I need to make you see
Oh, what you mean to me
Until I do I'm hoping you will know what I mean
- "Michelle" The Beatles
She was doing it again.
Somewhere between the activities of the previous night and the present morning, Lily was pondering. He could see it in the way she stared in excessive contemplation at the pillow. James smiled slightly, knowing that he had a place in those thoughts that he personally believed ran far too rampant in her mind.
He reached out between her bare shoulder blades and was rewarded with a soft gaze. She visibly relaxed and leaned into him, allowing his arms to fall about her.
And he noted how she breathed easily, forgetting whatever it was that troubled her.
Damn it all, he thought, letting his fingers run through her dark locks.
"You're tangling my hair," she complained half-heartedly.
He chuckled softly.
"As I recall, you weren't complaining last night."
She frowned at him, rising up to lean her weight on her elbow.
"It's not fair bringing up the past. It's already happened and there's nothing that can change it," she said.
"Unless you've got a timeturner," she added thoughtfully.
He looked down where the sheets didn't quite cover her up. It was a very interesting view indeed. Quite nice as a first sight at dawn. His hand moved along her bare waist.
"Does the present count then?"
She swatted his arm.
"You are incorrigible Potter, you know that?" Her face hid in his shoulder.
His smile widened.
"I do believe you may even like me that way, Lily dearest," he said and lowered his voice to mumble in her ear. "After all, this is your bed we're in."
She shivered involuntarily before responding.
"Shut up!" she urged him, clamping a hand over his mouth. It didn'tstop him from laughing.
It was too late though. And she knew he was right. She had shared her bed with him.
Several times indeed.
Damn it all, Potter.
- - - - - - -
Muggle studies.
She was convinced it was a form of torture. Staring at the blank parchment, she barely tapped the tip of her quill on the edge of the ink bottle.
The clock in the common room informed her it was eleven p.m. with its loud chiming. She barely restrained herself from pulling out her hair.
It was her seventh year for goodness sake!
Wasn't she supposed to be exempt from troublesome homework? She knew they only assigned on a whim as a way to torment the student population. She had grown up as a muggle for crying out loud! They surely got a kick out of it.
Sulking quietly, she doodled stick figures on the corner of her parchment. She'd done her best to maintain her grades up, was a model student to her fellow peers and become Head Girl with all those efforts.
Why did it have to be one idiot to make her rediscover fun? Classes just weren't as interesting as . . .
"Pouting are we Evans?"
. . . him.
Speak of the devil.
She glared at him.
"You're rather pretty when you're angry," James teased. "Or increasingly becoming frustrated."
He invited himself to the empty spot beside her, and his hand massaged the back of her neck in slow, soothing circles. Unconsciously, she leaned into him, resting her forehead against his cheek.
"Essay due tomorrow," she said curtly, stabbing the paper with her quill.
Die! she thought evilly.
"The parchment can't feel that you know," he reminded her, holding down her wrist. "It being an inanimate object and all."
She made an irritable sound.
He tipped her chin up to meet her eyes.
She stuck out her tongue.
"Oh now, very mature," he chided with a smile. "Now tell me, what is it?"
She didn't answer.
His arm reached out to hers.
"What's bothering my Lily?"
She sighed quietly.
"Muggle studies essay due tomorrow," she admitted. "Eight in the morning no less."
Tension left her body gradually the longer he held her. The assignment was slowly receding to the back of her mind. It wasn't her fault that he made her feel so . . . she couldn't even find the appropriate word. Carefree, she supposed was the closest thing to fit a description.
Simple and yet . . . this, whatever this was, it was complicated. She wasn't sure how to define the status between them. They had been classmates, friends and now . . . they had gotten in each other's knickers. She lost count after the third time. After a while, she didn't find the need to.
It was only right to place the blame on him.
He was the one after all, who waltzed in on her during one of her late night study panic attacks. She was hyperventilating, caffeine overdosed and an overall wreck before a major exam in potions. He managed to see her in all her frantic glory.
And just like that, while she was close to being on the verge of tears, he came to her rescue. Not asking questions, his arms found her, offering comfort in a silent embrace. Her arms wound around him as well, finding warmth.
And very easily the overwhelming pressure on her shoulders was lightened.
Distraction, she rationalized, and held him despite herself. He smiled at her when she finally had the courage to look up. Hastily settling to begin once again, she huffed impatiently, unsure of where to begin.
That was when he sat beside her and organized the notes scattered across the table.
"The main thing you need to know is terminology," he assured her. "I'm pretty sure you got the whole conversion part down."
Again and again, he drilled facts and figures until it practically became second nature to her. Perhaps it was a momentary lack of judgment, but when she finally understood the material, she nearly tackled him with a big hug at three in the morning.
It wasn't until she saw the grade from the exam a day later that she was more than grateful for his help. Caught up in the euphoria that she would not be failing her worst class, she intended to thank him profusely. Upon seeing him, her original plan had somehow slipped from her impeccable memory and she wound up kissing him instead.
It had been brief and spontaneous, but it got the message across.
"I knew you fancied me Evans," he said evenly.
"Not true!" she informed him, though her tone was desperate and therefore unconvincing. Not her most articulate moment, she reflected at a later time.
She reasoned to herself it was because she had been sleep deprived.
His smirk said otherwise.
Part of her hated how he knew her so well.
The other part wouldn't let her stop grinning stupidly for it.
"Have you picked a topic?" he asked.
"I can't seem to think of one."
And there, she saw a glint in his eye.
"And why not?"
She laughed at his attempt of scolding her. It was a bad impression of McGonagall, honestly.
"This coming from the chief prankster of the Marauders?"
He tried to appear offended. She laughed louder, holding onto his robes for balance.
"Glad to know I'm amusing you."
Lily settled down, making an effort to quiet herself though a giggle surfaced occasionally.
"You're such a lovely dear," she cooed mockingly. "Beautiful even."
"And to think I willingly sacrifice myself for you," he asserted indignantly. "Honestly woman!"
She smiled broadly, both hands behind his neck before she kissed him. A few others that were still awake studying watched Hogwart's only non-official couple with varying degrees of interest.
They were a pair of odd ones, those two.
"Those two ought to get a room," Diane Walcott whispered disgustedly.
Remus Lupin only shook his head.
"They're practically married."
Sirius Black smirked at Diane.
"It's why James scared off that awful chap who was trying to get too close to Lily."
Recognition seeped into her mind and flashed across her features.
"You mean he was the one who hexed Trevor Philips in fifth year?" she asked wide eyed.
The image of seeing the boy hung upside down on the Astronomy Tower, dressed as a life-sized replica of Cupid dyed in bright shades of lilac and fuchsia was not easily forgotten.
It wasn't dubbed the Valentine's Day Monstrosity for nothing.
Diane shuddered nervously, remembering the incident.
"Couldn't he have given her chocolates and flowers like any reasonable boy?"
Sirius leaned back in his seat.
James?
Reasonable?
Never.
"No better way to show that you care than by eliminating the competition," he remarked wisely.
"At least in Prongs' case," Remus agreed, nodding.
James seemed a little too euphoric for his own good that day.
In addition to terrorizing Lily's suitors, he had transfigured his owl into a delicate dove to send her a note, charmed several sugar quills to play a variation of Chopin's sonatas in F-minor, all while humming a ridiculous love song even after Lily had (again) declined another offer of spending an entire Saturday with him at Hogsmeade.
"It was a bit extreme, don't you think?" she inquired, trying to keep her tone light.
Both teenagers looked at her as if she had just escaped from Azkaban and terrified the Dementors themselves. Truly, she didn't understand the single-mindedness of their persistent friend. It bordered on tunnel vision, really.
"Don't forget that he is in love," Sirius informed her matter of factly.
She bit her lip worriedly.
"That poor girl."
Remus and Sirius laughed uncontrollably.
- - - - - - -
It was nearly two in the morning when she'd finished the essay. That James had fallen asleep on her bed didn't help any. Quidditch practice again it seemed had rendered him tired enough to take a nap. Not that he would admit that he had though.
The boy was insufferable.
Not to mention cute.
She sighed. This was hopeless. She sat beside him, ruffling his hair playfully.
"I'm awake you dreadful banshee," he groaned. "Oh, it's only you Evans."
As he sat up, her arms embraced him from behind. Reason number 347 he was to blame for . . . everything. He just happened to smell nice whenever she breathed him in.
"Liar, you were snoring," Lily pointed out, leaning close enough to press her lips to the back of his neck gently.
"I do not snore."
"How would you know, if you were unconscious the entire time?"
"Because of all the times I've spent here with you, there were other matters that kept you up late," he looked at her pointedly over his shoulder. "And I do believe snoring wasn't one of them."
She laughed lightly.
"Since when did you learn to read me so well?"
"You forget I've been chasing after you since third year."
He turned to face her and maneuvered so that she sat on his lap. It was moments like these that made her eternally grateful to have a room all to herself.
Her seventh year wasn't without its advantages.
The bastard corrupted me. And I've made him worse.
And yet the thought didn't bother her the way she believed it would.
"I used to think you were a stalker."
"I'm a Gryffindor," he corrected. "And I . . ."
"Never give up," she finished along with him.
"Ahh, true devotion." She placed her hand over her chest as if it stopped beating at once and sighed dramatically. "I'm so fortunate to have a madly fanatical admirer."
"Only for you love."
She wondered.
"And do you?" she asked, though she felt it was an intrusive question. It felt like something she was supposed to already know, but could not be completely positive of.
He looked at her attentively, stroking her cheek with his thumb.
"Do I what?"
She didn't want to know what the answer would be if he said no. She didn't want to hear it. Didn't want it to be just a physical game between them. It had to be more because it meant something to her. He meant something to her: classmate, friend, confidant.
She shook her head.
He kissed her softly.
As usual, she yielded to him, responding in that familiar way that never ceased to fascinate him.
Honestly, how could she not know?
Their breathing was heavy in the quiet room. She noticed how his fingers had hooked on the waistband of her skirt. She kissed his face again, to distract him. Anything to make him forget her uncertainty. And to make herself forget in the process as it always seemed to happen when she was with him.
She was Head Girl after all and was responsible for setting an example to her fellow peers. And yet, she continually found herself disregarding the school rules as if they were absurd suggestions she chose to ignore rather than follow.
Paragraph eight of the Hogwarts' regulation handbook: No males allowed in female dorms and vice versa.
Rubbish, she deemed it to be in her final year. There was no way she was remotely paying attention to such silly things.
His other hand was holding hers. He certainly had her paying attention to him though.
How had he gotten there again? Oh yes, the invisibility cloak. Bless that thing.
"Lily," he said. Her eyes were still closed, awaiting another kiss. He stared at her. A muted smile played on his lips.
She was truly mentally unstable if she did not know what she meant to him. Deranged perhaps. It should've been obvious by now. He'd let her know in a way she would understand.
"Lily," he tried again, whispering in her ear. "I don't have sex with you."
She looked perplexed. Maybe sleepy, but he couldn't tell. It was late after all.
"Oh really? Cause I remember shagging you," she said with a smile.
A silly grin made it to his face.
"That may be so, but I make love to you and there's a difference."
Simple. He made it so easy to make her doubts disappear. He was evil, but she forgave him because he was hers, without the need of titles or obligations.
"Care to illustrate how?"
Her eyebrow arched suggestively. So maybe she wasn't so sleepy.
"Gladly."
His lips found hers again.
"James," she mumbled.
"Hmm?"
"You're a bastard."
He chuckled.
"And you love me for it."
Her laughter was all he needed to know it was true.