Lily really didn't want her thoughts to wander, but it always seemed to happen when she painted her nails. Crimson tonight; though she loved the colour, she found herself avoiding it simply because of all the Gryffindor comments it spurred.
For a while—especially in the beginning—Lily hated being associated with her house. She insisted that it didn't matter. The perception of people based on their houses was bizarre, exaggerated, unfair, and she would harp on it endlessly, even once people stopped listening. People from Slytherin could be good. People from Gryffindor could be complete, utter prats.
At seventeen, Lily still agreed with some of the points her younger self made. It was mostly her examples that'd spoiled with time.
Filthy little Mudblood.
Her wand hand twitched and she smudged her pinky nail. Swearing to herself, Lily wiped the polish from her skin, trying to avoid the gory imagery—violent ends—the crimson brought to her mind.
Her other example hadn't soured, if that was any consolation. It didn't feel like much of one.
Their situation had improved, so much that it still surprised her sometimes. Lily could stand to be in the same room as him now; they could have a conversation. They could have tea at Madam bloody Puddifoot's. To her younger self, it would've been impossible to believe.
Beneath their new friendliness, though, Lily had a remarkably poor understanding of where she stood with James Potter.
He was an arse, absolutely, but lately he'd become more than that. Or, if not that, then there was some other part of him that'd had avoided her notice until now. The latter was a concept she'd rather ignore.
Lily wished she hadn't noticed; she wished things could stay as simple as they'd always managed to be.
Quickly, catching her off guard, her body remembered the anxiety it felt earlier that night.
Running around like they own the damn place.
Screwing on the cap to her blood-red varnish with shaking hands, Lily tried to calm herself down. It may have been the most unsafe she'd ever felt within Hogwarts's walls.
How dearly she missed simplicity.
.
Grey skies always made everything feel colder, she thought with a shiver. The Great Lake was always murky and foreboding—perhaps an image borne entirely of its reputation for giant squids and sharp-toothed mermaids—but the green hue it took on during the warm months was at least more inviting than the nearly-frozen black.
"But do you think she fancies him?" The other nearly-frozen Black asked.
Marlene let out a puff of smoke, shaking her head. They'd been on the topic the entire walk to the Lake, and though the gossip was doing some good in distracting her, it was getting old fast.
"No fucking clue, if I'm honest."
Sirius tapped the ash from his cigarette. "I'm talking your ear off."
"No, keep talking."
Marlene and Sirius started smoking in fifth year, and although their friendship was not of the kindest, warmest sort, they'd always taken their breaks together. In her opinion, they did it just to listen to the sounds of their own voices without sounding like complete nutters; they very rarely had any significant conversation.
The wind picked up, and she wrapped her free arm around herself to fight off the chill.
Sirius stared off into the distance, somewhere past the lake, and in his dramatic stance his grey eyes blended seamlessly with the sky. Marlene had a sneaking suspicion he was doing it to look pensive and deep.
"Well, I think James fooled himself into thinking he's over her—again, that beautifully daft arse—but he does that every other day now, so it's not saying much. Lately it seems…like she's more okay with him, I guess."
"Being able to stand his presence doesn't mean she's got the hots for him, sorry to say."
"So she doesn't fancy him, then?" Sirius asked, breaking his gaze to look at the blonde beside him.
She rolled her eyes. "How should I know?"
"I dunno," he said. "Don't girls do that? Just talk about boys in a circle every night? Who's so fit, who's got the dreamiest eyes, who's got the tightest ar—"
"Lily doesn't talk about herself." Marlene frowned, looking at him like it should have been obvious.
Maybe in first, second year, Lily had been just as open as the rest of them.
None of the Gryffindor girls in their year came from big families, so in the beginning every night was like a slumber party. They talked about professors, fashion, boy bands—anything they could think of, but about as deep as a typical smoke break conversation. Marlene knew all about Lily's cat Agnes, and her favorite flavor of Bertie Bott's—grass, strangely enough—and how dearly she wished she'd been blonde.
Marlene found out that Lily's father was dead last night. Adam told her.
He'd passed away three years ago.
"No?" Sirius looked rather surprised, even beyond his usual theatrics.
"What do you know about her?"
He furrowed his brow, taking a drag instead of talking; she never saw him quieter than when he was smoking—another benefit to the activity. "Not a damn thing, actually."
Marlene nodded smugly. "She's a goddamned vault."
"Now, that's—" he started with a bewildered grin, "that's a damn trip. How is it that Lily Evans—starry-eyed-dream-girl Evans—is…"
"A bloody enigma?" She finished for him. "We've been trying to figure out that one for years now, mate. Welcome to the team."
"She doesn't seem like the fucking mysterious type," he laughed, pushing the messy black hair out of his face. The wind swept it directly back into his mouth before he could say another word.
"That's the mental part!" Marlene laughed along with him—in part because she knew how much hair product must've made its way into Sirius's mouth. He quickly took another drag, but she knew it wouldn't get rid of the taste the way he hoped.
"Merlin, he can really pick 'em."
Their brightly burning cigarettes were barely noticeable, the smoke blending into the fog, the ashes invisible in the monotone landscape. From a distance, their laughter was impossible to pick out; they looked almost to be a pair in mourning.
Simply a side-effect of their grim surroundings.
.
"Would Juliet wear nail varnish?" Mary asked idly as she charmed Lily's hair, concentration clear in her wide blue eyes.
Lily glanced at her chipped polish defensively. "Would the Nurse wear lipstick?"
"Why wouldn't she?"
"Did bubblegum pink lipstick even exist in the sixteenth century?"
The other girl frowned. "Fair point. Perhaps not one to make while I'm performing complex magic on your hair, but fair nonetheless."
Both girls laughed, prompting a mocking groan from Marlene.
"This is so childish," she laughed from her bed. Her Lady Capulet costume, a dark blue gown, was rather simple, but it was a miracle she'd agreed to dress up at all.
Halloween had always been Lily's favorite holiday. Fancy-dress parties were the best part of being a kid, as far as she was concerned. She'd dressed as princesses, as faeries, as witches; every costume she put on felt like a transformation.
She didn't know how to feel about transforming into Juliet.
Her lips and cheeks were reddened, and a few strands of her hair had been charmed into a delicate crown of braids. Her dress—simple and white—gave her the young, innocent image that defined the character.
Lily looked into the mirror and tried to imagine herself falling in love; she tried to imagine herself dying for love.
"You look twelve," Marlene said, walking over to the pair. Mary rolled her eyes.
"You look lovely, Lily."
"It wasn't an insult!" She objected. "Isn't she supposed to look twelve?"
"Thirteen, actually," Mary corrected with a giggle. The promise of the party helped to brighten her mood all week, and tonight she was so excited it bordered on effervescence.
"Dead, actually. You lot ready to go downstairs?" Marlene asked, clearly trying to avoid the scolding her joke would've earned.
Lily frowned. She looked into the mirror and saw Juliet.
"Yep," she smiled, turning from her reflection as fast as she could.
The music from the common room hit them the instant they opened the door. Though it was blasting loud enough to make her ears ache a bit, the song itself was slow and dreamy.
"Merlin, are they really playing bloody Cauldron Kids?" Mary asked. "What a mood killer."
"The night is young, dear Mary," Marlene smiled. "I'm sure you can snog the deejay into playing something better."
Mary quirked a brow, but her silence was enough to make the three burst into laughter. If one good thing was going to come out of the night, Lily thought, it was the weight it seemed to lift off her friend's shoulders.
"Well, look at that!" Sirius called out. "It's the ladies of the night!"
"Ladies of the hour, dimwit! We aren't bloody prostitutes."
He threw up his arms—Lily noticed the bottle in his left hand—and pointed at Marlene. "Couldn't care less, Price!"
Grinning, Marlene hurried down the rest of the stairs to enter the thick of the party.
"D'you ever think there's something between them?" Mary asked.
She couldn't stifle her laugh. "Oh, God no, that'd be awful."
"Can you imagine?" She pressed. "I bet they'd only insult each other more."
"They'd snog and argue on a non-stop loop."
"Who's snogging?" Emmeline asked. In the spirit of the holiday, everybody was dressed up, not just the Muggle Studies group; she looked like some odd bird. It was unclear if her feathers were glued on or if some dicey transfiguration had taken place.
"Marlene and Sirius," Mary answered gleefully.
"Merlin!"
"I know, right?"
Lily took the opportunity to walk deeper into the crowd. Younger students usually shied away from her, but they probably figured the Head Girl wouldn't dress in full costume to bust the party—or they were already too drunk to care. Either way, it was nice to blend in for once.
There was a table of drinks in the corner, and she made her way towards it. Lily didn't make a habit of drinking, but something about the energy of the night made her want a bottle—if only for something to do with her hands.
"Didn't peg you as a drunk."
Lily turned, ready to lay into whichever fifth year had decided to criticise her, only to find Remus standing behind her in a tunic and a hat that wasn't quite a beret. "Ah, Benvolio! Dashing as always."
"Juliet," he nodded in turn, "you almost look legal tonight!"
"I am legal, thanks," she said as she grabbed an untouched bottle of elderflower wine, for the sake of any underage witnesses in the vicinity.
Remus raised his eyebrows. "The whole bottle, though?"
"I won't drink it all," she said, uncorking the bottle with her wand. "There aren't any wine glasses. I don't have anything else to drink it from."
He shook his head. "Who brought a bottle of wine?"
"Probably some third-year who was too afraid to drink it after they nicked it from their parents."
"Fuck, you're right, there's children here." Remus looked around at the younger students filling the common room, a funny glint of concern in his eyes. He was tall enough that, to him, they probably all looked like primary schoolers. "Blimey, they're young."
"So am I, remember?" Lily smiled.
"Right, right," he said. "So tragically young."
"Benvolio," Sirius called out. Lily couldn't place his voice, but Remus zeroed in on it easily. Sirius always distracted at the perfect moment, she had to admit.
"Your lover is calling."
Remus gave a rakish smile and moved to scratch his head, forgetting about his hat; it dropped rather sadly to the floor, and he stooped—loosely, somehow, like he was held together by worn-out rubber bands—to pick it up before it could be trampled by any number of costumed feet.
"That," he finally replied, placing the hat messily on his mousy head, "is purely speculation and there is no concrete evidence of their relationship in the text."
"You lot have always been rather good at keeping secrets, I guess."
"Benvolio!"
"Give Mercutio my love," she smiled.
Remus winked and disappeared into the crowd.
Lily liked him when he was buzzed. She found him a moment later, with Sirius, James, and Peter in tow, but couldn't bring herself to join them. Though she had to admit, they all looked very…vivacious in their tights.
Mary must have snogged the right person, because the music shifted to something faster, more upbeat. She'd never bothered familiarising herself with wizarding bands. All she could say about the song was that it made the room a little too loud.
Taking a sip from her bottle, unwilling to join any of her friends and even more unwilling to ask herself why that might be, Lily did what she did best: made her way towards the fire.
It was already very warm in the common room, and it was worse near the flame, but watching the burn made her feel better about the chaos.
She didn't pay attention to much else for a while, sipping her wine absently, and when Sirius sat down next to her, Lily noticed that the bottle was nearly half empty. She put it aside as he started to talk.
"Lily bloody Evans, sitting alone by the fire in the middle of a raging party," he smiled. He didn't seem very sober. She wasn't sure how much time has passed since she sat down, but it didn't matter much; Sirius always drank like the world was ending. He was a lightweight, too. "Don't think I'm surprised."
"The world is on fire, Sirius," she said.
She wasn't perfectly sober either, Lily remembered. Luckily, he didn't seem to hear what she'd said.
"Y'know, I was talking to Marlie the other day," he started.
"You talk to her every day, Sirius."
He shook his head. "This was significant talking, though. This was conver-fucking-sation."
"Oh, do go on."
"We were talking about you, Evans."
This caught her attention. "Do go on."
Sirius needed no encouragement. "You know, I never realised you were such a fucking mystery."
"What?" She frowned.
"You. You're entirely bloody unknown. I don't know a thing about you. Don't think anybody does."
Lily found the notion offensive, though she had no idea why. "Being private doesn't make me a mystery, Sirius. I just don't feel the need to talk about myself—"
"And I know about being all shut-up. I can talk, because I know." Every word he said was unnervingly deliberate. "My little brother's gearing up to be a fucking Death Eater."
"Just because Regulus is in Slytherin doesn't mean—"
"My whole family is fucking Death Eaters, Evans. There's a war going on and my entire ruddy family is on the other side."
Lily knew about his family's reputation, but she never knew how true any of it was. She'd always assumed he played up the idea of Slytherins being evil—his entire family being evil by association—the same way he had on the train in first year.
"Do they…do they have the mark?" She asked quietly.
Sirius laughed so loud it made her start. "They're card-carrying members, dear—signed their names all over the bloody book."
"Oh." This made her feel guilty for some odd reason.
"The chances that my family kills you are probably crazy high, if you think about it. They're all his fucking lackies."
Learning about Sirius made her a bit uncomfortable. "Oh, um—"
"Are you just worried about that all the time?" He asked, turning to look her in the eye. His were uncannily clear. Lily wondered if he was drunk at all. "Do you have to walk around school worried that somebody'll off you whenever the hell they want?"
Lily swallowed.
"Oh, you aren't going to talk, are you." It wasn't even a question. She could hear the disappointment in his voice.
"I…" she muttered. "I'm going to get air. Some air."
Standing suddenly, Lily left the fire, left the crowd, and left the common room altogether.
In no time, James was upon him. "What did you say to her?"
"For somebody who's over Lily, you are incredibly attentive to her comings and goings."
"Could you stop being cryptic for one damn second?"
Sirius looked insulted. "That wasn't even cryptic, mate. You're losing your touch."
James rolled his eyes.
"If I wanted to be cryptic, I'd say that Evans is worse than I am. And then," he added, touching a finger to his temple like he was giving a particularly good tip, "not elaborate at all."
"What?"
He shook his head. "You should go after her. She's probably skived off to the Astronomy Tower—that seems dreamy enough for the occasion."
"What?"
"You like her, yeah?" Sirius asked; he wasn't in the mood to be confusing, he realised. James would get plenty of that elsewhere soon.
"I don't—I—" He looked very distressed.
"Yes, you do, we all know you do, for Merlin's sake, ace, fantastic. So go to the Astronomy Tower. Tell her she's pretty or smart or whatever; I can't hold your hand through the whole affair, Prongsy."
"I—"
"Just go," he pleaded, rubbing a hand across his face.
James looked very dearly confused, and perhaps a little drunk. He frowned at his friend for a moment, turned to face the crowd, and was gone.
"Ten points to Sirius," he mumbled, rolling his eyes.
.
"Lily!"
The voice, loud and unfiltered, echoed around the Astronomy Tower, jarring her greatly. Before any other question could come to her, she wondered when James started calling her by her first name.
"Oh, good. You're here."
He was a bit distracted—a bit drunk—and she liked the way it made him look. His cheeks were red, which probably had just as much to do with the cold as with the alcohol, and his eyes were even brighter than usual. Ready to start a fire.
Lily was shivering, but he looked perfectly warm.
"Sirius said you'd be up here," He said, moving towards her. She felt her cheeks heat up as he did, maybe from embarrassment, or maybe because he seemed to be radiating the stuff in waves.
By the time she'd caught up to his words, he was standing next to her. Standing would probably be warmer than sitting against the frigid stone, she figured, but she made no effort to stand up. "You were looking for me?"
She could see her breath, and though her thin dress certainly wasn't the warmest thing, James's tights didn't seem much better. Why didn't he look cold?
"When am I not looking for you?" He laughed, shaking his head.
"I'm not sure what you mean," she tried to mask the confusion in her tone.
"I am never sure what you mean."
Lily folded her arms out of frustration and a need for warmth. "Did you have anything you needed to say, or did you just come up here to spout half-arsed, drunken mysticism?"
James frowned. "I just wanted to talk to you."
That was new. "Really?"
"Really. Swear on my toad's grave." His expression was endearingly earnest.
"You had a toad?"
"No, but I have the grave of one." He smiled down at her. Lily didn't feel quite as frozen.
"That's macabre," she said in lieu of any real observation.
"Sirius said you were as bad as him," James said out of nowhere, changing topics too easily, "and wouldn't explain what he meant."
She tensed. "No?"
"So the entire time I was climbing those ruddy stairs, I was trying to figure out what he was talking about. Like, do you have a smoking problem? A rebellious little brother? A…a secret stash of muggle eyeliner hidden away?" He laughed. "Guess that wouldn't be too out there for you, though, would it?"
It was funny, as much as it put her on her guard, and she couldn't help the laugh that passed her lips. "Guess not."
"But I was trying to think of everything I knew about you—y'know, so I could rule things out—but I couldn't come up with anything."
"I don't know shit about you, Evans," she quoted, rolling her eyes. She hoped this wouldn't become a trend in her conversations.
"Yes! Exactly," he agreed, ruffling his hair. "Wait, was that actually it?"
"Apparently. That's what he told me, at least."
James shook his head. "I know everything about the bastard—he could've given a better hint."
"I don't think I'm that mysterious," Lily protested with a frown.
"I didn't either, Lily, but the facts—or the lack thereof—speak for themselves."
She bit her lip. "You know things about me."
"I don't think so, actually." He slides down the wall to sit by her, and Lily takes a moment to appreciate how gangly he was, all limbs and moving parts. She stops shivering. "I'd like to."
He said it like it was a request—like a plea, she wanted to say, but cut the idea from her mind. It was too…desperate. Too much.
"Why?" Lily didn't expect the own fierceness that came in her voice. Neither did James, judging by the look on his face. "What about me is even worth knowing, James?"
The question was more derogatory to herself than anything, she thought, but he looked genuinely offended by the idea. "Everything."
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not that interesting."
"Well, then, tell me about yourself, so I can find that out for myself."
"I don't—"
"Do you have any siblings?" He interrupted her next protest.
This was more surprising than anything else so far that night, Lily thought with a start. "A sister."
"What's her name?"
"Petunia. I thought you knew that," she answered. Was that how little people knew about her?
James chuckled. "Lily and Petunia. That's nice. Is she nice?"
Lily knew her laugh was bitter—she knew James could hear it, too—but she couldn't keep it in. "She called me a freak and uninvited me from her wedding, so…could be worse, I guess."
His eyes widened; it was sort of vindicating to see him at a loss for words. Is this what you wanted?
"Guess she's not—"
"She's a muggle, yeah."
"See, I didn't know that."
It reminded her of Marlene, how she would spark offense or argument with no idea what to do with the results.
"Why don't you want anybody to know you?" He asked finally. Lily glanced over at him, his rosy face, and saw the fire was still in his eyes. He wet his lips; they were just as pink as his cheeks. She couldn't bring herself to say anything.
Even if she wanted to, she didn't have an answer for him.
"It just seems weird," James pressed. "You have this reputation for being all wide-eyed and dainty…I dunno, wishing on dandelions and leaving parties to go to the Astronomy Tower when it's bloody freezing outside. It doesn't seem like the brand for somebody who thinks Romeo and Juliet got what they deserved."
"I never said that!" Her voice echoed against the walls. She didn't mean to yell, and she flushed as James turned to look at her with his eyebrows sky-high. "I'm so sick of this fucking play."
On top of the unprecedented acid in her voice—which he hadn't heard since the last time he asked her out in fifth year—James wasn't sure he'd ever heard Lily swear.
"I like it," he mumbled.
"Of course you like it!" She tried to run her hand through her hair, but it quickly caught itself in the braids ringing her head. "For God's sake," she muttered, detangling best she could. If he wasn't so stunned by her outburst, James might've laughed.
"Of course," Lily started again, "you like it, James. The world is simple for you—you're this posh little Pureblood who gets everything and never seems to have to face a single consequence, and you can believe in things like true love, and the world being fair, because when has the world ever been unfair to you, yeah?"
His mouth fell open, and if she wasn't so worked up, Lily would've been distracted by how pretty he looked in the cold. She was too upset to remember the weather, even; by now Lily was plenty warm.
"Romeo and Juliet is tragic. I know that, I'm not an idiot. It's a bloody tragedy! I'm not saying that these kids deserved to die, I'm not saying anything like that, I'm just saying that that's. What. Happens. The world is horrific and cruel, and there will always be carnage."
Every word out of her mouth seemed to hurt him, she noticed without wanting to. His face fell just a little, his eyes dimmed in fragments.
Good, she thought, even though it hurt her, too.
"It doesn't…" James frowned back at her, tilting his head back to rest against the cold wall. "It's awful, okay? What our world is going through right now is fucking demented, and awful, but it doesn't mean we have to let it ruin us."
He made no attempt to defend himself from the more aggressive parts of her tirade. It made her feel worse. "I'm not ruined, James," she said softly.
"You're not the same as you used to be."
"Sorry, but who the hell is?" Lily was glowering, now, and though it didn't make much sense—her glare was aimed at him, after all—James was glad to see it. "Sorry if going to a school where a quarter of the population thinks I'm sub-human—or sub-wizard, sub-witch, whatever the hell—whatever."
Lily shook her head furiously. She'd lost track of her point. "Sorry if that keeps me from being as starry-eyed as I was before puberty."
"It's not that," James's voice was rising, too; She could sort of feel it in her chest. "It's like everybody's holding their breath, all the time! It's like we aren't allowed to have fun, or to laugh without worrying, or to live without checking behind our backs every other second."
"We're just being realistic."
"You're just afraid, Lily," he said, and suddenly he wasn't talking about the world at large; he was entirely focused on her, and though she only felt more and more heat she wasn't sure where it came from. "You're living like you're afraid."
She shook her head, feeling very much like a child. The war was terrifying, but she hardly wanted to admit that to herself, much less this boy who intruded in her life, ruined her silence, and called her choices into question. "Am not."
"I don't believe you," he said with a little breath that wasn't quite a laugh. Lily felt it on her face and was struck by how very close he was—how very long his eyelashes looked behind his glasses, how very rosy his skin seemed in the dim light.
"I don't care if you believe me!" She could hear how hopelessly stubborn it sounded, and James could, too; a smile ghosted across his mouth, and Lily tried to keep her gaze away.
"Ace."
She looked at him, confused. "What?"
"The issue is settled, then, yeah?" The argument was typically James, but any hint of a smirk abandoned him. There was no joke in his eyes. "I don't believe you, and you don't care if I believe you, so there's nothing much we can do."
"Stop doing that." Lily matched his gaze, working diligently to keep her eyes from dropping any lower.
"Stop doing what?" James asked, distraction filling his tone. With her eyes locked onto his, it was obvious where his attention was going. She wet her lips without thinking, and noticed his skin redden more without trying to.
"Trying to prove that I'm afraid." Her voice wavered, and she cleared her throat to recover.
"Okay," he said finally. "You aren't afraid."
"I'm not."
"You're not."
They fell silent.
Lily's eyes fell to James's lips once again, and when they came back up, his eyes were on hers.
She didn't notice that she'd moved in to kiss him until it was already happening, and he was warmer than he looked—like sitting too close to a fire, just enough to feel the heat through her clothes, beneath her skin. Lily was very far from cold.
James was still with surprise, but only for a moment. Once he processed the situation, he moved eagerly—fervently—and Lily could feel his disbelief. She understood it.
James was kissing her. She was kissing James.
Lily hoped he would burn her up. As if he'd read her mind, his hands moved to hold her—one wrapped around her waist, the other in her hair. They were startlingly hot and brilliantly distracting. One skimmed up her side and for a moment she forgot to kiss back.
Pulling back, James looked at her, a question in his eyes. His breath came fast; he was burning up just as badly as she was.
It took her a moment to decipher the pause. She remembered, very sheepishly, that she had stopped first. Lily looked him dead in the eye and gave a tiny nod.
His eyes darkened—somehow dark and bright at the same time, brilliant and enveloping—and he was back upon her in an instant. James was absorbing her, melting her, giving her too much heat and nowhere to release it but right back into him.
In his arms, on his lips, Lily couldn't think of anything else. It was bliss.
She buried her hands in James's forever-messy hair and let herself turn to ash.
.
Lily woke up in her bed, still fully dressed in her dainty white dress, her hair an absolute bird's nest.
She sort of expected to have a lapse in memory; that seemed to be what everybody talked about with parties, late nights, drunken nights—not that she had been, really. Just a bit fuzzy; not so much drunk as simply not sober. Despite her expectations, though, Lily remembered the evening clear as Veritaserum; it was just that she found herself a bit distracted.
Her mouth tasted funny—a feeling that she hated more than anything else. Lily brushed her teeth religiously, and to go to bed without doing so was therefore blasphemy. She almost felt betrayed by herself; how hard was it, really, to drag yourself to the sink and put paste on a toothbrush?
I snogged James Potter.
Oh, shit, Lily thought to herself, her dental habits forgotten if only for a moment, I snogged James motherfucking Potter.
At least she'd enjoyed herself. More than she had in months, maybe.
Christ, this is bad.
Opting to ignore the situation for as long as she possible could, Lily went through the process of damage control—taking off the rumpled dress, undoing the tangled braids from her hair, brushing her bloody teeth.
It's Sunday, she told herself in an attempt to lift her own spirits. Sundays were lovely, especially at Hogwarts. And she wouldn't have to fight her own thoughts on repeat—oh my God, oh my God, oh my God—while attempting to focus in class.
Maybe, if I'm lucky, she thought as she left her room, I can avoid him all day.
The sound of her door shutting was a bit too loud. Lily began to turn instinctively and her eyes met with James, who'd apparently left his room at exactly the same time.
"Shit," she whispered without meaning to.
James's eyes were wide, and his hair was disheveled as ever—which only made matters worse, as the sight of it had her actively restraining herself from reaching up and running her hands through it as she had last night.
He swallowed, and opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.
A younger Lily Evans would've rejoiced at the sight of a speechless James Potter.
Presently, she was as dumbstruck as him.
"Hi," she said finally, her voice somehow breaking on the one-syllable word.
"G—good morning," he responded hesitantly.
It was difficult to tell if this interaction settled or disturbed the pair; they stood in a weighty, awkward silence for another long moment.
Lily bit her lip. James's eyes flicked down to follow the movement, then lifted back to her eyes.
The déjà vu snapped her out of it, as much as could be done. She glanced away, down the hallway that lead to the common room, and then gave a smile that was meant to be breezy, nearly in his direction.
"Right, have a nice day," she said hurriedly as she began walking towards the door. All she could do was hope he wouldn't follow her.
That would have been rather typical behaviour for him, but instead, James stood frozen; he didn't turn his head, but watched her leave from the corner of his eye.
After the door closed behind her, he tilted his head back until it hit against the wall and let out something that wasn't quite a sigh, closing his eyes and tried to make sense of it all.
.
"There's no way this is going to work out," James said, an unusual desperation in his voice. "Right?"
Remus rubbed his eyes—clearly hungover but not very powerfully different than he seemed most mornings—and shook his head. "I wouldn't say that."
James missed sharing a room with the Marauders very dearly. This year, he'd taken to waking up early simply so he could still be in their dorm first thing in the morning, and today was no deviation from the norm. If anything, it was a special occasion; the young man was in dire need of advice.
He would've taken it from any of the three. His first choice was Sirius, simply because of the bizarre Lily-knowledge he'd begun to spout before, but he was like a corpse in his bed. If corpses could snore.
Remus was a perfectly good option, anyways—probably a better option, speaking rationally.
"She looked like she'd seen a dementor when she noticed me, Moony."
Remus sighed. "Maybe…I dunno, maybe she was in awe? The mere sight of you triggered powerful memories of the rapturous experience of snogging you?"
"Is rapturous good or bad?" James asked. He'd never gotten the hang of all the religious expressions Muggleborns and half-bloods tended to use.
"It's good. Was the snogging good?"
James groaned. "I mean, I was having a good time. It felt like she was having a good time. I dunno, I was kinda distracted."
Trying to be considerate, Remus held in a laugh at his friends frustration. "Stupid question. Lily could've had razor teeth, garlic breath, and scabs all over her lips and you still would've forgotten your own name."
"I did, for a second," he sighed. Remus laughed at this; it was worth the miserable glare he received.
"What the hell do I do?"
"Don't really know, honestly," he frowned. "Don't have much experience with girls. Give her space, I guess?"
"She won't do anything about it," came Sirius's groggy, rusty voice.
Remus looked over, only slightly bemused. "Been awake this whole time?"
"Not sure. Did you use the word rapturous?"
"Might've."
"Then yeah, I've been awake this whole time." He sat up in his bed. "She's not going to do anything about it, Prongs," he said again, louder.
James looked intensely confused and distressed, but this was an expression that had been on his face since he woke up—nothing new. "What d'you mean?"
Sirius smiled. "This has got to be a major mindfuck for her, yeah? I mean, hating a bloke for years, then going and snog his brains out in the Astronomy Tower—it's not exactly going to be easy for her to gloss over. It's a bit too messy for Evans, I think."
"You think she's just going to clam up and shy away from the whole thing?" Remus asked doubtfully. "Doesn't really sound like her."
James, however, clearly wasn't surprised by the prediction. In fact, it looked as if Sirius had confirmed his precise fear.
"Sounds like the her I know."
It sounded like the girl he'd heard in the Tower.
"Think you might be buggered, Prongs," he heard Peter say sleepily.
"Is that really all it takes to wake you lot up? A crisis?" Remus asked. "Because that would've been nice to know about five years ago."
"There's no way Lily Evans would have snogged James Potter five years ago, mate," Peter laughed.
"We only wake up for the monumental stuff."
James gave a dramatic sigh. "Glad my suffering is good for something."
Sirius winked. "Happy to help."
.
"Mary, you crush the bean, not slice it," Lily corrected. She tried to keep her tone gentle, but Potions was not her friend's best subject, and it was difficult not to get frustrated—especially on top of everything else she was already frustrated about.
"Right, sorry," she said in a small voice. At the beginning of the year Mary would question all of Lily's instructions—the ones that deviated from the instructions of the book, at least—but by November she'd learned better. When it came to Potions it turned out yes Lily, okay Lily, always resulted in the best marks.
Lily was somewhere between a complete daze and a hyper sort of focus. For instance, she was perfectly aware of James, even though he was sat behind her.
She was also aware that Severus was spending a lot of time hovering around their station; that may have just been her paranoia. Their table was near the supply table, Lily reasoned with herself. She'd always been a bit too attentive to his movements anyways.
It made no sense, but Lily wondered if he could tell, just from looking at her. Looking at James, maybe. Looking at the way they tried not to look at each other.
She was just being paranoid.
The guilt that creeped its way into her chest, settling on her heart, only frustrated her more. He had no right to make her feel guilty. Not that he knew she was guilty—not that he even knew that she'd kissed James, for God's sake, get a hold of yourself—but that didn't make her feel better at all. It felt like she was lying to him. What gives him the right—
Lily locked eyes with Severus without meaning to. He looked…afraid.
She was just being paranoid.
"Lily?" Mary asked, like it wasn't the first time she'd tried to get her attention.
She jumped a bit, turning to her friend. "Yeah?"
Mary pointed at the cauldron. "It's boiling."
"Boiling?" She asked with alarm, peering at the liquid, which was surely enough at a rolling boil, far too much steam coming from it. "Fuck's sake, Merlin's bloody thigh high stockings, it's supposed to simmer, not boil!"
Suddenly very cross, Lily turned on her friend with a glare. "I told you to put it on low heat, Mary."
"I did!" She said defensively. The girl tried to fan away the steam pouring from the cauldron, but it was clearly a fruitless effort. "I only ever do what you say!"
"Well clearly, you didn't, because that cauldron," Lily pointed, "is hotter than the ruddy sun—"
Mary started to sway dramatically on her feet, and her anger quickly abandoned her in favor of concern for her friend, and somehow even more guilt.
"Are you alright?" She asked, but the girl collapsed before she could finish her sentence.
In an instant panic, Lily whipped her head around, trying to see if anybody had noticed the fall, but the steam was unnaturally thick now, almost like a cloud of fog surrounding them. She bent down to check on her, noticing how strangely slow she felt.
"Professor Slughorn!" Lily called in a thick voice. "Mary—"
She didn't have time to say anything else, blacking out and slumping over onto the small girl already on the ground.
.
Lily woke up to the bright white of the Hospital Wing.
Sitting up—which her head protested by pounding—she scanned her surroundings, trying and failing to remember how she'd ended up there.
Her eyes fell on Mary, looking worse than she had before Halloween, in the bed next to her. She recalled blurrily the fog from their cauldron, and watching her friend fall; she didn't realise she had passed out, too.
"Lay right over there, the bed by the window, please," Madam Pomfrey said from the front of the room. Lily didn't know much about the new school Healer, but she certainly seemed the assertive type judging by her tone.
Severus walked into the room, bringing a swollen, bloody nose with him, and Lily forgot her musings on Pomfrey's personality entirely.
They locked eyes.
He looked guilty as he shrunk away from her gaze, slinking over to his bead and staring out the window to avoid her.
He'd looked just as guilty when he was hanging around her cauldron.
Again, Lily remembered the thick steam.
Mary had insisted she'd put the heat on low.
"What," she said, and finding her voice clogged, cleared her voice to try again, "what did you do?"
Severus didn't even flnch.
"What did you do, Severus?"
This was the first time she'd spoken to him in a year.
"Severus, what did you do?" Lily asked again, getting louder, disliking the hysteria she heard from herself.
Ignoring the escalation, Severus kept his eyes glued to the window.
"Severus—"
"Good, you're awake," Madam Pomfrey said briskly as she entered the wing.
Lily kept her eyes on the guilt boy across from her.
"You and your friend inhaled quite a bit of dangerous vapor—what potion was it you were making?" She asked. Somewhat resentfully, Lily noticed that she sounded suspicious—as if they'd poisoned themselves to skive off class.
"It was a basic sleeping draught," she answered, crossing her arms.
"Makes sense, then. If you made any mistakes, that in combination with the heat being too high would—"
"I know how sleeping draughts work, ma'am," Lily interrupted. Her words weren't directed at the Healer, but the older woman huffed indignantly.
"Well, I am dearly sorry to have insulted your competence," Pomfrey snarked. "I'll be sure to remember in the future that you are impervious to any human folly."
"I'm sorry," she said with very little feeling behind it. In the back of her mind, Lily felt horrible disrespecting the woman like she was, but her anger towards Severus—who'd obviously tampered with her potion—overrode her Head Girl instincts. "It's just that I don't. Not with potions. You'd be hard-pressed to find somebody who'd believe that I messed up something as simple as a sleeping draught."
Severus shifted uncomfortably; the creaking of the bedsprings gave him away.
"In fact," she finished with her unwavering stare, "they'd be more likely to believe somebody messed with my cauldron on purpose."
The bedsprings squeaked their protest once again.
"I'll keep that in mind." Madam Pomfrey said contemptuously. "Wherever the fault may lie, you're free to leave. They're still serving dinner."
"Thank you," Lily said as she rose, finally remembering that a Healer would make a horrible enemy. "Sorry if I seem rude, I'm just…very shaken up."
Pomfrey adjusted her apron. "Everybody makes mistakes, dear."
Without meaning to, she hesitated as she passed Severus's bed, glancing at him one more time.
"Ask who did this, if you're so good at solving bloody mysteries," he mumbled in a low, venomous tone, pointing to his own crooked nose. Lily continued walking as if she'd not heard him at all.
.
"I don't need a bodyguard, you know." Lily stopped cold in the middle of the hallway.
James looked at her, bewildered. It was the first thing she'd said to him since their encounter Sunday morning. "Sorry?"
"Your protection, whatever the hell you think it is."
He frowned. "I usually walk you to our dorms. Do you…do I need to stop—"
"I'm not talking about that, James. I'm talking about Severus and his broken bloody nose."
"How do you know about that?"
James felt like he was a little kid again; his mother coming home from work to find messy handprints on the walls, obvious evidence of clumsy magic, the shed door left unlocked from an unsupervised flight around the grounds. He had plenty of experience with breaking the rules. He knew what to expect.
The difficult part was breaking rules you didn't know existed—and those seemed to be the only sort of rules Lily had.
"So it was you, then," she said, looking both upset and a bit haughty.
"Well, I mean—yeah, but I mean—why do you—"
"I don't need you fighting my battles, Potter."
It was a small, stupid thing, but hearing Lily say his name like that stung, just as bad as it always did.
"He basically poisoned you, Lily. It was obvious, how much time he was spending by your stuff—"
"—oh, so you were keeping tabs on me—"
"—and it was scary, this huge cloud enveloping you guys, not even seeing you collapse from how thick it was—we thought you might've died—"
"—so you had to go running in with some stupid grand gesture and breaking somebody's fucking face—"
"Why are you still defending him?" James asked suddenly, angrily.
Lily recoiled. "What?"
"He hangs around with Death Eater wannabes, he calls you awful things to your face and behind your back, he slips Merlin knows what in your cauldron for Merlin knows why, and here you are, angry that he got a fraction of what he very well deserves!"
She stared at him, disbelief and outrage blooming on her face, and stormed off down the hallway.
"Oi! Don't avoid—"
"Just shut up, James!" Lily nearly screamed, spinning back around with a furious glare. "For once in your life, just shut your fucking mouth!"
James froze.
"What do you—who do you think you are? What do you think this is?" She asked. Her voice ricocheted around the narrow hallway like shrapnel, filling up the space uncomfortably. "Do you think I'm your fucking princess, or something? Your bloody Juliet? If you break enough bones for me, I'll fall into your arms and we can ride off into the sunset?"
Lily laughed. "Are you trying to save me from the big, bad Slytherin?"
"He's not your friend, Lily, he's a fucking—"
"Maybe he's not my friend anymore, but don't think for a minute that gives you any sort of high ground, because Sev would never—"
"Merlin's bloody sake, are you just going to ignore what he's done?"
"I don't care what you think, James! You don't have any say in the matter!" Lily yelled. "You don't know anything about Severus, and you definitely don't know anything about me—that doesn't suddenly change just because you put your tongue down my throat, you know—and I don't need you nosing your way into my life and complicating everything!"
There was so much derision in her words it made James wince. Where had this come from?
"I would really appreciate it," she said, closing her eyes and taking a slow breath, "if you would just leave me alone."
This time, James gaped openly as Lily stormed away from the argument; he stood there much longer, entirely unable to understand what had just happened, after her door slammed shut.
i'm constantly re-reading my stuff and noticing little errors, so this is actually like a more fine-tuned version of the story on ao3. you're welcome dudes