A/N: Lily's Chapter 6 duel with Snape and its aftermath, as seen through James.

Always

JAMES

A new tension crackled between himself and Lily the next day. It hung thick at breakfast, while they spontaneously tag-teamed explaining their absence the night before to their friends. It sparked in the store cupboard, where they serendipitously found themselves during class and James swore he could feel the heat and want rolling off her body when she stood next to him. It followed them through corridors, during lunch, into Defense, simmering down only to be brought, sizzling, back to the surface with each look, each quick flicker of eyes, that told James she was watching him as much as he was watching her.

It took every ounce of his willpower he had not to dwell too much on how the heat of her gaze made him want to replay that other heat—that hands-on-skin, hands-in-hair, bodies-pressing-together, tongue-in-mouth heat—that had erupted with Lily. Within twenty-four hours, he had snogged her senseless and then hooked up with her. Now a night's sleep removed from the prior night's store cupboard events, he almost had trouble believing it. He had fingered Lily Evans. He had dreamed about her, fantasized about her, on and off since he was fourteen. And now, suddenly, he'd made her come, made her knees buckle and her hands clench and her face scrunch, and—he needed to stop. Stop, and come back to this when he was alone and could actually do something about it.

Though, that was decidedly difficult to do when she had to duel in Defense and every movement, every dart around the circle, every flash of her wand, was drowning him in whirling skirt and flexing legs and quick hands. He knew just how quick that hand was, how controlled that wrist stayed—he'd felt it between his own fingers just days ago, and then he'd fallen prey to it just the night before, when it had worked him swiftly, easily, to the point of falling apart—

Merlin, he needed to stop. He was too easy. He'd fucking come in his pants like a thirteen-year-old if he wasn't careful. But he wasn't surprised. He'd always been easy for her—easy to fall and easy to please. Literally.

He forced his mind back to the duel, turning his attention to her opponent—Snape—if only so his utter hatred for that slimy weasel would overpower the arousal coursing through him. After what they'd heard the night before, it wasn't hard to let all that anger surge through his body, overtake his pulse for a new throbbing desire: retribution.

His trousers were suddenly less tight. Much better.

But the respite probably wouldn't last long.

Lily was a force when she dueled, eyes flashing, face flush, hair whipping. James tracked her movements, her quick footwork betraying an agility that took him by surprise but turned him on even more. She was always two steps ahead, staying on the offensive, and he fleetingly wondered if Snape was hesitating or just not as good. James knew Snape was smart—the slimy fuck was apparently making malevolent curses in his spare time—but he had expected Snape to bring a little more gusto to a duel against the girl he was apparently plotting against.

Maybe Lily was having the same thoughts, because just then, she hesitated. It was only the briefest of moments, but in that split-second, Snape's curse sliced her from her shoulder to her chest, blood spurting from its path. Fury roared in James's chest at the sight, his heart hammering wildly, his body desperate to throw itself into that ring and just destroy him. And then his brain caught up with his eyes, and he realized that Lily was now a picture of calculated rage, abruptly changing her direction, throwing Snape off so that his next curse missed her by a yard.

Wordlessly, she sent Snape's slashing curse back at him while she moved quickly around the circle, and it landed, breaking open his thigh, and then she got him again, opening his arm.

"Fuck yes," James muttered to himself. That was the dynamic Lily Evans they all knew. A swell of pride hit him then, like a lion was roaring inside his chest. That was his Head Girl.

Snape had grimaced, grabbing for his arm, and Lily was now right in front of him, poised for the perfect shot. He didn't even think, just spoke directly to her. "Finish him, Evans."

Her back went rigid; she totally heard him. But she had hesitated too long, and now she had to throw up a shield charm to deflect Snape's hex.

"Fucking finish."

It was like she listened to him, like his words had somehow gone straight to her arm, and she was cutting around the lingering border of her shield, her slashing curse hitting Snape across his calves, and he had barely buckled when Lily cried, "Levicorpus!"

James's mouth fell open at the sight of Snape swinging wildly through the air, blood arcing in a red spray behind him as his wand fell with a clatter and cheers erupted around the room.

And then, just as suddenly, Snape was falling, crashing to the ground with a sickening thud, and James belatedly saw Lily's dark red hair push through a throng of students and then disappear through the door. With only a backward glance at Sirius, who had also followed Lily's escape with narrowed eyes, James muttered, "I'll catch up later," and took off after her.

Once outside the classroom, he paused. Where would she go? Hospital Wing? Nah, she'd be too proud. All the way back to Gryffindor Tower? James doubted it; that involved a lot of castle to traverse. Their office? His pulse quickened. It was decently close, and it offered more privacy for her than anywhere else in the castle. He set off at a run, taking corners at speed and sprinting down the long fifth-floor corridor, pushing out "Godric" with a wheezing breath.

"Evans?"

But she wasn't there. The office was still, untouched. Fuck. He returned to the hallway, raking a hand through his hair. Where else did girls go when they ran off to be alone?

His eyes landed on the stone wall in front of him. The bathroom. Duh. They went to the bathroom.

He muttered the password and the stone door slid aside for him. Taking a deep breath to try to calm his racing heart, settle his wild adrenaline, James stepped slowly into the Prefects' Bathroom, hearing the stone door slide closed behind him.

"Evans?"

Her responding sniff echoed around the room.

James closed his eyes briefly. "At least tell me if you're alright, please?"

A moment of silence passed, and then Lily pushed through a stall door, insisting, "I'm fine."

But James felt his face go slack as he saw her, sickly pale, eyes rimmed red, and bleeding—Merlin, didn't she realize how much she was bleeding?

"Shit, Evans—"

He was jogging over to her and Lily was looking down at herself, like she was finally only realizing that she was hurt. She was probably in shock, or damn close to it. Shit.

Standing in front of her, James's mind suddenly focused sharply on what needed to be done. He'd always been that way; it was the part of him that allowed him to be the Quidditch player he was, the dueler he was. He couldn't explain it, didn't fully understand it, but whenever something precarious was happening around him, it was like all his senses came alive, his body hyper-alert, and he could focus on doing when other people were normally busy freezing.

Like Lily. Who, in addition to being cold to the touch, seemed as frozen as a statue as she took in the severity of her wound.

But James was already moving, his fingers deftly undoing the buttons of her shirt, barely sparing a thought for how he'd rather be undressing her under entirely different circumstances, because as soon as he peeled back her shirt enough to reveal the gash slicing open her skin, his mind was going straight to the spells to seal her back up, his hand steady as he traced his wand back and forth over her skin.

"It's not as deep as Eddie's was," he murmured once he'd gotten started. "Just bleeding a lot."

Lily closed her eyes and breathed steadily through her nose, and James held securely to her other arm as he finished resealing her skin until it looked as though the slash had never happened.

Then the full effect of the sight before his eyes hit him. The peek of a nude bra, the soft swell of her breast under its edge. Fuck.

He clenched his jaw, swallowing hard, and then gently righted her shirt to cover what had just been exposed. The fabric flopped wetly, drenched in her blood.

"Might just need to replace this one," he said softly.

Lily stared at him, face streaked with dried tears, eyes wide, and an ache rose in James's chest as he realized how defeated she looked just then. Something lost, broken. Like all of her vibrance had been sucked away.

That look broke his heart.

He didn't know what to say, didn't think he was coherent of speech anyway, so he did what he always did. He acted on instinct.

Stepping closer to her, James pulled her gently against him, and wrapped his arms securely around her, holding her as tightly as he could while he rested his chin on her head. He had just done this for the first time less than a week before. The thought rocked him. How had so much changed between them in such a short amount of time?

Her arms circled his waist, and he closed his eyes, lowering his face to her hair, breathing her in, squeezing her just a little tighter.

His voice came out slightly muffled as he asked, "Will you talk to me, Evans?"

She didn't answer, but a moment later, he heard the sharp gasp of trying to hold in tears, and his stomach twisted at the sound. He lifted one hand to her head, cradling her firmly against his chest, and pressed his lips to her hair, trying to channel everything he didn't know how to say.

And maybe she felt it, what he was trying to tell her, because that was when she let herself fall apart. In deep, wracking sobs, she wept against him, her body weakening as she slumped and shuddered and choked for air. James buried his face in her hair, holding her so tightly he knew he was supporting more of her weight than she was, and felt that ache throb in his chest as she cried.

It had to be about Snape, he knew it was, but that didn't mean he was any closer to understanding why Snape moved her to tears like these. The slimy git didn't deserve her tears, and through the aching sadness he felt like he was absorbing from her, he suddenly felt a flash of that familiar anger, but more now, as he realized that Snape was the reason behind that defeated look he'd seen minutes before, Snape was the one who managed to suck the vibrance from the most vivacious, joyful, dynamic girl James had ever met.

And, all feelings for Lily aside, James wanted to kill him just for that. For taking something so beautifully, purely good and somehow breaking it down to this, this sobbing, broken mess of a girl in his arms.

He held her until her sobs ran out, feeling her take some of her strength back against him and slowly lift her head from his chest, though she didn't yet tilt her head up to show her face. Tugging his collar gently, she said thickly, "Might just need to replace this one."

James chuckled. After all of that pain, all of that sadness, she was making a joke. Warmth flooded him as that ache subsided. Who was he kidding—Lily Evans was too resilient to break.

She looked up at him then, her bright green eyes still swimming with tears. She didn't look as defeated, but he thought she still looked hesitant. Maybe still a little lost. Also still extremely pale.

"C'mon, let's go sit down."

She didn't speak, but she let him keep his arm around her as he walked her toward the door, across the hall, and into their office, setting her in one of the armchairs by the fire before he sat in the other, elbows on his knees and hands twisting as he watched her.

Lily reached her hands toward the fire, breathing deeply. James just waited, somehow knowing she'd talk when she was ready. And when she did, the words were the last thing James had expected her to say.

"I feel like he died."

What? James stared at her, not following. "From the duel? That was nothing, just a couple scratches."

Lily shook her head. "No, from—from what Drucilla said."

Okay, now he was even more lost. "But you knew he was in league with them—"

She cut him off, turning back to stare into the fire. "Not like that. Of course I knew he was, you know, becoming a Death Eater, but—I truly never believed he would do anything to hurt me. Everything he does in the halls, in class, I thought it all was just—I don't know, something he did because he had to. I thought that if push came to shove, he would still protect me."

Her head swiveled, those green eyes boring into him. "He was my best friend. He showed me what magic was. I loved him, like you love Sirius, and Remus, and Peter"—she paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath as she looked back into the flames—"and he betrayed me."

His head spun, still reeling from her say that word—love—about Snape. She couldn't possibly be surprised—

"Evans—"

Lily pushed to her feet, pacing in front of the fire as she rounded on him. "Don't say anything, Potter. I know you don't get it, I can read it all over your face. Look, everything that he's done—calling me Mudblood in the hall"—James flinched; he hated hearing her say that word—"antagonizing me with his friends—yeah, that was shitty of him, which is why I stopped being his friend, but I never imagined for a second that he would sell me to them."

Her voice cracked at those last words, and she turned to fix him with a heated stare, like she was daring him to challenge her as she went on, "Can you imagine, please, for just one second, just one, what it would feel like if Sirius, or Remus, or Peter sold you to Death Eaters? To Voldemort?"

James opened his mouth to protest, the disgust rising immediately inside him, but Lily spoke over him.

"No—don't say anything—don't you see? That reaction you just had, that look on your face, that immediate disbelief—that is what I had for Sev."

James watched her gulp for air, run crazed hands through her hair, her voice threatening to break at every word as she rambled, "That is the fucking level of betrayal I am feeling right now, Potter. That is the type of friendship that I just finally lost for good. It's like he—" She sighed, her next words reduced to a whisper. "I'm just—grieving him, I guess. Like he…died. Because in a way, to me, he just did."

Something about what she said hit him square in the chest. His friends would never do such a thing. Would never betray him like Snape had just betrayed Lily. And he could have called Snape's betrayal from a mile away, because it was Snape, who was so obviously incapable of being actually loyal or caring to anyone in his life, including Lily. And yet, James realized something he'd never known before. That just because Snape didn't—couldn't—feel like that for Lily, didn't mean that Lily hadn't felt that way for him. Because it was Lily. Because that was who she was. Because she loved her friends like James loved his, only she'd learned the hard way that Snape didn't love her the same way back. James could only imagine what that felt like, but he at least understood now what those sobs in the Prefects' Bathroom meant: a friendship truly broken. Betrayed. Mourned.

He stood up slowly and walked toward her, leaving an arms-length distance between them, and said quietly, "I didn't realize."

Lily only nodded. "I know."

James suddenly ached to tell her how he felt. To reassure her. I'm not like him. I would never do that to you. I will always be there for you. You can trust me. Because it was all true, and just then, it didn't even matter if she didn't have feelings for him back—he suddenly knew, as deeply as he knew that Sirius and Remus and Peter were the brothers he'd never had, that he would be there for her, be loyal to her, no matter what, simply because it was her. Lily Evans. The most vibrant, caring, incredible person he'd ever met.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, his throat suddenly dry. "Well, you should also know I'm here for you, Evans."

Her eyes widened in surprise, but James just took a deep breath and let the words spill out. "Look, I know things are sort of weird between us right now—and no, I'm not trying to talk about, you know, last night, not now, stop looking at me like that—I'm just saying that regardless of whatever…else is going on with us, I—"

He swallowed hard, his heart beating wildly against his ribs, but he had to tell her, had to make sure she knew that if she'd lost Snape, she'd gained him. James. And he was there to stay.

"—I care about you, Evans. I'll be there for you. Always."

James watched her eyes fill with tears, her jaw clench tight, like she was willing herself not to cry. He felt like he was the one who was split open, his soul bare for the taking, and it all made him feel upside down, like his blood was rushing sideways and his organs were fluttering around.

Suddenly, that tension between them was back, sparking like the flames in the grate. He'd kissed her—really kissed her—and then touched her—intimately touched her—and now he'd all but laid himself at her feet. It all made him rather dizzy.

But she hadn't said anything back, and there was really nothing left for him to say.

He cleared is throat softly, nodding toward her soiled shirt, and said, "I'll go find one of the girls, have them bring you a change of clothes."

Lily looked down at herself, like she was only just realizing her skirt was also splattered with blood, and then she nodded jerkily. "Thank you."

James tried to smile at her, but all his mouth managed was a sad upturn at the corner, and then he turned down the short hallway and pushed into the fifth floor corridor, feeling rather like he'd just put his whole heart in her hands and wondering what she'd do with it.