Who: James and Lily Evans Potter What: In which hopefully no one gets stabbed Where: The hair salon When: Saturday Rating/ Status: Low / Incomplete
Nothing brilliant had come to James. He was trying not to be too critical of his brilliant brain, but it really was running things a bit close to the wire. On the other hand, sometimes James did his best performing under stress. It always helped with exams, anyway. Or-- well, that was what he told himself. At the moment, he couldn't remember if it was actually true, or if it was just something he liked to say. It wasn't as though he'd ever actually done poorly on an-
Right. No more avoiding things. It had been a couple of days. He thought. His grasp on the passage of time at the moment wasn't great. The other night, with Sirius and Remus, James hadn't quite had the wherewithal to ask too much about things between him and Lily. Not that he really thought that was a good idea, anyway. Some things were private. Or, as private as they could be, between Marauders. And Harry had been just a bit young to remember much of anything, before-- Well. From before.
The fervent, circular buzzing of James's thoughts hummed louder and louder until he was pushing open then door of the hair salon. It was weird to think about Lily working someplace like this. Of course, it was weird to think about just about everything in Lockewood, so perhaps he ought to have found that comforting. Opening the door, it turned out, was the easy part. Turned out, he had no innate etiquette for what to do when you were someone's undead, de-aged husband. He felt quite the great swell of new-found sympathy for the zombies in the muggle films. No wonder they ate people's brains. Poor bastards were just trying to figure out what the hell was going on around them.
To his credit, James did not attempt to eat Lily's brain.