Note: Rated T only for warnings of mildly swearing and a teenager with hormones.
Third year
James curses his friends the moment he enters the classroom. They were supposed to share all classes and yet they did not sign for Divination.
Now he is stuck in this class for at least three years.
Great.
And he seems to be the only Gryffindor there; he watches the groups of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, wondering where he should sit, when he sees a table with only one person, their robes gold and red.
Then she turns around, and he recognizes Lily Evans.
They are not very close, not when she keeps weird company he doesn't support - one person only, to be fair -, but Evans is fine, he supposes. Sometimes he thinks she is witty; sometimes she laughs from something he does.
It's a start, at least, and she is the only other Gryffindor there. Gryffindors should stick together.
So he walks towards her table.
'Hi, Evans', he begins, giving her his most sympathetic smile. 'Is this seat available?'
She glances at him, her green eyes assessing him, as if wondering if he is joking with her, before she nods.
'Sure', she says, moving a little to allow him to share the couch with her.
'Your friends ditched you too?', he tries, hoping to engage her into some nice conversation. If they are to be partners, at least they can be corteous to each other.
'What?'
'My friends. Those prats told me they would sign for this class and they gave up at the last minute'.
'Oh', she is staring at him as if she thinks he is lunatic. 'No, I wanted to study Divination. I always thought it was interesting'.
'Oh'. He thinks of joining that class just for the laugh, for the silliness it would represent since he doesn't really believe in it. But Evans is not smiling and James is not sure how to deal with it. 'So you believe we can get glimpses of the future?'
'Well, magic is real, why couldn't we?'
James shrugs. He never had thought about it in these terms, not really.
'Yeah, I guess. Then you joined the class for curiosity? Want to know what the future will bring?'
'Well, that too'.
'What else?'
There is a pinkness on her cheek, but Lily Evans looks nothing but resolute as she stares at him.
'Sev'.
'Ah', James doesn't refrain from grimacing. If only Evans could move on from her strange taste in friends. 'Don't tell me he is in the class'.
'No, he told me Divination was a waste of time'.
'And yet here you are'.
A grin shines on her lips; it is almost mischievous . 'And yet here I am', Evans agrees.
James grins back, approvingly. Perhaps there is hope for Evans after all.
Fourth year
Evans' hands are warm.
James shouldn't notice this. He shouldn't feel so… so whatever he is feeling just because her hands are touching him, one hand holding his left hand and her other sliding over the palm of his hand as she traces the lines there.
It's just... her touch is so soft, like butterfly wings fluttering delicately or maybe a Golden Snitch's wings — he doesn't care much for the seeker position, but maybe he should, because suddenly he feels his hand is too rough with years of practicing chasing. Perhaps he should try some lotion for them, because she is probably hating to touch him.
Lily Evans' hands are so delicate, so small compared to his — maybe that growth spurt he had during summer turned him into some kind of ogre, because he feels so out of place next to her, and then he wonders what is the right place with Evans...
'Your lifeline is very clear, Potter', Evans is explaining, talking about choices and what it represents, and he tries to concentrate, but it's difficult because the tips of her finger dancing over the palm of his hand are sending shivers down his spine.
It almost tickles but that's not really what he feels; there is no urge to laugh, just… just to enjoy how good it feels. What's his problem? That's Evans . She can't stand him and he — he also doesn't like her much, though she is vivacious and funny and pretty and her eyes are really gorgeous and her touch is so tender —
'Now, that's interesting', Evans whispers to herself, consulting the book open next to her. She is tracing the third line of his hand. The loveline. 'What's going on with your heart, Potter?'
He wishes he knew.
Fifth year
'You are late', Evans complains the second he slids next to her on the couch in the Gryffindor Common Room.
'I overslept', he mumbles, for a second refusing to look her in the eyes in a irrational fear she will know exactly the reason he had trouble leaving the bed. Then he grins uncontrollably as her words come back to him. 'Missing me much, Evans?'
Her eyes flicker, not impressed by his smile. Someone else might, he can't help but think. But nothing he ever does seems to amuse her lately.
He tries not to let it bother him, though, very much like her presence in his dreams, he can't help himself.
'If by missed you you mean that I missed not getting another partner for this project, yeah, then sure'.
'It's a start', he tries, still with that stupid grin he can't help around her. She closes her eyes for a second, pinching her nose.
'Just let us finish this, Potter. The moment we do, the faster I can go back to my life and the faster you can go do whatever you want'.
She is stressed. Same as everyone else, really, with the nervousness of the exams this year, but he never saw Lily Evans looking so impatient before.
He feels that twinge of guilt that only Evans can arise on him. She is the sole reason for a lot of his feelings lately.
'Sorry for being late', he tells her quietly, and her expression relaxes a little.
'Okay'. She bits her lips and James has to concentrate on keeping her gaze without blushing. It's not like those green eyes of her are not a participant in his dreams too — always staring down at him, for once not looking reprovingly, but invitingly —, but they are easier, much easier, than thinking of her lips that have also been on his mind lately.
Though for very different reasons. And in different situations. With different purposes.
He feels his face heating, which is ironic because the blood seems to be going from his head to…
He looks away, hurrying to pick up his things in his backpack, where it should be safer.
And he can put his backpack on his lap, just in case he needs to hide some of his more… evident reactions to Lily Evans.
Damn stupid hormones.
'It's a good thing you were sleeping, I suppose', Evans adds, her voice a bit warmer now, and James wonders what has been evident in his expression. It's not what he was thinking of, for sure; Evans would not be kind to him if she knew the ways she had been appearing in his dreams lately.
'It is?', he asks, confused. Truth be told he sort of napped during the last class of Divination (right after a Full Moon — he is not used to spending the whole night awake yet) and all he knows is that Evans is his project partner for this semester.
Fortunately she seems to take pity on his confusion.
'Yeah, here'. She takes out two sheets, giving him one. James freezes when he reads the title of it.
Dream diary.
'Tell me, Potter', she starts, taking out her quill and sucking the top of it. Sugarquill, James knows but his treacherous improper mind keeps remembering the way her lips were moving in his dream, and it was not over a quill at all. 'What have you been dreaming about?'
James gulps.
Sixth year
The classroom is hot with the vapour from the incense. James yawns, trying to focus, but there is nothing inside that crystal ball that gives him any clue at all of what he should be seeing.
There are none of the misty figures the book says he could see.
'Do not fret if you don't see anything', Professor Bath says, her voice sounding mystical since he can't say where she is. 'True sight is a rare gift'.
'So are good incenses', Evans murmurs beside him, and James chuckles lightly. He barely can see her through the smoke. 'Are you seeing anything at all?'
'I think it's safe to assume there will be a blizzard tonight', he whispers dramatically, and now it's her turn to chuckle.
That sound fills him with contentment. He is so glad he didn't give up this class - and neither did she.
'Move a little, I want to see better'.
He sits more to the left, but it's not enough space apparently. Evans comes into focus as she shifts her position, her hand brushing against his as she sits very near him - he can feel the heat coming from her body, the shape of her tight pressed against his and above all her perfume, a mix of garden flowers with scented herbs and he thinks her smell should not be more powerful than the incense in the room and yet it is.
He inhales happily now, taking in Evans' perfume even as he already accepted he won't ever have anything else, and Evans turns to him with a teasing grin on her lips.
'Enjoying the incense, Potter?'
Perhaps it's all the smoke (who is he kidding, it's not the incense, it's her), because James can only think of leaning into her and capturing her lips with his own; it would feel better than any intake of fresh air, he is sure of it.
But that's only a silly hope, so he just shrugs carefreely.
'It is not that bad after a while'.
'You are so high', she teases. James agrees with her. I am so high on you.
But he doesn't say anything and Evans shakes her head, seemingly amused by the light expression on his face, and moves forward to stare at the crystal ball.
Her face vanishes from his vision and yet he could picture the way her eyes are staring attentively at the crystal ball, the way she is biting her lips as she tries to make sense of that smoke that is supposed to give them glimpses of the future.
'Potter?', she calls him, her voice distant. 'Come here'.
He leans forward, joining her next to the crystall ball. Again the wave of her perfume threatens to numb all his senses and James tries to find something other to focus, though is hard. The crystall ball presents him misteries he doesn't really wants to unravel, not when her face is close to his, her dark red hair looking very vivid against the smoke around them and if he turned his face he could brush his lips against her cheek and then -
'What are you seeing?'
He turns almost desperately to the crystall ball, but it doesn't change much. Albeit a little distorted, all he can see is her face staring him back, green eyes sparkling over a face with small freckles he always feels tempted to count.
'You', he whispers. 'All I see is you'.
There is a moment of silence and through the haze on his mind, he suddenly fears that she understood exactly what he meant by that.
But then Evans sighes, taking a scroll and looking away.
'Funny', she says, her voice small too. 'All I could see was you too'.
Seventh year
'This is not what we should be doing with our time, Lily', he whispers, his voice lacking any reprehension as he pulls Lily even closer to him, his hands around her waist, feeling the skin of her back.
'I feel offended', she answers back, her head raised so her lips can brush his neck. It sends shivers down James' spine that have nothing to do with the cold wind around them. 'Professor Bath has told us we needed to be relaxed, right?'
'I am not sure if that's what she meant'.
'Are you relaxed or not?'
In answer, his lips find hers, and then James is lost in that sensation of kissing Lily, their bodies close together, her arms around his neck holding his hair. It's better than he ever dreamed.
He is not sure if relaxed is the proper term for how she makes him feel though.
Maybe desperately in love would be more accurate.
'Wow', he whispers breathlessly when they break apart, his fingers caressing her face tenderly. She raises her eyebrows, a spark of mischief tingling on her eyes.
'Feeling connected with your inner eye?'
'I'd rather feel connected with you', he assures her, and Lily grins. It's one of the most maddening smiles of her, the one that is cheeky and tempting and that she accuses him of teaching her how to.
'I don't know how you can find a prophecy on my lips, James', she jokes, eyes glistening, waiting for his answer.
James doesn't really care for this last project for Divination Class. Professor Bath has told them prophecies are rare to come and she doesn't really expect any of her students to ever make one, but yet they must take a try.
James is not even sure real prophecies actually exist.
'Maybe I can find somewhere else', he says playfully, lips brushing against the side of her cheek and then to her earlobe. 'Not here', he whispers and then his lips travel to her neck. 'Still no prophecy'.
He bends his head, enjoying the first opened buttons of her shirt. Lily moans softly.
'I am starting to hear words in my head…'
'Unless they are telling you to snog me right now, ignore them'.
James laughs, raising his head in search of her lips again and it's a blissful oblivion, a fog on his head with only Lily being clear, being real and tangible, and any thoughts of prophecies are forgotten.