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In the middle of the night, in my dreams...
You should see the things we do, baby.
In the middle of the night, in my dreams...
I know I'm gonna be with you, so I take my time.
Are you ready for it?
"... Ready For It," Taylor Swift
He was wearing his AirPods, Taylor Swift’s ‘... Ready For It?’ playing through the speakers, the combination of the bass and lyrics helping him focus. The doors of the elevators opened, a tiny redhead – also wearing AirPods, smiling at him briefly – entering the lift and standing on his other side.
“Shit,” he dropped his phone, distracted as he’d been just gazing at her. “Fuck.”
Before he could pick it up, however, the girl who had just entered – hair in a high ponytail – had grabbed it for him, smile widening as she looked at his screen. “Taylor Swift?”
“Yeah,” he spoke, flushing. She handed his phone back, he muttered his thanks.
“Me too,” she told him, showing her own phone. She, apparently, was listening to ‘My Boy Only Breaks His Favourite Toys’. “It’s quite humbling, I find. She’s so much bigger than any of us could ever dream of being. It’s grounding.”
“Right,” he said, just a little in awe. He stuck out his hand for her to shake: “I’m James. James Potter, I play field hockey –”
“Lily Evans,” she smiled up at him, her fingers now in his. He thought he might throw up, that’s how beautiful she was, how nervous she made him. “Gymnastics.” Then, she asked: “Are you about to have breakfast, too?”
“Yes,” he squeaked, most likely far too eager. “I’m famished, really. My teammates texted me they’ve got croissants and everything.”
“You’re allowed those?” She asked, eyebrows raised. “Lucky you! I think my coach would encourage me to throw it all back up if she knew that I’d eaten one.” She took out her AirPods, pocketed them. He followed suit, far more interested in continuing this conversation with her than he was in the music he was listening to, even if it was Taylor Swift. “I’ve got to fit in my leotard and all.”
“Right, yeah,” his head bobbed, his eyes inadvertently sliding down her frame. “I don’t think one croissant will harm you, really. You look like you’re in perfect shape.”
“Thanks,” her smile did not leave her face and as the lift dinged and the doors opened, she told him: “So do you.”
If he had been a different person and he wasn’t the very manly athlete that he was, he might have swooned. (Maybe he did a little, but only on the inside.) Now, he merely followed her out of the elevator like a lost puppy.
“Then what will you have for breakfast?” He asked, falling into step beside her. “When in France, you should stuff yourself with croissants and chocolatines, in my humble opinion.”
Her laugh made his heart flutter. “How about you suggest that to my coach?”
“I mean, I could if –” they rounded the corner to the breakfast room, his teammates calling for him immediately. He inwardly swore.
She looked around him. “Looks like you are very popular,” she told him. Then, nodding and turning away from him, she said: “Enjoy your breakfast, Potter.”
“Yeah,” he swallowed, “and you yours. Consider that croissant.”
When she left, he ran a hand through his hair, muttered a soft ‘blimey’ before he turned back to his teammates who had been incessantly begging for his attention. “All right, all right,” he said as he jogged up to them, the others only quieting down when he sat next to them.
“What do you know about Gymnastics?”
Sirius looked at him, eyebrows raised. “Gymnastics?” His best friend repeated. “Since when the fuck do you even know that sports outside of field hockey exist?”
“I care about sports,” he protested, tips of his ears reddening. “I’m just – you know – broadening my horizons a little.” When Sirius did not elaborate, James tried again. “You work as a sports journalist, so I assume you know more than I do.”
His best friend hummed, not responding further, just staring at the screen of his laptop. James sighed, wringing his hands together as he sat on the edge of his cardboard bed. “Do you know any gymnasts from Team GB?”
“Sure,” Sirius replied with a shrug. “I follow sports other than just the one you excel in.”
James scooted – if possible – even closer to his friend. “Which ones?”
His best friend looked up then, eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking exactly?” When James opened his mouth to claim his interest in all Olympic sports, Sirius interjected: “Why are you being so weird? You look like you’re frothing at the mouth. How long did Moody have you training in the sun?”
“I don’t have sunstroke,” James snorted, getting up from his seat. He’d thrown his hockey stick to the side but grabbed it now, the grip of it in his hand calming him down somehow. “I just –” his mouth had gone dry, and he sighed. “All right, I’ll give. I met this girl in the elevator today –”
“Ha!”
“She said her name is Lily Evans –”
“You met Lily Evans?” Sirius shook his head at him. “Oi, mate, she’s way out of your league.”
James frowned. “What – why?” He was used to his brother taking the opposite angle, meaning that he felt utterly stumped now.
“First of all,” Sirius scoffed, “the fact that you have no idea who she even is already tells me that you are completely unworthy. Secondly, you’re fit, but she’s an actual goddess. Thirdly, if you are dedicated, she is full-on obsessed. She doesn’t have time for anything but her sport.” Sirius’ eyes dropped to his laptop. As he resumed his typing, his best friend told him: “Seriously, you do not stand a chance.”
“Right,” James responded.
“In other words,” Sirius continued, “get your head out of the clouds and back in the game. I know the fact that you were given a box full of condoms upon arrival might have gone to your head –”
James went bright red. “For fuck’s sake, Pads –”
“– but there are plenty of other fish in the sea. Or, more fittingly, plenty of other Olympians in la Ville Lumière. Honestly, hooking up with someone from a different country would be much better than jeopardizing your or her chances at a gold medal.”
“I just wanted to know what you knew about her, nothing else.”
“Honestly, Prongs, if you think I don’t recognize when you’re interested in someone, you might as well cancel our friendship. I know what your face looks like when your dick is telling you to pounce, all right?” Then – Sirius must have seen the embarrassment mixed with disappointment on his face – his best friend took on a more pitying tone: “We may be in the city of love, but you’re here to bring glory to us all. So is she.”
James agreed, disheartened yet recognizing that his best friend had never made more sense than he did at that moment.
The thing was, Moody had insisted they arrive in Paris a week before the opening ceremony. This was to avoid— as his coach had so charmingly grunted— “any of you shitting yourselves to death.” He was convinced that the French water would wreak havoc on his players’ intestines. So far, they’d all been fine, but this was likely because they’d been instructed to drink only bottled water.
His Team GB field hockey coach had also insisted they all take a siesta. James knew that – limited French not withstanding – "siesta" was Spanish, but he didn’t dare correct the man who decided whether he played or not. James knew Moody well enough to understand that a grudge could be a long-lasting thing. The siestas weren’t too bad, except they gave James plenty of time to scroll through his phone. His Instagram and TikTok feeds—after only a brief search for Lily Evans in one of his weaker moments—were now overflowing with posts featuring Team GB’s top gymnast.
He quite fancied himself in love. (Sirius said it was lust, but what did he know?)
Despite his very best efforts to run into her as often as possible, he had only seen her in passing the once since their elevator encounter. He had grinned her way and she had waved and said “hello.” He had obsessed for hours over the inflection in her voice. Had it been flirty, or had he imagined it? (Sirius claimed he was overanalysing.)
All things considered, he didn’t truly see her until they were both atop the boat crossing the Seine for the opening ceremony of the Paris 2024 Olympics. He thought no one wore the Team GB bomber jacket better than she did, and he found himself inventing excuses to get closer to her during the journey across the river. By some miracle – don’t ask him how – he ended up standing almost directly beside her at the ship’s railing, her smile widening when she saw who had joined her.
“Exciting, isn’t it?” she shouted over the loud music.
“Yeah,” he agreed, grinning. Then – because he clearly had no idea how to talk to girls – he blurted out, “Did you have your croissant yet?”
Fortunately, she found him amusing. She snorted and rolled her eyes, causing him to fall for her even more. “I’ve been counting on you to eat plenty for the both of us, to be honest.” Tossing her long auburn waves over her shoulder, she added, “Although, I have promised myself I can have one once the gymnastics tournament is over. Either to mourn or to celebrate.”
“We should have one together when you do.” The words had escaped him before he had had time to analyse them. “I mean... if you’d like –” his fingers gripped at his curls. He could not even find it in himself to care that he might very well be filmed right now.
She cocked her head to the side, her brilliant green eyes surveying him clearly. “Yeah, all right,” she replied, “let’s do that.” His smile was so wide it must have near blinded her, but she wasn’t finished just yet. “That is, if you and I both win the gold for Team GB.”
His smile faded as he blinked down on her. “Is that a challenge?”
She shrugged, turned her back, so that she stood leaned against the railing now, her eyes twinkling. “I’m sure you’ll do anything in your power to rise to it,” she replied breezily. “You look like you really want that croissant.”
He wasn’t certain if the French pastry had become code for something else now, but he suspected it just might have. He cleared his throat, straightened, puffed out his chest just slightly. “I do love the taste of them, yes.” His mind spun, got stuck on the glint in her eyes. “I’ll abstain then, I won’t have them until we've both won the gold.”
“A true sacrifice,” she said, eyes very obviously sliding down his body. He wondered what she thought, if she liked what she saw. “I have a feeling you really like them.” His tongue felt as though it had stuck to the roof of his mouth, making him momentarily speechless. “Well, good luck,” she pushed off the railing, “I know how much of a challenge it will be to beat The Netherlands to the gold.”
She disappeared through the crowd of other Team GB athletes then, leaving him standing there, his heart pounding and ever more determined to play his team to victory.
They played Spain first, winning that match four to nil. James scored twice – once from a penalty corner and once after a well-timed run into Spain’s circle – earning him a hand on the shoulder from Alastor Moody and a gruff “decent, Potter, decent.” This was the highest form of praise one could expect from their coach, putting James in a terrific mood as he towelled off, while his teammates laughed and discussed their plans for the evening. Most concluded they’d earned a night out in the Olympic village.
James, however, grabbed his phone and furrowed his brow as he scrolled through the schedule for other Olympic sports, stopping at Gymnastics.
“Want to go and watch some Gymnastics, King?” he asked the goalkeeper next to him, pulling his Team GB polo over his head.
“Sure,” the man – a couple of years his senior and recently married to his boyfriend of four years – replied. Apart from being excellent company, Kingsley Shacklebolt was also one of the most easy-going people James knew.
An hour later, James found himself at his first ever Olympic Gymnastics event, watching the Team GB women in their qualification for the team final. Or – more accurately – he was mostly watching Lily Evans in her sparkly leotard as she completed a floor routine first and a beam routine second. If he had fancied her before, he was now verifiably in love.
Her grace and power were mesmerizing, every flip and twist executed with precision and elegance. As she finished her routines, he couldn’t help but applaud enthusiastically, his heart racing.
“I never knew you liked Gymnastics this much,” Kingsley told him. “You’re fully immersed, mate. You’ve got that laser focus on your face I always see when you’re about to take a penalty.”
“She’s just incredible,” he replied without thinking about it. “Have you ever seen anything like her? It’s like -“ he shook his head, unable to continue beyond that, eyes following her as she hugged her teammates before turning towards the screen to await her results.
“Ah,” Kingsley chuckled, “I should have known what this was really about.” The goalkeeper’s smile was knowing as James’ cheeks coloured. “I get it, Potter. She is objectively marvellous.”
“Do you believe in love at first sight, King?” He asked. “I never used to, thought my parents were joking when they said they knew instantly, but -“ he shook his head, eyes still on the flame-haired gymnast, “- I swear, I’m going to marry that girl. I’ll eat a croissant with her first, though.”
Kingsley snorted. “You’re going in the right order it sounds like, mate. Buy her food first, a ring second.”
He knew what he sounded like, but when he saw her face light up at her score for the beam, her teammates flying around her shoulder, he thought he could write an entire - poorly penned, to be sure, but it was the sentiment that mattered, right? - poem dedicated to the way she looked just then. He stood, hands around his mouth as he hollered a loud “Team GB!” Not even embarrassed when her eyes - after some initial searching - found his and she - after a momentary pause - laughed, shaking her head in amusement before turning her back on him and heading for her final event.
James sat back down, smitten smile making him look like a lunatic, most likely. He could hardly care less about the shit-eating grin on Kingsley’s face.
Lily Evans
You scored twice today. Congratulations!
One step closer to that croissant.
You
You’re cheating…
Lily Evans
What?
Why?
How?
You
You didn’t say you were up for more than one golden medal.
I’ve got it way harder.
I need to rely on my team, while you can trust your own talent.
Lily Evans
Did you enjoy this afternoon’s team qualifying event?
I don’t often get a standing ovation.
You
A true crime, that.
You are incredible.
Lily Evans
Thanks.
I work out.
You
More than just a little, looks like.
How do you even keep your balance?!
Lily Evans
Lots and lots and lots of practice.
The more bruises I gathered as a child, the more determined I grew.
I once broke my wrist, too.
What about you?
You
What about me?
Lily Evans
How did you get this fit?
Double entendre most certainly intended.
You
Jeez, Evans.
Have some mercy on me, all right?
Are you always this forward?
Lily Evans
I suppose you coming to watch the team event this afternoon was a real boost to my confidence.
You
Maybe I’m just interested in your sport.
Lily Evans
Or maybe you came to see me.
You
All right.
I did, yeah.
Lily Evans
And?
You
I already said I think you are incredible, didn’t I?
Lily Evans
Well, excuse me if I’d like to hear a little more.
I suppose it’s good to know I didn’t put you off, at least.
You
Evans…
Lily Evans
Evans, right.
I forgot for a second that men in sports like to refer to each other by their last names.
Okay, Potter, tell me… how did you enjoy your first ever dip into the world of artistic gymnastics?
You
You are a piece of art for sure, if that’s what you wanted to hear.
Lily Evans
It’s not bad, I suppose.
You’ve made me smile, at least.
You
Good.
I like your smile.
Lily Evans
You’re very charming.
You
Not a sleazeball, though, I hope?
Lily Evans
Not at all.
I hope to see you again for our finals on Tuesday.
Or do you have to play?
You
In the afternoon, so I should be good for the evening.
Lily Evans
Against NL, I see…
Luckily, you’re still in the group stages.
It would be a shame if you were to lose that one. I am looking forward to that croissant…
You
God, Evans, as am I.
Lily Evans
It was nice talking to you, Potter. I have to be a good girl and go to sleep.
You
Sweet dreams, Evans.
Lily Evans
You too, Potter.
“Are you sure it was even her?” Sirius asked as he and James sat next to each other. James wore his Team GB outfit again, ready for the Gymnastics Women’s Team Finals to start. His leg jumped, hyped up as he still was after tying with The Netherlands that afternoon. It boded well, he thought, for the duration of their tournament.
“Who else could it have been? She contacted me through Instagram.”
“Someone could have hacked into her account,” Sirius shrugged, a laptop on his lap.
“Why would it not have been her?” James questioned, watching as the different teams entered the hall. Team GB was nowhere to be seen as of yet.
“I don’t know,” his best friend answered. “She just strikes me as the goody-two-shoes girl next door. That was some blatant flirting she did.” He’d let Sirius read the entire conversation he’d had with Lily Evans. All to check he had not gone mad, that he hadn’t imagined it all. “Then again, when you’re that good, perhaps you have time to cheekily text a fellow Olympian. Good on her, really. She could do worse.”
“She could do -?” He trailed off, though, recognizing the bitten-back smirk on his best friend’s face. “Oh, fuck you, Pads.”
“At least you scored again this afternoon,” Sirius grinned. “That’ll impress her. Not to mention she does think you’re fit. I don’t see the appeal, myself, really, but your mouthguard seems to be doing it for her, luckily. Or maybe it’s the way you handle your stick –”
“You’re disgusting is what you are.”
“Hey, I wasn’t minutes away from sexting a gymnast.”
“Shut it, will you?” He looked around fervently, but fortunately, no one paid them any heed, too busy as they were cheering on the gymnasts warming up.
Before Sirius could continue his teasing, a roar sounded as Team GB entered the hall. Lily Evans led the pack, waving at the crowds in that elegant manner she had. She looked so beautiful with her hair tied back, her eyes wide and sparkling. She put down her things next to a teammate’s, chatting with her amicably. He was lucky enough that Sirius had gotten prime seating behind Team GB’s coaches, consisting of a group of stern-looking women. He sat on the edge of his seat, looking at Lily intently, hoping that she – as he so fervently asked her to do telepathically – would look up and spot him.
She had sent him a good luck message earlier that day, a short video of herself blowing a kiss. Filmed, evidently, by one of her teammates as she and another girl had burst into a fit of giggles at the end of the video, another person saying with a smile in their voice: “He will lose his -“ before the video cut off.
Kingsley had dared him to make a locker room selfie, send her a picture of himself with just a towel wrapped around his waist. “Show off your Olympic rings tattoo for Tokyo 2021,” the goalkeeper had said. “It’s placed so nicely just below your pecs.”
He had, instead, sent her a picture of him celebrating his goal against The Netherlands, stating that she must have been his lucky charm that day. She had replied she expected him to be hers now. Fuck, did he want to be.
“You look like you’re about to wet yourself from excitement,” Sirius commented dryly. James did not care what he looked like, though, for his gaze locked with Evans and she sent him a smile that was clearly meant for him and him alone. She kept eyeing him for a prolonged moment, until one of her teammates said something and her focus returned to the event at hand.
Sirius shook his head, scoffed: “I have no idea what she sees in you, really. You’re pathetic, Prongs. All for a bloody croissant.”
Team GB – and thus Evans – started in vault, somersaulting through the air. Evans landed easily, barely off balance after her jump, which earned her a score of 14.566. The other Team GB women scored lower than she did, but still over 14,000 points which – so Sirius told him, his personal commentator – qualified as a good score.
After vault, the team moved on to uneven bars. “Not Evans’ favourite, but she’s still more than decent at it,” Sirius informed him. This proved to be true when she did a move that his best friend informed him was often referred to as the Ginger. “Typical that she’d pull that one.”
Beam and floor were Evans’ best elements and she earned high scores there. In the end, though, it was a team effort and Team USA just beat Team GB, meaning that Evans took home the silver.
“Don’t worry,” Sirius told James, who felt Evans’ loss deeply. “She is a near guaranteed gold on beam and on a good day, she might beat Biles on floor, too. This is the Olympics, anything can happen.”
Before nodding off that night – he did have an early morning practice – he sent her a quick message, congratulating her on her silver medal.
“Not quite gold yet,” she replied with a winking emoji, “but close enough. This was a warm-up, Potter.”
It was a good thing that he did not know which room she was in. He would have gone and knocked on her door, asking for a private show, if he did. Those damn IOC-approved condoms on his room’s desk taunted him for an hour before he eventually fell asleep.
“Evans is here,” were the last words that James expected to hear from his goalkeeper, making him fumble, the ball wheezing past the goal post. He swivelled around, scanning the crowd.
“She is? Where?”
“How funny would it be if I told you it was a joke?” asked Kingsley, but the man pointed to his right. “She’s over there with the other Team GB gymnasts. They were given two days off after winning the silver. They’re back at it again tomorrow.”
“How do you know this?” asked James, blushing fervently as Evans waved at him, her teammates giggling at her side as he waved back and ran a hand through his hair.
“Mary McDonald—one of the other Team GB gymnasts, not that you would know of her existence—came up to me this morning to ask what time we were playing.”
“Oh,” he said, feeling just a tad disappointed.
“Come on,” Kingsley said, slapping him on the shoulder despite the fact that he was already fully geared up, “you know who she was asking for, don’t you?” James looked over his shoulder again, catching Lily’s gaze. “You better score a couple, Potter. Show her what you’ve got.”
He couldn’t remember ever being this nervous. His focus was lost for the first quarter, every single time he so much as got close to the ball disappearing into his head and wondering if she was watching him, what she would think, if she thought he was any good at all. Luckily, by the time the second quarter came around, he regained his concentration, the ball he fired at the goal when they were awarded a penalty corner so fast that the sound of it hitting the board reverberated before the crowd cheered. He thought he could hear a group of girls chant his name and he liked to imagine it was Evans and the other gymnasts, but he did not check, focused as he was on winning and impressing the girl that he himself was so incredibly impressed by.
He scored twice more, Team GB winning the field hockey match five to two. Kingsley wrapped his arms around him from behind and lifted him in celebration at the end of the match. The goalkeeper shouting to be heard as he said, “Fucking hell, mate! We should invite her to every single match if this is how you play when she’s here.”
He tried to catch her eye as he left the field, but she was busy taking pictures with Team GB fans. The adrenaline that coursed through his veins, however, ensured his smile did not falter and Moody’s curt nod in his direction, the slightest hint of a smile on his coach’s face, was enough to make him feel utterly invincible.
His parents called him once he got to the locker room, their words of joy hardly audible over his team’s chanting of “It’s coming home.” He did hear his mother shout at him that she and his father had booked him, Remus, and Peter tickets to Paris, the four of them flying over in time for the next game. It widened his smile even further, his bag slung over his shoulder, stick in hand as he eventually left the locker room, following his other teammates, who had clapped him on the back for playing “a bloody good game,” only to stop in his tracks when his eyes fell on the Team GB gymnasts, three of them pushing a blushing Evans in his direction, her auburn hair loose for a change and tumbling in waves down her back. She came to a rather abrupt stop in front of him.
“Hey,” he was surprised to hear the greeting fall from his own lips, stunned as he had felt that Evans had been waiting for him. He ignored the catcalls of his teammates, the clap on the back that Shacklebolt gave him.
“Hi,” she almost squeaked in turn, her cheeks a wonderful pink that he wanted to trace with his fingertips. “I just wanted to let you know you were amazing out there. It was very exciting, so fast!”
“Thanks,” he muttered, his grip on his stick tightening in an attempt to keep his hand from doing something stupid, like reaching for her. “It was pretty cool to have Olympic medal winners come and watch us.”
The colour of her cheeks intensified. “I didn’t earn my croissant yet, though.” She cleared her throat, looking away, shy all of a sudden. “Anyway, I’m sure you want to celebrate with your team—”
“I’m in no rush, really,” he told her hastily. “If you’d like to—I don’t know—get a hockey clinic or something—”
“I can’t have you do that,” she shook her head. “You just sprinted up and down the field, Mary—” she waved to one of the girls behind them, all three still watching them eagerly, “—said you guys would have obliterated the competition if only they could create body doubles of you.”
He laughed, hand at the back of his neck. “Thanks,” he said, “tell her my mum would probably say that one of me is more than enough.”
“I think so, too,” she told him shyly.
For a moment, time appeared to stand still, all noise around them slowly dissipating. He drank her in, the tiny freckles on her nose that he noticed only now, the curl of her eyelashes, the different shades of green that made up her eyes, the perfect shape of her lips… he took an infinitesimal step forward just as she stepped back.
“It was so good to see you,” she told him. “I hope you keep up your winning streak.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he said for what felt like the hundredth time, “you too, Evans.”
She nodded, turned halfway before pivoting back and telling him, although it came out more of a question, “I’ll message you later?”
“Definitely,” he responded and as she and the other gymnasts left, the four of them laughing and whispering furiously, he let out a soft “fuck” before going where his teammates had disappeared to.
He stalked her on Instagram that night, looking at and reading all of her posts, careful not to like any of them so as not to betray his stalking.
He found out that she had a sister, that she was originally from Cokeworth, and that she had combined top sport with university, graduating with honours two years prior. He realized that she had missed the previous Tokyo Olympics due to an injury, which made her all the more determined to make it to Paris 2024. With every post, he felt himself spiral further, truly wrapped up in the web that was Lily Evans. He wondered if he had ever liked a girl as much as he liked her. He knew the answer was a resounding no.
Just when he’d reached her final ten posts, a message from her popped up, and he entered their thread so fast that his phone slipped from his fingers and he had to pick it up off the floor. The message was nothing more than a phone number and a question that made his heart pound against his ribs: “Video call?”
He saved her phone number under "Lily Evans" and called her, sitting up quickly, his pillow supporting his back before she appeared on the screen. He hadn’t given himself time to properly check how he looked and had completely forgotten that he was bare up top.
“Oh, shit,” he said, his cheeks hot, dropping his phone and reaching for a shirt. “Fuck, I did not mean to flash you, I—”
“Is that a tattoo of the Olympic rings?” Her voice rang out loud and clear just as he’d pushed his head through the Team GB polo.
He paused, looked down at his chest. “Uhm, yeah,” he said. “I was nineteen in Tokyo and a number of my teammates and I had it done the night of the closing ceremony there.” She hummed and he asked, “Do you want to see it?”
“Yes,” her answer was near instantaneous. “I mean… if you’d like. I was thinking about getting something similar, but I don’t know where yet. My parents would probably disinherit me if they ever found out.”
“You could go for a necklace or bracelet, too,” he said, angling the camera just so that his tattoo was in full view. “My mum freaked out when she saw it, too. She wouldn’t talk to me for days, only addressed me through my dad.” He chuckled, pulled his shirt down further, camera back on his face. “She is very dramatic that way.”
“Well, my parents aren’t. They are deadly serious about everything they say, so maybe a necklace or a bracelet would be better to keep the peace.”
His eyes feasted on her; she had looked natural this afternoon, but he now noticed that she had been wearing some makeup that she had now scrubbed off her face. She was the prettiest person he had ever seen, he thought. How could someone be so beautiful always?
“I hope this isn’t weird,” she interrupted his thoughts. “I thought it would be silly to text when we could also talk face-to-face. That is… as close to it as we can get without actually going to each other’s room.”
He shifted on the bed, willed his semi to disappear. It was most likely of little use, but he would try anyway. His mother had raised him to be a gentleman.
“It’s not weird,” he told her. “It’s quite nice knowing what you look like when you say certain things.”
She placed a hand in front of her eyes. “Oh, god,” she said. “I don’t think I can say the things I typed to your face, really. I’m not nearly as brave talking to you in person.”
“Well, for whatever it’s worth,” he said slowly, hoping she would not take this the wrong way, “I liked it a lot. I would probably like it still if you did say it to my face.”
“Oh,” she peeked at him through her fingers. “Really? I was quite forceful—”
“Bloody hell, Evans, you’re only the most beautiful girl who has ever been willing to speak to me—”
“Stop!”
“—I’ve been bloody pinching myself, wondering if I’m dreaming—”
“Well, you look really, really good too. Especially without a shirt, and I wish you hadn’t covered up.” He felt as if his birthday had come early. “Honestly, watching you play this afternoon was just—” she stopped herself, bit her lip, his blood rushed down, “—the girls kept making fun of me. God, you’re so fast, Potter, so good at what you do, the way you hold yourself, how you hold your stick, how you hit the ball…”
“I’m going to have to respectfully ask you to stop,” he said, voice deep, cheeks properly aflame now. “Not because I don’t appreciate it—I do, a little too much.”
Her eyes were wide, startled for a moment before a smile graced her features. “Really?” she asked.
“Really,” he nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, Evans, I keep imagining you in that leotard, you just twisting and bending your body in ways that should be impossible.”
She was quiet for a moment and he feared he had gone too far, that he had revealed too much. Then, however, she asked, “Do you want to see me?”
“What?” he asked, wondering if he had misheard, if his imagination was playing tricks on him. He wouldn't be surprised if it was, seeing as he was trying his hardest not to think about the evidence of his arousal between his legs.
She flushed, spluttered: “Sorry, that was – I don’t know what came over me – of course, you wouldn’t want –”
“No, please I –” he ran a hand through his hair. “Did you just offer to –?” He couldn’t finish his sentence, her blush a telltale sign that he had, in fact, heard her correctly. “Because if you did, how could I not want -?” He dropped his hand from his hair. “But only if you want, I wouldn’t want to force you or –”
“I offered,” she said, cheeks still a deep pink. “Do you want me to take off my top or –?”
“Wait,” he said, lifting his own shirt over his head, “I’ll do the same. We’ll be on even footing, I’ll –” He watched as her pale skin was bared to him, a soft pink lace bra revealed, her peaked nipples visible through the flimsy material. “Well, fuck.”
“Yes?” She asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder to make sure he could see it all. His eyes roamed her skin – so perfect. He wished the screen of his phone was larger, that he could see her more clearly even. “Do you want me to take this off too, or -?”
He groaned, leaned back against his pillow. “I didn’t even get you your croissant yet,” he said. “I can’t ask you to do anything.”
“Well, we have a deal when it comes to that croissant,” she told him, slipping one of the straps down her shoulder. “The both of us still need to see that through.” She reached back, unclasped the back. “Unless it’s too much? I know you have practice early tomorrow morning –”
“And you’ve got qualifications,” he replied, eyes glued to the screen. “We probably really shouldn’t. I do really want to eat that croissant with you, you know.”
She laughed. “If I don’t qualify tomorrow, it won’t be down to whatever we end up doing now.”
“You sure?” He asked, but he himself could already hear how weak his protestations were and when she removed her bra completely he let out a noise so deep and tortured that all thought of anything but the pleasure it was to see her half naked escaped him. “You’re bloody perfect,” his voice was barely audible, hand over his heart. “Whatever did I do to deserve this?”
“Play a rather fantastic match this afternoon,” she replied, running a hand through her own hair before lying back on her pillow. “Is this angle okay?”
“Fuck, Evans, I feel like a perv, watching you like this –” his hand slipped down to where all his blood had rushed minutes ago. “Are you sure I can -?”
“Yes,” she replied, “please.”
He got himself off then, watching as she – cheeks flushed – did, too. Her fingers playing with her nipples at first before the hand that wasn’t filming disappeared out of frame, her upper body arched as her eyes closed and wanton noises escaped her mouth. He said her name, told her he wished he was there with here, that he had never wanted to touch anyone as badly as her. She told him what she wished he would do to her, what she would do to him, if they had been in the same room.
The ensuing release surprised the both of them in its intensity, yet felt as if it was nothing but the inciting incident, part of the rising action that would lead to the ultimate climax.
When they had both come down and she had put her top back on, they whispered their goodnights before hanging up. James stared up at the ceiling, replaying the events, before sleep finally overtook him, dreaming of Lily Evans all night.
“You did what?” Sirius Black was rarely shocked, but the way his eyes very nearly bugged out of his head in this instant showed that James Potter was not a mere witness to the occasion, but the cause of it, too.
“All right,” James whispered, checking to see if no one had stopped along the Parisian streets to eavesdrop on their conversation now that Sirius had stopped dead in his tracks, “keep it down, will you?”
Sirius gaped at him for a second before asking: “Is that what you told her, too? To keep it down as you watched her finger herself and you got off to it?”
“You somehow make it sound way worse –”
“But this is exactly what happened, Prongs. From what you’ve just said –” Sirius looked at him in disbelief, which was mixed with – James thought – awe, too. “I didn’t think you had it in you, that she did. Bloody hell, James, this is Lily Evans you’re talking about, sweetheart of the nation.” Sirius shook his head. “I will never be able to look at her the same now. You said she initiated the whole thing?”
“She offered, yes,” he nodded. He could feel the animosity of the Parisians as he and Sirius lingered in the middle of the pavement, so he grabbed his best friend by the elbow, spurred him on again. “I mean… I did forget I wasn’t wearing a shirt when I called her –”
“Forget, he said.”
He flushed. “I genuinely did, I swear. I just –” he sighed. “All right, maybe it was my subconscious making a move, but I didn’t set out to seduce her or anything.”
Sirius shook his head. “I never thought I’d see that day that the word ‘croissant’ would become a euphemism for sexual activities.”
“We didn’t eat the croissant, yet.”
“Well, sounds to me like you’ve taken a generous bite at the very least.”
James could not deny that he and Evans had most certainly skipped a number of steps the night before. There was a heaviness to his movements that day that he hoped Evans herself did not suffer from for he knew how badly she wanted to qualify for the vault, beam, floor and uneven bars final, making the most of her Olympic dream. He genuinely hoped he did not ruin it for her. He had had to suffer Moody’s wrath that morning when his coach had told him he wasn’t sharp enough: “This is the Olympics, Potter. No slacking off, not even when you were the man of the bloody match the day before.”
Now, he explored Paris with Sirius at his side, heading for the Olympic Gymnastics hall, because he could quite simply not stay away. He needed to see her, to make sure she was okay, that they were.
He and Sirius found their seats swiftly. The event had started already, with a Brazilian gymnast executing her floor routine. It was a strong performance as far as James could tell. His eyes, however, were mostly on Lily, who was wearing the AirPods he’d seen her wear the first time they met. She was stretching, look on her face one of fierce determination.
When it was her turn, James thought he might throw up, that he would not be able to watch, but as soon as the music started and Lily started off with a couple of dance moves, he was fully absorbed.
Once again, each movement she made was precise and powerful, her grace evident with every step and tumble. James found himself gripping the edge of his seat, his heart pounding in sync with the music as Sirius muttered appreciative comments next to him.
As she launched into her final series of complex flips and twists, the crowd’s cheers grew louder and James could not help but join in, clapping and shouting her name. When she stuck her final landing with flawless precision and she held her arms up in the air, the arena erupted in applause.
Lily’s eyes scanned the crowd – James wondering whom she might be looking for – and when their gazes met she smiled – a smile that seemed meant only for him. He felt a surge of pride and affection, his worries from earlier dissipating. He had not, after all, ruined anything for her.
“Shoe-in for the final, that one,” Sirius said, looking at James before he shook his head ever so slightly. “I’ve got to hand it to you, mate. You’ve got excellent taste. She, however –”
James chuckled, still watching Lily as she waved to the crowd. “I know,” he replied, a sense of relief washing over him as his eyes followed her every move. She looked happy, confident, and fully in her element.
After a while, her scores flashed on the screen, and after an initial hushed anticipation, the applause was deafening as Evans’ high score indicated that she had qualified for the finals. James jumped to his feet, cheering loudly, and whistling, feeling as though he had just won a gold medal himself.
The event continued for a couple more hours, Lily qualifying for every single event she had hoped to qualify for. James stayed for the full length of it, unable to tear himself away. When the final routines concluded, he made his way to the athletes’ exit, waiting with a blend of anticipation and nerves.
As soon as she appeared, he called out, “Evans!”
Lily had been chatting animatedly with the Brazilian gymnast who had also qualified for the floor final. Her eyes lit up when she saw him, and she quickly said her goodbyes to the other girl before making her way over to him.
“You’re here,” she said, evidently delighted.
“Of course,” he replied, reaching for her hand and folding her fingers in his. He brought her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the tips of her fingers. She blushed. “Congratulations, Evans. I’m convinced you’re some kind of superwoman.”
A laugh escaped her. “Definitely not,” she replied. “I was just feeling wonderfully relaxed this morning.” Her eyes sparkled with unspoken meaning, but he knew exactly what she was trying to tell him. He was about to respond when a woman appeared at her shoulder.
“Lily, we’ve got to go, you’ve got some press waiting for you.” The woman was dressed head to toe in pink, the look on her face unimpressed as she sized up James.
“This is James Potter,” Lily said to the woman as James dropped her hand. “He plays field hockey for Team GB. James, this is Dolores Umbridge, my coach –”
“I don’t care if he’s the bloody King of England or the heir to the throne,” Umbridge interrupted, her voice high-pitched and clipped. She turned her steely gaze back to Lily. “Remember what you are here for.”
“Of course,” Lily spoke with a slight frown, eyes flitting to James’ briefly. “I’ll be right with you, Dolores, let me just –”
“It’s all right,” James spoke, stepping back slightly, hands in his pockets now. “Duty calls, Evans, I get it.” He turned his gaze to Umbridge then, who continued to scrutinize him with an air of palpable disapproval. “It was nice to meet you,” he said, trying to keep his tone polite despite the remarkably chilly reception.
As Umbridge left and Evans turned, he called her name again. She turned around, a question in her eyes: “I can’t wait to have that croissant together.”
She flushed. “Me, too, Potter.”
Between his parents, Remus and Peter arriving, and his needing to prepare for the semi finals, unfortunately, there was little time to accidentally run into Lily Evans over the next two days. He and Sirius showed Remus, Peter and his parents around the Olympic village, his mother begging him to take a picture with her and his dad at the Olympic rings, too.
“We couldn’t see you play in Tokyo last time,” his mother told him as she tried to flatten his hair to make him look ‘decent’ – her words, not his – for the picture, “this may very well be our one and only chance. We are not getting any younger and Los Angeles is quite far away –”
Having taken their picture, his parents insisted on getting the four of them lunch, letting James pick the restaurant since his diet was the most restricted out of all of theirs.
“He’s got a real craving for croissants, though. Don’t you, James?” Sirius – the troll – questioned him as he blinked up at him. “He’s dreaming about them, really. They haunt his every step.”
“Truly?” Asked his mother. “Are they feeding you that poorly? You never used to be such a fan of croissants before.”
“Well, we are in Paris, Effie. If anywhere, this is the place where the croissants are baked to perfection,” his father had argued before leaning forward conspiringly: “I get it, James. I, too, am most fond of the taste of them.”
No one had understood why James had choked on his water and Sirius had laughed so loudly that tears started to leak from his eyes, but Remus narrowed his eyes suspiciously and James knew he had some explaining to do later.
Halfway through their lunch, Sirius decided to stir the pot a little more: “Did James tell you he’s absolutely obsessed with artistic gymnastics these days? I swear, he’s been at the Olympic Gymnastics hall as often as he’s been on the field himself.”
“Padfoot,” he said warningly, everyone’s attention – to his great mistake – immediately peaked.
“Artistic gymnastics?” Asked Peter, frowning. “What the hell is that?”
“I think it’s what Simone Biles does,” Remus supplied. James had to bite his tongue not to defend Evans, say that she was as good as Simone Biles, if not better because she was, well, Lily. “Although didn’t our women’s team win a silver medal?”
“Oh!” His mother gushed. “I watched that. Simply lovely, all those girls are. So polite and very talented. I liked the one with the red hair, what was her name again, darling?” The only woman at the table turned to James with a fond smile. “Your father has been watching absolutely everything. He does tend to take naps in between, but still, he sees about eighty percent of it all.”
“Lily Evans is the name of the redhead,” Sirius said, grinning wide. “I have it on good authority that she also really likes croissants.” James struggled to suppress a groan.
“What an odd thing to bring up in conversation,” his mother said, her forehead crinkling before understanding very clearly dawned. “Oh, oh!” She perked up immediately, turning towards James properly now and grabbing his hand. “Has it happened, darling? Have you finally found yourself a girlfriend again?”
“Mum!”
James’ cheeks reddened. The table seemed to spin slightly as his mother’s excited exclamation drew the attention of everyone around them. He could practically feel Sirius’s smugness, too, radiating from across the table.
His mother’s eyes sparkled with an unmistakable mix of curiosity and enthusiasm. “James, is there something you haven’t told us? This is all very exciting, of course! A gymnast for a daughter-in-law. Do you hear that, Fleamont?” His mother spoke just a tad louder for the final part, ensuring that his father – who was getting a little hard of hearing – could hear her loud and clear: “James has got himself a girlfriend!”
“Mum, I do not –” he tried to interrupt, but Sirius spoke over him.
“They really enjoy talking to each other about all the croissants they do not get to eat right now.”
Despite James’ obvious embarrassment, his mother’s happiness was not easily dimmed. “You don’t have to be shy about it, James,” she said, patting his hand. “Tell us a little more about Lily. How did the two of you meet? When do we get to meet her? Oh!” She grabbed her phone off the table, handed it to Remus. “Remus, darling, why don’t you book us tickets for the next gymnastics event? We must cheer Lily on!”
“Mum, we’re not –” he struggled to get a word in.
“She is very pretty, darling,” his mother told him. “But then again, you are very handsome yourself. If only you hadn’t gotten that tattoo in Tokyo –”
“Not again, mum,” he said rubbing his forehead.
“Does she like it? If she doesn’t, remember you can always get it lasered –”
“I got tickets!” Remus spoke triumphantly. “It’s for the vault final tonight.”
He cringed, face now brighter than Lily Evans’ hair, he imagined. “Mum, please, we’re not dating. We’re just...” he stopped, did not quite know how to continue. We just got to talking and then I fell hopelessly in love very quickly. We haven’t even gone on a date yet, but we did wank on the phone together? His mother might have an aneurysm if she found out.
“Honestly,” he tried again, “Sirius is greatly exaggerating. We’re talking –” He kicked Sirius in the shin when he saw his best friend open his mouth to contradict this statement. Sirius grunted, narrowed his eyes just slightly. “We should definitely go and watch the final, but please don’t embarrass me. I don’t want to ruin something that hasn’t even begun yet.”
His father and mother exchanged a glance, Remus had to hide his smile, and Peter – who apparently couldn’t care less – munched on the bread that had been put in the middle of the table. “It is a pretty remarkable sport,” his father then piped up. “I would much enjoy it. We should get tickets for some other events, too. Maybe for the swimming and the rowing. It will be our treat, boys.” His father liked to share the money he had made off the sell of his haircare company with James’ friends. Something which James was happy for him to do.
James exhaled, relieved at the change of subject. “Thanks, dad. That sounds great.”
As lunch continued, James’ thoughts continued to drift to Lily Evans. He wondered if he ought to warn her that he was bringing his family and best friends to her vault final, wondered what she might think. He did not want to distract her, however. He would just need to make sure that his mother would not get overly excited and insist on meeting her.
He was certain all would be well.
As he left his family for one more practice in the afternoon, he rested assured in the knowledge that his parents and friends would explore the Louvre in the afternoon before meeting him at the Olympic Gymnastics hall later that day.
At the field, James focused on his training, determined to shake off any lingering nervousness and anxiety. Moody's words from the previous practice echoed in his mind: “This is the Olympics, Potter. No slacking off, not even when you were the man of the bloody match the day before.” He pushed himself harder that afternoon, feeling the burn in his muscles as he practiced drills and strategies with his teammates. The adrenaline from the upcoming semi-finals and the prospect of croissants fuelled his every move. His thoughts, though, kept drifting back to the gymnastics hall, wondering if Evans was nervous, if she would win her first gold today. It made him all the more determined to give his all this Olympic tournament, too.
Afterwards, he showered, dressed quickly and then made for the Olympic Gymnastics hall. Kingsley winked his way as James slung his bag over his shoulder, wished him luck. Once he arrived at the venue, James found his seat, his parents, Remus, Peter and Sirius there already. The atmosphere in the hall was electric, spectators from all across the globe cheering on their favourites. James scanned the floor of the arena for Lily, locating her quickly, watching her as she warmed up. She looked focused, determined. Seeing the AirPods in her ears, he wondered if she was listening to Taylor Swift again.
As the first contestants completed their jumps, James’ eyes kept flitting from their performances to the scoreboard to Evans. She seemed to be in a zone of her own, tightening her ponytail, chalking her hands and rolling her shoulders when it was her turn. His jaw tightened as he slid closer to the edge of his seat, his heart fluttering.
She started to run, jumped, twisted and turned in the air, only to land effortlessly.
He jumped out of his seat, cheered loudly, hands over his mouth to amplify his voice further, hoping she might hear him. The smile on her face was wide as she waved at the crowd, relief evident on her features, too, as she turned back to where her team was waiting for her. The girl he knew was named Mary throwing her arms around Lily’s neck and whispering something in her ear. Evans turned her head then, spotting him, and she stepped out of Mary’s embrace, made for the boarding, leaned against it and proceeded to – his heart stopped – wave him over.
James felt a surge of adrenaline, and without so much as telling his parents of his friends where he was going, he made his way down from the stands, the rowdy crowd drowned out by the pounding of his heart in his ears. He reached the edge of the barrier and, grinning wide, leaned over to get as close to her as possible.
“Did you see that?” She asked, breathless, her voice barely audible over the crowd. “Can you hold my hand as I wait for my score, please?”
He did not need to be told twice, grasping her fingers between his own as the both of them turned their eyes to the scoreboard. Her fingers shook in his grip and – impulsively – he placed a kiss to the back of them, a whispered “come on” escaping him as his eyes stayed glued on the screen until – finally – Lily’s score appeared and the crowd positively roared.
“You did it!” His grip on her hand tightened. “You fucking did it, Evans!”
She turned around. He only had a second to see that tears streamed down her face before she all but launched herself at him, barrier be damned. He caught her in his arms, lifting her slightly off the ground as she buried her face in his neck, her body shaking with sobs of joy and relief.
“You are amazing, Evans,” he murmured into her hair, his own eyes stinging now, too. “Absolutely incredible.”
She pulled back just enough to look at him, her eyes bright with happiness. “I held up my side of the bargain,” she told him. “We’re halfway to that croissant.”
He laughed, not even caring that all cameras were likely pointed at the pair of them, that everyone could see how much he liked this girl. “I’m going to have to get you more than just one, I reckon. You’ve still got floor, beam and uneven bars to go.”
“Don’t get cocky,” she told him.
“Not cocky. I’m sure of you, Evans. You’re unstoppable.” For a second, he thought they might kiss, but Lily was pulled away from him before he could so much as lean forward. Her teammates screaming as they wrapped her up in a group hug, jumping up and down. Knowing his place, James stepped back, watched from a distance.
The camaraderie among the gymnasts was infectious. Lily’s teammates lifted her up, their excitement for their friend and teammate palpable and evident on their faces. James couldn’t help but smile, his heart swelling with pride for her. She caught his eye over her friends’ shoulders and gave him a radiant smile, one that he knew he’d remember forever.
Knowing that she would be swept up by the press soon, he turned, making his way back up to his seat. He sat back down next to his mother, who eyed him smugly. “Not your girlfriend, is she?” She asked.
James merely ran a hand through his hair, a slight flush creeping up his neck.
Lily’s first golden medal, made James ever more determined to win his own. If he did not, after all, all would have been for nought. Not to mention that Sirius’, Remus’ and Peter’s relentless goading saw James increase his training regimen, staying behind after practice to practise his sprints with the ball, asking Kingsley to be utterly ruthless as he tried to score from every possible angle.
The day leading up to his semi-final match was a blur of intense training sessions and strategy meetings. James pushed himself harder than he ever had before, the image of Lily’s triumphant smile after her victory driving him forward. He knew he couldn’t let her down, and more importantly, he couldn’t let himself down. He was going to eat that croissant, even if it was the very last thing he would do.
Much had been written about Lily’s celebration of her first gold medal, about James’ role in it. It was quite picturesque, of course, quite stereotypical maybe, for a possible romance between two Olympic athletes to start in Paris. “Evans wins the gold on and off the vault!” one headline had read, a picture of himself lifting the Team GB gymnast off the floor as they celebrated her win, making for an intimate scene.
It was thus perhaps not a surprise that the media attention for the Team GB hockey men had increased significantly for their semi-final. Moody had grumbled something about them being a “bunch of bloody vipers” and had called for constant vigilance. “Don’t let it get to your head, all that media attention. Keep your eyes on the prize, boys.”
James took his coach’s words to heart, shutting down the noise as he warmed up and focused on the game. He waved at his parents and two of his friends – Sirius was in the press box somewhere – once before the start, Remus and Peter holding on to a homemade banner that said “Get that croissant, Potter!” He’d snorted and rolled his eyes before putting his mouthguard in and – nostrils flared – starting the game.
The match was intense form the start. Australia – the opposing team – was strong, their defence nearly impenetrable. He could hear the roar of the crowd, the shouts of his teammates, the steady, grounding voice of Kingsley guiding them from the goal.
Despite the pressure – a loss would mean that the tournament was over, after all, that they just did not make it to the final – James felt a strange sense of calm. With every pass and every sprint, he could feel himself getting stronger. And then, in a moment of perfect synchronicity, well into the third quarter, he saw his opening. He sprinted forward, the ball at his stick, weaving through the Australian midfielders and defenders.
As he neared the goal, time seemed to slow. He could see the goalkeeper readying himself, the tension in the air palpable. With a final burst of speed, James took the shot. The ball soared through the air, and for a heartbeat, everything was still. Then, with a resounding cheer from the crowd, it hit the back of the net.
He ran for the boarder, stick in the air as he cheered, his teammates jumping him from behind in jubilant celebration. His eyes swept over the crowd, finally landing on his parents. Even from a distance, he could see the pride and emotion radiating from them. His mother’s tears glistened as she clutched her husband’s arm, and his father’s fist was pumped triumphantly in the air.
The match was, however, not over just yet and the final quarter seemed to stretch on endlessly. Despite the electrifying atmosphere and the wave of euphoria that had followed his goal, James knew they had to stay sharp. The Australians, stung by the goal, were not about to give up easily. Their attack became more aggressive, and their defence tightened as they fought to level the score.
As the seconds ticked down, the tension in the stadium was palpable. Every pass, every tackle, every save was met with gasps and cheers from the crowd. James could feel the pressure mounting, the weight of the game on his shoulders. His focus was razor-sharp, his determination unwavering.
Finally, the whistle blew, signalling the end of the match. The roar of the crowd was deafening, a sea of jubilant voices and cheers. James collapsed onto the ground, a mix of exhaustion and exhilaration flooding through him. His teammates were similarly overtaken with joy, their faces flushed with victory and relief as they all came to the same realisation: they had done it, they had made it to the Olympic final.
“Fucking hell,” he murmured to himself, hands in his hair. The sun was blocked then, Kingsley Shacklebolt – having taken off his helmet – standing over him, holding out his hand for James to take, pulling him up off the field.
“Inching ever closer to that gold,” the goalkeeper grinned, clapping him on the back. James nodded, embracing his teammate before making for the dugout, spraying some water from the water bottle in there all over his face in an attempt to cool himself down.
“Potter!”
He had expected his parents, his friends maybe. But what he got was Lily Evans, the Team GB gymnast standing at the railing, hand over her eyes to block the sun. He nearly dropped his water bottle.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, voice a mix of surprise and excitement. “Weren’t the qualifications for floor and beam today?”
“Yes,” she smiled, “but they ended, so I thought I’d come and see how you were fairing.” She leaned on the boarder then, looking rather playful and relaxed. “I arrived just in time to see you score.” He walked over to where she stood, one hand placed near where her elbow rested. If he just stretched his fingers, he’d touch it. “Congratulations,” she said as she looked up at him.
“Thanks,” he said, eyes scanning her face for any sign of disappointment. “What about you?” He asked. “Did you qualify for the finals?”
“Did you ever think I wouldn’t?” She grinned wide, straightened herself, her fingers coming to rest right next to his. “This is a good look on you,” she told him, eyes glinting, “high on victory, all wet, shirt clinging to your chest.”
He laughed, feeling a flush ride to his cheeks. “The victory was deliberate, everything else you can thank the summer heat for.”
“Well, it certainly provides a pretty good view,” she said, her fingers brushing the hem of his shirt, rubbing the material between her thumb and forefinger and pulling it slightly towards her. “Of course, I know the view could be improved...”
James’ breath hitched at her touch, his heart racing. “Oh, really?” he managed to say, his voice a little huskier than he intended. “Watch out, Evans,” he lowered his voice. “My parents are here and the cameras see everything.”
“Shame,” she sighed. “I was hoping to collect your shirt, to wear and parade it around the Olympic village, but c’est la vie.”
The thought of Lily Evans wearing his shirt, Potter emblazoned on her back, did something to him, made him regret the fact that he could not just pull it over his head, give it to her. He did not have time to linger, however, his mother, father and friends having reached the edge of the field now.
“James, darling,” his mother said as she walked up to him, his face in her hands before he could so much as register her presence, a kiss pressed to his cheek. “Your father and I are so very proud of you. Well done! You’re an Olympic finalist, a medal guaranteed!”
Evans had moved to the side, respectfully distancing herself as James’ loved ones congratulated him. Sirius, Remus and Peter caught James in a headlock, ruffling his curls before letting him go, his face bright red.
Once released, James glanced over at Lily, she seemed ready to leave, was about to wave goodbye when his mother stopped her in her tracks. “Lily, sweetheart,” she said, “you must join us for dinner tonight. We are going to celebrate –”
“Mum -!”
The Team GB gymnast appeared startled, her cheeks rapidly pinkening. “Oh,” she replied. “I’m so sorry, I can’t – I’m on a very strict diet.” She smiled apologetically. “I would have loved to, of course, Mrs Potter, thank you so much for inviting me.”
“Oh, posh!” His mother said. “We are all great fans of yours, James your biggest, of course.”
Remus, Peter and Sirius snickered as James thought he might die of embarrassment.
James could feel his face burning as his mother’s words hung in the air. He shot a desperate look at his friends, who were barely containing their laughter.
Lily, though flustered, handled the situation with grace. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Potter. That’s very kind of you,” she said, still smiling. “Maybe some other time. I have got a couple of events left, so –”
“That sounds wonderful, dear,” his mother said, not missing a beat. “We’ll hold you to that. Good luck with the rest of your events! We will be watching, of course!”
“Thank you,” Lily replied, giving a small wave before turning back to James. “Good luck in the final, James. I’ll be cheering for you.”
“Thanks, Evans,” he managed to say, giving her a grateful smile. “And good luck to you, too. I’ll see you.”
With a final nod, she slipped away, leaving James to face his teasing friends and proud parents. As soon as she was out of earshot, Sirius leaned in, a mischievous glint in his eye. “She really did rush here, didn’t she? She must have barely had time to see that she qualified for either final.” He shook his head. “She craves that croissant as much as you do, doesn’t she?”
James was distracted still, watching Evans leave, her auburn ponytail swinging from side to side.
Evans won an additional gold and bronze medal – he was there for both, supporting her as well as he could – before he played the hockey final against the team that he had drawn against in the group phase. His nerves were so great that he found himself incapable of eating. Luckily, Sirius knew exactly what to do to cheer him up.
“She did an interview with the BBC last night,” his best friend told him, taking a thorough bite of the yoghurt he had scooped himself at the breakfast bar.
“Who did?”
“Do you care about any other she than your darling gymnast these days?”
His heart lurched, yet on the outside he tried to keep his cool. “She did?” They had texted the night before and she hadn’t mentioned having been interviewed by the BBC.
“Yup,” Sirius quipped, grabbing his phone. “Do you want to hear her gush about you, or what?”
He looked up so quickly that he was in danger of pulling a muscle there, something which would not be ideal with a final that day. “She talked about me?”
Sirius nodded, his grin widening as he tapped on his phone. "Let me just find it." He scrolled for a moment, then held up the phone. "Here, listen to this."
James leaned in, his heart pounding. He heard Lily’s voice, clear and confident, coming through the speakers: “- it’s been such an honour to represent my country. I have one final left to go, but I already consider my tournament successful. I missed the games in Tokyo, of course, which absolutely felt like the end of my world, but I am so grateful to be here now and to have been able to show everyone what I am capable of.”
“And you have struck up a friendship with one of Team GB’s field hockey players, we’ve seen. James Potter has been a fervent supporter and we saw you at some of Great Britain’s hockey matches, too,” the interviewer asked.
“Yes,” Lily’s voice was bright and happy, “that’s been a rather unexpected, yet wonderful surprise. I think James is a great athlete and, of course, he’s been Team GB’s uncontested hero on the hockey field so far. I’m looking forward to seeing him play the final against The Netherlands tomorrow.”
“You’re going?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” She laughed. “We have a bet going, really. I fulfilled my end of the bargain, now he needs to fulfill his.”
“Is there anything you’d like to say to Potter?”
“Just that I’m counting on that croissant.”
Sirius stopped it, grinning wide. “You know what will happen tonight, don’t you?” His best friend waggled his eyebrows. “You win, you take the gold and get lucky with Evans.”
James couldn't help but roll his eyes at Sirius's comment, though he felt a flush of anticipation and excitement at the thought, too. "I need to focus on the game, Padfoot," he said, trying to sound stern but failing to suppress a smile.
Sirius smirked. "Oh, you’re plenty focused, Prongs. I’m just giving you some extra motivation."
As the match started a couple of hours later, James's mind was a whirlwind of strategy and determination, the image of Lily’s smile, the way she had looked without her top and bra on, and the promise of that croissant lingering in the back of his mind.
The final was intense, every play demanding his utmost concentration and skill. The Dutch team was formidable, pushing Team GB to their limits. James felt the pressure mounting with each passing minute. With the game tied and only minutes left, James saw his opening. He charged down the field, weaving through defenders with precision. As he neared the goal, he could feel the weight of the moment, the entire stadium holding its breath.
He struck the ball with all his might, sending it soaring towards the goal.
The stadium erupted in celebration, as he ran for the side of the stadium he knew housed both his parents and friends and the Team GB women’s gymnasts. He pumped his fist in the air, his stick raised over his head as he screamed at the top of his lungs, throwing his head back.
His teammates swarmed him, one of them lifting him in the air, the crowd chanting his name.
However, exhilarated the British part of the stadium, the game was not over yet. Team GB defended tooth and nail, the Dutch team not giving up even in the three minutes they had left to score. When the final whistle sounded, James fell to his knees, his “holy fuck” drowned out by the crowd and his teammates.
James remained on the ground for a moment, taking in the deafening roar of the crowd and the ecstatic cheers of his teammates. Then, his eyes searched the stand for Evans, and when he spotted her, his heart skipped a beat. She was waving about the Union Jack enthusiastically with Mary and the other gymnasts who had joined her. He flashed her a wide grin before he joined his teammates in the huddle they had formed, jumping up and down, a bottle of champagne making it unexpectedly to his hands which he took a swig off before he handed it to the person beside him.
The medal ceremony felt like a dream. The gold medal was draped around his and his teammates’ necks, the national anthem played and then he was taken in by his friends and family, all of them – apart from his sobbing mother – grinning wide and patting him on the back, congratulating him on his win. He wrapped his mother up in a hug, placed a kiss on the crown of her head and then caught sight of Lily Evans who stood at the edge of the field, smiling at him when their eyes locked.
He let go of his mother, excused himself and then made his way over to the gymnast. Not allowing himself to think or hesitate – too drunk on victory, perhaps – he placed his hands on either side of her face and kissed her soundly.
She responded instantly, her hands pulling at his shirt to bring him closer. His own hands slid down her body, too, wrapped around her waist, lifting her so as to decrease the height difference between them.
The kiss was electric, a culmination of their shared triumphs and the anticipation that had been building ever since they first met. In the midst of the raucous celebrations, the noise of the crowd and the stadium faded away, Lily’s fingers now tangled in his hair.
They held each other for what felt like both a fleeting moment and an eternity. Their lips moved together in such a way that he for a moment wondered if they had kissed before, their connection so perfectly in sync. When they finally broke apart, the two of them were breathless and James lowered Lily to the floor again, her face flushed as she told him: “Congratulations, Potter.”
“Thanks,” he told her, only to add: “Shall we go and get ourselves that croissant now?”
Her smile was soft and sweet as she nodded. “I’ve only been waiting for it for ages.”
As they entered his hotel room that night – her legs wrapped around his waist, her hands pulling at the hem of his shirt, forcing it up, up, up... – James Potter was never more grateful for the box of condoms that all Olympians had been given. He manoeuvred his way through the room, sitting down on the cardboard bed, Evans moving to straddle him and lifting his shirt over his head now, her hands roaming his chest before her right pointer finger traced the Olympic rings just below his heart.
He let his head fall back, savoured her touch, his fingers gripping her slender hips. “Fuck,” he groaned as her lips found his neck, his hands sliding to cup her bum now, pulling her closer to where he was harder than he was sure he’d ever been before.
James could focus on nothing but the sensation of her touch, the heat radiating between them. Her lips tracing his skin, her hands on his chest – it was almost overwhelming in its intensity. With her body pressed close, every subtle movement sent jolts of pleasure through him. He could feel her warmth against him, felt how her breath hitched against his neck as she responded to his touch, his primal need taking over. His groans were stifled by her skin, and when her lips travelled back up from his neck to his jawline, the whisper of his name was slow and seductive: “James...”
The speed with which they moved increased now, undressing the other, James reached for the box of condoms, Lily’s fingers taking them from his, tearing the wrapper and rolling the rubber down his erection, lifting herself on her knees before she sank down on him, her hips rolling against his as he thrusted inside, arms wrapped around her waist as their lips met in an open-mouthed kiss.
The noises she made were music to his ears, the taste of her addictive. He kissed, licked and sucked, tugged with his teeth at her bottom lip, her nipples brushing against his chest as she bounced up and down his length, something beautifully erotic about the rhythm they created together.
She cried out his name when she came, he groaning hers in succession, and then – when the heat had dissipated – they laughed, losing their balance almost and both ending up on their backs on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. His hand found hers, their fingers locked.
“I can’t believe I didn’t even get you your croissants yet,” he told her, shaking his head.
Lily squeezed his hand. “You do realise that’s always been code for a shag, right?”
He turned his head to look at her, eyebrows raised. “Does that mean we shag once for every gold between us?”
“Potter,” she said, letting go of his hand and rolling onto her side, her foot sliding up his calf, “I think every golden medal has cost us so much that just one per medal should hardly be considered close to enough.”
He grinned, his hand locking around the back of her neck. “Let’s get to it then,” he murmured against her lips before rolling her onto her back and committing himself to devouring her fully.
When James Potter and Lily Evans married four years later – in September 2028, a month after the Los Angeles Olympics – all guests wondered at their choice of dessert: croissants with cream and strawberries. Even more of them raised their eyebrows when Sirius Black questioned whether the firstborn of the Potters might be named Croissant.
The Olympian bride and groom only laughed as they held hands, the pair of them the only ones who were at that time aware that Lily had won yet another individual gold in Las Vegas – and James silver with his field hockey team, but he was quick to downplay his own achievement – two months pregnant.
“Are you ready for it?” James mumbled against the back of her hand as they stood for their first dance after. They had practiced it in the past two weeks with a dedication that rivalled any preparation for an Olympic Games.
“Let the games begin, Potter,” she told him as Taylor Swift’s reputation song played over the speakers, the gold of their wedding band now the only one that mattered to them.