–
Her heart thudded as she reached for the rusted metallic doorknob. Through the thick wooden door she couldn't hear anything of the class, but she knew who she would see inside; even without opening the door, Lily could almost see the brooding form of Severus Snape, seated in the far left of the room, and could almost perfectly imagine the guilty and yet wanting way in which his eyes would flick to hers. And yet, at the same time, she knew that James Potter would be seated to the right and back of the room. His expression, she found, was be harder to imagine. Would he be grinning and coy, or as upset and downcast as he had been when they had last seen each other?
As she stood there, her arm extended, she saw the knob turn, and leapt back as Peter Pettigrew rushed out, and headed for the drinking fountain down the corridor. She stood for a moment, framed in the doorway.
"Are you coming in, Miss Evans?" inquired Professor McGonagall.
"Yes, Professor," she replied, her voice quieter than she would have liked. In that moment, all the eyes in the classroom turned to look at her. And just as she imagined, she could not ignore the pair of black and the pair of hazel that stared at her, each with different expressions. A moment of curiosity and sudden weakness made her glance up at James, and saw that his expression was just as carefully bland as she imagined Severus's would be. However, upon meeting her glance, she saw that his eyes sparkled with anticipation, and the ghost of a one-sided smirk appeared on his face.
Once she got to the last empty seat, in the center and first row, James had turned back to face his friends. A sudden guilty thought made her glance towards Severus, despite her anger towards him. He was staring at the blackboard in the front of the classroom, his black eyes dead and empty. In his expression, Lily found herself finally realizing that the Severus she had met at age eleven was gone forever.
McGonagall was talking to the class, but somehow Lily could not understand what she was explaining. It was some sort of spell to make a silver spoon turn into a butterfly, but the technique and pronunciation of the incantation made no sense to Lily, and a nagging feeling told her it wasn't because she had recently had a concussion. When the professor stopped talking, she came over to talk to Lily.
"So, Miss Evans, it's simple enough." She placed a silver spoon in front of the red haired girl, urging, "Go on, it's barely NEWT standard." However, it became clear by the silence of the room that they were to do the spell nonverbally, a sixth-year trick that Lily found difficult on a normal day, let alone when her head had recently been bashed by a large piece of stone.
However, she flicked her wand and concentrated, her forehead wrinkling as she thought the spell words over and over. McGonagall was watching her, and after a moment, assigned her further practice that evening. She had begun to lecture on the theory, which the rest of the class had learned over the three days Lily had been in the hospital wing, when the bell rang and she had to answer a question of Professor Flitwick.
Lily was packing up when she knocked the silver spoon McGonagall had leant her for practice onto the floor. Its loud clatter made her sigh, and as she turned to pick it up, she saw that a tanned, strong hand was offering it to her.
"Need a hand?" asked James, a friendly smile making his eyes glimmer. To her embarrassment, she felt herself blush, and as he stepped closer and she once again breathed in the scent of his cologne, she felt herself turn ever more red.
"Thank you," she replied, trying to make her face normal-colored once more with sheer willpower. James glanced at her expression and grinned.
"So, since you missed the lesson," he began after a moment of reading her face, a cocky smile on his handsome face, "I was thinking–"
"Again, thank you," Lily said, finally meeting his eyes. "But no thank you." She turned and began to walk out of the Transfiguration room. The sound of footsteps told her she was not alone; despite her brisk pace he kept up easily, his wide stride matching several of hers.
"Are you in a hurry?" he asked, his tone good-natured and friendly. She couldn't keep up with his moods. Just a few days ago, he snapped at her, and two nights ago he was upset and cheerless, and now he was bright and up-beat.
Lily didn't respond, but concentrated on breathing through her mouth. The smell was haunting her, making her remember how he had held her, how he had carried her, his gentle tone when he had spoken her name. . .
"Would you like me to carry that?" he asked, reaching for the stack of books she clutched to her chest. She kept on walking, faster and faster down the stone corridor.
"Hey, Evans," his tone was soft and calming, but she didn't really hear his words; he had placed a hand on her shoulder, reminding her that she owed him for taking care of her. Whether she was angry at him for not leaving her alone or at herself for her inability to forget the previous incident, she did not know. But her anger forced her to turn and face him, stubbornly forcing him to look straight at her.
"You know what, Potter, you don't have to do this." Her tone was harsher than she wanted. Why was she arguing with him? She should be thanking him, thanking him for being kind and chivalrous, two words she couldn't have imagined herself using to describe James Potter only a few days ago.
"Actually," he began slowly, the humor gone from his expression, "I do." Lily couldn't stand his guilt, couldn't stand that she was the reason he was looking at her so hopelessly.
"It's not your fault," she managed to reply, although her tone was still rather harsh. James gave a sad laugh.
"Do you know what Dumbledore told Snivellus 'n me?" At his epithet, Lily involuntarily winced. James noticed; he looked up, side-tracked. "You still forgive him?" he demanded, suddenly angry. "After everything he's done to you, everything he's called you?"
"And why have you been so much better to me, Potter?" she demanded, feeling, to her shame, tears filling her eyes. It was her friend who was causing all this, her friend who had teased her for who she was, the same friend who had told her that being a witch was not a bad thing.
"I told you, Evans," he choked out, staring at her, his face pale with anger and emotion, "I'd never – never. . ."
The sincerity of his words was horrible for her. In that moment, Lily truly believed that James Potter would never do that to her. That James Potter would be kinder to her. That the self-absorbed, selfish, immature Gryffindor would be better for her than the one person in the Wizarding World whom she had truly trusted.
It was that realization that left her wordless, that made her run from James, that made her flee to her dormitory where she knew that she could be alone.
As she ran from the hallway, blinded by her tears, she didn't see the lurking form of Severus Snape. Because, despite his own acknowledgment that he wasn't good enough for her, he still believed with all his being that James Potter was the least deserving of the two of them.