"Tell me the truth then."

He looks over at her, an eyebrow raised in skepticism. Clearly, that was the last thing he'd expected her to say.

"You told me I was making too many assumptions and not bothering to get the true story," she explains. "So here I am, asking for it. Tell me the true story."

The silence hangs over them for a long moment, and then something about it shifts.

She's not sure it's possible to feel someone's walls break down, but something palpable shifts in the air between them with her words. It's all subtle things - his shoulders slump forward slightly, his facial expression softens - but for the first time since she ran into him in the Puddlemere hallway, he looks so much more like the boyish seventh-year James she knew than the professional Quidditch player one. No longer does it feel like he's so far above her in every sense, so far above feeling anything - now, it feels like he's finally right beside her again.

He doesn't meet her eyes when he begins to answer. "My parents died - in the middle of my first season."

Lily feels her heart drop into her stomach. She'd known about his parents' passing, had read about it in the Prophet when it happened, but hearing the rawness with which the words come out of James' mouth evokes something different entirely.

"I'm sorry," she says sincerely. For whatever ill feelings she may have towards him, the immense pain of losing a parent is something she can sympathise with.

"And I - it kind of feels ridiculous now, but I just… in the aftermath of it, I felt so alone. Here I was, this up-and-coming Quidditch player who was supposed to be having the time of his life as all the things I'd dreamed about for years started coming true and I was living this fantasy life that most people can only ever imagine, and instead I was so consumed by all this grief and sadness about losing two people who meant the world to me, and then I felt guilty about feeling all of that, and eventually I just… I shut down."

He drops his head down, running both of his hands through his hair at once. He still won't look at her. "I went to this really dark place mentally, and eventually… I don't know. The season ended and I suddenly didn't have Quidditch to channel all my energy into anymore, so I… found other things. Other ways to distract myself and make myself forget about everything I couldn't quite handle. I went on a bender, if you can even call it that, just getting fucked up out of my mind at all hours of the day when I didn't have to be at practice. It didn't last all that long - that first Witch Weekly article came out and Sirius and Remus and Peter all immediately realised something was wrong and intervened before I did anything to truly fuck myself up, but by then, the damage was done as far as the press was concerned. I'm sure you saw that."

"Yeah… I did," she replies. She knows the specific Witch Weekly article he's talking about - she remembers staring at it in horror for the longest time, the boy in the pictures feeling both familiar and like a complete stranger all at once. It had gone in the box with everything else related to him after that, and now, it's nothing but a pile of ash.

He looks up, but still not at her. He's looking past her almost - at the bookshelf behind her rather than at her face. "The storyline the gossip columnists had gone with wasn't really the truth, but it was… well, at the time, my agent and I decided it was better than the truth."

His lips curve into a wry smile, but it doesn't meet his eyes. "Having a reputation as this edgy 'bad boy' was better than being some lonely little kid who couldn't figure out how to process his own grief in a healthy way - at least in the eyes of the industry and the fans and any potential sponsors. So we went with it - hell, for a while there, I was even staging things that I knew the gossip magazines would jump all over, because… I don't know, having that image and that sort of attention seemed cool and made me feel like I was finally regaining control of my life again."

He laughs bitterly, a sharp sound that startles Lily a little bit.

"But… god, I wish I knew back then what I was getting myself into. This whole fucking persona I created has a life of its own now - I can't do anything without it somehow being twisted to that fucked-up version of me. And I mean, sure, I go out to a club every so often and I do the things that literally every other person does when they're out at clubs, but that's not… that's not who I am. That's not the only thing I do, and I don't even do it that much, and I just… I'm so fucking sick of people thinking that's the only interesting part of me."

He looks at her now, and there's something deadly in his eyes. "Everyone thinks they know me now, thinks they know exactly what I'm like, and not many people bother to look past that reputation anymore."

The deadliness disintegrates, and suddenly, it doesn't seem like there's much of anything behind his eyes. Lily can't remember ever seeing his constantly expressive eyes so lifeless. "And then for you… someone who I was so close to for so long, someone who knew the real me so well - the person I was before any of this happened - to also buy into that new version of me, it just… this is just who I am now, I guess. The person I was before is dead."

He takes a deep breath, and Lily can tell he's done talking now. Now it's her turn to say something.

But truthfully, she's still processing it all. She's not sure how much of it she believes - how much of it she wants to believe. She knows there's a deeper reason for that resistance. James hasn't really given her any reason not to believe him now, and he seems so honest and genuine, but believing his story unquestioningly requires upending everything she's thought about him for the past three years, and she's not sure she can drop those convictions that easily.

At least when she believed everything she'd read about him, she had an explanation for why he'd suddenly decided to pretend she didn't exist anymore.

Knowing that he might still be the same James underneath it all, that the parts of him she'd once adored haven't fully disintegrated, that his heart is still completely intact after breaking hers… somehow, that might actually make things worse. The idea that him leaving her behind is some wholly independent event and not just a part of some bigger trend threatens to break down so many of the justifications she'd given herself for him leaving like he did. And she doesn't want that wound reopening again - she can't let it open again.

But his hazel eyes are staring at her like they're trying to reach into the very depths of her soul, and she can't have him getting at anything buried that deep either, so she responds with her best attempt at a platitude.

"I'm sorry. You don't deserve that."

He shrugs, looking away again. "Or maybe I do."

It's the first time she realises that maybe he hates what he's become just as much as she does.

Rather than allowing herself to ruminate on anything about her conversation on Wednesday at the café with James too deeply, Lily spends the next few days in constant search of a distraction. It's helped along by an owl tapping at her window, giving her a time and a place and a familiar signature.

Lily bounces on her toes while waiting outside Benjy's front door, trying to keep warm amidst the late fall chill. She's just about to cast a Warming Charm on herself when the door swings open.

"Lily, hi."

Something in his voice sounds a little off. Like he's on edge about something. She's something of an expert on picking up on cues like this - it's what's kept her alive this long - and she trusts her intuition more than anything.

"Hi," she replies warily, stepping into his apartment.

"I, uh, do you want to sit down?" he asks, and that's when Lily knows something's really up. They've never been anywhere near that formal. Hell, they've rarely ever made it much farther past the front door without losing at least one article of clothing between the two of them.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "What is it you need to tell me?" she asks flatly. "I assumed this was just another hook-up owl, but… I get the feeling something else is going on instead."

Dear god, she hopes he hasn't somehow managed to catch feelings for her. She'd assumed that was entirely out of the question at this point given just how long they'd lasted without letting feelings get mixed up in the whole thing, but there's a somewhat limited number of reasons Benjy could be this anxious about talking to her.

His eyes go wide for a moment, but he recovers quick enough. "Er, well… yeah. Although it's kind of about the hook-up owls, in a manner of speaking. Mostly that, er, we can't really do them anymore."

Well… at least he's not professing his love to her.

"Oh?"

He runs his hand through his hair, which shouldn't make her think of James but does for some reason. "I've kind of… I've started seeing someone, and we've just decided to be exclusive, so… yeah."

She smiles, and it's actually not at all faked. His cheeks are faintly flushed and he looks positively smitten with whatever girl he's talking about, and she's happy for him. He really is a solid bloke, and he deserves happiness.

And it's not like he was ever going to find it with her.

"I'm happy for you," she tells him, and she thinks she catches a hint of shock on his face for the second time tonight. She imagines he didn't think this would go as smoothly as it's going.

"Thanks," he eventually manages. "You, er, you might know her, actually. She was in your year in Gryffindor… Mary McDonald?"

Lily fights the urge to laugh. The idea that she 'might' know one of her best friends is at least a little funny. Admittedly, she hasn't spent nearly as much time with Mary in recent years as a person would otherwise spend with someone labelled a best friend, but… still.

"I definitely know her."

Benjy laughs awkwardly, which serves to diffuse the tension somewhat. "Oh. Well… that's good, I guess. I… hope there aren't any bad feelings between the two of us?"

She shakes her head. "Not at all. We both knew this wasn't a forever thing, and it sounds like you're really happy about this new development, so… I'm happy for you."

He lets himself smile properly for the first time all evening. "Thank you. You really are a great girl, Lily, and you deserve someone who's all in for you too."

Lily knows he's just trying to be kind, but she can't help but bristle at his words nonetheless. She can't really pin down what it is in his words that she doesn't like, but the instinctive reaction stands. Maybe it's the fact that the idea of someone being 'all in' for her feels like a completely foreign concept, or maybe it's the fact that she doesn't want (and probably doesn't deserve, at this point) someone like that either.

Or maybe it's just the slightly pitying tone in his voice, because nothing frustrates Lily more than feeling like someone's looking down on her.

"In that case," she says, stepping back towards the door, "I'm just going to… leave now, then."

He frowns at her, but it only lasts for a second before it disappears again, replaced by his normal neutral expression. "Okay."

"Bye, Benjy," she says as she steps out the door, and as soon as she crosses the threshold, she Apparates home.

She arrives at her own flat feeling distinctly unsatisfied. It's not about Benjy - she truly meant everything she said to him, and although she'll miss the ease of having a steady hook-up, she could probably find someone else to fuck in the span of a few hours at a bar if she really wanted to.

But she doesn't really want to do that tonight, doesn't want to go to the effort of putting on something halfway decent and revealing, doesn't want to sit at the bar nursing the same stupid cocktail until someone takes the seat next to her, and most importantly, doesn't want to have to fucking talk to anybody.

Benjy was, at least, very good for all of that.

And she'd been counting on that easy comfort tonight, on being able to show up at his flat and letting him make her forget every other little thing running through her brain.

Now, she's right back where she started the evening - frustrated and on edge, topped off by a tinge of numbness, her body effectively shutting down any sort of underlying emotional reaction.

She crosses over into the kitchen, opening a cabinet and reaching up to the top shelf. The bottle she pulls down feels heavy in her hands, a thin layer of dust settled over the top of it from long-term neglect. It's probably been sitting there for at least a year, some obligatory birthday or holiday present that she'd politely thanked the gifter for and promptly stuffed away.

She can't remember the last time she drank alone in her own home. She doesn't even own proper wine glasses, for heaven's sake. Nor does she own anything that would open the bottle, and she's long forgotten whatever spell it is that Dorcas always used in the dorms to open wine bottles, so she stares at the stubborn cork for a long time before eventually opting for a Severing Charm straight across the neck of the bottle.

It's only after she's started pouring wine into one of her tea mugs that she realises her actions have more or less confined her to drinking the entire bottle in a night.

She fills the oversized mug to the top, successfully draining about half the bottle in one go. When she sets it back down on the counter, a single drop slides down the side. It'll probably leave a stain on the countertop if she lets it sit for too long, but she really can't muster up the will to give a fuck about it right now.

She's not entirely sure how what started as a tiny drop of apathy suddenly morphed into this massive cloud of it, but now it's threatening to take her over.

The first sip of wine cuts through it nicely, the acidic tang at least doing something to her senses, and she immediately takes a second sip, this one larger than the one before.

Yes, she thinks to herself. For tonight, this will do quite nicely.

Sixth Year, February 1977

"So what's with the sudden interest in flying?" James asks, broom casually slung over his shoulder.

They're walking in step to the Quidditch pitch - Lily's practically speed-walking to keep up with James' easy strides. Damn his long legs.

She shrugs. "I just haven't done much of it since flying lessons in first year, and I want to see if maybe I'm less awful at it now."

That's only half of the truth, because the other half is something she's not going to say out loud. Because the other half is him. He always looks so damn happy when he's flying, and Quidditch is one of his favourite things in the whole world, and she wants to learn more about it, about him.

Their newfound friendship is relatively fragile, but she's discovered that, when he's not being a pompous show-off, he's actually… really nice to be around. She likes spending time with him.

And that is the real reason she asked him to give her flying lessons.

"You weren't all that awful, Evans," he replies, shaking her from her own thoughts. "It was your first time on a broom, which isn't easy for anyone - a lot of us who grew up with magic started flying on toy brooms as soon as we could walk. You weren't bad - some of us just had a head start."

She's surprised by that response. There's a level of awareness there that she wasn't aware he had - or had bothered giving much thought to, anyways.

"That's… yeah, I guess you've got a point."

"Of course I do," he says, and there's a cocky know-it-all smirk on his face that she once would've been annoyed by but now just finds kind of endearing. "Alright, I'll just grab one of the school brooms from the shed, yeah? You can use mine."

She gives him a confused look. He loves his broom more than just about anything, and that includes the damn Snitch he insists on carrying around everywhere. She's never known him to even consider letting anyone else touch it, much less use it.

"Shouldn't I be the one using a school broom?"

"The school brooms are garbage," he replies. "If you're going to learn to fly, you should do it on a broom that doesn't suck. Trust me, it makes a difference."

"I couldn't - "

He shoves his broom at her. "Just take the broom, Evans."

There's no point in arguing with him, and truth be told, Lily herself would also much rather learn to fly on a quality broom, so she takes it from him. He jogs off to the shed, leaving her to study the broom he's just left in her possession.

There isn't a single twig out of place on it, and the handle shines like it's just been freshly waxed. The broom itself feels sturdy, thrumming with untapped energy that's just waiting to be let loose as soon as it goes airborne.

It's kind of thrilling, and she hasn't even left the ground yet.

"Ready?" She looks up, and James is walking back towards her, a school broom clutched in one of his hands. The difference in the quality of the one she's holding versus the one he's got is instantly noticeable.

"As I'll ever be," she confirms.

"You remember how to get on and get up in the air, yeah? Or should we start there first?"

Lily shakes her head. "No, I've got that part."

At least, she hopes she's got that part. She's relying on his expertise to an extent - that's the whole purpose of taking flying lessons from him, after all - but she'd like to not be completely incompetent either. But she hasn't ridden a broom properly in years.

Luckily, it comes back easily enough, and she finds herself up in the air in a matter of moments.

"Making it look easy, Evans," he says, grinning and joining her a few meters above the ground.

"I'm literally doing the bare minimum, you don't need to flatter me."

She wobbles for a moment, as if to prove her point.

Maybe she shouldn't have asked James for flying lessons. Objectively, this is the activity most likely to result in her making a complete and utter fool out of herself in front of him, and for some reason, she cares a lot about that.

(Technically, he's already witnessed worse, but that was before his opinion of her actually mattered.)

"We can start off easy, just a few circles around the pitch at this height," he instructs. "I'll let you lead, so feel free to go as fast or as slow as you're comfortable with."

James is a natural instructor, and every single one of his pointers has her flying faster and higher. There's something so immensely freeing about being up in the air, about turning all her attention to staying on the broom and pushing herself just a little bit harder with each new lap. She's positively giddy at the sensation.

She's not sure how much time has passed - the sun is significantly lower in the sky, so it's definitely been a while - when she finally heads down to the ground. She's momentarily thrown off balance when her feet hit the grassy pitch, unaccustomed to the feeling of something solid beneath her.

"Does it always feel this weird when you land?" she asks, turning to where James has just landed besides her.

"You get used to it," he replies, "but yes, it always feels this weird."

"I…" she trails off, her brain suddenly gone to mush. Or maybe it's been mush for a while now, and she's only just realising it now that she's trying to form words. "Holy shit, that was so much fun."

He throws his head back laughing like a little kid. She thinks it a little strange, because she's not sure she's said anything that could be construed as funny, but here he is, finding it incredibly hilarious anyways.

"What's so funny?"

He looks at her, the grin still etched on his face as he shakes his head. "Nothing. It's just… that was exactly my reaction the first time I flew properly too. I was like eight at the time and my mum was none too pleased with my use of the word 'shit,' but… yeah. It's pretty damn incredible, isn't it?"

She nods, thinking of how much of a thrill she got in those last few laps, the wind rushing through her hair and filling her with a sense of excitement and peace all at once. "It really is."

"You're a natural, Evans." She turns to face him, an eyebrow raised in skepticism at his praise, and he immediately brings his hands up. "I swear, I'm not saying that to flatter you. You're really, genuinely a natural flier - I was expecting you'd need at least five lessons to do what you were doing by the end there."

"Really?"

Nothing in his face suggests that he's lying, or even just trying to be nice about things, but she needs the additional confirmation anyways.

"Really," he says, nodding solemnly. "I mean, hell, at this rate, I'd reckon you could probably play Quidditch by the end of the year."