Disclaimer: These lovely characters, unfortunately, are not mine.

Author's Note: I really hope you enjoy this. I am posting this at five am because, apparently I'm a masochist with no regard for the fact that I have a hideously dull class in just a couple hours. Please please please review. I've been having a horrendous couple of weeks so I'd love it if you'd review and give me some feedback.

I stare down at the old, creased parchment in my hands. I don't even know why I kept it. I almost never keep anything, for if I did, I know that I would inevitably become a horrendous packrat. And this, it's just a short letter—there isn't anything particularly significant about it. Looking at the cramped, boyish scrawl, I read:

Dear Lily,

I'm sorry to write to you. I don't even know if you'll read this, but I hope that you do—I would prefer not getting hexed on sight when I see you at the start of September. Remus tells me that congratulations are in order, you've made Head Girl! You must be so proud. I know how hard you've worked for this.

I'm sure you're wondering by now why on earth I'm writing to you. Honestly, I want to call a truce of sorts. What do you say to putting everything behind us, every hex, every taunt? I know that I have been a right git for the majority of the last six years, and I truly am deeply sorry. I've been doing a great deal of thinking over this holiday and I feel as though it's important that I convey all of this to you, especially because I've been appointed Head Boy and we will, inexorably be spending an inordinate amount of time together.

Sincerely,

James

I recall sitting on my bed, absolutely shocked after reading his letter. Had James Potter really been appointed Head Boy? Had James Potter really just sincerely apologized (because, let's be honest, that is the most outrageous of the two)? I laughed, shaking my head. I wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of his being Head Boy, but Potter was better than some pureblood, holier than thou Slytherin. I had replied to him, agreeing to his truce and I was surprised to find that I was even a bit excited.

Walking to the Heads compartment on the train that first morning had been so odd. I had expected to see the Marauders lounging about, standing in my way of making Potter concentrate on getting the Prefects' meeting organized and started. Instead, I saw him rummaging through stacks of paper, making notes occasionally. I stood there for a moment, wholly shocked, more so than when I had learned he was to be the Head Boy to my Head Girl.

"Oh, Lily, good morning," he said upon noticing my arrival. He ran a hand through his inky, unruly hair. "How was your holiday?"

"It went quite well, thank you Potter." I decided to skip over the unpleasant news of my sister's engagement to that animal of a man. Just because we had decided to be civil did not mean that we were suddenly best friends. I was choosing to think of it more as acquaintances on good terms. That seemed nice. "How about yours?"

"It was alright, thanks. Busy." I saw him take a deep breath. It was nice to know he was as lost as I was in this new thing we were doing. He swallowed, obviously unable to think of any more small talk. "Right, well, I drew up a tentative patrolling schedule as well as another schedule for our monthly Prefect meetings, tentative of course." He reached down and pulled a lengthy piece of parchment from one of the stacks. "I referenced the dates for the meetings with the dates Quidditch games for this season as I know several prefects are on their house teams as well. I also referenced the patrolling schedule with my class schedule, assuming yours is at least similar. I presume you've also drawn up schedules?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but found that I was unable to find any words. I was too astonished. I just nodded instead.

"Great, I thought you would. I figured we could compare and work out a final draft from there, subject to change of course." He ran a hand through his hair again, a habit, I was beginning to notice, that he only did when he was anxious.

From that first meeting, everything went smoothly, all of our meetings with the prefects, all of the patrols, everything. I had not expected him to be so organized, so calculated, so prepared.

Though, if there was anything I had not been expecting, it was how quickly we became friends, good friends. He's a very likeable person, I'm noticing. He's thoughtful and amusing and clever. He never fails to make things interesting in the Heads' Tower, our shared dormitory. And, Merlin, he's… he's charming. It's like he's a whole new person or maybe it's that he always was this person and I never took the time to look. Either way, I'm noticing him. And I'm not exactly sure if this is a terribly good thing.

I leave the letter on my dresser and head to the common room. James is sitting on the overstuffed crimson sofa, playbook in hand. He looks up when he hears me enter, a small smile curving his lip.

"Hey," he drawls, voice liquid honey.

"Hey." I'm smiling, unintentionally.

He's sees the book in my arm and motions for me to come sit with him. I do and we both just lounge about. I'm reading my novel and he's working and reworking different Quidditch plays and it's all just so comfortable. We sit in silence, but it's not the awkward kind. It's a chosen silence. It's calm and easy and it feels like we could go on like this forever.

I glance up at him every now and then. His glasses are sliding down his nose and every so often he lifts a finger to push them up. Eyebrows knit together, I see him tug a hand through his unkempt onyx hair in exasperation when he's having a bit of difficulty getting a play just right. His eyes, glowing a sparkling golden hazel in the firelight, flit across the page. I've always known that he was quite handsome, though it was hidden behind his oversized ego before. I mean, there is a reason that half the girls in our year fancy him. Looking at him now, I see that it isn't just his appearance that makes his so attractive, but that it is his mannerisms, his spirit, obvious even in the simple grace of his stillness. I sigh and he looks up at meet, catching my gaze. He offers a small smile and I feel this tugging in my chest. I smile back, almost tentatively. His eyes cloud over for half a moment and his breath catches. I'm about to ask him what's wrong when he speaks.

"It's getting late." I chance a peek at the old grandfather clock in corner and I see that it's almost one in the morning.

"It is," I agree. I'm thankful that tomorrow is Saturday.

"I'm going to head to bed. Got practice in the morning."

I nod as he stands. He stays for a moment, looking torn, before murmuring a soft, "Goodnight Lily. Sleep well."

I watch him as walks away, disappearing into his chamber. I don't know why, but I feel almost… disappointed.

I don't see James again until lunch. This is not out of the ordinary, as he rarely makes it to the Great Hall for breakfast and the only classes we share are during the second half of the day. What is out of the ordinary how I notice. I'm making my way over to James and the Marauders, my intent to discuss our scheduled patrol for tonight (though I'm not sure why this is suddenly quite so urgent), when Anthea Markes, another witch in our year, sits beside James, planting a kiss on his cheek with a smile.

I stop cold. My heart seems to skip a beat, and not in the sweet, happy way. No, it's… painful. My skin is prickling uncomfortably. My face is hot. I feel embarrassed, though I haven't the faintest idea why. I'm not breathing. I don't know why I am responding this way.

And then it clicks.

I'm surprised is all. I'm surprised at the notion that James may have a new girlfriend. It is a bit shocking after all. I mean, sure, after I would deny him my company he would sometimes have another girl join him in Hogsmead, but it was usually just that. If not just one date, then a few, surely to relieve some of the pressure of his hormones. And he's had snogging partners in the past (I've heard the rumors—apparently he's quite phenomenal) but I have never experienced the joy of witnessing it. However, as far as I know, he hasn't had a date (his choice, obviously not due to lack of female response) since fifth year.

As fate would have it, James turns his head and meets Anthea's lips with his.

I close my eyes. I take a deep breath. I'm fine. This is fine. I open them and stride over to Alice and Mary, Head Girl propriety and grace oozing with each step. From the corner of my eye, I see James look at me, but I keep my gaze straight ahead.

In Charms, my best class, James and Anthea sit in the row in front of me. I see his hand on her knee. I see her whisper in his ear. I see her fingers running through the hair at the base of his neck. I see all of this and I wonder why the fuck it's bothering me so much.

I can't concentrate. My eyes are practically glued to them. I realize this and my eyes dart to the chalkboard. I vow to only look at them in my peripheral and I stay true to this, until I see James turn around. His eyes rake over my face and my own eyes, unintentionally, meet his as I turn to face him. The corners of my lips are turned down in a frown. There's a definite crease between my brows and I'm sure my hands are visibly trembling. This look crosses over his face, almost like he's in pain. I turn away. I don't look at him for the remainder of class.

We're patrolling together tonight. Normally, this is a relatively pleasant way to spend a couple hours. We usually wander the castle, not looking quite that thoroughly for students violating curfew. James and I prefer to be moderately laidback, as far as punishing goes, and unless there are a significant amount of students breaking a considerable number of rules, we just let them off with a warning. Tonight, however, the prospect of spending so much time with James, alone, is slightly daunting. I feel better than earlier. Quite honestly, I have no idea what on earth came over me. I acted ridiculously this afternoon. I feel better now, thankfully. I was just a bit taken off guard. I had never seen James with someone like that before.

"Evening Lily," James says, entering our shared common room.

He's ten minutes late. Oddly enough this is the first time he's been tardy all year. His hair is even messier than usual. When he sees me looking at it, he runs a callused hand through it.

"Are you ready?" I reply. I'm not trying to be a bitch, but I know I sound impatient, annoyed. I take a deep breath.

"Uh, yeah. I am. Listen, sorry I'm late. I got held up," he explains.

I glance at the clock as though I hadn't noticed the time in hours.

"Oh, you are? It's fine." My voice is nonchalant, though it is anything but effortless.

I turn to exit the tower and James follows. We walk in silence for some time. I hope that James finds it the comfortable kind, despite that fact that I find it oppressively awkward. I inhale deeply and speak first.

"So, you and Markes, eh?" The pitch of my voice is a bit higher than normal, but I ignore it.

"Oh." He drags a hand through his hair, obviously uncomfortable. "Uh, yeah."

"That's nice. She's quite clever."

Deep breath.

"Er, yeah." Why does he sound surprised? Is that dejection I detect as well? As soon as I thought I had pinpointed the emotions behind his inflection, he was back to just regular James again. "Sirius figured it was about time I had someone… special, so he set me up with Anthea"

"Well, Mar—Anthea certainly seems to be a nice match for you." Why does her name taste vile in my mouth? What the fuck is wrong with me?

He looks at me and our eyes meet for a heartbeat. He averts his gaze first and murmurs a soft, "Thanks."

We don't speak for the rest of our patrol.

Everywhere I go, it seems, for the next fortnight James and Anthea are there. I see them in the corridors, in class, at meals and even in the Heads' Tower. She's always touching him, whether it is a hand on his knee, fingers wound through his hair or a kiss on the cheek. It's constant. Seeing this, I feel as though if I were James, I'd go fucking insane. As it is, I feel like I'm going a bit barmy just watching it.

Each time I see them (because, let's be honest, it's a rare occasion to see one without the other these days) I feel this stab of fire in the center of my chest. My face gets hot and it's all I can do not to glare at the pair. I can barely speak to James without allowing a bit of venom in voice, therefore our conversations are rare and short-lived as of late. I feel awful for treating him this way, but fortunately, my schedule has been fairly busy these past few weeks and I have been able to feign the urgency of essays and readings.

In charms, I sit in my usual seat. James and Anthea sit a couple of rows in front of me to the right, still in my line of vision. My eyebrows, of their own accord, knit together as I notice Anthea's hand on James' shoulder as they speak animatedly with Sirius and Peter.

I'm lost in thought, so when Oliver Dixon drops into the chair beside me, I jump a mile.

"Hi Lily," he says, overly friendly. "Give you a bit of a fright there?"

I smile. "A bit. I just wasn't paying attention."

We make small talk until the start of class. He's listening to everything I say raptly, eyes never straying from my face. I blush slightly, not used to this level of attention from Oliver. I glance over at James and Anthea once and I'm surprised to see that James' gaze is steady on us, a strange look clouding over his hazel eyes. Our eyes meet for a moment and it's like we're both shouting something to the other silently, only neither of us has the slightest clue what's being said. Suddenly, I just feel like breaking down in tears, right then and there in the Charms classroom. But I don't. Instead, I turn back to Oliver, smiling my best smile, and return to our conversation. I don't look at James for the rest of the lesson.

After class, Oliver waits for me.

"Are you going back to the Head's Tower?" he asks.

I nod, gathering my books.

"I'll walk you, if that's all right." He ducks his head a bit as he proposes this, looking down at me intently. I notice that he is quite tall.

"Sure," I say softly, a small smile gracing my lips.

He takes the books from my hands, adding them to his own, and follows me out the door. As we stroll through the halls, he flirts. It's obvious, but he's sweet. I briefly ponder why I never considered him romantically before. We stop before the entrance of my dormitory. He turns to face me and hands me my books.

"Listen, Lily…" He clears his throat. "I was wondering if you'd like to go to Hogsmead with me this weekend."

There's a light blush coloring his cheeks and he's smiling tentatively. He's handsome and kind and I wonder why on earth I have the urge, for a split second, to say no.

I'm about to open my mouth to say, "Sure, why not?" when I remember that it's Alice's birthday on Saturday and I had told her I would spend the day with her.

"I'm so sorry Oliver," I begin. "I'd love to, but I can't. I promised Alice I would spend the day with her. Perhaps next time?"

He looks slightly crestfallen, but recovers quickly.

"'Course," he says with a grin. Swiftly, he bends down to press a chaste kiss to my cheek. Before he pulls away, he whispers, "Wish her a happy birthday for me."

With that, he strides away, presumably to the Gryffindor Common Room, leaving me with a hand to my flushing cheek and speculating why the fuck I feel so torn.

"Hello Lily," a deep baritone pipes up from behind me. It's James. Though he is attempting to make is tone light, casual, his voice is hard. "You're certainly blushing a bit hard there. Dixon playing nice?"

"Very nice, actually," I quip. "Though I can't see what would bring you to give a shit."

Once the words leave my mouth, I wish they hadn't. Perhaps they were just a tad too spiteful.

James takes a deep breath that I recognize—one he would always take before entering a verbal sparring match with me. I haven't seen it months. It is almost nice, comforting. Instead of retorting, however, James just turns back the way he came, yet another male leaving me questioning everything.

James returns to our common area several hours later, Anthea by his side. She's giggling and I take this time to look at them. Anthea's golden locks fall gracefully over her shoulders, her bright blue eyes shining beneath her fringe. She's got her long slender body glued to James side. Despite her inability to not have physical contact with James, I can acknowledge the fact that she is exceptionally beautiful. James, for his part, is exceptionally beautiful as well. With his shaggy raven black hair, gleaming hazel eyes and Quidditch toned body, I am well aware that he is practically irresistible.

They haven't seen me sitting by the fire, my schoolwork surrounding me, yet. Anthea pulls James to her for a kiss, which he doesn't return very enthusiastically. It is in this moment that I realize what has been bothering me. As my skin begins to warm and prickle with anger and my eyes slowly narrow to slits, I realize everything. This anger I'm feeling, this irrational urge to physically harm the both of them (specifically her) is because everything has changed, so slowly I had barely even noticed. I've got the green-eyed monster perched on my back, breathing down my neck, everywhere I go. As I perceive its' existence, it grows heavy, so heavy I'm afraid I won't ever be able to walk, to stand, to live again. It's there, filling my head with horrible thoughts and wishes I would never dream to speak aloud. Its' presence alerts me to the fact that I wish it was me glued to his side, entwining my fingers with his, kissing him. Recognizing this desire, this need, makes my head spin, makes my heart swell.

As I process this, I think back to how James used to feel about me. I think about how that's changed, how he no longer harbors any romantic feelings for me. This is too much. There are too many thoughts and wishes and fears ricocheting through my mind. I can't breathe. I choke back a sob silently. My eyes brim with tears. I gather my papers and my books. I can't stay in here. I can't sit here and watch them and listen to my heart splinter within my chest. I just can't.

I stand, my things in a precarious heap in my arms. "I'll—I'll give you two a bit of privacy," I manage to say, my voice horribly shaky.

James pulls away from Anthea—I swear I actually hear her whine—and looks over at me.

"Oh. Lily. I didn't realize you were here." His voice still holds the same hardness from earlier. "I only came in to grab a book for—" He stops suddenly, concern contorting his features as he takes in my red, splotchy face and the few tears that have fallen. "Lily," he murmurs, tone infinitely softer. He takes a step toward me, to Anthea's chagrin. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head before turning and striding into my chamber with as much dignity as I possibly can.

I stay in my room for the rest of the evening and avoid James all the next day, despite his attempts to speak with me. I see him frequently throughout the day, inevitably, but oddly Anthea isn't with him, spending the day with her friends instead. I know that my avoidance of James cannot last forever, unfortunately, as I have to patrol with him tonight. I dread it all day. I dread the conversation I know he's going to start. I dread having to answer him. But most of all, I dread being near him. I have this dull ache in my chest. It's bearable, but it's there. And I know, I know, that when I'm with him, the pain is going to amplify a tenfold. I'm far too much of a coward to want to face this, despite my place in the Gryffindor House.

I'm in my room working on an essay for Transfiguration when James knocks on my door. When I open it he's leaning against the door frame, hands in his pockets. He's staring intently at the carpet, but lifts his head and gazes into my eyes—and my soul as well, it feels like—when he notices me standing before him.

"Are you ready?" he asks, voice soft, tentative.

I nod and follow him out of the tower.

I was right about the pain. I'm in agony just walking beside him. It feels so real. I wonder how it's possible that emotions can affect me so powerfully. I feel as though my chest is going rip open right here, in the middle of the hall.

I decide right then and there that I am not going to let this continue. I am going to push past this. I'm going to find my platonic feelings for him, deep down inside, and resurface them. I can do that. I can be his friend. If I can't be his girlfriend, his love, surely friendship is better than nothing.

So I ask a question, praying I don't choke on the words.

"How's Anthea?"

He looks at me, slightly surprised.

"Not terribly well, I suppose," he replies. At my bemused expression, he expounds, "I broke things off with her last night."

"Oh," I say, staggered. I take a deep breath before asking, "Why?" It comes out no more than a sigh.

"Why?" he reiterates, slightly taken aback. "Well, erm… things just weren't…"

He stops speaking. He stops walking. He drags a hand through his hair before turning to face me. I turn as well, my back facing the wall, so close I can feel the cold radiating off the stone. He's staring at me again with that chilling fervor.

"Blimey. What the hell, right?" he mutters before actually answering me. When he begins again, his voice is powerful, intense. "Because she's not you, Lily. She doesn't laugh like you. She doesn't smell like you. Her eyebrows don't quirk like yours do when you're concentrating awfully hard. She doesn't keep my on my toes with her quick wit and sharp tongue. Her eyes don't narrow to the smallest slits when she's angry. Her hair isn't a fiery scarlet, but a dull yellow. She doesn't spread honey on one half of her toast and jam on the other. She doesn't have fading freckles across her nose. Her cheeks don't flush when she's angry or flattered or embarrassed and her eyes don't have nearly half of the depth and brilliance of yours. She's just not you. And I'm sorry. I know you don't want to hear this and I know that I've more or less destroyed this careful friendship we've built, but I can't fucking do this anymore. I can't look at you and pretend like the sight of you doesn't make my heart soar. I can't watch Dixon or whoever else has taken a fancy to you ogle you and flirt with you and I sure as shit can't watch you flirt right back and pretend that it doesn't tear me in two. I just... I can't and I'm sorry."

He's staring down at me still and I'm shocked, flabbergasted, stunned, astounded, ecstatic.

I open my mouth to say something, anything. I want to tell him not to be sorry, that he doesn't have to pretend anymore. However, I cannot find the words. They seem to be lodged somewhere between my shock and my elation. I settle instead for reaching up on the balls of my feet and pressing my lips to his for a long-awaited kiss.

I feel his surprise, but he recovers quickly and his lips are moving against mine with a passion I had never thought possible in real life. Soon, I'm backed against the cool stone wall. I run my fingers through his messy hair and he has one hand on my waist and another entangled in my hair. All too quickly, we run out of oxygen and he moves his lips to my jaw, my neck. There's this balloon in my chest that keeps inflating, getting bigger and bigger with each second that I'm near him, that I feel his love caress me like silk against skin.

"Lily, Lily, Lily, Lily…" he whispers against my skin.

And I'm so happy, so fucking happy.