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Chapter 7: Towards the Point of No Return
He did his best to squelch it. It was certainly not for lack of trying, which he did… desperately. For Days.
But there he was again, tracking his movements through furtive glances and peripheral gazes, eyes always half-lidded and head ducked low… because no one could know. The fact that he had even acknowledged it meant nothing because this was as much as he'd do.
Just watch him.
That's all.
Nothing more.
Because he wouldn't—he shouldn't…
James glanced away quickly when Snape made a sharp turn of the head from across the Dining Hall. Yes… It could never be anything more than this. James would make sure of that. He didn't want to do anything more than this.
He didn't.
"You really should talk to him," came a voice, and James started. He looked up in shock to find Remus staring down at him passively. It took awhile for James' mind to comprehend that who Remus was referring to was, in fact, not the person James was thinking of. He glanced down the long table to where Sirius was currently laughing it up with some seventh year. There was a dull knotting in his stomach, but it could have been gas for all he cared.
"He seems alright," James eventually replied, and Remus gave a sad smile. James turned his head in spite and bit a chunk out of his apple where a little of the juice splattered against his chin. Great, he thought, perturbed as he wiped the juice away, Here comes the damn lecture…
"It's only three more days until Christmas break, you know," Remus said. James knew what the prefect was implying, but his stubbornness was not to be underestimated.
"Happy tidings," he said indifferently, and Remus frowned.
"This is stupid. What even happened? I couldn't get a coherent story out of him," Remus sighed, sitting down across from him. James would not shift his head to get a better view of what was now blocked.
"That's because it makes no sense—I didn't do anything wrong… really."
"It's not like things are easy for him right now," Remus continued. It took a lot out of James to not roll his eyes just then. However, he found he didn't have enough left within him afterwards to abate the eruption he felt.
"Why are you lecturing me on this, hmm?" he started, his tone low but by no means soft. "What have you done to help him?"
"You know I'm not his best—"
"It's easy for you to sit back and counsel everyone on what they're doing wrong—" James cut in. "When you have a hand in nothing, it's so much easier to point the finger, right?" and he stood up, his hands braced upon the table. "But what do you ever do?" he whispered harshly.
He left before he could discern the enigmatic expression on Remus' face. He didn't want to see it. Remus didn't get to make James feel like even more of an arse than he already did.
He stormed through the halls, killing time until classes started up. Thank Merlin it was only three more days until the holidays. He didn't know how much more of it he could withstand—being around his mates—being around Lily— Just being in the vicinity of that certain someone was unbearable for him. If he could, he'd sleep through the day just so he wouldn't have to face any of them. None of them were a comfort to him, and he knew he was far from being good company for them.
Thinking it only a couple more minutes before the first class, James deviated towards Defense. He was only thankful that the class was split with the Ravenclaws, and now that he had pissed off Remus, it should be fairly easy to ignore the lot of them and to be ignored in turn.
It was that recognition that made James think it was all a rather bizarre situation to be in. What exactly was he battling against here? His mates? Sirius? Lily? Snape?
Himself?
And because he could not answer his own question, he felt as though this juncture had no right path and that there'd be no absolute victor. He stood at some unconquerable impasse where everything was governed by the illogical and inaccessible- Where he was left alone with the one thing that flourished in this confusion.
And oh how the darkness in him was creeping out more and more, like a sludge oozing out of the deepest, coldest hole. And James was horrified that it might come to cover him fully, cloaking all that he was and blocking out all that he had known.
That's why he couldn't let… what he wanted to let happen… happen.
The consequences would be too great.
It wouldn't happen.
It couldn't happen…
He was the first one into class, and he couldn't even be bothered to respond to professor Corbarden who nodded to him in slight surprise. James was barely ever on time for classes, let alone early for one. He chose a seat that was in the back of the class, never occupied and always isolated from most of the others. The rest of students began filing in one after the other, the streaming chatter punctuated here and there by the voices he recognized best, and James merely sat at his desk, swirling a finger over the grooves of the wood, wondering if this is where Snape would sit during class…
And that was, for the last couple of days now, how classes-how time-passed for James, everything tedious and disconnected. Everything, really, except Potions. Most of the classes alongside Snape went by without incident, but there were those times when his elbow would bump Snape's, or their arms would slightly shift against each other's, or their hands would touch briefly… lightly…
Those times usually almost resulted in a catastrophe for the potion because James would either drop ingredients, or knock into the cauldron, or a mess up a step… Luckily for them, Snape's attunement to his potion prevented such disasters, and oddly enough… James wondered if Snape was beginning to anticipate such occurrences; they did happen quite often… But that couldn't be. That was just James… being James, right?
As if Snape was aware that the status quo had changed, had shifted and altered so greatly that James, himself, no longer knew what was going on. He might have sensed that James wasn't behaving normally, but he would most likely link that to the fact that Sirius, in just three more days, would be leaving. He would never suspect it was because James couldn't get a handle on his new found realizations, that he was being overruled by something so much more baser than he cared to admit.
That it was actually the Slytherin that was getting under his skin…
When classes were over, James always needed another outlet for his restlessness, and it was usually to the Quidditch field that he went. But on this day, the prospect of taking to the skies just didn't feel as though it was going to satisfy him, but what else could he do? He certainly couldn't lounge around in the Gryffindor tower, not when all those he didn't wish to see were all collected together currently. He didn't want to risk getting detention for a chance to sneak out into Hogsmeade as this time of day either. He supposed if he was really bored, maybe he could go bother the groundskeeper who was a nice enough fellow though he seemed a bumbling half-giant. Then again… he didn't feel like being personable with anyone. So where was the one place one could go if they felt like being a recluse?
And when it occurred to him, James didn't think it such a bad plan. At least this way, he could devote the time he needed to pick back up that research he had abandoned weeks ago. Pleased with his decision, James turned on his heel and headed for the library. Sure it would be crowded (most likely the Ravenclaws would have taken over much of the room, and James wondered why there needed to be a Ravenclaw tower when the house simply spent all their free time in the library), but there were always those tables shoved off in the colder, poorly lit corners that no one ever frequented. That'd be just perfect for him.
Once in the library, he meandered between the long stretches of shelves, twisting this way and that through the labyrinth the walls of books created. Sure enough, table after table was crammed with students, most of them, indeed, wearing the colors of blue and bronze. James would snort in amusement, if he felt amusement then. Nearing the furthest reaches of the room, James was beginning to think that he'd have to abandon this plan as well when he heard a familiar voice. A very familiar voice.
A very familiar voice that made his chest flutter and his stomach tighten.
"Why do you feel it necessary to discuss these things with me… at the current moment?"
James darted to the nearest shelf that kept him close to the speaker but kept him hidden as well. Who was Snape talking to?
"Do you deny that you are curious?" another voice spoke. It was a male, and judging by the drawling, lazy, haughty tone… it was no doubt that Malfoy git. James tilted his head to favor a better hearing position.
"Curiosity means nothing, Lucius. I need to know the purpose," Snape replied back, and James heard the soft rustles of a page being turn. He imagined Snape sitting there bored while Malfoy tried to garner his attention.
"I think you have already surmised the purpose of this exchange, but if you need me to say it out loud for you I will," Malfoy said. James furrowed his brows. Just what were these two talking about? And what was Malfoy going to confess, hmm? As James listened in intently, he ignored that gentle throb in his chest. Snape had yet to say anything, but James could just imagine that brow of his quirking up in response. "You should consider the offer. You know what this opportunity could provide you," Malfoy stated, which was less than helpful for James who at the enigmatic statement, only found himself worrying more. But why? What did he think was happening here? That Malfoy was somehow going to say something James shouldn't overhear? Something embarrassing perhaps? Something so telling that just hearing it would fill James with jealousy?
He wondered then why he had not taken it upon himself to just obliviate his thoughts away. Self-induced amnesia was surely less torturous than what he had lately been forcing onto himself.
"Those who have no real connections, no true bloodline to speak of, are given a voice, Severus, and you could be among those who are at the top of the wizarding world," Malfoy continued. Now James really was confused. He hugged the shelf closer, as if that would allow him to glean a better understanding from the conversation unfurling before him.
"You're implying that those who join are all treated as equals," Snape replied evenly. There was a very long, and perhaps very purposeful, drawn out pause.
"Of course," Malfoy said at last, and James got the impression that Malfoy would have rather chocked on those last words than have them uttered out though his teeth. There was another pause, and this time James knew that Snape was calculatingly watching Malfoy. For what reason though? Maybe if he understood what the conversation was about, he'd be able to guess, but as it was, James was utterly lost.
"Ridiculous," Snape replied, finally. James heard the turning of pages once more. "Why should I degrade my abilities just to have others held in the same regard? I don't think so, Lucius." Possibly even more confusing than the conversation was the sudden elation James felt at hearing Snape's blatant dismissal of Malfoy. Whatever poppycock Malfoy was trying to shove off onto Snape didn't sound so legit, even if James didn't know what that poppycock could possibly entail. Really, anything out of Malfoy mouth was not to be trusted.
"You should watch what you say," Malfoy then hissed dangerously. "That display of disrespect may be tolerated here, but when this is all done with… Well, you would do well to remember who your superiors are."
Again, James found himself at the mercy of some invisible impetus and could do nothing to stop it, so he stepped from around the bookshelf.
"Well after me that would be… no one, right Snape?" James spoke, and he did so well to not smile when Snape looked up surprised and when Malfoy actually, visibly tensed.
"Potter," Malfoy acknowledged, and this time James did allow himself to smile. Not because he was amused at how Malfoy had spat his name, but how Snape was staring at him as if he was some corporeal form sent to haunt him. "I didn't sense you there," Malfoy added, and James heard the annoyance in the tone. Oh well. What did he care if he had broken up such a private conversation?
"Come now, Snape. Surely you're not going to stand by such a proclamation, right? You'd be wrong to contest it, but… it's what you do, so…" James continued, ignoring Malfoy. This level of insult felt more like a gentle sting, one meant to encourage the other into a round of banter. He had felt no malice as he had spoken, and he wondered if Snape would sense that as well.
After a second more in which Snape did nothing to hide his confusion, he slipped it under that perfectly composed mask that he was so apt at wearing. Only this time, James saw the smallest of small twitches in the corner of the Slytherin's mouth.
"Again you've deluded yourself into thinking I somehow have betters, and worse yet… that you would even be one of them," Snape replied, eyes dark and glinting, and James felt his chest swell from it. Snape had no idea that his remark would not be having its intended and usual effect. James, because the surge had been too great to force words out past, shrugged his shoulders as nonchalantly as he could.
"Potter, no one here has time to humor you, so if you would..." Malfoy announced, gesturing with his hand that James was dismissed.
"Nonsense... it's why anyone would come to the library—too much time on their hands," James replied.
"And then that excess time is given a purpose, and it's not going to be wasted on you," Snape countered calmly, and James felt a slight heat creep across the back of his neck.
"It'd be anything but a waste, Snape," James said, moving towards the table. Snape didn't even tense as he kept his detached focus on James. Malfoy looked to James as if this was a most ghastly affront to his person. "I'm such good company after all."
"Yes, always the highlight of my day," Snape said dryly, and James smiled.
"What a high compliment you pay me."
"You would take it that way, wouldn't you?" he smiled, too, though his was anything but kind.
"This is highly boorish of you, Potter," Malfoy cut in. "To come charging in on a conversation when clearly your presence is nothing but an annoyance," Malfoy hissed out harshly in the bizarre raspy tone that almost made James cringe from irritation. Snape, who continued to stare at James curiously, rested an elbow on the table and covered his bottom lip in thought with those long fingers of his. James' mouth suddenly went dry.
James, because he didn't know where to look just then, began staring down the shelves until he stopped on a particular spine of a book. His brows rose in surprise as he lifted the book from its place of resting and read over its title once more.
"Tonguing the Unknown?" he read aloud, and he looked to Snape amusedly.
"Potter, I swear, your crass humor is obnoxious. That's obviously a rough translation of its actual title," Snape lectured. Even the Slytherin could see that James was holding a very old Potions book.
"I dunno, Snape," he said, flipping through the pages. The pictures were certainly crude enough. "I think you're sitting back here for a reason. Is this the dirty section or something?" he joked stupidly.
"Potter!" Malfoy cried indignantly. "No one here will stoop so low as to humor you or to stroke that ego of yours." And James raised his brows in shock as he looked to the older Slytherin in surprise. Snape, too, looked taken aback. He then ducked his head tiredly.
"Well, it seems as though it is now, Potter," Snape declared, and it took everything James had not to smile with actual amusement just then. Malfoy, ruffling indignantly, clicked his tongue in disapproval before he turned on his heel and strode past James whose resolve was fracturing with the barest of grins just then. Once Malfoy had left in an uppity huff, James turned once more to Snape.
"What's his problem?" James put innocently as he scooted a chair back. Snape pursed his lips as if in thought.
"Well… he's a spoiled pureblood, so…" he began, and when he didn't say anything more, James quirked a brow. "No, that was it," Snape concluded simply, and James actually felt himself smirking. He wondered then if Snape found Malfoy as disagreeable as James always had.
"Is this where you always sit?" he asked after a moment, and if Snape was taken aback by the sudden and casual question, he didn't show it.
"It has become my spot," Snape confirmed as he went back to focusing on the book before him. James frowned.
"Why back here?" James pressed as he sat down across from the Slytherin. This time Snape did show his confusion.
"Why not back here? It's virtually cut off from everyone else," Snape supplied, and James snorted.
"Don't' you think that's a little too on the nose?" James joked, but at Snape's questioning look, he sighed and added, "You just practically admitted to being a loner, Snape."
"But I am," he said back so simply that… it made James' heart throb, and whatever slight smile that had been on his face was cleanly and swiftly wiped away. That Snape could admit to something that would make others curve in on themselves with shame and regret… Who could so openly declare such a thing and feel nothing in return? At James' silence, Snape narrowed his eyes. "You act surprised," he said cautiously.
"I am, sort of," James admitted, laying an arm across the table and then resting his chin upon that. "Most people don't go around declaring such things." Snape actually smiled in turn. Well, not smile so much as grin, and it was nothing short of bitter. It made James tense.
"Most people are in utter denial about who there are, and unlike them… I have no such falsehoods," Snape said evenly, and James felt something he hadn't felt in such a long time. A pang of resentment resounded within the pits of his stomach, and he turned his head to rest his cheek on his arm and began to stare at nothing in particular. It was something that James had often remarked upon but never gave any merit, mainly because he never gave Snape any merits, but this self awareness that Snape possessed...
...James wanted it for himself as well.
He would never voice that he secretly coveted something that Snape had because that was not how things should stand between them. It was Snape who was too envy all that James had. It could not come to be different. If it did, if he ever admitted such a thing... he was sure that would be the thing to undo him.
"No counter then, I take it?" came Snape, and James moved his head slightly, straining his eyes upward in order to look at the Slytherin.
"I'm sorry, had that meant to be a backhanded way of insulting me?" James asked as he began lightly tapping the underside of the table with his other hand.
"I don't know... I thought I was pretty straight forward with that one," Snape replied blandly, and James shook his head slightly.
"How unusual for you then," he said, and he was confused when something flashed across Snape's face just then. If he wasn't mistaken, it looked like resentment.
"You don't know me well enough to make such declarations," Snape put callously, and without conscience thought or recognition, James responded.
"Yes I do," and he froze, and he sensed Snape mirroring him. He cautiously peeked over at the Slytherin and his heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. Snape looked... if it were at all possible—And maybe James was just horribly mistaken, but James felt he wasn't— But it couldn't be, right?
Snape turned his head, his face contorted in that way that expressed nothing but worry.
But what did it mean?
"You may think you do," Snape began softly, diffidently, and James didn't miss how the Slytherin's fingers coiled around his book all the tighter. "But I assure you you're nothing short of wrong."
"And yet I'm the one who's so clearly understood by you, right?" James asked, feeling his insides squirm with a disappointment he did not understand. That Snape could make such rationalizations about him but that the same could not be said for James was something that did upset him.
"I can't help that you are so simplistically obvious about everything," Snape issued out, his tone gaining in evenness as his confidence returned. With this statement, James sensed his lips upturning in a smirk that could rival all of the Slytherins' because he knew something that Snape was so ignorant to. If James was really as translucent as Snape proclaimed, he was certain that the other wouldn't be talking to him in that moment.
But Snape didn't know...
"Well, I don't think you're as complicated as you think you are, Snape," James retorted, but Snape brushed this off indifferently. Not knowing what else to say just then, James closed his mouth as a quiet befell them. Snape, seemingly uninterested in James' continual forced company, turned once more to his book. James couldn't even be bothered to see what had the Slytherin so distracted that he would even allow this prolonged proximity.
And just how distracted was he anyway?
As James pondered this, he slowly outstretched his hand from under the table towards Snape. He stared blankly at a spot on the wall as his hand moved forward tentatively, his heart laboring painfully under the movement. He heard Snape turn a page, and then James brushed two of his fingers across Snape's knee. His breath was sucked out from him as his whole body tensed.
He waited, and Snape did nothing.
Slowly, he ran his fingers down the fabric of Snape's trousers, and his breathing picked back up in full force. Snape turned another page in his book.
"Snape?" James croaked out, not knowing why he felt it necessary to bring attention to himself. He felt Snape tense under his touch and thought he had been found out, but Snape merely seemed taken aback at the sudden break in silence, as if he had completely forgotten that James was even there.
"What?" Snape demanded— no doubt annoyed at being interrupted. James swallowed hard as his fingers coursed along Snape's shin.
"Tell me something," he managed to get out. "You keep saying that I should never have been in Gryffindor," he began as his mind thrummed with nervousness. "Does this also mean you have another particular house in mind for me?" For a minute Snape said nothing, and James, rather than suffer under the stretch of silence, concentrated on how the fabric of Snape's trousers felt. He was almost panting from it all.
"Strange that you ask me so calmly," Snape remarked, and if James had enough within him to scoff at the statement, he would. He was anything but calm at the moment. And why hadn't Snape sensed anything yet?
"This is not what's strange here, Snape," he replied quietly as he paused his fingers on the boy's knee again.
"What do you mean?" Snape asked, evenly, and James scrambled together his thoughts.
"I think it's odd that you spend so much time thinking about it," he declared. Again, he felt Snape shift under his hand. "You think I was meant for Slytherin, don't you?" he continued.
"Yes."
"Then why aren't I?" he asked.
"Because the hat does take the student's choices into consideration. That does not mean, however, that Gryffindor is the proper house for you," Snape explained, his tone low.
"And you chose Slytherin on your own then?" James surmised; his fingers felt so warm.
"I had no such inklings on where to be placed," Snape replied, and James titled his head upward to look at the Slytherin.
"That's not true," he said, and Snape furrowed his brows. "You knew where you wanted to be placed. You just didn't know it until the sorting ceremony," James argued, calmly enough despite how he now lightly gripped the boy's loose fabric in his grasp. Snape narrowed his eyes, and his jaw tightened.
"Whatever are you talking about?" Snape encouraged though his tone was dangerous. James did not balk, however.
"You, too, wanted to be placed in a certain house," James began quietly, that now too familiar sensation forever within him leaking up into his chest. "After all, you saw where she was sorted into." James knew Snape understood just who 'she' was referring to, and the Slytherin's eyes narrowed further as a nasty grin split across his face. He never said anything to the contrary though, but maybe he couldn't just then. Perhaps even Snape had his moments where words failed him. James pressed on, however. "But what I find really interesting," —and his finger grazed the tip of Snape's thigh— "is why you think it was me who was wrongly sorted and not you."
"Explain," Snape seethed, but it seemed to James as if Snape wanted him to really do no such thing. Where was Snape's wand at the moment? Things were certainly getting much too constricted...
"If the sorting hat could make mistakes, then why was it with me and not you?" he asked. His neck hurt under the strain of looking at Snape in this odd angle, but if he moved, he could no longer reach the other from under the table... "Do you want me in Slytherin?"
And that was it-possibly the thing that would make his heart give out. If only he was so fortunate though… He didn't want to be so cognitive of everything just then, but his heart kept beating, and he kept on breathing, and thinking, and being... And now he had to suffer under the look of absolute loathing Snape threw his way just then. Why had he uttered such a statement?
"How could even you be so egotistical to assume such a thing?" the Slytherin spat.
"I'm not assuming anything. Why else would you always say such things?"
"Because you should be! If I am in Slytherin then you should be as well!" Snape cried, the hands gripping the book shaking slightly.
"And why's that?" he asked quietly, as he turned back away from Snape's glare. Snape's leg felt as though it was trembling slightly, too.
"Because…" and Snape stopped himself. He exhaled slowly, and James sensed he was trying to calm himself. "Did you not say that you felt something dark lurking inside you, Potter?" Snape then asked, and James felt as if the tables were about to be turned on him.
"Yes," he agreed. He could not argue otherwise, not when he had already unwillingly admitted it to the other.
"That's why then," the Slytherin said simply, and James closed his eyes.
…'that's why…'
"What? No argument?" Snape jabbed, and James felt his insides churning as that tenebrous pool surged. He shook his head.
"I can't…" he said weakly. He heard Snape exhale once more, and looked over curiously. Snape's eyes were closed, and he was rubbing at his temples exhaustedly.
"Dammit, Potter…" he sighed. "Why are you even talking to me?" he asked, and James turned his head again as he gave a thin smile; he didn't want the Slytherin to see his expression just then.
"What do you mean? Shouldn't you have a pretty good guess, being that I'm so abandoned now?" Snape looked at him wearily, like it was just too much effort to deal with the Gryffindor just then, but he quirked his brow as if to inform James that he could proceed. "Because maybe talking to you is loads better than… than me being my one companion."
He momentarily berated himself for admitting such a thing. It wasn't something that he in his right mind would ever have allowed to leak out, but James already knew that he wasn't really alright anymore. He was certain that the Slytherin would scoff at this, or turn away insulted, or argue that that was no real good reason at all, and he was certainly not expecting Snape to say what he did next.
"So even you realize how abhorrently obnoxious you are."
It wasn't that Snape had flung another insult his way—that had been expected—it was, however, the completely dry way he had delivered it. There was no venom behind the words, no malice or contempt, and James' breath was caught in a suffocating knot within his throat. This was how he sometimes joked around with Sirius and Remus—and when the boy could handle it—Peter.
But never Snape. Not like this.
And then a most ludicrous and insipid thought came into being within his head. A thought that made the murk within him swim with glee and refused to remain unsaid.
"Say, Snape?" he was able to get out after a moment, almost unwillingly, as he stroked a finger across the side of the Slytherin's upper calf. "Do you think if I had been placed in Slytherin… we'd have been friends?" Snape actually started—James had felt it— but the Slytherin was very skilled at schooling his emotions back into something indiscernible.
"I highly doubt that, Potter. No one is friends in the House of Slytherin." Sure that made sense, he supposed. He had certainly witnessed enough interactions between the Slytherins to know that most of them were highly guarded. Even Snape's and Malfoy's conversation of earlier proved as much. But James was more stubborn than most…
"But maybe you don't hate me as much as you think you do…" he said softly. That had been another thought that had been lurking quietly in the back of his mind for the past couple of days. It just never had enough fortitude to reveal itself… Until now that is.
"I don't think I could possibly hate you more," Snape whispered harshly, and James shuddered from it.
"I wouldn't say that, Snape..." James trailed, his heart hammering, his gut wrenching, his fingers trying to knot themselves within the fabrics of Snape's trousers...
"Why not, Potter?"
James hesitated just a moment as he contemplated his next words. Not on what to say, but what the words already circling in his head implied because these words, he felt, would bring him to the edge, to that point of no return, but he knew he wanted to say them. No doubt it was that darkness in him that favored this kind of stupidity.
"Because... for the last fifteen minutes... I've been touching your leg," he declared softly. Snape's eyes widen greatly to where the dark pupils stood a stark contrast against the white encasing them, and he stood abruptly, the chair scrapping against the floor sickeningly until it clamored unto the ground. And as Snape had stood, so had James... reflexively. There was such a dull pain in his chest as he watched the Slytherin's disgusted expression.
He knew he shouldn't have said anything.
He was done for.
Snape would know what that confession had meant; he would tell everyone else. James, as he stood hunched over the table with his hands braced upon its surface because he had no strength to stand otherwise, knew that the world he had understood and recognized was about to be turned upside down on him.
Because he had done it.
He had crossed over the point of no return, and was falling past the edge.
He looked over at Snape feeling nothing but regret, and everything within him ached from it.
"Are you fucking with me?"
And James blinked, the sudden question met with blockades of utter incomprehension.
"What?" he exhaled out in confusion. And Snape snarled at him.
"Are you… fucking with me?" Snape hissed out even lower and more quietly than before.
"N-no! Look, Snape, just forget it—what I said! Forget it!" James stammered. He felt like he was going to throw up.
"Then what are you up to?" Snape demanded virulently.
"Nothing!" James whispered, looking around in a panic. Could anyone overhear them?
"Yes you are, Potter! Stay the fuck away from me!" and James watched horrified as Snape rushed passed him. It wasn't until he sensed Snape so far away from him that James released the breath he had been keeping captive in one shaky exhale. It wasn't until that breath had been liberated that James saw how much he was trembling. It wasn't until this realization that he steeled his nerves once more.
And it wasn't until he had fortified his resolve that he tore off after Snape.