For the people who have been kind enough to reach out – because flattery always works on me.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
"I've been waiting for months, waiting for years, waiting for you to change.
Aw, but there ain't much that's dumber, there ain't much that's dumber
than pinning your hopes on a change in another.
And I, yeah I still need you, but what good's that gonna do?
Needing is one thing, and getting - getting's another."
Needing / Getting, OKGO
High above the quidditch pitch, the cold November air sinks its teeth into James Potter's face, turning his nose and cheeks a ruddy pink. He doesn't mind though – he doesn't really feel it, too distracted by the sharp pricking of his too-long hair against his face and eyes. He should have grabbed a pair of goggles, but he'd been in too much of a hurry at the time. He'd needed to be as far away from the school as was allowed, so he'd fled to the pitch where he'd quickly snatched a broom and a snitch and taken to the sky. But still, what he'd overheard nearly an hour ago now still picked at him.
"No, I'm telling you Lily, Amos Diggory fancies you. He's planning on asking you to this Hogsmeade weekend."
Lily hummed, twisting her dark red hair over her shoulder, her eyes not leaving her book.
"What, are you not interested in Amos Diggory?" prodded Chelsea. She was perched on the edge of the common room chair, one foot up on the armrest, and leaning back to peer over Lily's shoulder.
"I never said that," Lily answered.
The conversation was on repeat in his brain - over and over, and over once more. So what if she fancies Amos Diggory? Just the thought is acidic in his throat. His face scrunches, as if the action itself will help remove the words. Today is one of the days he wishes he could obliviate himself and not turn into some sort of drooling toadstool. Perhaps obliviate himself just enough to forget about her – forget the ache that stretches through him when he sees her in the common room, or the sharp stab in his stomach when she smiles, her vivid green eyes catching the light, sparkling. He briefly fears she's too beautiful to ever forget. The image of her is burned in his brain, just as the feel of her hand in his is tattooed upon his skin.
Maybe after graduation, he'll move – far, far away, where there's no chance of running into her. The last thing he wants to do is leave his friends, but he's pretty sure he can convince Sirius to go with him, and then Remus and Peter are sure to follow. Then he won't have to see her – see her fall in love with some other bloke like Amos Diggory, and have to go to their wedding, and hear about their adorable, brilliant children. They've formed a tenuous friendship now, and it's something he both treasures and fears. It was a lot easier to love her from a far. But now that he knows her – knows that her hands are always cold, and she only ever drinks half a cup of tea before she leaves it, forgotten on an end table while she studies – it's a lot harder to ignore the way his heart beats just that little bit faster whenever she's near. Still, he supposes, it's better than when she only spoke to him to either hand him a detention slip... or hex him into next week.
He sees a flash of gold to his left, through the gloom of the settling night, and shifts his weight on his broom to rush after it. The snitch hovers for a moment, before shooting down and to the right in a sharp arc. He follows it, crouching low on the broom, gaining speed. The snitch hesitates, its golden wings fluttering madly, so close to the ground that damp blades of grass quiver. James reaches out a hand, fingers stretching, grasping, as he hurtles toward the ground. At the last moment, almost able to feel the smooth, cold metal against his grasping fingers, the snitch shoots away, up and past him. James' weight shifts too far over the handle of his broom to pull back before the tip of it catches in the grass and he tumbles forward, his legs flying over his head as he's thrown onto his back, his breath ripped from his lungs.
It takes him a moment to really feel the pain, the ache that tears through him the moment he's recovered enough to breathe in again, and suck air into his oxygen deprived lungs. He expels it with a groan, his eyes screwing shut, not able to help wondering just when he got so old. Today is just not his day, he decides.
"You know," says a soft, lilting voice, "I'm starting to realize that there's a very good reason you're a chaser rather than a seeker. You're rather dreadful."
He opens one eye to find wide green eyes peering back at him, and a smile twisting a pair of soft pink lips.
"Is that so?" he asks. She nods, "Shameful, really. They should revoke you're Captainship."
"Oy, that's a bit much. I just took a bit of a tumble," he grumbles, sitting upright. His glasses are askew, one arm bent oddly. Lily reaches for them from where she's crouched next to him.
"That was no tumble," she says as she bends the arm into the proper shape again, and places them back onto the bridge of his nose. "That was a bloody cock-up. What were you trying to do?"
James scratches the back of his neck, then attempts to flatten his hair, "I dunno, I was just trying to catch the snitch."
She hums, watching him for a moment, then her lips press together into a hard line before she speaks. "You're upset."
"Upset?" says James, startled. It comes out louder than he means it to, and he clears his throat. "What do I have to be upset about?" he asks. He's fussing with his robes, trying to pull them down and straighten them before her rolls to his feet and stands.
Lily shrugs, "How should I know? You've got a big head – it must be full of something." She smirks at him. James rolls his eyes.
"You told me once that it was full of hot air."
She laughs. "I'm fairly certain I've told you that more than once."
James sighs, brushing stray bits of grass from his pants. He doesn't look at her, instead he spends a moment inspecting the shallow grazes on his palm.
"Oh c'mon James, what's eating you?" Lily asks, poking him in the arm. "You're not yourself today."
"S'nothing, Lily," James shrugs, letting his hands fall to his sides. "It's just been a long day."
"It's not nothing," she argues, her eyebrows drawing together. "You only come down here this late when you're annoyed or upset about something."
"It's not that late," he says, looking around her for his broom. Spotting it in the grass to her left, he eases past her. She frowns at him when he does so, but he doesn't notice.
"It's quarter past twelve," she says sharply.
James glances at his watch. "I lost track of time," he says as he bends to pick up his Nimbus 1000 from the damp grass.
"Clearly."
James looks at her. "Why are you so bothered about it?"
"Because," says Lily, her good humour lost, "you're my friend."
"Yes, that sounds convincing."
Her arms cross over her chest, her lips press together, "Well I'm thinking of withdrawing the title if you keep acting like an arse."
He can't help the sharpness in his tone, "I didn't ask you to come out here."
"No," says Lily, "You didn't. That was my mistake." She waits a beat, letting the words settle before she gives him one final, searching look, and turns to leave. She doesn't glance back as she strides across the pitch, but he can see her slim fingers balled into fists.
He could kick himself, but instead he forces himself to watch her walk away, feeling the cold, emptiness seep through him at the sight of her retreating back. Self-sabotage, that's what Remus would say. Your own stupidity is the main reason you keep mucking things up with Lily, Prongs. If you would just take a moment and clear your head before you open your stupid mouth, you'd have much better luck with the girl.
But how could he keep a clear head around her when he was so distracted by her? He wasn't even fighting a losing battle anymore – it was well good and lost. And try as he might, he was stuck, stuck in the torturous limbo of needing a girl, loving a girl – who didn't need him.
James debates running after her. He debates going up to the common room, flying his broom up the girl's staircase and demanding to speak with her. He debates pouring his heart out to her; taking his hand in hers, just like that one night during rounds, and laying everything bare. He also debates, once again, the possible outcomes of trying to obliviate himself.
Instead, he takes his broom him his left hand, jumps into the air and takes off, hovering high above the pitch once again. Lily was right, as always. Flying is what clears his head. If only he could talk to Lily while flying – maybe then he wouldn't always make such a mess of things.
It's then that he hears the muffled shriek from below.
"Bloody effing hell!" says the same high-pitched voice. James peers through the gloom of the early morning to see a streak of red hair and black robes wobbling through the air toward him.
"Lily?" James calls, unsure.
The only reply is a stream of rather profane curse words... and not of the magical kind.
She hovers next to him finally, a death grip on a beaten-up Comet she'd obviously taken from the spare broom cupboard near the stands. Her face is pasty white, her eyes wide.
"You owe me, Potter," Lily snaps. She's trying to sound cross, but he can hear the nervous waver in her voice. "For making me come up here."
James is fighting a smile, watching her attempt to stay level with him. She's so smooth and adept in the classroom, but out here, on the quidditch pitch – she isn't nearly as intimidating.
"I don't recall asking you to come up here," he says. He's relaxed on his broom, more are home in the air than on two feet. He folds his hands behind his head and leans back.
"Don't you bloody do that – you'll fall and break your ruddy neck!"
"I'd think you'd be happy if that were to happen," James observes.
"Keep pressing your luck and I might be," she mutters. She looks down at the ground. "Look, I just wanted to talk to you."
"You could have just shouted at me."
"I bloody well realize that now."
James chuckles, and straightens up on his broom. He floats closer to her, reaching out a hand to cover hers – purely to steady her on the broom, he swears.
"Why are you up here, Lily?" he asks. His question is quiet, nearly lost in the wind. Lily watches him for a moment, takes in his unkempt hair, his crooked frames, before she finally speaks.
"I just can't do it anymore," she says softly. She swallows hard, looking away. "Do you know how hard it is – trying to stay mad at you? I try and stay away from you, but I can't – I just bloody can't! And who am I, to think that after all this time you'd still want to be around me?" she asks – more to herself than him. Her eyes dart around, taking in the clouds, and nearby trees of the forest.
"Things have never been easy between us, James," she says, her voice distant. "We spend more time yelling than talking, but I'd still... I'd still rather be fighting with you than talking to some other bloke. And yes, I'm aware of how bloody stupid that is, and I don't expect you to feel the same, not when I told you time and again that I wished you'd just bugger off and leave me alone. And I thought maybe I could be your friend, but apparently I'm rubbish at that too, since I just get mad the moment you're a stubborn mule and storm off." Lily took a breath – her eyes finally meeting his again. "But my point is – because I swear I have one – is that I'm here, James. I'm here for you, as a friend, or... whatever it is you need."
James blinks.
"So," he says slowly, "You're not going to Hogsmeade with Diggory?"
"What?" says Lily, puzzled.
"Chelsea said that Diggory was going to ask you, and you said you were going to go with him."
"I did not," says Lily, "That whelk would never have the gumption to ask me."
"But if he did you'd go?"
Lily makes a face, and then removes one hand from her broom to smack him on the arm. "No, you great lump – weren't you listening to my big emotional speech a moment ago?"
James can't help his wide smile. "Could you say it again?"
With a huff, Lily pulls away and heads for the ground below, "You're utterly incorrigible."
"Lily, wait – really, just wait!"
"No," she says. He can hear the note of hurt in her voice. She lands awkward on the grass, and stumbles. He's there in a flash, warm hands reaching to steady her. She doesn't pull away, but she won't meet his eyes.
"Lily, I'm sorry," he pleads, "You know I've never been good at knowing when to be serious."
"That's true if by 'never been good' you mean you've never been serious," she mutters darkly, still not looking at him. His hands move from her elbows to her upper arms.
"Well, I'm being serious now – Lily, I love you."
She looks at him sharply, her eyes suspicious. "You do not."
"No, I do – and I've been trying to forget about it these last few months, but I've been rather unsuccessful."
She frowns at him. "You can't love me."
He laughs. "And why not?"
"Because I didn't notice!" she sputters, "A girl's supposed to notice these things! Besides, you can't secretly love me!"
"Oh but you can secretly love me?" he shoots back.
She lifts her chin. "I never said that I love you."
"Yes you did."
"No – I merely said I like to yell at you."
James hums his assent, as he tucks a wayward strand of red hair behind her ear. Her face is tilted away from him, but her gaze snaps to his as his rough fingers slide along her jaw.
"Hey Lily," he whispers, leaning closer.
"Yes James?"
"Is it alright if I kiss you now?"
His mouth hovers over hers, waiting.
"Well," she breathes, her answer warm upon his lips, "I suppose it wouldn't be terrible."
"I've been hoping for months, hoping for years, hoping I might forget.
Aw, but it don't get much dumber, it don't get much dumber
than trying to forget a girl when you love her."
Needing / Getting, OKGO