There was a ferocious shout to be heard in front of the Hospital Wing doors on the eve of March the 10th, quite uncommon for the usually peaceful part of the grand castle of Hogwarts. There was an unspoken rule of keeping things quiet in that particular coridor, all in favour of numerous occupants of the infirmary. They needed their rest, so it was said, and most of the people kept their voices low when passing by or visiting their ill friends.
The only exceptions to that rule were the Marauders, and somehow they always managed to be the exception.

Now, having in mind that his friends casually popped by an hour or so ago to visit him by his deathbed (alright, so he might've exaggerated a bit), James Potter didn't have a slightest clue who could've been shouting just outside these doors. Poppy had left a moment ago, hearing the bell chime, and never went back in so it was safe to say that she was right in the process of shooing an unwanted visitor.

Of course, if James Potter had ever been any brighter than a flobberworm, he could've presumed that the only person who dared not to leave after Poppy released hell on them would be the very redhead that was now storming in, followed by a quite irritated nurse.

„James Potter, you bloody prat!"

„Miss Evans, if you'd just keep your tone a bit-„

„Yes, thank you, I know just where I'd keep it and that's shoved up your-„

„Lily! How nice of you to drop by my deathbed!"

Both women froze in their movement, shooting him deadly glares. Feeling the blush creep into his cheeks, he averted his gaze and scratched the back of his head with a hand that was not injured. Fortunately, he managed to cause an awkward silence in which Lily too blushed and Poppy excused herself, violently slamming the doors of her office as she left.

Lily took a moment or two before she sat herself next to James and let out a long sigh.

„I was worried sick."

„Are all murderers usually worried sick?"

Another deadly glare as she crossed her arms at her chest and, probably, started coming up with hundreds of different ways to kill him on the spot. Nevertheless, Lily Evans was quite lovely – even when she was raving mad. Like three-headed dogs, per say. They were deadly, but you still couldn't resist scratching their ears. On a second note, the case of Lily and James might've been exactly like a three-headed dog.

„No, they usually wield an axe."

„And you didn't bring one, eh? Because your little exchange of insults with Poppy sounded pretty violent to me."

„Shush. Let me see that bloody hand of yours."

He outstretched his right arm, wrapped in a cast (serving as a memory of his cowardice) that now proudly wore signatures of both Sirius and Peter, Remus shunning it as a silly little ritual in which he would not participate.
Lily placed her fingers lightly on his cast and began examining it with a strange mixture of curiosity and worry.

„Why do you have a cast? Poppy could've given you a potion and you would've healed in a matter of seconds."

„I'm an incorrigible masochist, me."

„No, you never torture yourself – you love torturing me and that's a whole different thing. Besides, you're a prat."

Even though her words hadn't been the definition of polite or comforting, he found the smile she flashed a second after much better than any politely murmured 'get well soon'.

„James Potter, the prat. I should sign everything like that. Anyways, what did you do on Charms today? Loads of studying for the NEWTs, I presume?"

„Are you actually, properly talking about school work right now?" she observed him as though he was a kelpie in the middle of the Great Hall. Served him right, though. „And yes, we did, that's what we always do. But you still didn't tell me what happened."

The situation was getting more and more complicated, he thought. She seemed quite inquisitive which was all but odd. It isn't every day that he wounds up in the Hospital Wing under such strange circumstances. Well, actually, it is every other day but there's usually Sirius right next to him and they're out in a moment with half-healed injures, Poppy unable to stop them from their far too early departure.

But how could he even begin to tell her the story of punching the wall in a moment of rage, just to put a hole in it and break most of the bones in his fist?

How does one, after all, explain that the reason behind that act was his complete idiotism? For you to understand why was an intelligent bloke such as James Potter driven into breaking his fist against the stone wall of the main corridor in Hogwarts, we have to go about three hours earlier in that day, when the school bell marked the beggining of a Transfiguration class.

Three hours earlier

„Well, I'm off. McGonagall waits for no one."

„Do you have to?"

„Do you want me to fail the most important class this year?"

„Come on, Evans, it's spring. And you know what that means, don't you?"

„I'm not sure I do, not really."

„It means skiving off those classes that require you to spend the rest of your afternoon in a dusty classroom!"

„So what then, we only attend Transfiguration and the Care of Magical Creatures? Sounds like a good plan, if you want to spend the rest of your life studying the oh-so-fascinating sex life of mandrakes and bowtruckles."

„Sun is up, sky is blue, it's beautiful... Come on, then!"

There was a minute of thinking on Lily's side and when she finally gave the internal conflict a rest, she kicked off her shoes and smiled mischievously.

„Oh, to hell with it!"

[...]

„Right, so I'm in the middle of telling Remus he honestly needs to shag that bird when-„

„-Sirius jumps in."

„Yes!"

„Oh, Merlin, I just knew it!"

Lily laughs, shaking her head in disbelief. His pack of cigarettes might be almost empty, but she gets a hold of another one and lights it with the tip of her wand. Sometimes she indulges in them, mostly when she's with him.

But James doesn't mind. The red of her hair melts lovely in the picture of the afternoon sun setting behind her back and she smiles, puffing away the smoke, as though she is oblivious of the scene unfolding before his very eyes. A smile escapes his lips and he bites his tongue, foolish enough to let her see.

„What is so funny, James?" she inquires, a little smile forming on her lips as well. He simply shakes his head, trying to shake off the image of her in the sunlight. The sun doesn't burn that early in the spring, but the image seems to be burning into his brain. Bloody Evans.

„It's nothing, really", he puffs away the smoke, adjusting his glasses on the top of his nose. But she persists, getting even closer – that flowery scent – until she is mere centimeters from him, her lips pucked in the most lovely manner as she bats her eyelashes, probably unaware of the effect they have on him. „Come on, tell me. My lips are starting to hurt from all the puckering."

„It's getting late, we should head back", he tries to propose in a casual tone, but she seems hurt all of a sudden and she gets up in a bit of a daze. He immediately regrets saying anything as he sees her collect all of her belongings and smile, trying not to look upset.

It is a long and silent walk to the castle, her head turned lightly to the other side so that he can't see her eyes or try to read the expression in them. Curtain of her red locks falls over the side of her face turned to him and he knows he is being a downright twat, but there's so little he can do now.

When they reach the main corridor, she turns to face him. As she thanks him for a nice afternoon he can see she's nervous, more than she ever was in his presence – at least in the last few months. Her fingers are clutching her bag strap so tightly that her knuckles have turned white.

„So, as I said, thank you, it's been really... good. Really good", she repeats as though she herself needs more convincing in what she's saying. But she makes a pause, a pause long enough for James to say something – to say anything because right now he sees she's getting all the wrong ideas.

Something in him finally dies as she nods her head, whispers „Right, then." and walks away in hurried steps. He waits until she's round the corner, then another half a minute, and finally breaks down in the empty hall, trying not to scream. He's a prat, but even that word won't suffice this time. This time he's really taken it over the edge and it's all said and done. Because he is unable to tell her what he had told her many times in the past, even though it's different now – even though he knows she probably feels the same way and to hell with it even if she doesn't.
He is a Gryffindor, but it's almost amazing how big of a coward he is.

In a fit of blind rage, he screams out a curse and clenches his fists with an overwhelming urge to hit something – anything. The wall now seems like his greatest enemy and as his fist makes contact with the ancient wall, his consciousness is interrupted and all he feels in that moment is a sharp pain vibrating through all of his body.

„Well then, how did this happen? Because I did hex Goyle and he claimed his friends had nothing with it."

Her eyebrows shot up, expecting an explanation. In a split of second, he noticed her hand was still on his cast, subconciously stroking his thumb with hers. It sent shivers down his spine and even though he had been a downright coward a few mere hours earlier, he silently made a promise that would be the last time. It was now or never.

„I did it."

„Well, yes, but who did you hit?"

„No, I drove my fist through the wall. Well, technically, not through it – it's a really thick w-„

„You drove your fist through a wall?"

The butterflies in his stomach began stirring up, his anxiety reaching a point of no return as she simply bored into his eyes with a confused look. James Potter might've been known for a lot of things, one of the many being the constant need to defend his pride or his friends, but it was hardly usual to see him punching a wall.

„Why?"

Using a moment of his silence before answering, she shook her head and then came up with a better question.

„No, when did you do it?"

Oh, he was fucked. He was royally fucked, he thought and began shifting in his bed, now suddenly aware that there was no return from here – he'd have to tell her everything and face the rejection or reciprocation.

„After you left."

He saw how she quietly began understanding this whole ordeal, the knowledge dawning in her eyes. It was a mere gesture when she squeezed his hand harder, probably unaware of even doing it. Still, the annoying insects that no insecticide could kill began building a nest in the bottom of his stomach and every bone in his body wanted to die. He had been here, they had been here – and it would usually end with a red mark of her hand on his cheek.

„Please, say something", he begged of her, unable to withstand the dead silence that had fallen upon them. She simply stared at him, not uttering a single word for a minute or two and he could see the pieces finally fit in her head. It was the ultimate torture, seeing her understand and still being quiet.

And then, she smiled. In a moment of pure bliss, she smiled and it was the mischievous kind – with her left lip a bit turned upwards and the glint in the green of her eyes. She squeezed his hand a bit tighter and drew closer.

„James Potter", she began as he trembled in a funny blend of sheer terror and utter happiness, „there is something I've been meaning to ask you for the longest while."

He'll never remember whether he nodded his head that day or stayed silent. The words which escaped her lips after that were more important.

„Would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me?"