You can contact the for an invite to the community discord as well!

#jilymicrofics #jilymicrofics prompt list march 2025 #jily #james potter #lily evans

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jilymicro-oops · 4 months ago

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Coming of Age Era

rated G - 1.3k words - birthday fluff - written for @jilymicrofics January 30th prompt "narrative" (but then I went over 1k and also really only used the concept of a narrative 😁 @jilymicro-oops <3)

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“What’s this?” Lily glanced between James and the card he’d just conspicuously dropped onto her Transfiguration essay.

He seemed to be…dancing, almost, the tips of his shoes tapping softly against the library’s stone floor as he hopped from one foot to the other. She noticed the absence of his fingers, usually fidgeting in one way or another, and realized he was holding both hands behind his back. “Just open it,” James told her, but Lily huffed in reply.

“I’m not falling for whatever little scheme—”

James rolled his head so far backwards Lily spontaneously thought of Nearly-Headless Nick. “Evans, please, when was the last time—?”

She sat up straighter in her chair. “Five weeks and three days.”

“What?” His shoulders fell and he’d stopped his footwork altogether.

“The last time you pulled one of your pranks. That’s what you were going to ask me, hm? Well, it’s been five weeks and three days, which isn’t nearly long enough to build any sort of confidence in your so-called ‘Coming of Age Era’ — which, by the way, I really don’t think Remus explained that genre to you well enough.”

James shoved something small into his pocket and folded his arms across his chest, his shoulder muscles stretching the fabric of his button down ever so slightly. “Five weeks is a century, Evans, and the whole point of a Coming of Age story is for the main character to…you know, falter here and there. If I don’t slip up then what am I even maturing out of?”

Lily stared at him blankly for a moment, lips fallen apart. “See,” she blinked and shook her head once, “this is what I mean about Remus having explained it wrong.”

“How?” James demanded, repositioning his stance as though to literally stand his ground and restating, “I’m in my Coming of Age Era — I’m…maturing, growing up, becoming—” He stopped himself short.

She lifted a brow at him. “What? A man?” Lily snorted at the thought, prompting a few nearby students to turn their way. “Right, Potter, that’s not a Coming of Age story.”

James rolled his hand in the air, prompting her to continue. “Enlighten me, then.”

The vague memory of her unfinished Transfiguration essay flitted across the back of Lily’s mind, but some things were more important — winning an argument with James Potter chief among them. “A Coming of Age story is about something that happens to the main character which forces them to grow up, sometimes before they should have had to, often in a way that is true for all people, yet still heartbreaking. It’s about the loss of innocence — something I’m not sure you ever had in the first place,” she added with a sideways glance. “And, sure, growth and maturity are a part of it, but it’s deeper than just…choosing not to play so many stupid pranks.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment. “Who says I’m not maturing in deeper ways than that?” he asked, holding her gaze with a sincerity Lily hadn’t expected.

She tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. “Well—”

“Open the card, Evans.”

Lily looked down at the envelope, of which she’d forgotten the existence. Her first and last name were written across the front in a font that parodied calligraphy and still managed to retain key features of James’s usual penmanship — the lack of a dot above the lowercase I; the lowercase A written in such a rush it better resembled an O; the end of the S slashing backwards in a flourishing underline. Her face heated, realizing what it must be.

She glanced up at him just once as she tore the seal open and pulled out a sparkling card. On the front was a stunning image of the night sky when all the stars could be seen, magic making each one glint and twinkle, so it seemed as though Lily were truly holding the glittering darkened sky in miniature. A constellation of stars stood out, shining brighter than the rest. Lily pulled her head back and squinted to find it was in the shape of a lily flower.

When she tried to clear her throat it came out as more of a squeak. She licked her parched lips, distinctly avoided James’s gaze, and opened the card.

Evans —

I know this card is a few days late. I’m sorry for that. Though, I don’t think the date I give this to you matters all that much. The whole point of it was to say…

You shine brighter than all the rest, Lily Evans. Every day of the year.

Happy belated birthday.

—James

Lily blinked at the message scrawled in James’s familiar text, tried rereading it through hazy vision. Her mind and everything around her seemed to be going fuzzy.

“I had…something else,” she heard him say through the sound of her heart hammering in her ears. “But, I think—maybe another time.”

“What?” Lily’s eyes flicked up to his face, discovering splotches of red on his neck, the closest to blushing his complexion allowed. The sight of it made her own face burn hotter than it already had been, and she knew her light skin must be blooming with a bright blush. “Well, wait,” she said, curiosity pulling her out of her fog. “You can’t do that.”

James chuckled, grinning brightly. “No?”

Lily huffed. “No. It’s…rude.”

“Rude? I’m simply extending your birthday celebration.” Something in his cheeky smile drew her to her feet, her chair scraping across the floor, and how his smile then widened had her stepping around the table and into his orbit. James blinked down at her. “Are you…threatening me, Evans? After I’ve just made you a birthday card and gotten you a gift?”

“And withheld said gift,” she said, crossing her arms.

“As is my right.”

“Your…your— Weren’t you just going on about maturing?”

His eyes danced over her face, a twinkle in them that reminded her of the card he’d made her from magic. She shuffled her feet to distract from the swirling in her stomach. “Seems to me you’re the one who needs growing up a bit here, Evans. Seventeen’s a good year for a Coming of Age story. I’ve faith in you.” He patted the side of her arm and Lily wanted to scream in a variety of ways.

“You’re sixteen,” she replied lamely.

“Eh, some of us start off earlier than others.”

She blinked at him, mind spinning between thoughts on the concept of fairness, comebacks that couldn't be turned against her, the current proximity of her face to his, and you shine brighter than all the rest. Mostly it was just that last one, playing like a melody on repeat, a jingle intent on driving her mad.

“You're really not going to give me my gift?” Lily crossed her arms, leaning her hips back against the desk.

James stepped forward boldly, removing the space she'd created between them. “Alright, Evans.” He pulled a small box from his trousers pocket. “Since you haven't yet learned the virtue of patience.” He held out the box and, after staring at him a moment, Lily opened her palm. He placed the box carefully upon it. With the slightest smirk he learned toward her, bowing his head toward her cheek as though to kiss it. Lily stopped breathing. When he whispered, “Happy birthday, Evans,” she was sure she felt the brush of his lips on her skin.

In the next heartbeat he was gone, taking long backwards steps towards the library’s exit.

“What?” Lily gaped at him. His grin was touching the corners of his eyes, hands shoved in his pockets, a similar excitement to his energy as when he'd first approached her. Her eyes fell to the box and she called after him, “How do I know this isn't a trick?”

James shrugged as his back hit the library door. “Guess you'll just have to believe in my growth.”

Also on AO3!

#sorry Jàmie we missed the notification for this!#jilymicrofics #jily micro-oops #lily evans #james potter #maker: jamesunderwater

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jilymicro-oops · 4 months ago

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The end is neigh! We have a little more than 24 hours left before the submission deadline!

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jilymicro-oops · 5 months ago

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is the jilymicrofic for February already out?

Hej!

The list is ready but not yet out! Look out for it either today or tomorrow!

For now let me get you a cheeky hint 🔮⚓🫒📖

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jilymicro-oops · 5 months ago

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Naughty egg!

Bad Egg

a @jilymicro-oops for @nena-96

The day had dawned with the promise of perfection. A chilly but bright morning — ideal winter break weather — and a house all to himself and his wonderful girlfriend, who had spent the night with him. His parents were away for the holiday weekend, content with the thought that they were leaving their son in good hands — and truly, Lily Evans’s hands had proved nimble and attentive beyond his wildest imagination, although he intended to leave that particular detail out upon recounting. James had woken up cheery and energised, early as was his wont, and while the prospect of cuddling with said girlfriend was deliciously tempting, he had decided to show himself a worthy boyfriend by making breakfast for the both of them. So there he was in the kitchen, eggs boiling in a small pan as he set the table with half the contents of the refrigerator — cheese and ham to go with the freshly toasted bread, butter, milk, juice, yogurt — then Summoned his mother’s selection of jams and laid out an assortment of biscuits. He was just warming up the tea kettle when his eye caught Lily leaning against the door jamb, hair adorably dishevelled, dressed in one of his jumpers and little else — if anything — and watching him with a mischievous spark in her gorgeous green eyes.

Read the rest on AO3! Completed, 1.1k.

#jily micro oops #maker: annabtg #jily #james potter #lily evans

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jilymicro-oops · 6 months ago

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hi! here for the writing prompts thing: 7 or 18 for jily

Thank you so much! This really, really sparked something it seemed! This also did not go as expected. So, prepare for some hurt/comfort and angst! (I might need to apologize for this one!

To top it all off, I combined your ask with a lovely anon that also had 18 and added 19 from the list!

Buckle up! 1.6k under the cut or read on AO3! And @jilymicro-oops tag!

The sitting room was cold and dark—the candle having flickered out long enough ago that the scent of wax and wick no longer lingered in the air—when Lily jolted awake. She wasn’t even supposed to sleep, she was supposed to wait up. That is why she’d angled the chair towards the door, why she’d foregone a blanket and why there was a cup of, now, stale coffee beside the left leg of her resting place. Evidently, something had still compelled her to sleep.

It had been the sound of the door, not the front door with its sharp slam and rattling chains, but the bathroom door at the far end of their small kitchen with the telltale rattling of the dish rack. He must have come in and saw her slumped in her chair. Lily wasn’t sure why James wouldn’t just come and wake her.

That was until she heard him through the thin walls, the sound was unmistakable and worrisome. His retching made her stomach turn in a way Lily wasn’t used to. She had always had a strong stomach, the one friend that could stay behind without joining in. Now? She wasn’t too sure. She would blame everything else that was now there. The dread, the overwhelming and crushing fear of losing even more people she cared about, guilt for the ones she should have been able to save.

Lily willed her stiff limbs to move, to carry her closer. Her hand rubbed at her painful wrist, sour and sore from having held up hear head this entire time. “James?” she called once she stepped into their kitchen, the cold floor leeching what little warmed she’d had in her body, making Lily shiver.

“Are you alright, love?” she asked through a tight jaw, her muscles locking up while she dragged her feet along the chilled, linoleum. From here she could hear something else, not just the loud sickness but also something softer, something more broken.

The sound of James quietly sobbing carried Lily’s feet forward, her head reeling while she contemplated the why. Who did they lose? Who was hurt, disfigured, driven closer to madness this time? Was it someone they knew well? She couldn’t bare to bring herself to name them.

“James?” she asked again, an edge of desperation in her voice as her fist connected to the cheap plywood door of their bathroom. Just as she was about to plea for entry, the door creaked on its hinges and the light from the moon behind her cast a long shadow into the small, tiled room.

There, in the middle of the room, she could see the hunched figure of her fiancé, hunched over the porcelain bowl. His knuckles white while he gripped the rim. There couldn’t be much left in his stomach; He didn’t like to eat before a mission.

Lily did not want to think too much about how he was likely expelling nothing but water and bile, the bitter, biting of the acid. She could feel an echo of it in her own mouth when she crouched down next to James. Her hand nearly withdrew when she felt him shake under her touch. Not violent and jerky, more like a constant hum under her fingertips.

“I’m here,” she assured James in a hoarse voice, her throat still dry from sleep. “I’m here,” she croaked out once more after a thick swallow. “You are safe, you are home, and I won’t let anything happen to you,” she promised, her heart clenching painfully when a sob wrecked through him violently.

There was one motion that shattered her, subtle at first and then when she noticed it she froze; James was moving away from her. His body strained and twisted to recoil from her touch. The sight of his bloodshot eyes behind a cracked lens, desperate and begging send Lily tumbling back to sit on the floor.

“Don’t,” James cautioned when she tried one more time to reach for him. His words turned her arm to lead, and Lily dropped it limply in her lap. “You should go.”

It took her a moment to collected herself, to recover from the shock that had been James’ rejection, before she pushed herself back into motion. “I’m not going anywhere, James,” Lily told him stubbornly and watched how he sat down, wiping his mouth on a slightly singed sleeve.

His legs crossed under him, James sat there and attempted to drag in deep breaths, his entire being seeming to stutter and protest the idea. A choked wail echoed along the surrounding tiles when Lily lunged forward, her arms wrapping around him. “I’m not going anywhere,” she repeated quietly as she cradled him in her arms.

He did not try to struggle this time, he sagged, limply into her embrace and allowed her to pad him down; Search him for injuries which she did not find. “Lily,” James croaked out after a while, after his breaths had steadied and the sobs subsided. “You shouldn’t.”

“Nonsense,” Lily bit ack immediately and her tone was a little harsher than she would have liked, but her last nerve had frayed several minutes ago. She was upset, distraught, panicked and impatient. “Of course I should be here, don’t be barmy,” she said with a tempered one.

James pulled away from her embrace just enough to look at her, his eyes bloodshot and empty; Haunted by whatever he had seen tonight. “You won’t say that after you heard what I’ve done,” he argued back in a raspy voice, his face paling at the thought of confessing to her. “You won’t look at me the same way, you might not even love me any more.”

The words came as a shock to Lily’s system, if her mind had been reeling before, it was in complete free fall now. "I don’t think I could stop loving you," she assured him and she meant it, every word. That did not stop the speed with which her heart attempted to break through her ribs. It did not keep the question from clawing its way up her throat, even if she really dd not want to know.

“Don’t say that, not when you don’t know what I’ve done,” James said, now it was his turn to be hard-headed. “Lily I-” The words strangled him and nothing more came out. She watched as his features contorted in this mental agony. “I- Someone died,” he confessed. “And it was my fault.”

And just like that the free fall jerked in a different direction. Who had been with James on his mission? Which one of their friends and colleagues had they lost? She was afraid to ask, she was afraid to admit that her mind went down a list and the further she got, the more relieved she was. The less it would hurt when his guilt would allow him to say the name.

“I didn’t mean to, it wasn’t- It was just… Just a stunner, how could I have known that- that he’d fall off the roof?” James said in a strained voice, his words were like a slowing charm and she stopped going down the list when she realized it. Her hand pushed his hair back from his forehead, to better look him in the eye.

“Oh, James…” she sighed in relief, a small smile spread across her lips. “I could never love you less for that.”

“But I killed someone, they’re dead because of me.”

“And you are here because of it.”

“I’m no better than them,” he said, his eyes dropped from her face as he confessed this and no coaxing Lily did he did not meet her eye.

Lily drew a deep breath, trying to be understanding when all she wanted to say was: ‘Good riddance.’ She’d seen too many funerals, raised too many wands to mourn the death of someone whose made their choice. “James, you didn’t go there to kill someone. You didn’t even cast that spell with the intention to. You are not the same as them.”

She had to bite her tongue when James scoffed at that, clearly not believing a word she’d said. “What does it matter? I cannot do the greater good hippogryff shite. It doesn’t work, it doesn’t make sense,” he grits and Lily watched him bite down on his lip so hard she was surprised the skin didn’t break. “It doesn’t change the fact that I am a murder.”

Lily wanted to do nothing but argue with him, tell James how wrong he was, but she knew it wouldn’t do anything. They would bud heads and both of them would end up hurt and upset. If only she could just smack some sense into him, if only she could make him see.

If only James was not one of the few people on this planet with a head as hard as hers. It would be like quicksand, the more she fought, the further away he would slip.

“James, this might make me a terrible person, but I don’t care. All I care about is that you are here and you will never not be perfect to me,” she said firmly, her lips pressing firm kisses to wherever she could reach; His hair, his forehead, his temple, the rims of his glasses. “I don’t ever get enough of you. Frankly, I am obsessed with you. Not in a creepy way. You are my everything.”

There was a long silence as she just held him, rocking back and forth in a soothing motion ad hoped that it would bring James back to his senses. Back from the near hysterics he’d been in before.

So, it was a good sign when his voice, however small, spoke up. “So, you’re obsessed with me?” The semblance of humour that permeated his words made her heart feel lighter.

#jily micro oops #maker: eastwindmlk #james potter #lily evans #jily

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