Summary: James' musings on certain redhaired girl. Inspired by Melissa Etheridge's song, 'Angels Would Fall' (not a songfic, though).

Disclaimer: Characters belong to JKR. The idea is mine.

Just a Very Good Friend

I look at her. I always look at her.

At this time of the day, the dying sun makes her hair to spark scarlet so it resembles melted fire down her back. Her green eyes seem to capture the fading light surrounding us and then they reflect it in kaleidoscopic glimmer. As I look at her, fire colours her skin and she glows with the last hour of the day, as though the sun didn't wish to depart and instead decided to stay with her.

But I also look at her early in the morning. Then her eyes are half-closed, as if she'd just walked out from a dream. Her skin is so pale that it's almost translucent, and her movements are soft and careful, as though she wasn't certain yet she is awake...

And she always gets my full attention when her eyes flash in self-righteous anger, and her whole body seems to incandesce with the ardor of her words and actions. Or when she's sitting all by herself with a book in the common room, ignoring the mayhem around her, lost in her own dreamland...

I don't know when I like her best. At the twilight hour, when her hair seems to melt with the horizon, or early in the morning, when her green eyes look sleepy and yet beautiful, or during class when she bites the end of her quill, or when she's mad at me and her cheeks are flushed with red...

Although she doesn't get mad at me so often nowadays. Not since we've become friends.

Friends. Every time she says that word, I feel myself choking, as it scaths me inside. I hate when she says we're friends. I'm such a hypocrite.

Because the sad truth is... I don't want to be her friend

---

Don't get me wrong. At first, when we started to get along, I was thrilled. After so many years of bickering, of yelling, of avoiding me, it felt like a miracle when she started treating me as a normal person, even as an agreeable one. To tell the truth, I was a little tired of her hating me, and was immensely relieved when she started to see me in a different light. Not the light I would have liked her to see me – but at least she no longer thinks of me as pig-headed, arrogant Potter. Well, maybe just a little. She still mocks me for the way I tossle my hair, and she says I should stop acting as the school's king just because I won yet another Quidditch match, but I've noticed she no longer chastises me because of the countless pranks I play on the Slytherins. I think she's loosening up a little. Or perhaps the darling Slytherins have already driven her over the edge.

The miracle, the unexpected, the thing that no one, not even me, thought could ever come to pass, started in our sixth year. I began the term feeling quite down. I guess that is a too soft way of saying it; much a Lupin-esque way than how I usually talk. I'll start again. I began the term feeling like crap, my life absolutely messed up. My uncle had just died over the summer. Killed by Death Eaters. He was the funniest person I'd ever met, someone who would've never hurt anybody – and yet, Voldemort gave orders to kill him.

Right now, I don't want to talk about how I felt when I found out, but it's easy to imagine why I suddenly was so level-headed. I never felt anything missing in my life: I had two loving, if a little overprotecting, parents; wonderful, loyal friends; I was a Quidditch star; I got excellent marks without effort and, not less important, girls liked me. What else could I ask for? To most people, I didn't have a care in the world. And I probably didn't. I could be carefree and reckless, because things always turned right for me and those I loved. It seemed like I would never run out of luck. I believed I would never run out of luck. My uncle's death showed me how wrong I was.

She found out, like everybody else, and even though I could see the sympathy in her eyes, she didn't try to give me useless words of comfort. She didn't try to pat my head, approach me as if we were the best of friends, or to tell me not to worry, like so many tactless people did. She kept her distance, without being nosy, but all the time letting me know that she cared, that I needn't to be alone. I never liked her more.

Then there was that awful time at the end of our sixth year. Sirius had the brilliant idea to tell Snivellus about the Whomping Willow, as a consequence, we didn't speak to each other for a month. It was a nightmare. I think that, for as long as I live, I won't forget the pure terror I felt that night, when I thought I would not see another dawn. We were, Snivellus and I, very close to death that night, far too close. And the horror of seeing a friend turned into a murdering monster, like I had never seen gentle Remus before... The memory is painfully fixed on my mind. I don't know what scarred me more: knowing that Remus, a friend, had almost killed us without being able to help it; the look of utter hatred on Snape's eyes, believing as he did that we'd all been part of the scheme; Dumbledore's disappointment at our reckless attitude; the knowledge that Sirius didn't care enough about our friendship to keep our secret... The scars run too deep, and I don't think I'll ever get rid of them.

But if that night was a nightmare, then the month that followed was like walking through hell on earth.

I cannot describe how depressed I was, but I couldn't forgive Sirius as easily as Remus and Peter had. Not only he could have made all of us to get expelled, not only did he expose Remus' condition, but he could also have gotten Snape and me killed. And, since what had happened to my uncle, I no longer thought death could be a laughing matter unlike, it seemed, Sirius did.

---

We had, the day after that fateful night, a shouting match in an empty classroom. It started quite civilly: I asked him what the hell he had been thinking when he'd told Snape about the Whomping Willow. I expected him to show some sort of regret, but that's not Sirius Black's style. Many people – Lily among them – say that I'm conceited and arrogant. Well, if that's the case (which probably is), then Sirius' arrogance surpasses mine.

I knew that deep down he felt guilty, but like hell he was going to show that weakness. Instead he calmy said that Snivellus deserved it for being so nosy and always trying to get us expelled. I remember staring at him in disbelief.

'Are you saying,' I inquired slowly, just to make sure he understood me, 'that he deserved to be bitten by a werewolf? When you know how terrible is for Remus? And, talking about Remus, what did he do to deserve your betrayal?'

At the word betrayal, Sirius' eyes widened in shock. I knew that word would sting, as Sirius always claims to be – and he is – the most loyal of friends, and how much it hurts him that his family calls him a traitor for escaping them and coming to live with me.

'I didn't mean to betray him!'

'But you did, by telling his secret...'

'It was just a joke! It's not my fault if Snivellus was moronic enough to follow my instructions, he's the one to blame, not me!'

I stared at him, and suddenly I thought that perhaps I didn't know him as well as I had once thought.

'Sirius, it is your fault! It is your responsability!'

He shook his head, clearly getting angry. 'You act as if you cared about what happens to Snivellus.'

I couldn't believe it. Was this the same Sirius that always stood by my side, that lived in my home, that I considered as the brother I never had? Could he be so insensitive, or was he just pretending?

Suddenly, I no longer cared.

'In case you haven't noticed, Sirius, he's a human being. A human being that could have ended up dead because of your little joke. But it seems like you don't care much about death, do you? Because otherwise, I doubt you'll feel so comfortable knowing you nearly killed the person you call "best friend". Because that's what you did, Sirius: you nearly killed Snape and me. And you don't care. Well, obviously I was delusional to consider you as my brother, when you clearly care so little about me.'

In that moment Sirius realised how far he'd gone, and his attitude changed at once.

'C'mon, Prongs, you can't be serious... You know what your friendship means to me...'

'Nothing, I'm afraid.'

For a moment, I saw fear in Sirius' grey eyes. The look soon vanished though, and as he saw he was losing the upper hand, he lost control. He began to shout. I started to shout. I don't remember what hurtful things we said to each other, but I remember running to the loo after our argument and throwing up.

The silent treatment began. We, who had never had a serious argument in six years, stopped talking to each other. At mealtimes we sat in opposite ends of the table and during class we ignored each other. We no longer planned pranks together, we no longer sat by the fire in the common room, we no longer aknowledged each other's existence. We were like strangers.

Remus tried to make peace between us. He was mad at Sirius, but he is too forgiving to hold a grudge. He couldn't stay angry with Sirius, and neither could Peter. They both tried to convince me to forgive him... but I was inflexible. I missed him as much as if I had lost a limb or half of my heart, but I couldn't forgive him. Especially as he'd never asked for my forgiveness in the first place.

Then she came over. She, like the whole school, had noticed that the inseparable Marauders had had a hell of a crisis, and that two of its members were no longer on speaking terms. She had no reason, see, to worry over it: after all, she'd never liked Sirius or me that much. Actually, she said more than once that she despised me because of my arrogant ways and, well, my habit of hexing Snivellus.

So there was no reason for her to come over the dark corner of the library where I'd chosen to hide from Sirius, there was no reason for her to sit next to me, there was no reason for her to try to comfort me. And yet she did.

She said that she didn't know what had happened between Sirius and me, that she knew it was none of her business, but she'd noticed that I was very unhappy and so was Sirius.

'You can't throw away a friendship like yours just like that, Potter. Whatever's happened between you two, there must be a way to fix it. You have to find a way to fix it. You two just... you two just can't go on like this. Who's going to terrify Slytherins, after all?'

In that moment I thought she was an angel. She had just pushed aside nearly six years of petty differences because she'd seen I was in pain and she wanted to help me although I'd been nothing but an idiot to her. And I realised something else, too.

She was way out of my league.

---

In the end, things turned out all right. Sirius was finally able to swallow his pride long enough to tell me he was sorry. I'm afraid he regretted more making me to stop talking to him than nearly killing Snape, but I missed him too so I was more eager to forgive him than I had thought.

The rest of the term was blissful for us: everything turned out alright, and our bond was tighter than ever. Of course that our relationship would never be the same. My mother says that, once that innocence is shattered, it can no longer be repaired, and now I see she's right. I would never see Sirius the way I saw him before, but in a way the rift between us pulled us closer in the end.

Lily noticed the change and although she said nothing, I noted she was pleased I had followed her advice. I went to thank her, for once without trying to charm her, and for the first time in history she seemed impressed by me. Who understands girls?

The while I spent burying myself under dusty books just to avoid Sirius paid off: at the beginning of this year, I found out I'd been made Head Boy. Unbelievable but true.

When she, who had been predictably been named Head Girl, found out, she looked surprised. Surprised: not shocked, not upset, not furious. Just surprised. That's something good, isn't it?

We started working together. With every passing day, I realised I was more and more drawn by her beauty, her intelligence, her witty humour sense. But it wasn't until the first time she referred to me as her 'friend' and I felt a cold knife stabbing my chest that I figured out what had happened.

I didn't have a crush on her. I wasn't head over heels for her.

I had fallen completely, utterly, helplessly in love with the most perfect woman that's ever walked this land.

I was doomed.

---

And my walk through Hell began. No one who hasn't experienced this can know what it feels like, to stand so close to the person you desire and yet find yourself unable to touch her; to love her desperatly while she sees you as a 'friend', to hear her talking about the boy who's just asked her to Hogsmeade...

A couple of years ago, I would have just hexed into oblivion the bold bloke who'd dared to go anywhere near her and that would have been the end of it. Alas, I can't do so now, because she would hate me. I don't want to make her hate me again. I think I would no longer be able to stand seeing her eyes flaming with loathing at me. The fact she thinks of me as a friend might be killing me inside, but that's way better than going back to endless bickering.

It doesn't matter that I feel a murderous instinct towards any member of Hogwarts male population that is daring enough to talk to her. It doesn't matter that I want to be the one she talks about to her friends. It doesn't matter that I want to be the one who makes her laugh, who takes her by the hand. Because she only sees me as a friend. And it doesn't matter if those words turn my blood into ice, if they pull all the oxygen out of my lungs, if they feel like a blow to my stomach. Because I would never do anything that could risk losing her esteem.

I long to stroke her flaming hair. I long to caress her smooth, milky-white skin, I long to kiss those red, full lips. My whole body craves for her, as well as my mind and soul.

I want her to look at me with those beautiful bright eyes. I want to be the one who lights her vivacious face with a warm smile. The one who makes her happy.

I dream of her as my girlfriend. I dream of us walking around the lake hand by hand; laughing together. I dream of us sitting together in the common room, just talking about everything and anything. I dream of – reaching this point, I'm starting to think I'm really going nutters – our wedding day. Yes, I know. She considers me a friend while I'm choosing my best man (Sirius, obviously) and imagining what our house would look like. I'm hopelessly insane.

Sirius says I'm a lost cause. That, if I'm so desperate to be with her, why don't I ask her out. He fails to see that, for some strange reason, that tactic has proved to be rather useless in the past.

Remus doesn't say I'm a lost cause, but I see in his eyes that he thinks along the same lines. He says I should express my feelings – those were his exact words – to Lily and end my suffering. Like that's going to work. If I did anything like that, Lily would hit me with her Advanced Potion-Making Book. And she adores that stupid book. Sometimes, I think she adores it like she'll never adore me... which is as depressing as it gets.

Peter doesn't laugh at me, but I doubt he understands me either. Lately he's been giving me a very odd look, as though he thinks I'm some sort of weird specimen to study or that I have a mental disease. Perhaps he's right. Merlin knows I'm not that right in the head.

The thing is I can't let Lily know how I feel. She would think I've been tricking her or something all this time, that I've been posing as her friend when my intentions weren't friendly at all. Which is sort of true, but that's beside the point. The point is she would hate me. Again. And even though it kills me inside to stand so close to her, so damned close, and not touch her, I'll resist. I'll resist the urge to touch her, I'll resist the need to kiss her, I'll resist the craving to tell her what I really think of her.

I will be the best friend in the world. My fingers won't caress her skin without her approval, my eyes won't seek her more than necessary, my behaviour won't give her a clue of the sinful thoughts that fill my mind. I will be the understanding friend that listens to her rambles about boys and school. If necessary, I will be like the brother she never had.

Although, sometimes, I think that I would rather taste her bliss once, just once, and then die, knowing that I had loved her.

But only sometimes.

The rest of the time, I'm just a very good friend.

---

'James? Jameeeess... Earth calling to James...'

James Potter winced at the sound of Lily's voice, and suddenly looked rather sheepish.

'Um, sorry, Lily. What were you saying?'

Lily refrained the impulse to roll her eyes. Honestly! She'd been calling for him during five full minutes!

'I was saying, James, that we must arrange another Prefect meeting.'

James looked at her as if he were trying to make out the words of a foreign language. Finally, still with a dazed expression on his face, he said:

'Oh, yeah, sure, as you say... Now, I gotta go, though... Quidditch practice... See you.'

As he walked away, Lily pondered on the enigma James Potter was. There had been a time when he'd been as easy to read as a children's book. He was just a pig-headed, conceited jerk, who'd probably been spoiled rotten during his entire life, first by his parents and then by the world in general. He came from a wealthy family, got top marks without touching a book and was a Quidditch prodigy, so naturally he'd believed that the whole world should bow before him. And, sadly, he hadn't been far from the truth. Girls swooned over him, boys either envied him or imitated him and even the most stern teachers like McGonagall were able to forgive him all the mayhem he caused. Sometimes, it seemed that only Slytherins didn't worship him.

And Lily Evans. She'd been the only one who saw James Potter for what he truly was (an arrogant bully) and didn't drool over him. Which was probably the reason he'd chased her for years, just like a two-year-old yearns for the toy he can't have.

The pattern of their relationship was simple: he would annoy her to no end, first by playing pranks on her, then by asking her out tiredlessly, in spite of Lily rejecting him once and again, in a crueler way each time he insisted. It was exhausting having to endure Potter's demenaour on a daily basis, but Lily had gotten so used to it that she'd long ago lost any hope that things would ever change.

Only that they had. In the beginning of their sixth year Lily, like the rest of the student body, noticed that the Marauders in general, and Black and Potter in particular were unusually subdued. Rumours began to fly around, like it often happened in these cases. Lily didn't give credit to half of them at first but then, as a couple of the rumours repeated over and over again she realised there must be something true about them. Sadly, there were. James' uncle had been murdered by a bunch of those terrorists that called themselves Death Eaters, and Black had run away from his house, the rumour being that he'd had a major row with his parents because they were giving their support to the leader of the movement who wanted Muggleborns and half-bloods out of the way.

She hadn't known what to do. Should she approach them and offer empty words of comfort, when in the past they'd only spoke to each other to bicker? She didn't think so. However, she didn't want to act as an Ice Queen either – she felt truly sorry for what had happened. In the end, she did the only thing she could: she resolved she would try to be nicer to Potter from that moment on. Surprisingly, it didn't turn out to be as hard as she'd first pictured it, mainly because James Potter wasn't nearly half as annoying as he'd used to be. It was strange even to think about it, but it seemed that he had more important things in his mind than a recent Quidditch match or playing pranks, if such a thing was possible.

Then during the last term of their sixth year, the unthinkable had taken place: the Marauders had a break up. Nobody could guess the resons behind this, but the results were visible for all: Black and Potter, the inseparable duo, had a shouting match that made all the windows glasses to tremble as their bellowing reverberated through the castle's stone walls. That wasn't all: they stopped talking to each other and they even sat in opposite ends of the Gryffindor table during mealtimes. Remus Lupin, who'd tried in vain to reconcile them, looked depressed and even sicker than usual, to the point he resembled a ghost, so pale and fragile he'd become. Peter Pettigrew, on the other hand, was jumpier than usual, now that his self-proclaimed protectors seemed to be too busy dwelling in their own misery to pay him much attention. James... James was simply devastated.

He didn't let it show, of course, being as proud as he was. Lily, however, had gotten to know him very well in spite they'd never been close and could read the signs. James no longer made jokes during lessons, he no longer played pranks on Slytherins – or anyone at all – and he'd stopped picking on Snivellus. Instead he spent long hours at the library, buried under an increasing pile of dusty textbooks and miles of parchment. If his marks had been excellent before when he'd barely touched a book, now they were simply superb, shadowing Prefects and Ravenclaws alike. James, though, hadn't looked pleased by this. In fact, with every passing day he looked more and more withdrawn and he hardly laughed at all; he, who'd been the heart and soul of the school, now resembled a silent and male version of Moaning Myrtle.

For some unknown reason (unknown to her, a least) the whole ordeal unnerved Lily. This wasn't the way things were supposed to be. Black and Potter were supposed to be together 24/7, like the siam twins they'd always been, wreaking havoc and making everybody laugh with their crazyness. James wasn't supposed to have turned into a quiet, depressed-looking bookworm, but provoking mischief and chasing annoyingly after her, like he'd always done. This new version of him was just... wrong.

One day, without planning it, without giving it a second thought, Lily saw James at the library, even more miserable-looking than usual, and walked straight to him. She sat at his table and, without as much as a preliminary 'hello', she told him he had to make up with Black at once. She told him that it didn't matter what on earth the moron of Black had done, that it didn't matter how serious the problem was, that he just couldn't throw away so many years of friendship. Because Lily had realised that, whatever had happened between those two, it was Black the one to blame. Although he tried to play it cool, she'd noticed the longing look on the boy's eyes when he saw James, but his former friend merely walked past him with his head held high, ignoring his existence.

She actually ranted for quite a while, while James stared at her with an astonished look on his face. Lily didn't know why she did it. Perhaps it was because she couldn't tolerate to see somebody being so miserable (not even Snivellus) or perhaps she was just trying to keep the natural order of things. Either way, not long after their conversation (or her monologue), the Marauders left their differences behind and became once more the Fantastic Four the whole school either loved or loved to hate, depending on which House you were in. She never knew whether her actions had had something to do with it or not, she was just too relieved that everything had turned out alright to ponder much about it.

---

A part of Lily had feared that Potter might have the delusional idea that something had changed between them merely because she'd been nice to him, but once more she was proved wrong. James Potter seemed to have reached a new level of unsuspected maturity and didn't dare to bother her again. Actually, he was quite civil towards her during what was left of the term, he didn't seem the infuriating Potter she'd known at all.

So when she found out he'd been made Head Boy, she found it a little surprising, but not disgusting as she would have if someone had told her the news a year before. After they started to work together, she was even more surprised at the ease with which they could get along. No more bickering, no more angry retorts (well, almost): they seemed to finally have reached some common ground. Before she realised it, she found that she enjoyed spending time with James, that she enjoyed it more than she would have liked to admit, and around that time she began to consider him one of her best friends. She would never have imagined it, but she ended up trusting James with more secrets than she'd ever told many of her female friends before. There was an understanding between them she'd never felt with anybody else before, and that she would've never dreamed of sharing with none other than Potter, the boy who would never stop to harass her.

But he had stopped. For one thing, he no longer asked her for a date. Which was a relief, really. Now she and James could talk freely about each other's dates. She didn't deny that it had come as a bit of a surprise, at first. One would have thought that after all those years chasing after her... But it was a good thing. A great thing. His insistence had irritated her to no end. She was glad he'd been able to move on. After all, nothing had happened between them. He was free to date as many blonde bimbos as he wished to. It wasn't like it bothered her or anything.

James was an attractive boy, with his radiant smile, his echoing laugh and his twinkling hazel eyes. Not to mention all the muscles he'd gotten thanks to intense Quidditch pratices. It was no wonder that the prettiest girls in the school, those that looked like supermodels – although they were quite air-headed – lined up to go out with him. And he was a bloke. He wasn't going to sit around forever waiting for Lily to change her mind or something.

Not like she had to change her mind about anything. Because there was nothing between her and James, no matter what Marlene and the rest of her friends said. She just liked hanging out with him, that was all. He understood her like nobody else had understood her, he took her opinions seriously, he appreciated her for who she was. It wasn't like she pondered about what his gracious mouth would feel on hers, what the touch of his hands would feel like, it wasn't like she wondered what would be like to be in the place of the girls James seemed to prefer...

Because she didn't see James Potter in that way. After all, they were just very good friends. Nothing else.

Really.