Author's Note: Read [bracketed] words as struck through!

Chapter 6: Tutoring with Potter

In Potions on Monday morning, a piece of parchment hits me in the side of my head.

I look in the direction it came from. Potter is staring way too intently at Slughorn's writing on the chalkboard to be innocent. I narrow my eyes and sweep the balled-up parchment into my bag, turning back to my notes. Professor Slughorn is going over the finer points of poison antidotes, something we touched on only briefly last year, and I don't want to miss anything.

I've barely got the next bullet point scribbled down though when another parchment hits me, this time with a little more force and in my eye.

"Ouch!" I hiss.

Severus glances at me. He's totally focused on the lesson, his own parchment covered in cramped spiky handwriting. "What?" he whispers, pausing briefly with his quill suspended.

"Nothing," I mumble, brushing the ball into my lap. We haven't talked much today. When I arrived in the Potions classroom mere minutes before class started, he used those minutes to apologize profusely for his very rude (and frankly rather intimidating) mates on Saturday night. "Evan is like that with everyone," he'd said. "He likes to feel in charge." I'd shrugged the whole thing off, but it's already starting to feel like fifth year all over again, Severus defending his Slytherin buddies, me not really believing him, everything feeling off-kilter as a resort.

I shoot Potter another look. He's still pretending to be engrossed in Slughorn's list of frequently used antidote ingredients and their properties, but his eyes flick toward me when Slughorn turns his back to annotate something.

Open it, he mouths and mimes flattening out a paper before bending over his notes again.

I scowl at the back of his head. Passing notes in class? Hardly proper Head Boy behavior, and now he's dragging me down with them.

Though, to be fair, Potter probably knows if he tried to talk to me after class like a normal respectable student, I'd just try to run off again.

I wait until Slughorn turns us loose to start working on constructing a feasible antidote for the Draught of Living Death and Severus is getting more ingredients from the supply cupboard to smooth the crumpled parchment out on my lap.

When can you do tutoring? Tonight in the library?

Gah. Tutoring. I'd kind of been pretending that if I ignored it – and Potter – the whole situation would go away and I wouldn't have to deal with it. But unfortunately, Minerva McGonagall is right, as are Alice and Potter, and everyone who witnessed my mishap in Transfiguration class knows it. If I have any hope of succeeding this year, I need help. Specifically, Potter's help.

However, Transfiguration tutoring on a Monday? The first night after a weekend? And I know McGonagall's going to give us homework. Not to mention Ancient Runes and Potions and my plan to go knock on Professor Dumbledore's office tonight if he still wasn't at dinner...

Slughorn bustles by my table. "House points to those who impress me most," he exclaims to the class. He looks at me with an expectant smile, as if he knows he can count on me to impress. Well, I hate to disappoint, Professor, but I'm not sure I'm up to performing my best today.

I look over to Potter, and he's watching me, gold steam rising from his cauldron, where he's already started brewing his antidote. I shake my head in a nonverbal response to his note. He frowns.

I turn to my own cauldron. Even if I'm not going to produce something incredible, I've at least got to try to brew up something passable. Severus, too, already has his antidote going, but apparently, I'm not being as surreptitious as I thought.

"Why do you keep staring at Potter?" he asks, roughly shaking lacewing flies into his cauldron. A bit of liquid sloshes out as he starts to stir too aggressively.

I sigh and tell the truth. "Professor McGonagall assigned him to tutor me in Transfiguration. We're trying to decide when to meet."

"And when will that be?"

"Definitely not tonight! I already have way too much going on. Plus, dealing with Potter on a Monday – more than I have to, at least – seems unnecessarily cruel."

Severus grins, and his stirs become more relaxed.

At least, until a third parchment ball hits me. Severus snatches it before I can and prepares to lob it – forcefully – back at Potter. I grab his wrist.

"No, wait!"

Severus looks at me, eyebrows raised. "You want to pass notes with this prat?"

"No, not really, but... yes. Actually, I really do need the tutoring."

He looks at me a moment longer, then at my hand, still clamped on his wrist. His hand opens, and the paper tumbles out.

I open it and, under Potter's "Then when?", answer, "Tuesday evening, 8 pm. Library."

Then I chuck it back at Potter. Hard. I surprise myself when the parchment gets enough momentum to knock his glasses off his nose. Hmm. With an arm like that, maybe I should try out for the Quidditch team. You know, if I had any time that I needed to waste.

Severus laughs softly. "Nice shot, Lily."

Potter glares at him, Reparo-s his glasses (I feel a little bad about that), then reads the note. His face brightens and he gives me a thumbs-up. I give an unenthusiastic thumbs-up in response.

T minus thirty-three hours until – I shudder – alone time with Potter.

Dear Mum,

First weekly letter, as promised! I already miss you all so much! How has the start of the school year treated you? Any students who are going to give you trouble? I hope your first day went smoothly.

We've only been back at Hogwarts for four days and it's already been hectic busy. But all good. My class schedule gives me plenty of time to study, as well as lots of time in Potions class [although I'm unsure how it's going to be spending all this time with Severus again].

Transfiguration is still going to be my hardest subject this year, but rest easy – Professor McGonagall has set me up with a tutor, so I'm sure I'll learn lots and be able to wow her by the end of the year! [As long as I don't murder James Potter before we get there.] I'm sure you'll be amused to hear that it is James Potter who will be my tutor. I know that might sound disastrous, but Potter is also Head Boy this year too (I couldn't believe it!), so I'm sure we will be able to figure out how to work together and get things accomplished. [Maybe. If Professor Dumbledore was ever around to tell us what to do and reassure me that the Sorting Hat was just being dramatic about rising danger.]

Tell Dad and Tuney hi from me. I love you all!

Love,

Lily

The following evening at 7:50, I drag my feet down several flights of stairs (solid as well as moving) to the library.

"Good luck," Emmeline had told me, a little doubtfully. She was the only one who sympathized at all with me. ("I mean, yes, he's brilliant at Transfiguration, but will he even focus seriously enough to teach you anything?")

"Go easy on him, Lily," Alice had said, looking up from her Herbology textbook propped up on her knees. We were lounging in three arm chairs near the fire. I knew for a fact she'd already finished her assigned reading for class and was reading for fun now. Girl can charm any plant to grow green and healthy.

"Go easy – me – on him?!" I'd sputtered, indignant.

"Yes."

I'd shot her a deeply skeptical look.

"Well, if you go into this already planning on James being a useless tutor, that's what's going to happen."

I mulled that over as I headed for the portrait hole.

"Bring me back a good story, Lily!" Marlene called from where she'd been chatting with some of her Quidditch friends. I decided to ignore her.

I've timed my arrival perfectly. It's eight o'clock on the dot when I open the library door.

The library is a big, cavernous space, a bit like the Great Hall, except no enchanted ceiling and House tables, just Gothic arches peaking in the high ceiling, and shelves and shelves and shelves of books.

There's also a bunch of round tables in a big space right when you walk in, near Madame Pince's desk. I scan these tables now. No Potter. Hardly a surprise.

"Lily!"

At my name, I look over the whole room, not sure who'd called for me. I might have thought that it was Potter, but... 'Lily'? We are not, have never been, on a first name basis.

"Lily, over here! By the Transfiguration section!"

I finally spot him – it is Potter, waving his arms, head peeking out from the shelves that hold all the books you could ever want (more books than you could ever want) on Transfiguration.

Madame Pince scowls at me, like I'm the one shouting and disrupting her quiet library. I smile apologetically, mouth Sorry to her, and hurry over to Potter before he can distract the whole library with his chaos.

"What do you think you're doing?" I hiss as soon as I meet him in the aisle. "Don't you know you're supposed to whisper in the library? Madame Pince is going to kill me, and it's going to be your fault."

"Well, I wanted to be sure you could find me! C'mon."

I follow him down the aisle. I must admit, I am not very familiar with this part of the library. I know my way around the Potions shelves and I also frequent the Charms section, but I've rarely had reason to wander among the Transfiguration books. Transfiguration class by itself is more than enough Transfiguration in my life.

So I'm surprised when the aisle ends at a study nook with a smaller version of the round tables, two chairs, and several rather comfortable looking cushions sitting plump against the wall on a thick maroon rug,

"Huh," I say. "I didn't know this was here."

Potter looks pleased as he takes one of the seats. "I thought you'd like it, since it was out of the way of everyone. And no one will be disturbed by our magic practice."

I take the other seat, sitting much more slowly than he had and perching on the very edge. "That was thoughtful of you..." And it was. Much more thoughtful than I feel like Potter is, typically.

But if Potter hears the suspicion in my voice, he ignores it completely. "So, you ready to get started?"

"I suppose. The sooner we start, the sooner this is over, right?"

Potter rolls his eyes. "Relax, Lily. This isn't supposed to be torture. We're just going to practice your spell work."

There it is again. Lily. I have no idea what to make of that. Is he trying to throw me off my game? I'm sure he'd find it highly amusing if I came out of these 'study' sessions worse at Transfiguration than I was before... although McGonagall wouldn't like that, would she? Surely she'd see through that. Professor McGonagall is intelligent like that. But... she does have a soft spot where Potter and his friends are concerned, doesn't she? So she'd blame me, then, for getting worse at Transfiguration, when really, it'd be all Potter's fault but she'd still kick me out for not studying hard enough and then...!

"Lily! Are you listening to anything I'm saying?"

I jump and focus back on Potter. "Of course I am!" I snap. "And why do you keep calling me that?"

"Calling you what?"

"Lily!"

"Because that's your name," he says, exasperated.

"You didn't call me that before."

"Sure I did, a few times." He shrugs. "Why's it important, anyways?"

"Because...!" I'm not sure how to respond exactly. I don't know why it feels so off to hear my name coming from him. Most people call me Lily. It was a bit of adjustment, actually, to be called 'Miss Evans' all the time by the staff when we first started. The only people who don't call me Lily – outside of the professors – are people who don't know me very well or who I don't interact with on a regular basis. And Potter definitely doesn't fall into either of those categories. I have had the misfortune of sharing the majority of my classes with him as well as my House. We're around each other far too much. But we don't use each other's first names.

"Because... we're not friends," I say finally.

Something flashes in Potter's eyes, an emotion like hurt or regret or I don't know, but then he's shrugging again and I think maybe I just imagined it. A glare off his glasses lens, perhaps.

"But we're not enemies," he points out.

I'm not entirely sure he's correct, but I let it slide and just shrug too.

"Now can we please get on to Transfiguration practice?"

"Fine." I get my wand and my Transfiguration textbook out of my bag and set them on the table in front of us. Potter frowns.

"What?" I frown right back. Everything he does irritates me.

"I wasn't planning on having you read your textbook."

"Why not? There's a lot of information in there." Why I'm defending my Transfiguration textbook, I don't know. I don't like the thing, thick and dull and full of technical Transfiguration terms. But I guess I'd take it over Potter. Too bad I already tried that with no results.

"There's a lot of information in here, too," he says, tapping his temple. "Besides, you're never going to learn Transfiguration by reading. You just have to... do it." He waves his wand, and my textbook transforms smoothly into a cushion matching the ones on the floor.

"Hey!" I've got a nasty feeling about the other cushions now. "I'm going to need that for my homework!"

"You can have it back," Potter says, grinning. "Just Transfigure it."

"You do know why we're here, right? Because I'm rubbish at Transfiguration, remember?"

"This is as good a place to start as any," he says. "The book and the cushion are the same size, same shape... I even kept the color. All you need to do is change the purpose. Essential, yet straightforward enough."

This feels like a hostage situation. I pick up my wand. I could hex him if I wanted to. I'd gotten an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts, too. Tempting... but the memory of McGonagall's unspoken threats to throw me out of Transfiguration if I can't improve by Christmas hangs in my brain, so I will have to refrain.

For now.

Like Potter said, the book and the cushion are the same size, shape, and dusty tan color, so all I should need to do is name the object that I want the cushion to turn back into – the book. Libre. But again, just like in class last Friday, I can't quite remember the wand movement involved, and look where that landed me.

Hmm, if only I had my book so that I could, I don't know, look this up!

Potter, watching me, says, "You're over-thinking this, Lily. Just do the spell."

"I told you not to call me Lily," I snap. "And I can't do it because I don't know the wand movement and I don't have my book to figure it out!"

"Well, guess what? I'm your tutor, right here to help. You can ask me to help you with the wand movement. Literally my job."

"I'd really much rather check my book, if you don't mind."

Potter huffs, annoyance starting to leak into his tone. Good. Now we can both be irritated. "Lily - Evans – whatever," he corrects himself hurriedly when I open my mouth to protest again. "Just use your spell. Do you need help with that part too?"

"No, I know the spell!"

"Well, okay then. Just use the spell. Wand movement is a rolling motion with your wrist, like this." He reaches out, like he's going to grab my hand to demonstrate. I wrench my arm back. Sparks fly out of my wand, fiery red.

"I don't need your help," I grumble.

Potter throws his hands in the air. "Fine! Go ahead! Let's see how you do!"

I point my wand at the cushion, say, "Libre," and give my wrist an experimental twist. Unsurprisingly, nothing happens. The cushion remains a cushion.

"Well there you go," I huff at Potter. "You've taught me so much."

"I don't suppose you'll let me tell you what to work on?"

"Go on," I say. "Like you said, you are my tutor after all."

He chooses to ignore the heavy sarcasm in my voice. "You're not rolling your wrist properly," he begins.

"I did too roll my wrist! You told me too!"

"Lil- Evans – if you rolled your wrist the right way, you'd have your textbook back right now. Now like I said, you need to roll, not twist, your movement was too jerky." He demonstrates with his wand.

"That's what I did," I say through gritted teeth.

"Well obviously not, because that's still a cushion in front of you."

I try many more times, never getting any results. Each failure puts me in a worse and worse mood, which in turn is making Potter all the more frustrated too. His hair is sticking up every which way because he can't stop running his hand through it. It's his normal tick, but in the extreme; I think it's the only thing stopping him from grabbing my wand hand to get me to do the spell right.

He finally bursts. "If you'd let me show you with your wrist, I think you could get the movement down!"

"Fine!" I stiffly extend my wand arm. Potter, watching me warily, grabs my wrist and guides it through the motion. His fingers feel rough against my skin. All those callouses from Quidditch, I suppose. He twists my hand again.

"Alright, I've got it now!" I yank my hand back and point my wand at the cushion. I feel hot all over. I've already spent way too much time back here with Potter. "Libre," I say, and try to duplicate the motion that Potter just showed me.

And, lo and behold, the cushion transforms. Back into my textbook.

"Good job, Evans," Potter says. I think he's as relieved as I am that something finally worked.

"Oh thank Merlin," I say, and pick it up, anxious to check Potter's advice against what the book says, but when I open it up, I'm horrified to find that the pages inside are blank. "What the bloody..."

Potter notices. "Not a big deal. Just means you weren't focused enough."

"Not a big deal? I still don't have my textbook back!"

"Well, I can put it back right," he says, and waves his wand. Immediately, the open pages fill with text.

"I'm supposed to be the one to do that! What have you even taught me tonight?" I shove my book back into my schoolbag. Thank Merlin the tutoring session is over. I balk at the thought of having to do every week. Clearly, this arrangement is not going to work.

"What do you mean, what have I even taught you?" Potter is affronted: he folds his arms and glares at me. "You transformed the cushion, didn't you? That's more than you started the hour being able to do! And guess what? You were able to do it the onetime you finally listened to me and let me help you!"

"Did she really end up listening to you?"

We both start and look up. We've been so deep in our argument that neither of us noticed Sirius Black – Potter's best mate, the other main driving force of the Marauder's mischief – standing next to our table.

"I'm not sure you could really say that," Potter answers, still scowling. He starts collecting his things.

"What are you doing here, Black? It's nearly curfew," I say, similarly bad-tempered.

Black finds something about this very amusing, because he just laughs, pushing his long dark hair out of his eyes. "I came to collect James. Had to make sure he was going to make it out of here in one piece. Besides," he looks down at his watch, "the night is still young."

I check my watch too. 9:14. While I was being a bit overdramatic in my curfew accusation to Black (curfew for older students isn't until ten pm), I'd still hardly call the night young.

"Let's just go," Potter says to Black, standing, his school bag already slung over his shoulder. He strides off without another word or glance to me. Black watches as he retreats down between the Transfiguration shelves before cocking an eyebrow at me and clucking his tongue.

"Evans, Evans. You're going to be the death of us all." He shakes his head disapprovingly, almost like he's chiding me, and follows Potter away, leaving me alone and fuming amongst all the stupid Transfiguration books.