Chapter Eighteen

Lily couldn't sleep. She tossed and turned and flipped over a dozen times trying to get comfortable. She dozed off, but woke up sweating when she dreamed not about James Potter, but about her sister's wedding and the ugly grope she'd shared with Michael Townsend in the cloak room.

After staring at the ceiling for ages, she finally got up and sat in the window seat, gazing out at an unusually clear sky. She realized that what had happened over the summer had affected her more than she thought. She had felt ashamed from the beginning, embarrassed to have done something so uncharacteristic no matter the circumstances. Michael had been a bit of a cad, certainly not someone she would normally be interested in, but he had found her pretty, and in the middle of a pretentious Muggle wedding where she had otherwise been completely ignored, that had been rather nice.

It hadn't gone even gone as far as it had with James. Not only had she said no and stopped Michael with a firm refusal, but someone had come for their coat at that same moment, ruining any chance of it going further. Lily had hurried out, found a dark corner behind the building, and, in spite of perhaps one too many cocktails, Apparated home. She had promptly vomited, then cried herself to sleep.

Now she realized that a part of her was afraid of that happening again—of losing control and finding herself in a situation where she needed to say no, but couldn't. Oh, she had recognized her fear in the rain, but hadn't recognized the full extent of her other, more buried feelings. What had happened with James that night brought it flooding back. Yes, she had been afraid of falling for James Potter, Head Boy; only now she felt the same embarrassment, the same shame as she had over the summer. She had never seen Michael Townsend again; how could she ever face James after what they had just done?

Lily shivered and decided to go down to the common room and sit by the fire. Grabbing a robe and slippers, she crept out quietly and made her way downstairs. It was the middle of the night and the fire was low, but she could bring it back up. To her surprise, there was someone sleeping on the sofa. When she came around, she saw it was James and stopped in her tracks.

Even asleep he looked troubled. Lily didn't know what to feel as she gazed at him: sympathy, anger, hurt, confusion. She felt it all, really…but she didn't know what to do about it. She couldn't face him, not yet. So she turned and started back upstairs.

"I'm not dangerous, you know," said a voice behind her. James was sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes before replacing his glasses.

"I didn't want to bother you," Lily replied, her voice soft. She did not turn around to look at him.

"I was waiting for you," said James.

"All night?"

"We need to talk," he said. "Please."

She finally turned around and sighed. "James, I don't know if I can, I don't know what there is to say—"

"I'm sorry," he interrupted, standing and facing her. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't want it to happen like that."

"I know," she murmured. "Me neither." She was still standing on the stairs to the dorm; she couldn't sit by him, but finally moved toward one of the empty chairs by the fire to keep from shivering. She held her hands up to the flames, rubbing them together and holding them up as if she could cast her jumbled feelings into the fire. "But it did."

"Then can we just start over?" he asked, sitting back on the sofa. "Perhaps the entire year?"

Lily couldn't help but smile, since it was true. They had started off badly the first day back on the train. A new beginning might be the only way they could forget all that had happened between them and move on.

"Look, you must know that it wasn't my fault," James said, his eyes pleading for her understanding. "It was that damn spell that Sirius cast. You felt it too."

"I know," she said, nodding. "But that doesn't make it any easier. Speaking of which, where is he?"

"Still in the prefects' lounge as far as I know," James grumbled. "And he can stay there all night. He's a bloody git for what he did."

"I don't understand—why would he do something like that?" Lily asked. "I thought he was your best friend."

James hesitated. "Well, I suppose he probably thought we needed to get over ourselves and move on." He paused and shrugged. "I suspect he was upset about something else, as well. And a bit pissed, to be honest."

"Why?" she asked again, ignoring the latter. "Why would he think that about us?" She remembered her conversation with Sirius in the corridor, but still couldn't imagine why he would think forcing them together like that would be anything but awkward.

James raised an eyebrow at her. "It's true, isn't it? We keep tiptoeing around it, this thing between us. Ignoring every small moment in favor of yet another fight over nothing. And then last week…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "Doesn't excuse what he did, of course. I know that."

Lily was silent, because she simply didn't know what to say. James was right: there was no excuse for what Sirius had done. She was glad that he was still tied up in the prefects' lounge, for as embarrassed as she was with James, she was still furious at Sirius.

"So what should we do?" asked James, staring into the fire.

"I don't know," she said, shrugging helplessly. Something still held her back, though she couldn't pinpoint what it was. Fear? Stubbornness? She just couldn't seem to take that first step toward him, even though he was holding out his hand.

"I still don't understand why didn't you tell me about Mark," he murmured. "That would have changed everything."

Lily frowned and gave him a pointed look. "Because I saw you with Anastasia. Again."

James shook his head. "How many times do I have to tell you I'm not interested in her?"

"Then why does she keep going after you?" Lily asked. "It's as if you're sending some sort of signal."

"That's not fair." He frowned. "You said yourself that she's shagged the last two Head Boys. She's probably just going for the hat-trick."

Lily couldn't help but giggle at the term, then quickly stopped and shook her head. "It's not just her. It's everything—Charms, the Entrance Hall, Anastasia, Mark—even the meetings. You said yourself last night that all we do is fight."

"Maybe we need to figure out why," he said.

"You drive me mad," she said immediately.

"And as I said once before, the feeling is mutual," he replied. "But that's not it, not really. Why can't we really get along?"

"I don't know, but I'm tired of it. I thought maybe last weekend, after the match…" Lily trailed off, embarrassed even thinking about it. "Well, I thought maybe that would change things, but then we didn't talk all week, and I assumed I was wrong to…well, to do what I did." She could feel her face flushing and looked away. "And now it's worse."

"It wasn't wrong!" he exclaimed. "Lily, it was amazing."

"You just sat there," she pointed out.

"I was surprised," he said, a small smile pulling at his lips.

"You let me run away," she replied. "Twice."

"I really was surprised," he said, this time sounding defensive. "I had no idea what to say, especially after the match."

"I know," she said miserably. "That's just it—our timing is always so wrong, we never know what to say, or how to say it, and we just end up having a row."

"Or ignoring each other," he murmured. "When we're not playing with words but leaving out what we really mean."

"Exactly!" she said. "I don't think I can keep it up, James. It's exhausting."

"We're doing okay now," he pointed out. She gave him a skeptical look in return and was silent. He took a deep breath and continued.

"So would you rather just quit trying?"

She stared at him, unable to push past the wall she had built around her feelings over the last week. If what had happened in the prefects' lounge was supposed to bring it down, it had instead done the opposite and reinforced her determination. She could not be with him, not after what had almost happened. She finally glanced away, unable to face him with her words this time. "After tonight, I can't. I just can't."

James let his head fall into his hands. "I'm going to kill Sirius," he murmured. After a moment, he stood and came over to her, crouching down in front of the chair with an earnest look on his face. "Lily, don't let him ruin this. It was a spell, that's all. I'm not really like that."

"It's a spell that only works if the feeling is already there," she said.

"Brilliant!" he exclaimed. "Then you do like me!"

She paled at the implication, even though deep down she knew it was true: she did. Why wasn't it enough? "It's not that kind of spell—it's based on sexual attraction."

"So you're attracted to me—even better!"

"It's not that simple!" she cried, even though it was also true. She couldn't look at him, the memory of his lips exploring hers, of his hands roaming across her body, of the almost desperate desire flowing between them almost overwhelming her once more. She choked back a sob.

"It can be," James said, reaching out to her. She pulled away, and he stopped, his hand in midair. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he took a deep breath before continuing. "I like you, Lily. I do. Even after all the things we've said and done to each other, I like you and I want to try this."

Lily tried to steady her shaking heart. And as much as she wanted to say, "I do, too," instead she looked down and whispered, "I don't."

"You don't mean that," he said, shaking his head. "I know you don't. You wouldn't have kissed me after the match if you did."

Her head snapped up, and she knew her eyes were flashing. "I don't know why I kissed you, James! Maybe it was just a big mistake!"

"It wasn't," he said. "You know it wasn't."

"Then why did you ignore me all week?" she demanded.

"I saw you with Mark the next day!" James snapped back in defense.

"He broke up with me because of you!" Lily hissed at him, dashing tears from her eyes. James looked like she had slapped him again.

"I didn't know that," he said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"You just assumed," she spat, releasing her anger once more. "You assumed I was some confused little girl who ran back to her boyfriend after mucking it up with you. You assumed you could just ignore what happened and let Anastasia run her hands all over you and it wouldn't matter one bit."

"Stop it!" he shouted, standing up and glaring down at her. "Stop throwing her in my face, Lily. It's just an excuse and you know it!"

She jumped up and yelled right back, glad to be done with the questions she had no good answers for. "It is not. What's it an excuse for if it's not true?"

"You're scared," he said, as if realizing it for the first time. "You're scared of…me. Why?"

"I am not!" she said. "I just don't want to keep going through this…this." She motioned wordlessly at the space between them.

"Then let's stop," he murmured. He reached out for her hand and took a step closer. "Please."

She glanced down at their hands and back into his eyes. She thought about the gentle kiss they had shared in the rain, so imperfect for all its perfection. And then she remembered what had happened earlier that night, how fast they had gone, the memories it had brought back. She thought about all the fights they'd had, the misunderstandings, the harsh words…and she pulled away. She would not give in just to be hurt again.

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's over."

She turned and headed toward the stairs. How many times had she turned her back on him now? It seemed to never end: one of them was always walking away from the other. Maybe this would be the last time.

"It never even started," said James. He grabbed his cloak from the sofa and stormed out through the portrait hole. She watched him go, her heart strangely empty. She hoped he would be all right, but she did not feel like running after him.

Not this time.

End Notes:

The End.
Ha ha, totally kidding. See, I have a sense of humor, no worries. ;)
Of course there's more. They had Harry, after all.
Thanks to Lea/Mugglegirlmarauder once again!