I may be a beggar and you may be the queen,

And though I may be on a downer, I'm still ready to dream,

Though it's three o'clock, the time is just the time it takes for you to talk.

- Whistle for the Choir, The Fratellis

"Enough," James muttered to himself, shoving his hands into his pockets and wishing for gloves. He huffed steam into the night chill as he stalked across the deserted grounds of Hogwarts. "Snap out of it, Potter. Focus."

He growled with frustration as his glasses fogged up once more. What kind of world was it when you could walk around unseen via cloak but you couldn't get your vision magically corrected? A bloody stupid backwards world, in James's most humble opinion – and it wasn't all that humble, when it came to it.

As he grabbed at his glasses and scraped them against a handful of invisibility cloak, James raised his near-sighted eyes to the sky and felt like howling, which, considering the occasion, was fairly appropriate. The moon hung low and full overhead, a blurry, ominous orb. The others were probably all the way to the Shrieking Shack by now, and James would have been with them if it wasn't for –

"Enough," he repeated, sliding his glasses back into place. James Potter was renowned for being cool on the Quidditch pitch, his game focus second to none. Well, not any more. His reputation had been thoroughly smashed just that afternoon. The Ravenclaw team wasn't even very good, though they unfailingly pulled out a new strategy at every match. By all rights, Gryffindor should have won – would have won, but for –

James scuffed his sneakers into the grass with a very strong urge to kick something. How could he have let this become so bloody ridiculous? He was pining away like some kind of girl – except that the girl in this case seemed much less affected. James, who had been brought up to view girls as the emotional bagpipe quotient of wizardkind, felt distinctly cheated.

The first half of the match had run smoothly, James leading the other Chasers in a neat series of plays that baffled the Ravenclaw Keeper. Every player had kept to the game plan; red and gold looked set to win. And then – and then, well, James had taken his eyes off the Quaffle, hadn't he? He had glanced away for a moment, flicked his eyes towards the cheering stands, and he was caught by stillness, the one unsmiling face in the crowd.

And the roaring from the stands, and the shouts from his teammates, and every sound in the world cut out, and James forgot he was on a broomstick a hundred metres in the air, and his chest ached as he stared straight back into those eyes that shone hard as emeralds. He forgot about the match. He forgot about flying. He even forgot what a Bludger was right up until he received one in the back of the neck.

Unsurprisingly, James had been forced out of the match; apparently it was unwise to fly with neck trauma. He'd put up a fairly decent fight, but the combined force of Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall turned out to be irresistible. They had the advantage, in the end – after all, James was conducting his case from flat on his back on the grass. He couldn't quite remember falling, but he did remember seeing green eyes widen before he lost them.

At least he had the satisfaction of knowing that McGonagall probably regretted her decision to remove him from the match. There had been no replacement Chaser, and the absence of the captain didn't help (if James did say so himself).

He had strained his ears for the match commentary from his bed in the Hospital Wing, but soon wished someone would close the window. Hopeless. Gryffindor lost, of course. It was all James's fault; he would have seen the Bludger coming a mile off if he hadn't been so completely and utterly distracted.

No, scratch that – it was all Evans's fault. How dare she come to the match and sit in the stand – that stand – and look at him like that? Did she even realise where she was sitting?

Lily Evans was infuriating. Despite everything, she hadn't said a single word to James since breakfast on Tuesday. Not one word. Not even a throwaway insult. He had barely managed to elicit one measly scowling glance when he'd offered to carry Stebbins's books to class on Thursday. Being ignored was much worse than the transitory sting of rejection.

In all honesty, James couldn't quite believe she had let him get away with his very public criticism on Tuesday. Of course, he knew that it was all true, but he somehow doubted Lily would feel the same way. He had left the Great Hall having placed his very soul beneath Lily's scuffed up sneakers, and she'd obviously kicked it to the wayside.

Needless to say, James had been in a bad way since Tuesday, and several hours stuck in the Hospital Wing without the ability to move his neck hadn't done much to ease his mood. The others had popped by to offer a gloomy hello – Peter looked especially woebegone – but James had sent them out soon enough. Remus spent enough time in Hospital Wing as it was.

It was a good thing that the match had coincided with a full moon. Planning for the Shrieking Shack excursion gave him something to think about during Madam Pomfrey's rather unsympathetic administration of an acidic potion to his neck. He really shouldn't complain, when it came down to it. Remus faced much worse than this on a monthly basis. Yes, James had much more important things to think about than Evans's hairy heart. Too bad he couldn't focus on them.

He picked up a long stick and jabbed viciously at the Whomping Willow.

"'I like you, Lily,'" he said to himself in singsong falsetto, "'and I'm sure girls like you go for lovesick ultimatums in front of the entire school. Shall we snog again?'"

Upon reflection (and lengthy consultation with the boys), James may have slightly overreacted at breakfast on Tuesday – but surely it shouldn't take so very long for Lily to point this out. Her silence was like torture. James would much prefer to be facing her wand-point than her back. He'd learnt nothing in his lessons all week, and, for the first time in his life, had failed a test in Transfiguration. McGonagall wasn't going to be offering him any ginger nuts this week. James didn't even care. His faith in Lily was crumbling with each and every day she denied him an answer, lie or not.

As he ran at a crouch down the familiar tunnel, James shook his head. He refused to let distraction affect his judgment any further. He was lucky Madam Pomfrey was so good at her job, or he might have been stuck in the Hospital Wing all night. As it was, he'd have to sneak back in early for the final round of neck-healing acid.

Right now, this was where he was needed. He could hear tearing sounds, growling sounds ahead. This, here, was much more important than Quidditch, or even Lily.

"Focus," James said quietly, putting his head down. It was time to think of the others. With a short burst of concentration, he broke into a steady canter, a sudden tranquillity flooding through his body. Human frailties drained away as steady rhythm replaced passion. What was resentment when the pack needed him?

Everything else could wait.

"Lily," James said, and stopped walking. After a moment's pause, his heart started thudding madly in his chest, and he blinked. "Lily?"

"Potter," she said – and against all odds, it really was Lily. She was sitting in the shadows by the entrance to the Hospital Wing, all pale and wrapped up in a warm blanket. For a second, James had thought fatigue and neck potions had placed a vision in his head.

"What are you doing out here?" James said, suddenly glad that he had left his invisibility cloak in the Shack again.

"Waiting for you," said Lily, standing and wrapping her blanket more tightly around herself. Her voice was quiet, and rather flat. "Only, I thought you'd come out of the Hospital Wing, not into it."

"Oh," said James, and tried to think of something clever to say.

"Where have you been?" said Lily before he could manage it. Her voice was strained. "Shouldn't you be resting your neck?"

James shrugged, dodging the first question. "It's better now, all fixed. Madam Pomfrey has magic fingers, you know. See?" He jerked his head to the side in demonstration, and hissed at the sudden burst of pain.

"Right," said Lily, looking far from impressed.

James, who hadn't been in the best of moods at the start of the conversation, began to feel irritated.

"And what do you care about my neck, anyway? It's nothing to you."

Proper anger began to glow in Lily's face; James felt heartened. A reaction. Emotion.

"That's what you think, is it? That I don't care if you break your neck?"

"Well, yeah, Lily," said James, rubbing one hand into the crick in his neck and wishing for acidic potions. "That is what I think. It's not like you've done much to prove me wrong over the last week. In fact, I was starting to think you'd prefer to do the job yourself."

"Right now I would," said Lily, bunching blankets in white fists. Her eyes shone in the darkness. "How can you say things like that?"

"How can you?" said James, and his voice was too loud in the shadowed corridor, but he couldn't control it. "You haven't said a single word to me until right now, Lily, and I don't even know why you're here. It's three o'clock in the morning, and this is the first sign you've ever given me that you care about the wellbeing or otherwise of my neck."

Lily dropped the blanket, and stepped forward. Her mouth was tight and her eyes were blazing. She looked rather like she wanted to punch James right where the Bludger had struck. She took another step forward, and raised a hand. James flinched pre-emptively. Pale fingers stretched out through the darkness and settled with featherweight softness on the side of James's neck.

After a moment, he remembered how to breathe. James was sure his face was flaming red; there was no way Lily couldn't feel his pulse rocketing through his veins. He controlled what he could, though, and his face remained blank as Lily silently examined his neck.

"You're alright, then," she said finally, dropping her hand. She didn't step back.

"Yeah," said James, meeting Lily's gaze coolly while burning alive inside.

"Idiot," she said, no response required. Very slowly, she raised her gaze from James's neck to his eyes. "I thought that Bludger was going to kill you."

"What a way to go," said James, and stepped even closer to Lily. She breathed in sharply, but didn't back away. Both refused to give up ground. Finally, when he could take it no longer, James brushed his hand along the side of Lily's face, causing her eyes to blink and fall away from his. He frowned, and settled his hand against her burning cheek.

"I want to kiss you again," he whispered, his words prompting startled green eyes to flash up to his. "But not if it means nothing to you, Lily. I won't do that."

"I would never do that," Lily snapped, and that was all the answer James needed. Without a further moment's hesitation, he leant down and pressed his mouth to Lily's scowling lips, kissing her softly until her cheek moved beneath his fingers and she broke into a smile of her own.

"You don't know me at all, James," she murmured into his lips, and shifted her weight without warning, sending them stumbling backwards until James's back hit wall. "You think you do, but you don't."

Blind, deaf and dumb to anything but Lily and the taste and scent and feel of her, James made no attempt to reply. His hands left her cheeks and hesitated, then settled gently into soft, curving waist. Lily pressed closer, pushing her alien softness against him, and it was as unearthly as heaven. Her breath came hot against his face between kisses. James was just beginning to formulate a clever plan of action, involving wheeling Lily around so that her back was against the wall, when Lily pulled away. His hands slipped from her waist, and fell limply to his sides.

"What–" he began rather breathlessly, but Lily was already halfway down the corridor when James managed to push himself from the wall. He made to follow, but Lily turned around and paused, scooping loose hair behind her ears with a rather uncharacteristic smirk on her face.

"Oh yes," she said, lips kiss-swollen and hair a mess. "I almost forgot."

James stared at Lily blankly as she glanced at her watch.

"I'll be seeing you in detention on Friday."

James, flooding with sudden indignation, leapt into action as Lily made to walk away. "Detention! Oi! You're breaking the rules, too, Evans."

"Prefect," she called over her shoulder with a grin.

Admiration fluttered down and joined the singing chorus in James's chest. Lily was as wicked as Sirius, as clever as Remus, as underhanded as Peter in a gobstone match. She thought he didn't know her – well, he did, he really did. He always had. And it looked like Lily finally knew herself.

Grinning dazedly at a portrait of three very disapproving monks, James wandered back towards the Hospital Wing entrance, tripping over Lily's abandoned blanket. He laughed at himself; all traces of his bad mood had vanished. As far as he was concerned, the previous week hadn't happened. His faith in the world was restored.

A/N: One more chapter to go, guys! Sorry this one took so long - life is an unforgiving stress pit at the moment. Chapter title from "Just Like Heaven" by The Cure.