He didn't plan on it exactly-no, no he definitely didn't plan on it. James likes to plan, but he likes his impulses more, and when he saw her in the corridor it flared through him and he just did it.
Walking more quickly, he crosses the distance between them, takes her hand, matches her stride, and looks straight ahead again, all in the space of an instant. He does it flawlessly, too, and puts on quite the show. He acts like it's normal, like it's just a friendly gesture, like it doesn't mean the world to him that she's letting him hold her hand.
Not looking at her is difficult, though, but in the end his courage doesn't beat his fear, not this time. He almost figures it's time to stop, that his impulsivity won the day (the entire week, really) for this one act, this one, glorious act he'll spend countless hours remembering for at least the rest of the month, before he tries to do it again, remembering the feeling of her hand clasped in his, how warm her palm is, how her fingers lay so carefully on his hand, the precise outline of her smaller palm clasped in his bigger one- but that's all before she twines their fingers together.
And his heart stops completely, cutting off blood flow to his brain, causing him to squeeze.
Not looking at her now is without a doubt the hardest thing he has ever had to do in his life, and even when he hears her make a quiet, but distinctly happy sound, even when he feels her eyes on him, he doesn't turn. He might be frozen, actually, but as long as he can keep his legs moving and his hand in hers, he doesn't care.
They hold hands down the entire corridor. Past History of Magic, which is her next class (which he knows because he asked, not because he still pays a ridiculous amount of attention to her when no one else is around to see, obviously). They walk and they walk, holding hands, in silence, their footsteps practically simultaneous on the worn, stone floor until they reach a dead end.
Worn, store floor James is sure has been stepped on by many a couple in its millenium of schooling, but he could swear he's the castle's favorite hopeful bastard. Why else would he have run into her after Charms? Why else would he have taken a different path than he usually does, because the girl's bathroom was flooded because Moaning Myrtle was having an episode? Why else? When clearly the bloody ghosts want him to be with her, what has he got to lose?
The ghosts who so want him to be with her, James thinks, have got to work on their subtlety. Because one of them walks right through Lily.
"Bloody hell!" Her hand leaves his to rub at her arm, shivering unpleasurably.
"Are you okay?" he asks immediately, turning toward her, arms half-outstretched toward to do… something he's sure he remembered before her eyes met his.
"Yeah," she says at last, glancing at weirdly-outstretched arms and then back at his face. "Yeah, that's just… really unpleasant."
"I'm sorry." he says, like instinct.
"It's not your fault!" says Lily, just as quickly.
They meet eyes again, and this time it's suddenly different. And then suddenly it's very different, because it's not just James being embarrassed and ridiculous. It's Lily blushing and looking at the ground.
"Hey," he says without knowing what else he's going to say, "it's… okay. It's okay."
"Thanks," she says, meeting his gaze uncertainly. He notices she's biting her lip, and before he can remember not to, he stares at her top teeth worrying the skin of her bottom lip.
"S-"
"Sorry!" she says, before he can.
"It's okay." he says immediately, without knowing for what he's reassuring her.
She nods back, averting her eyes again.
"James-"
"Lily-"
He laughs, he can't help it. He laughs. It breaks the tension, and he smiles at her. After she smiles back, he nods for her to speak.
She clears her throat, an attempt to be delicate, he thinks. But he also thinks he hears her laughing quietly into her hand, so can his powers of observation really be trusted?
"Why did you do that?" she asks him, smiling.
He also thinks something is different about her voice, like she sounds… braver. He could use some of that, whatever got into her voice. He decides to play dumb. "Because a ghost walked through you, and I know I don't like it, so…" But he stops, because she's looking at him with those eyes and her smile is falling off her face and he suddenly wants nothing more than to make her laugh.
He thinks he knows just what will. "Because I still fancy you. I'm awful at taking hints, you see; I should really go to therapy or something…"
But she doesn't laugh. Her smile is back, though. And though she doesn't fancy him back, it's enough that he got her to smile again.
She takes his hand, twining their fingers together again, he notices (not that he could help but notice, not ever when it comes to her), still smiling at him. "Since you're awful at taking hints, I suppose I should be clear, then."
He nods, muttering about how that's probably best, smiling back at her despite the heartbreak she's about to deliver him (albeit a much nicer sort than he's used to).
She kisses him.