A/N: I just want to say thank you to everyone who's reviewed! It really inspires me further to write. Some of them really made me pause with happiness (and a little bit of relief that people like it). Thank you very much once again!

Also! It's all Snape and James here, from start to finish! What!

Chapter 6: The Uprise

"You're becoming quite the predictable creature, Snivellus," James announced, a bit breathlessly. Snape turned his head slightly, regarding him minimally, before he leaned against the wall.

"I'm I to take that to mean that you were somehow…. waiting for me, Potter?" he asked, looking much too unconcerned for James' liking. James felt his lips quirk upward in response.

"It certainly makes you an… easier target," he replied calmly though his fingers twitched reflexively. Snape must have seen this movement and narrowed his eyes in warning.

"You know, I should blame myself for this," Snape said suddenly, detaching himself from the wall like a shadow moving along with its keeper. "I've certainly allowed you and your mates to get the better of me—I suppose I've just always underestimated you and your… cruelty?" and his voiced trailed questioningly as he took a step forward. "No, that's not it…" he then said. "Ambition?" —another step taken—"I think even you know that's still not quite right..." he smirked as he took yet another step closer. "Oh wait, I know the right word—" and then he was only three paces away from James, and James, even though he kept his demeanor calm, was truly feeling riled.

"It's your utter repudiation that I miscalculate continuously," he said with such finality that in that instance, James felt the declaration to be true. But he was James, and as such, he was quite capable of laughing off such a remark, even if he felt as though his diaphragm was being crushed under the insufferable force of his heartbeat. He would brush this off.

He rolled his eyes and snorted. "Not this again, eh, Snivelly?" and then his wand was in his hand. He tapped it to his temple. "You think I'm playing a game here, but I assure you this is about nothing more than my hatred of you," and then he smiled kindly. "Well that and my utter boredom with everything." And then it was Snape's turn to laugh it off, like him and James had just had some kind of inside joke. Only thing was that James did not feel like he was in the loop.

"I really shouldn't deny this outlet for you," Snape laughed, and it sounded cruel. James noted that the Slytherin's wand was in hand as well, held loosely between his fingers. When did he-?

"What are you on about?" James asked, flicking his gaze from the wand to the Slytherin's cunning expression.

"Just that every time you feel the need to act on these ridiculous impulses of yours, the more it makes her come to me…" he smiled.

All along it had only ever been a whisper, a creeping sensation that wormed around in his gut, but it had grown stronger with every step Snape had taken towards him. Still, it had been repressible. But now—When Snape looked at him in that way—When he spoke those last words—And James felt them to be true—And Snape knew James could deny nothing—And the words mingled with the sensation until it was just parasitic enough for James to feel sick—And…

…Well, like most parasites, this one broke free from its host and unleashed its dormant fury.

"Locomotor Mortis!" James intoned, hurling the jinx towards Snape, but the Slytherin had been practicing it seemed and sidestepped the curse entirely.

"I'd throw your own words at you about becoming the predictable creature, but that's probably a bit too cliché, right?" Snape smirked. And James found he could smile in response because this was very interesting, and his blood was pumping. Was this excitement? He didn't know; he just knew that he needed to act.

"Impedimenta!" he spelled, but again, Snape countered him.

"Protego!" Snape said.

"Stupefy!" and again, his curse was dispelled by Snape's shield charm. So he threw another hex, and then another jinx, his wand guided by body memory and each one a reflex of his tongue. He shouted the Arm-Lock curse, then the Silencing charm, and when those, too, were deflected he tried the Stinging hex and the Jelly-leg jinx.

They circled around each other, and Snape fired off a Briar-Bind curse. James barely had enough time to duck behind one of the armor guards before the spell collided with the suit's shield and made it sprout thorny vines. James had to hand it to the Slytherin; this was more than he had anticipated. He took a moment to catch his breath; he had never had to expel this much energy and magic before.

"Not very Gryffindor of you, Potter— ducking and hiding like a coward," Snape called out snidely. "Then again… I never believed you truly belonged in that house." James rolled his eyes as he stepped out from behind the suited guard.

"Have I told you how sick I am of hearing that?" James replied, raising his wand. "Expelliarmus." But Snape dodged it.

"Just admit I'm right and maybe I'll stop mentioning it," he bit back. "Silencio!" James called forth his own shield charm, and he watched as Snape's spell disbanded across the unseen barrier.

"Occaeco!" he shouted as he flicked his wand upward. This he knew hit Snape when the Slytherin stumbled into the wall and groped around for stability. "Ha! That's more like it!" James taunted. Snape intoned a curse, but being blinded, he missed his target completely. "Come now, Snivelly. I think a great, grimy bat like yourself can at least sense me out!" James laughed, getting nearer. Again, Snape made his attempt, and again James was able to avoid by simply stepping to the side.

He drew closer, watching as Snape struggled to discern his location. The Slytherin had one hand braced against the wall, while his other brandished his wand like swift rapier. His eyes were shut tight, as if he believed that if he just blinked hard enough, the curse seeping him in darkness would be alleviated away. Too bad for Snape, though. Apparently he didn't know the very elusive counter-curse. Come to think of it, did James even know it?

"Take it off, Potter!" Snape spat. "Isn't this a little too spineless— even for you?" he baited, but James wasn't buying it. He knew Snape was trying to detect his whereabouts, so he kept his mouth shut. Snape tilted his head, as if straining to hear James' movements. James stilled.

He should be taking this moment to end this little duel—prove once and again how much better he was by comparison—but each time he tried to raise his wand in offense, no spells came to mind. Instead, he wondered at how this battle had almost been a stale-mate or worse yet, a bitter defeat on James' end. Things like, 'when did Snape get this good?' and 'how could I have not noticed this?' raced within his mind. But even as he contemplated all this in the quiet, James knew the answer.

'Maybe he was always this good.'

"Why haven't you attacked yet?" Snape asked suddenly, and James' straightened. He hadn't realized he'd been less than attentive. Something flashed over Snape's face during the silence—his jaw tightened and his brows furrowed upward while his wand hand lowered somewhat. James marveled at the display of unease.

Snape didn't think he was there anymore.

But James couldn't move away.

In fact, it was quite the opposite. James crept forward, his wand lowering until it was just another relaxed extension of his body. Snape rubbed at his eyes, and recited spell after spell, each one ineffectual. James racked his brain for the counter-curse, but first he had to remember where he'd heard the curse from to begin with.

He then thought he remembered the first (and only) time he had ever gone to visit Sirius at his house. The Blacks, guarded and covert in almost all their affairs, had taken away James' sight... so he wouldn't know the way there and consequently could lead no other wizard back. What was it they said once he had arrived at the house?

Oh wait!

James lifted his wand, fully intent on returning Snape's sight—his reasons for doing so inconsequential to him—and inhaled quickly to form the first syllable of the remembered counter, when Snape reared his head and shot off a curse. James didn't recognize it—

"Sectumsempra!" the Slytherin shouted.

—but he certainly knew its effects well enough.

The greenish light shot through the distance and slashed across his cheek; he heard the flesh rip before he felt the sting.

And it was merely automatic after that—his body's obligatory response to such a willful attack. He lunged forward and slammed Snape up against the wall.

"Come now! Don't you think that was a tad bit vicious? Even for you?" James seethed. He felt the wound stretch and the first drops of blood trickling down. Snape hissed out something, too muffled for James to hear properly, but he certainly felt the other's wand being raised. He leveled his own against the Slytherin, ready to disarm him when Snape beat him to it.

"Expelliarmus!" Snape snarled, and James' wand went soaring behind him. He watched as his wand clattered unto the stone floor, and then he whipped his head back around. Snape was beginning to mouth another spell, but James, enraged and unsettled, snatched the other boy's wrist and pinned it back behind him. Snape's fingers collided into the wall, and his wand was knocked from his grasp.

"We should at least even the odds, right?" James smiled, clutching down on Snape's shoulder with his other hand.

"You're so stupid, Potter," Snape declared, his lips upturned in one of the cruelest smirks James has ever seen. James leaned forward because at this juncture...

...everything he did was at the mercy of some gentle impulsion.

"What's that, Snape?" James asked, close to his ear.

"You heard me," Snape spat, his black eyes focused just above James' forehead.

James gripped Snape's shoulder harder—that's what the impulsion told him to do—And he leaned in closer, his leg brushing up against Snape's... because that was what he was told to do...

"I've already won this, Potter."

James hovered against him, and tentatively, he moved his hand up slowly and touched his fingers to the other's neck. Snape went rigid beneath his touch. Encouraged, James just as cautiously wrapped his fingers around the Slytherin's throat like he meant to asphyxiate the other, but really…

Underneath James' fingertips, Snape's skin pulsated erratically.

"What are you doing?" he heard Snape gasp. In disgust? In anger?

In surprise?

James shifted closer, his fingers pushing deeper into Snape's skin, his other hand gripping the Slytherin's wrist tighter. What was he doing? His eyes felt weary, and a buzzing sensation reverberated in the back of his skull, creeping its way forward back behind his lids. He shook his head but found he could not shake the listlessness that was settling in.

What was he doing?

"I must be…"—And just as he mustered enough cohesiveness to respond to the Slytherin, everything grew dark.

"…hallucinating…"

And then he could no longer feel the other's pulse within his grasp.

He awoke to daylight.

Opening one of his eyes blearily, James groped around for his glasses and found them on a table beside him. He slipped them on, and once his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw that he was resting in the Hospital wing. But how did he…?

He remembered cornering Snape and then hexing him. Was he cursed in return? He touched the side of his face and felt the course fabric of a bandage. James wondered if the cut would leave a scar. Snape had certainly wounded him deeply…

He looked around the room, and none of the other beds were being occupied. He dropped his head back unto the pillow when he caught sight of a figure off in a corner of the room. James bolted upright and stared at the figure as if he were still dreaming. He must be. There was no way that—

"Snape…? Wha—?" but James faltered. Snape looked at him blankly before he unfolded his arms and walked over to him.

"A pity… it seems you're still functioning," he said callously, and James tried his damnest to ignore the surprise that surged in his chest. He continued to stare at the Slytherin as if the boy were the ghost of Christmas yet to come. Snape broke their eye contact and headed for the door.

"You… you brought me here?"

He wasn't really saying it to Snape, merely James was voicing something that was so absurd, it's only outlet was to leak unwillingly from his mouth. He didn't believe it anyway. There was no way such a thing was possible.

But then… Snape stopped.

No…

"You brought me here," and this time, it wasn't a question. James felt his bed sheets bunch within his grasps, felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end—heard the uprise in his chest. Snape whirled around.

"I was hoping that if I brought you here, you'd owe me a life debt," he seethed. "I was hoping you were dying." James stared at him, in disbelief, in irritation, in awe, in humor…

He laughed.

"You brought me here!" he grinned, shielding his face with a hand as if unwilling to display his amusement. Snape glared, and his lip curled.

"I had to, Potter. I wanted to leave you there—Who knows? It may have even taught you some sort of lesson—But you were shriveled up on yourself, whimpering and crying all over the floor," Snape said snidely. "The Professors were sure to find you, and if they did—you would have exposed me as well." He crossed his arms across his chest. "I had no choice."

James looked at him again, and then he did allow himself to collapse back against his pillow.

"You really carried me here," James breathed out in wonder.

"No, you idiot!" Snape spat. "I levitated you here! To think I even did that much…" he admitted, glancing off to the side in apparent disgust.

"Why?"

"Why what, Potter?" James glanced over at him.

"Why are you still here?" he asked cautiously, ignoring the sensation that pattered along his lower belly. Snape didn't say anything—didn't even blink. He unfurled his arms, walked forward, stopped beside James' bedside…

…and smiled cruelly.

"To tell you, Potter, that while you laid sick in your bed, no one came to see you. Not Lupin—Not Pettigrew—None of your supposed admirers—Not Black—"and his smile slit further,"—And not even Evans." He waited for James' reaction, his black eyes glinting with malicious glee, but James…

He didn't know how to respond.

He felt nothing at the declaration.

Snape studied him a bit longer, and still when the comment did not elicit a response, his jeer slipped into transparent confusion. James stared back impassively. "Perhaps you're suffering severe brain trauma—more than you already do anyway," Snape stated, leaning back. James rolled his eyes and sighed tiredly.

"I'm just not surprised," he admitted. "I'm sort of... at odds with everyone at the moment," James explained.

"I don't care, Potter," Snape jabbed.

"Of course you wouldn't, and yet you still brought me here," James commented. He saw Snape visibly bristle and felt pleased by such a reaction. "By the way, how'd you break the blinding curse?" What? That wasn't what he had wanted to say. It must have been some left over side-effect from the medicine Pomfrey had him on. He just hoped that Snape didn't notice just how uncomfortable he suddenly was.

"Is this guilt?" Snape asked disbelievingly after an awkward stretch of silence. "And just so you know, I don't feel an ounce of it. In fact, I think I was too lenient."

"This is too lenient?" James asked deadpanned as he gingerly probed his wound. Snape smirked down on him.

"I assure you, it could have been far worse."

"I didn't recognize the spell," James stated, more to himself than to Snape.

"That's because it's my own," Snape said, and James detected more than just pride in his tone. He slowly regarded the Slytherin who stood calmly beside his bed. Snape was at the level where he could invent his own spells?

"Well... I suppose if you have nothing better to do..." he barely managed to get out.

"That's right. Tell yourself you're not the least bit disconcerted," Snape grinned.

"With what?" James whipped back. In truth, he could never let on how right Snape was.

"You think I'm surpassing you," Snape began. His voice was low, quiet—suitable in respect for a place such as the Hospital Wing—but the edges of his words bit out at James' insides with a glacial severity. "I know I have already, Potter... long ago."

"You're not better than me," James replied quietly, his chest tightening uncomfortably.

"I no longer care. I don't have time for this—"

"Can you feel darkness?"

Snape stilled, and James wanted to bash the back of his skull in. Why had he just asked that? What the hell did that even mean? He could feel the Slytherin's calculating scrutiny.

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because you're right next to me," James answered exasperatedly, dodging the real reason as to why he put the question to the Slytherin in the first place.

"I don't think so. It's because you think I'm up to my eyes in Dark-Arts—Because I have to be so utterly tainted by evil to appreciate such magic, right?" James was not so naive that he couldn't hear the defensiveness in Snape's tone.

"Sure... you've read my mind," James replied flippantly. He would not acknowledge why he asked what he asked, but he knew he wanted to hear what Snape's answer was.

"You can't feel darkness, Potter. I don't believe that absence of light is something tangible," Snape chided.

"And here I thought you'd understand a metaphorical question. Don't you loom by candlelight in your dank cavern, penning all your little woes down on parchment?" James sneered.

"Your romanticism is sickening," Snape said harshly, "and even metaphorically, your notion is still ridiculous."

"So... you don't then," James surmised. Did he feel disappointed by that?

"Why are you asking at all?" Snape inquired. It was not without difficulty that James replied.

"Because I think I can."

He thought he sensed Snape tense beside him, but when he cautioned a furtive glance, Snape was merely regarding him in the same way he might a stain on his robes. James felt his skin crawl under the unwavering stare.

"What? You can spit it out, you know. You think I'm ridiculous, don't you? Well maybe someone so cut off from others can't even begin to feel—"

"That's not what I was going to say," Snape cut in.

"Then what?"

"Just that maybe you're not as stupid as I thought you were."

James felt his stomach flip, and he immediately berated himself for such a reaction. He did not feel happy about possibly being complimented—at least complimented in Snape's own twisted way. Yes, he was definitely not pleased about it… Maybe.

Just then Madam Pomfrey came bustling in, saving James from possibly making an arse out of himself, and wasting no time in examining her patient. Snape made no attempt to leave. James felt like closing in on himself, the room was getting a bit warm.

"Hmm… are you running a slight fever, I wonder?" Madam Pomfrey remarked, bringing the back of her hand to James' forehead. "You do seem a little flushed…"

Why did Hogwarts feel it necessary to have an anti-apparition jinx?

Snape's brow furrowed in confusion, and James wanted to inform the Slytherin that his presence was anything but a comfort to one ailing such as him.

"I'll be back with some medicine to soothe the wound. It may also take some of that warmness away," the nurse announced as she leaned back from James. She then turned to Snape. "Thank you again, Mr. Snape, for bringing him here." She turned to leave after Snape gave a slight bow of his head, but James could hear her talking to herself as she shuffled in the back pantry. "What a bizarre spell—to make someone lose consciousness like that…" James fixed his glare on Snape.

"One of yours, I take it?" he accused hotly. Snape crossed his arms over his chest, and James watched as one of his long, pale fingers began tapping his upper arm.

"Why, Potter. I'm flattered you think I've managed to event two such debilitating spells," he said smugly. James gritted his teeth.

"So you didn't then?"

"No, I did—I just think it's odd that you'd readily assume it as well," Snape said evenly, his gaze darting over to the window as if he couldn't be bothered to address James directly.

"One nasty spell and now this one—I don't believe it was such an enormous leap, do you?" James bit back.

"—Of course, my spell shouldn't cause someone to break out with a fever…" he continued on, and he looked down at James haughtily. "You must be of a weaker disposition than I thought." James tensed.

"Whatever, Snape. Don't you have somewhere else to be?" he asked.

"Too true, Potter," and with that, Snape was striding out in a swish of black robes. James had never seen anyone leave a room so… dramatically before. James almost felt himself smile at the thought when Snape suddenly stopped and faced him again from the doorway. "One more thing, Potter," Snape began coldly. "You've been out for a whole day—You've missed Potions class. Miss another, and I really will take full credit for it."

And then he was gone.

James stared off at the now empty space between the double doors, his eyes half-lidded and really taking in nothing.

But his mind sure was astir.

That… had been the oddest encounter with Snape… to date. He squirmed lower into his bed sheets, brining the soft fabric up over his nose so that only his eyes and the top of his head were poking out. He replayed it in his mind over and over again, trying to wheedle out any tale-tale signs that Snape was up to something diabolic—something Slytherin.

But he just couldn't.

Merely, Snape had only wanted to do what James himself might have done if their roles had been reversed— Run the humiliation of the loser into the ground. Only… really… Snape hadn't been as… relentless as say James might have been, and that, more than anything, peeked his interest— made his mind scramble further to make sense of it all.

He tossed over onto his side and stared out of the window. The light was too bright just then, making him squint reflexively, so he turned on his other side. But there were the double doors, and that just made him think about how he was alone in the room again. He didn't like it, so he turned unto his back again. And as he stared up at the ceiling, he wondered if Peeves the Poltergeist would have the common decency to spread a little mayhem down in the Hospital wing for entertainment's sake.

What James loathed more than anything was boredom…

Didn't it use to be something else though?

When Madam Pomfrey appeared again with a round of concoctions to take, James was eased into a restful slumber by the end of it. And as he closed his eyes, one thought permeated the fog of sleep.

I wonder if Snape will come back tomorrow…

James made sure to take as long as possible when reaching his potions class. If he timed it correctly, he'd get there just as Slughorn would commence the day's lesson. He couldn't bear to suffer through the arduous awkwardness with Sirius at the moment, and he certainly didn't think he could pretend that his friend hadn't shown up to see if he was still alive. He understood why Sirius shouldn't have come, but he didn't understand why his mate hadn't. Remus and Peter were excusable—they were too easily influenced by Sirius' whims. And Lily…?

Well, James didn't think he had wanted to see her even if she had come.

He paused outside the classroom, the lively banter inside filling the hall. He was good; Slughorn was just about ready to get down to business. James sauntered in, like he would any other day—like he hadn't just been dismissed by his circle of friends— and took his seat where he did every time.

It was okay because Sirius was in the back with Remus.

His friends hadn't acknowledged him—Well, Remus had, sort of, with a slight wave—but that was alright because James wasn't acknowledging them either. When he had returned from the hospital wing, his supposed mates hadn't even glanced up from their what looked to be a study session but was more likely just a scapegoat to ignore James with. He hadn't cared. Not really. Not like he should have anyway. This all right now was only a show—a demonstration that James could endure under the childishness of his mates and do so indifferently. After all, he was above such things, right?

That's what he told himself as he sidled into his seat and adopted his usual stance of boredom and disinterest. He wouldn't admit that he knew differently.

Class started up, and Slughorn instructed all the students to get into their pairs. There was a shuffling of chairs and papers and bags and a quiet murmur of voices as the students did just that. James made no motion to move, but then again, neither did Snape. Only once the entire class had settled into their pairs did Slughorn realize the two sitting at opposite ends of the room.

"You two—someone needs to move," Slughorn said. James wouldn't budge. It wasn't a test; he was just making a point. He nonchalantly glanced over at Snape, the Slytherin's back was to him. Yes, James would not go over to Snape.

Snape would come to him.

And then Snape stood, and James allowed himself to feel the surge of triumph in his chest because it meant that everything was normal.

But Snape deviated.

He went to fetch the cauldron, and he levitated it back to his side of the room before he gathered the ingredients and arranged them in that way that only he understood to be most efficient and effective. He never turned to see if James was there—that he even knew James was there— and James had the disheartening thought that Snape was glad that he was not in class. The bereft disappointment only morphed into irritation at the blatant dismissal.

James gathered his things irately, and crossing the room in less steps than it normally took, he casted his bag off his shoulder and plopped down beside Snape. The only recognition he received from the Slytherin was a slight brow rise. Then again, that could be Snape's focus on the potion, but James was more than irritated to care at this point.

"Sorry to disappoint you," James said, rearranging the ingredients flippantly. Snape did not respond. "I bet you thought this project was all yours to claim."

"If only I were so fortunate," Snape mumbled inattentively, his face stooped low over the simmering contents of the cauldron. "Do your part, Potter," he then said, blithely gesturing to the nettles. James blinked confusedly for a moment. Snape was truly different when it came to Potions, it seemed. The strangeness of his attitude even alleviated some of James' bitterness.

Some.

"I'd say I'm rather intrigued by this bout of confidence you've seemed to have found, but really… it's just an irritant," James said, and even as he spewed forth the insult, he found it didn't carry the charm that his wit usually did. Worse yet was how even through the insult, James was doing exactly as Snape had instructed him to do.

"It's not newly found, Potter," Snape said distantly as he scribbled something down in his potions book. James glanced over and saw that most of the margins had been crammed full of tiny, sprawling writing. It seems the book really was Snape's diary. "You've just been forcing your presence on me more than usual. You were bound to notice it sooner or later."

James balked, and he almost dropped the gutted innards of a lizard all over Snape. Snape eyed him warily and realizing that it was because James had been stunned into that reaction, he casted a rueful smile. "You've noticed this, too, I take it?" Snape taunted. James tried his hardest to ignore the relentless palpitations of his heart, but the ensuing tightening in his chest was a different matter altogether. "I've told you before why I think this happens," Snape said blandly as he turned to what he surely thought was more important.

"Snape, I swear, if I hear it regurgitated from your mouth one more time I'll—" James began.

"What? Curse me? And how did that go the other night?" Snape put snidely. James ignored this effortlessly as he glinted at Snape spitefully.

"—or I'll levitate this potion right over Slughorn. And, if I'm as lackadaisical with my magic as you've implied, who knows how long it'll take before the entire contents spill." This was a stupendously trifling thing of a prank, but James didn't care. It was getting the intended reaction out of the Slytherin that he had hoped it would. Snape narrowed his eyes and shifted his gaze warily to where Slughorn was currently hovering over Lily's potion.

"Yes, I'm so sure," Snape smiled, turning back to James. He didn't think he would. Not with Lily in the crossfire.

"Oh, I wouldn't be though," and James flicked his wand from out of his robe, whispered the proper incantation, and their cauldron hovered above the fire a good four inches. Snape threw his hands out as if to physically hinder the cauldron when sensing the incredible heat emanating from it, he withdrew. He looked wildly over at James.

"That would be incredibly low… even for you," he hissed. James wondered for a moment if it was because he thought Lily in danger or his potion. He snuffed the thought that told him what he wanted it to be.

"I'm only fucking with you, Snivellus. I'd only get like a month's worth of detention, and then I'd probably just have to do this potion all over again… with you, so… No. I'm sorry. You're not worth that level of strife," James answered returning the cauldron back to its rightful spot.

"No, but you still may have ruined it, Potter," Snape chastised as he fretted over the concoction. "If its lost even a fraction of the heat needed, this whole project is botched." James watched interestedly as Snape checked over their potion again and again. After a moment, he stood back, looking relieved. "Luckily, you haven't screwed us both over. How about you call upon that rumored Gryffindor civility I've yet to witness so we can finish this without incident?" Snape put callously. James pursed his lips out in thought and then shrugged his shoulders. Sound reasoning he supposed.

So the rest of the class did, indeed, go on without further happenings, James working surprisingly well under the Slytherin's muted guidance. That was until Slughorn suddenly called for them to wrap up their day's work so the final instructions could be doled out. The students did as instructed, they neatly put away their cauldrons and ingredients so as to be replaced by parchment and quills.

And they all jotted down the notes for the day as dictated by Slughorn.

James was finishing up the bit on how their potion was of use to some famous witch or wizard in a time before he could even care about when he stretched through the monotony of note taking and tapped his knee against Snape's.

He stilled.

A pang of shock raced through his body, but why should it have? It was nothing more than an accidental bump, and nothing to remark upon. Only that he did, and he found that after a minute's reflection…

…he wanted to do it again.

So he did. But this time he didn't pull it away, and Snape, either not noticing or not caring, did not move his. James gripped his quill tighter, fraying the feathers in his clammy grasp.

And still, he shifted his leg more so that his outer thigh barely brushed up against Snape's. His heart was merciless in his ribcage, like he believed that at any moment, the muscle would puncture his lungs, but he moved his leg further and further until his the entire outside of his leg was pressed against Snape's.

And James did feel the tension in the other then…

But Snape hadn't moved his leg yet either.

He wondered how much further he could push into Snape… There was such heat between their thighs—And a heat in his chest—on the back of his neck and the base of his skull—

—and a heat spreading out from his stomach and moving lower…

James almost jolted in shock when the bell sounded sonorously through the class.

"Ah! Seems that's all for today, class! Remember to read the passages from pages sixty five to seventy eight! Off with you lot now!"

James made to open his mouth, to say something to the Slytherin— his name— a sound—something! But before Slughorn had even properly finished his sentence, Snape was out the door.

And James staggered up. He gathered his things. Yes, he did notice the slight tremble in his hand. He adjusted the strap over his shoulder. Yes, his knees certainly wobbled under the weight. And he made to leave as well.

And yes, his body was unbearably warm.

Were his glasses fogging up, too? No… his vision was blurry though. Did Snape put that spell on him again? No… James wasn't feeling tired.

He felt delirious.

He almost walked into a desk only to then almost stumble into another Slytherin before he reigned in what remained of his fraying senses and bolted.

He tore down the hall, jostling pedestrian after pedestrian until he made his way up to the abandoned corridor on the third floor and hid himself in one of its dusted, neglected rooms.

He slid down unto the ground and cradled his rampaging head in his hands and knew exactly what was wrong with him.

And how could he have been so stupid?

How could he have sunk so low?

How could he have let that darkness defile him this much?

Because this was nothing but a curse— A just consequence for James allowing that pooling murk to fester within him.

And he didn't care that his heart was beating uncontrollably and not just out of shock. And he didn't care that his body was shaking slightly with trepidation… At the prospect? No, it couldn't be. And he didn't care that there was a little voice in the back of his skull singing its relief that he finally had a name to put to this sensation.

He didn't care about all these things because the only thing he could think of was how…

He no longer hated Snape has much as he thought.

—that he didn't hate him at all, and that, in fact…

…it was quite the opposite.