Maybe he does it because he's an arse. That would be the simplest explanation, after all, and would line right up with what literally everyone in this castle thinks of him.
Maybe he does it because Evans still won't give him the time of day, even after he's left Snape alone for months on end, and he's too proud to admit to himself that it hurts how badly he's wanted her approval—her kindness. If he really is an arse, he must do it because there's no point going on like he has been if it doesn't mean he's going to win her over—and it's certainly looking by now like no amount of changing James could do would win Evans over.
Maybe he does it because he can't stand the role reversal he's faced since February—the way he's the one receiving the bullying instead of doling it out to others. After all, that's what going after Snape in the first place was all about, wasn't it? Finding somebody to play the victim so James could reassure himself that he himself would never be a target. He's failed dismally, of course—he's taken so much shit from half the castle these last few months that it almost makes him feel sorry for Snape after what James knows he put him through—and maybe he just… snaps.
Maybe he does it because he wants to feel normal again.
Mostly, he thinks he does it because he's reined himself in for months and can't help letting his true nature spill out—because he can't stop himself. Just a little bit, he thinks he does it because this, at least, should attract Evans's attention.
He can hate himself for it later. For now, he allows a smirk that doesn't match his emotions to play on his lips, and he calls, "All right, Snivellus?"
Contrary to James's expectations, Snape does not immediately go for his wand. He supposes that makes sense: it's been over three months since James has done this, after all, and Snape's probably gone soft—probably doesn't know what he's in for. Beside James, Remus and Peter are exchanging apprehensive looks; Remus mutters, "Prongs, are you sure you—?"
Talking right over him, James sneers, "How'd you like the exam, Snivellus?"
Sirius seems to have no qualms about this unexpected shift in James's behavior. "I was watching him in there," he jumps in, his voice cold and high. "He was bent over so much his nose was rubbing against the parchment. There'll be grease marks all over it—the examiners won't be able to read a word."
Snape goes for his wand, but James is quicker. "Impedimenta!"
Snape flies backward, struggling fruitlessly against his invisible bindings. His wand is still clenched in his fist, but he can't raise his arm to point it at James, nor can he manage to croak anything more than "You—just—" let alone cast a spell.
And then—Evans is there. James had been keeping an eye on her; she'd been sitting on the edge of the lake a little distance away from Mary and the other girls, smiling sort of vacantly, as though trying to stay on the outskirts of their conversation without really belonging in it. She storms over with her own hand going to her wand, roaring, "STOP it, Potter!"
"Oh, so now you'll talk to me." James keeps his voice impossibly warm and smooth, almost amused, even though all he's feeling is bitter rage. "If I knew all it would take was going after Snivelly here, I'd have broken our truce months ago."
"No—truce," Snape manages to spit, still fighting valiantly to raise his wand at James. "You—dirty—"
"Oh, so the only reason you've left him alone has been to try to—what? Win me over? It doesn't work like that, Potter. I'm not going to fall all over myself for you just because you start acting like you should have done for five whole years before this."
"But you'll make plenty of exceptions for him, won't you? It doesn't matter if your precious Snivellus uses Dark Magic as long as—"
"You shut your fat mouth about him and leave him alone."
And—James has his theories about why he's gone after Snape to begin with, but with a wand to his temple, he couldn't tell you why his next words fall from his mouth. It's not like he thinks he's got a chance in hell—like he's even fully admitted to himself that he feels the way he feels about her—but—"I will if you go out with me. I'll never lay a wand on him ever again if you only go on and go out with me. C'mon, Evans."
"Not on your life. I'd rather go out with the giant squid than go out with you," she barks.
It's not like he couldn't have seen it coming—like any of this isn't his own damn fault—but it still smarts. "Too bad, mate," Sirius says, clapping him on the back.
He glances back at Snape, who's still fighting his bonds on the ground but surges upward suddenly—
There's a ripping sound as Snape's wand sears a gash into James's cheek. Blood spurts everywhere, splattering James's face and neck and robes; he whirls around, whips out his own wand, and bellows, "LEVICORPUS!"
His face is still searing, but he's got Snape hanging in the air by his ankle now, his robes dangling around his neck and uncovering gangly legs and a ratty old pair of underpants. Around them, some of the spectators laugh, but their laughter is nervous. They don't know what to make of it, probably—whether they're still supposed to be rooting for the fallen titan who used to own this school, but no longer does.
"Let him down!" Evans's lips are twitching.
James inclines his head to her, then jerks his wand so that Snape drops to the ground, limbs splayed everywhere. He finds his wand again and clambers to his feet, but Sirius resolves that with a quick "Locomotor mortis!" that sends Snape stiffening and keeling over, motionless besides his twitching eyes.
Evans gets out her own wand now, demanding, "Cut it OUT! Take the curse off him!"
Rolling his eyes, James follows suit. He mutters the countercurse; Snape scrambles to his feet. "You're lucky Evans was here to save you, you know, Snivellus—"
"I don't need help from filthy little transvestites like her to save me from ones like you," Snape snarls.
It's not the first time someone's said this about James in recent memory. Arguably, this particular instance isn't nearly as bad as some of what he's learned to stomach: Snape's saying it to Evans, not directly to James, after all. Still, he feels like he's been doused in hot water. Besides, to hear it coming from Snape—for Snape to flip their roles into exactly what James has always feared, for James's victim to become his victimizer—
For her part, Evans recovers from this quickly. "Fine. I won't bother next time. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus."
Dully, underneath his horror and shame and anger, James registers that this is the first time he's ever heard Snape direct a slur at Evans, who's supposed to still be Snape's best mate—the first time he's ever heard her call him "Snivellus." He wants to demand that Snape apologize—to tell Evans he can be here for her if she wants him to be—but it's all gone to hell now, and James can't find the words. He can't say anything at all.
xx
Evans's eyes are red the next time he sees her, when she comes down from the dormitory at one in the morning to find James still up in the common room. "Missed you at dinner," he remarks, trying to sound offhand and probably failing dismally. "Look, I'm sorry about… everything. I'm sorry for everything, Evans."
"Don't be. He's a transphobe and a blood purist, and you're not even sorry—you hate him. The way you've treated him…"
"Yeah, I know," he mumbles. He feels stupid for it, but the way she says this makes him feel pretty ashamed.
"Why go after him again, anyway? I thought you… I thought, after you and I…"
"I don't know," whispers James. "I just—lost it, I think. My worst fears all came true this year, you know? But I'm not excusing it. I'm not saying…"
"You're not going to feel any better about yourself just because you try and push him lower than you've gone in people's eyes," says Evans stiffly. "Every time you bully anybody, you sink yourself even lower. It doesn't take people mouthing off to you to do it, and you can't save yourself by hexing him first."
She's right—he knows she's right—but she doesn't know everything. For one thing, she can't possibly know how much James already hates himself—what runs through his head every time he whips out his wand.
"I tried to be accountable to you," James admits, "but you just… we didn't… so instead, I tried to be accountable to myself, and we all saw how that ended. Maybe I just need…"
"Better mates," Evans finishes for him. Her lips are twitching again like before, almost like she's holding back a smile.
"Mates like you," he mutters without thinking. The upturn vanishes from her lips. "Not that I'm trying to pressure—I mean, you don't owe it to me to be my friend. Anyway, Sirius and Peter and Remus—they're better than what you see of them. You don't know what we've all done for each other. We…"
Evans wavers for a second, then crosses the common room and sits down gingerly beside him on the sofa. "Part of me feels like I should have been there for you more this year, like you were there for me last fall. I just… didn't know if I could trust you."
"Clearly, you were right to doubt me," James scoffs.
She hesitates with her hand in the air before setting it on his shoulder. "I'll make you a deal, okay? Don't do it again, and we can… I'm not saying you're my friend, but maybe you could be, you know?"
"Why are you still trying to protect him? I mean, after what he called you—what he must think of you—"
Her face hardens, but then she sort of—crumbles. "He's still a human being. Who would I be if I started condoning the way people treat him? Maybe he is a hypocrite, but that doesn't mean I have to be one, too."
She doesn't say it, but he knows what this means: Evans thinks James is a hypocrite, too. It's not like she's wrong. "I should have tried harder with you. We could have been friends—could maybe even have been more than friends—but I hated him too much, and I was too scared, and I didn't know you were like me. Hell, even if I didn't know you were like me, it still would have been worth it to…"
There's a short pause, and then she stuns him by asking, "Did you mean it when you asked me out? I mean, do you really…?"
"Fancy you?" He can't stand to look her in the eye. "Yeah. I wouldn't really admit it to myself, but—yeah, maybe I do. And it's not just because I want to be with somebody trans, even though that is part of it. You're smart and kind and loyal, and you're really bloody pretty, and…"
Evans blushes. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's not my place to lord it over you that I turned you down."
"I won't do it again," says James abruptly.
"What, ask me out?"
"Target him. You don't have to go out with me or—or be my friend or any of it. I'll stop myself. I'll do better from now on. Maybe this summer will be good for me, you know? Help me pull my head out of my arse a little."
She smiles thinly. "You want to know a secret?"
"I… sure."
"I don't hate you. Not really. But I'll come back to the boys' dormitory just to murder you in your sleep if you let that slip to anybody."
James pauses. "I wish you never left. I mean, I'm glad you're being true to yourself, and I know we never treated you like you belonged with us, but—I sort of miss you."
Evans bites her lip. "Yeah. Yeah, I sort of miss you, too."
It only lasts a second before she gets up and flees, but she takes his hand, and—just for an instant—he really believes that someday he can be better.
