People treat him differently now. In a matter of weeks, it's changed, how people react when he passes them, when he enters a room. Voices lower in that way that doesn't really conceal what they're saying, that hush that follows him like rustling leaves as he walks down a corridor.
There's something almost fearful in their eyes when they look at him.
It's as if he's ill, as if he's got some terrible disease chipping away at his days that people know of but are too afraid to talk about, because they might get it, because associating with him is dangerous. James likes attention, has always welcomed it, but this is a far cry from people crowding around to watch him humiliate Snape, or congratulating him after a match. He doesn't like this. Not because of what it is, but because of why.
*
Lily sits with her legs dangling over the edge of James' bed, her feet tapping out a lively rhythm as she makes one of his socks dance the Highland fling in mid-air. It's the kind of whimsical magic she delights in; his crockery often sings to him these days, and they unwittingly caused chaos at breakfast the other day when they raced their mugs around the table.
She fits into the dormitory like she's been there all her life, and even though they've only been dating for a few weeks James finds it hard to imagine a time when she didn't curl up on his bed and make him laugh with stories from Herbology. The others don't mind her presence, not really, they've sort of become accustomed to Lily-and-James, and the fact that sometimes when they sit and chat she'll be there with James' arm around her shoulder, or playing chess with Peter in the corner, or talking Muggle things with Sirius. They, unlike the majority of the school, are perfectly accepting of the new relationship. But then they see it for what it is. They see the people, and not the labels.
"Maybe we should actually wear labels," Lily suggests humorously, having listened to James' whinging about how pig-headed people are. She's still conducting the sock with her wand, making it flop up and down madly, a sight so ridiculous that James can't help but smile. She's not going to let him wallow, he can tell from the tone of her voice - just a little too forced.
"Well if we're going to do it, we should do it properly. I'm thinking hats – or we could hire first-years to follow us around with signs –"
"Beware of the Muggle-born," Lily says, straight-faced.
James splutters with laughter. "Exactly, exactly. And I think mine should be decorated with precious jewels, you know, to really underline how special I am, with my pure blood."
*
They think he's just taking a risk for fun, doing it to piss people off. He's heard that. It's not serious, he's just being stupid. He goes on about how he hates Dark Magic, doesn't he? He's just trying to make a point. What an idiot.
"You've made your point, Potter," says Avery. "But if you keep this thing with the Mudblood up you won't live a month out of school."
"I thought you lot were all about preserving the pure-bloods," James replies, leaning against the wall like they're just having a friendly chat and not discussing the likelihood of his death.
"We are," Rosier agrees. "And the Dark Lord would be very happy to have you. You've got brains, even if you don't seem to be using them much at the moment. You could be of great use to our cause."
James, feigning interest, says, "really?" The trio nods, and he scratches his chin thoughtfully. "D'you think he'd have my girlfriend, too?"
"Don't be a fool, Potter," Mulciber hisses. "You've carried on like this for long enough now. Don't you understand what you're doing to the name of wizard, carrying on with someone like her?"
*
"Someone said to me the other day, 'you know Potter's just using you, don't you? He's just using you for his own ends'.""It was some girl whose advances I spurned, wasn't it? Hopelessly in love with me, and bitterly jealous."
Lily pauses, eyes dancing with mirth. "It was Travers, actually."
"Still applies," James says, and she laughs.
It's misting outside. They've whiled away the afternoon doing nothing, really, and now evening beckons, enticing them to light the candles. Lily's wearing his dressing gown, and the dancing sock now lies prone on the bedside table.
"I wonder how they knew, though." James is playing with her hair, but his fingers fumble uselessly with the thick strands and he can't braid it like she does, so he's just picking strands up and letting them fall back down. He stops when Lily turns her head to blink questioningly at him.
"You know – that I am just using you. That this is all a sham."
"Oh, right." She settles back against his chest. "Well, you're not a very good actor, I don't think it would've been hard to tell."
"I try to hide it," he protests. "I try to hide the fact that I'm repulsed by your smell. That it's a struggle to even hold your hand. That I find your face … grotesque …"
"Save something for the Valentine," Lily says.
Snorting, he twists her dark red hair loosely around his fingers. "Doesn't it bother you, though?"
"What?"
"That no one thinks it can be real, because they don't reckon we can be equals."
She shrugs and says, "I'm used to it," and that's the worst part of all.
*
He didn't even consider that this might be an issue when they started going out. He'd forgotten, stupidly, that other people didn't forget about blood status, because out there it's so dangerous to cross that line, to declare you don't care about labels, because it might just end your life, your family's too.
He writes to his parents the day after that first kiss, still feeling it on his lips. He tells them that he has a girlfriend, that she is charming and clever and kind, because she is. Their response is immediate, and delight rings with every word, and he shows Lily, who beams.
Then, days later, there's another letter:
Mirabel Goldsmith tells us … new girlfriend … a Muggle-born …and Darling, you have always been reckless. You are standing up for what you believe in and that is admirable, but this is a move that could put you in a real danger and we implore you to think about it.
and
We realise Dumbledore may be encouraging this kind of behaviour, but you must understand that he does not have children, he cannot know the torment of parents whose children he is leading down a dangerous path. He wants soldiers to go into battle, sees them as this and not as young people with families and futures. You have so much potential, darling. Don't throw that away on a wish to be rebellious.He doesn't show this one to Lily.
Sirius can be told, though. Sirius, who walked out on his family because they didn't understand.
"At the end of the day," he tells James, "if you really care, you've got to do it anyway."
"I wish they realised it's not just … wanting to be rebellious. They act like it'll all just stop if they pretend it's not happening."
"That's why we have to do it," Sirius says. "Others won't."
*
Lily's head is resting on his shoulder now. Her eyes have a faraway look; he can see the watercolour evening sky reflected in the green.
Prodding her gently, he murmurs, "hey."
"Mm?"
"You know I'd be making plans to do something even if you weren't – even if we weren't going out. Even if I hadn't ever liked you. You know that, don't you?"
He acted so terribly when he was younger that he seeks approval, still, seeks to know she thinks him decent, worthy of her. Lily, who is so kind and good-hearted, seems far too good for him, but they are reaching towards that same distant hope, they've chosen the same way, and he needs her to know that he made that choice a lot time ago, long before she got under his skin.
"I do," she says, and brushes his cheek with her fingers. He leans into her touch. "Everyone knew, James Potter, that you were always going to be up there on the front lines. You forget that you could never keep your mouth shut, don't you?" Her cheeky grin is like verbal reassurance, soothing, calming him. "That's why I hoped … that's why I was so disappointed."
"I'm not a disappointment anymore, I hope," he jokes.
"You're the opposite of a disappointment. An … appointment?"
He considers this, laughing. "I'll take it."
"Honestly, though," she says, and her gaze is intense, boring into his everything, "you don't know how much it means that you care. It's … it's not something I take lightly. I know I joke, when you're upset about how people are reacting but … I appreciate it. Truly."
"I just don't get it. I don't get – why – it's so –"
"To most people, you've signed your death sentence by going out with me," Lily says, smiling sadly. "Terrible, but that's the way it is."
*
It's October, and the grounds are carpeted with fallen leaves, Gryffindor colours, palest gold and rich, dark red, the colour of Lily's hair. James tells her this, and she looks pleased, then proceeds to point out all the things that are the same colour as his hair: her ink, Peter's shoes. Their robes. Everyone's robes.
He's pulled in a dozen different directions these days, Quidditch and his friends and Head Boy duties and now his girlfriend. She's so pretty in the autumn breeze, cheeks stained pink, smile brushing chapped lips, and he takes her hand and reminds himself with a kiss that he's her boyfriend: he's never had a proper girlfriend before, not really, not like this, not a friend he can't keep himself away from.
He falls into bed on full moon night with a deep ache in his bones, but the thought of breakfast with Lily pulls his weary body up the next morning. She'll be there waiting with a smile.
And it makes him angry that the people who condemn them, who sentence them to early deaths, know nothing of this, of everything that makes u all those they destroy, and what's worse, they don't care. To them, Muggle-borns are nothing but labels, not humans.
James would rather die tomorrow than join Lord Voldemort, but he doesn't want to, doesn't want to die tomorrow when he's got so much living to do; with his friends, and with Lily. The brave ones. Gryffindor - where dwell the brave at heart.
Like his dad, who would rather he stayed out of it.
His dad was always his personal hero, but things change. If anyone's his hero now, it's Lily, who holds her head high and still fights. Lily, who has every reason to be as arrogant as he has been, but that's not in her nature.
And he knows they'll go hand-in-hand into the fray.
*
Dusk, and Lily's picked up her wand again. The sock floats back into the air, this time joined by another. They launch into an energetic tango, and James claps, impressed.
"How do you do it?" he asks. "How do you ignore it?"
She knows what he's talking about, of course, and thinks for a moment. "My mum said something to me once," she recalls. "Those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind."
James opens his mouth, frowns, and closes it again. Smiling, Lily pats his hand.
"I have good friends," she tells him. "And I have you."
The socks change their tempo. A slow dance.
"When it comes to it," she says, softly, "does it really matter?"