A/N: Yes, I do know that Lily was a hypocrite in the last short. Just remember that detail though – it'll come in again. I also know that I need to get some fluff in here. It's coming – I've already written some of it. So enjoy this for now and we won't need any notes from me in the beginning reminding you that stuff is coming. :)
I am drowning.
I am drowning in an avalanche, actually – an avalanche of work I don't understand that's going to be on a test first period. It's two in the morning and I'm still in the common room, surrounded by materials, trying to comprehend my Transfiguration notes. It's late, I'm exhausted, and I want to sleep.
Things aren't going well.
I let out a cry of agony into the silence as I fail to remember another fact, hating Professor McGonagall for challenging us so much. There's only so much a girl could handle. I'd be expected to get a perfect score, too, since I'm flawless Lily Evans, who gets nothing but perfect scores.
If only they could see flawless Lily Evans now.
I glare at my papers, willing them to somehow transfer the information written on them into my brain with a method that sticks.
No such luck.
I give up; I lay my head on my open book in defeat. I'm done. I'll fail. I don't care anymore.
However, at this moment, the portrait abruptly opens up, and in comes a guffawing James Potter, doubling up over some dumb joke. I lift my head up a little to give him a look of mixed bewilderment and annoyance; he sees me, hiccups, and says, "You don't want to know."
I nod, but I find his hiccup replaying in my head a few extra times; it's a startlingly cute hiccup. I blame over-studying for making me think that way.
"What are you doing?" he inquires.
"Transfiguration studying," I groan. "I've been at it for hours."
James wrinkles his nose. "The test is going to be a piece of cake – everything on it is so easy."
"Oh, yes, rub it in, why don't you?" I snap. I hate it when he gets something I don't.
"Do you want me to help you?"
I'm taken aback – I hadn't expected that. I hesitate though; I desperately need the help, but I don't know if I want it from him. He's James – nothing would be worse for me than admitting defeat and letting him clear things up for me. Still, the fact remains that I don't understand any of what I'm doing, and I have only six hours to do so; I have no choice but to demolish my pride by sighing and saying, "Please."
James sits down besides me and looks through my extremely minimal progress. Then he completely baffles me once more by throwing all of my carefully written notes into the fire.
"Why in the name of Merlin did you do that?" I stutter, weak with horror.
"Because you don't need any of it." James smiles at me. "If this is how you study, Lily, we have a lot of work to do."
-x x x-
Somewhere around four AM, I am finally familiar what Professor McGonagall is going to test us on.
James ended up making me play a game he calls Doodle Matching – I drew a picture for each part of a spell, he mixed them up for me, and I picked out which pictures went in which order for which incantation. I had to recite all of the correct parts as well, and if I missed something (which I did often), James would shake his head and I'd try again. If I got it wrong the second time, he would patiently explain what I should have done and have me try again.
I had to hand it to him – even if his techniques were bizarre and elementary, they worked.
When we are finished studying and I have successfully told him everything I needed to know, he smiles with relief. "I'm glad," he says to me when I tell him I'm ready. "You were a mess when I walked in."
"I was," I say fervently. "I'm going to do well on this test – I can feel it."
"Of course you are – you're Lily." James grins and puts his hand out to high-five me. I falter – do I want to? I decide I do; I owe him that much. He looks pleased by my choice, and we part ways for at least a couple of hours of sleep, satisfied – me because I know what I'm doing (at last) and James because I touched him in a way that didn't cause him pain.
I fall into bed right away, but strangely, I find that instead of thinking about my Transfiguration process the moment before my eyes close, I end up thinking about the time James's leg accidentally brushed by mine. The heat, the embarrassment, the sheer oddity of the gesture – they are the things that carry me off into my slumber.
Is this normal?
