Chapter Text
Lily
In the chilly hours and minutes
Of uncertainty, I want to be
In the warm hold of your loving mind
To feel you all around me
And to take your hand, along the sand
Ah, but I may as well try and catch the wind
She isn’t ready for it—but then again, when would she ever be.
“Nice ferula charm, Evans.”
Lily doesn’t need to look to know whose smug grin stares down at her. She waits a beat, hoping in vain that silence will deter him and he’ll go off to follow the sea of students pouring out of the classroom. It’s wishful thinking of course–when has he ever done what she wanted?
“Look Potter, I’m not interested in sarcasm this morning.” She keeps her gaze down, busying herself with lining up the corners of her books flush against each other. She’d hoped that after five years of suffering under his confident and calculated gaze it would become less intimidating, but like muscle memory a deep wash of heat enters her stomach, making all her vitals stir.
“I’m not being sarcastic,” James says, “If you hadn’t second guessed your wand movements and just kept a steady elbow at twenty degrees it would have been perfect.”
An infuriating twist of her gut. He’s right and she hates it—but she hates even more that he was watching her closely enough to notice.
“Yeah well, if you just kept your arrogant arse steady at—” She turns, ready to finish her admittedly childish jibe when the words cut in her throat. He’s closer than she thought, leaning with one hand against the desk. His eyebrows arch in anticipation for the rest of her sentence but his mouth remains in a flat line.
“Uhm—”
It comes on slow. A deep, warming feeling that she hasn’t felt before–not from him at least. It pours right down her veins and pools into the pit of her stomach, hot and syrupy and drowning all her insides until she swears the air has gotten thinner.
It’s unsettling how much she likes it.
“Right.” James clears his throat, straightening up. “Just wanted to say…if you need some outside practice I’d be happy to help—Merlin knows Brayburn isn’t teaching us a thing.”
Lily watches him lope towards the door, hands shoved deep into his pockets. She waits for the punchline, for one of his little cronies to jump out and take the piss, but nothing comes. Her eyes fall on the square of his shoulders and that same unfamiliar twang blotches hot on her cheeks for even noticing the shape of his body at all.
“Oh, and Evans?” James pivots on his heel, twisting back to her with a grin half formed.
“When you figure out what angle to keep my arse steady at, please let me know. Inquiring minds and all…”
When a boyish grin finally appears across his face, everything pooled in her stomach makes a giant wave, completely pulling her under.
Shit.
* * * * * *
When she had stepped off the train in Hogsmeade station, Lily Evans had promised herself one thing: don’t be stupid.
It was a fairly simple rule but born from multiple occasions of breaking it: throwing a hot, greasy chip in Vernon Dursley’s fat face for insinuating she dressed like a slag? Barely an offense at all. Letting some muggle bloke feel her tits in the alleyway behind the corner pub? Not her best moment. Believing her best mate could be the decent person he claimed to be?
Yeah, that one was pretty fucking bad.
She wasn’t quite sure where letting James Potter get under her skin would fall on the spectrum, but it was definitely up there.
“I dunno what you are on about—he seems the same to me,” Lily’s closest friend Mary says, leaning down to peer inconspicuously between a mountain of steaming potatoes towards the end of the table. As usual, James is detected before he is actually spotted. Even in first year he’s always had this presence , one that changes the energy of the room just by entering it. And it’s only gotten worse with age—even now his raucous laugh booms through the hall, bouncing off the stone and echoing back as though a thousand spectral versions of him have popped up in every direction. Across from him, his best friend Sirius Black leans back to bark out a cackle of his own, completely inoffensive but capable of making every girl in a three meter radius turn and swoon.
Gits.
“Well, I’m telling you something was weird,” Lily says, turning back to stab at a potato on her plate. “He was being–I don’t know– normal.”
“Maybe he was actually being nice—”
“Doubt it.”
“ Or,” Mary hums, face still down by her plate, “ Maybe he still fancies you.”
Again, that stupid thing that’d been happening earlier inside her stomach gives a lurch, blooming a web of blush up the side of her neck.
“ Or maybe,” Lily echoes, putting her fork down with a bit too much force, “You’ve ruined my appetite.”
Mary sighs, straightening herself. “I will never understand you. Do you know how many girls would die to have Potter or Black notice them? How I specifically would die?”
Lily does know, because she’s shared a dorm with Mary and these aforementioned girls for the past five years. Fleeting crushes come and go, but one thing always remains the same: Potter and Black are the most sought after, undateable blokes in the entire school.
“I mean, Jesus Christ,” Mary continues unprompted,“I’d never thought I’d see the day where I actually envied Jorkins—I mean look at her.”
Mary nods unabashedly towards the end of the table and Lily’s eyes follow to where Hufflepuff seventh year, Bertha Jorkins, sits perched on the edge of the bench like an afterthought. Even if she hadn’t been sure to tell everyone who had ears that her and Peter Pettigrew had started dating, her arms currently locked around his neck would be a good indication. Still, it’s hard to ignore the distance the boys hold from her, all of their bodies angled away in a distinct effort to keep her at bay. “ An insular group of gits, aren’t they?” Severus' voice echoes from some far off memory. “ You always go off about the Slytherin’s being arrogant and dodgy, but what about them?”
Sirius says something and James whips his head back in another laugh— the staccato of it bouncing through the cavernous room until it’s amplified over the voices of every other student. At the sound, Lily risks a glance and he immediately catches her gaze, mouth falling into a soft, joyous grin. She snaps her head away so quickly, she gets a crick in her neck.
“Er, Lily?”
A hand falls on her shoulder and she jumps in her seat, the horrible sensation of being caught doing something she shouldn’t flooding her cheeks. Remus Lupin just gives a curious arch of his eyebrow.
“You alright?” Remus says. His eyes flit over to where she had been staring, but if he puts the pieces together, he chooses to be forgiving. “Sorry, hate to be a bum, but d’you happen to have any fags? Sirius smoked my last this morning.”
He offers an apologetic smile, one that feels far too docile to come from someone who constantly spends time with the two most gregarious humans in the world. The weight of his hand on her shoulder trembles slightly and it reminds her to make a mental note about cutting back on smoking herself.
“Out as well,” Lily says with an equally disappointed huff. “But if I get the time I’ll ask Se–”
A sharp pang hits her heart right as the words cut out, crumbling on her tongue. No, she wouldn’t be asking Sev for fags anymore. She wouldn’t be asking him for anything ever again.
“Uh, hey, don’t worry about it,” Remus retracts his hand, face growing impossibly paler by her evident anguish. “I’m sure Sirius and James would be up for a supply run one of these days anyhow.”
Lily twists around, letting her horrible gaff about Sev wash away with newfound suspicion.
“Wait, do you all sneak out to the muggle world?”
Remus falters, a deceiving smile tugging at his lips. “Course not.”
Bloody liar.
Lily opens her mouth to prod further, but Mary cuts in with a semi-violent wave of her fork, flicking bits of pea into the air. “Yeah, yeah. We all know you sneak out for little group wank sessions. But speaking of—Lily says your mate is acting funny.”
“Wait, how is that speaking of?”
“Don’t deflect, Lupin.”
Remus gives a defeated sigh, something he seems very versed in. “Fine. Which one and how funny?”
“Potter and dunno—like he’s maturing or something.”
It does give Remus pause, but one lazy eye flick down to where Sirius now dangles a heaping spoonful of custard over James’ head makes for an easy conclusion. “Looks more like curdling to me.”
“Can people curdle?”
“I’m sure if anyone was going to figure it out, I’d be him.
Remus says something or other about prefect matters which Lily hardly listens to before nodding his goodbye. It wasn’t that she was trying to be rude, but her thoughts kept gravitating towards the boy at the end of the table. He certainly looked like the git she’s known for five years—maybe a little taller and more muscular—but undoubtedly he had to be the same infuriating, arrogant, smart, skilled with his hands…and his wand…
Oh Christ.
Remus joins the group at the end of the table and Sirius unceremoniously gives Peter and Bertha a shove to budge up, making room next to him and completing the portrait. Lily frowns, openly staring as Sirius pinches Remus’ cheek while James leans forward to smack his hand away with a faux chastising air. They don’t make sense—have never made sense to anyone really—yet even as peaky and soft-spoken as Remus can be, he molds his way into the company of Black and Potter like the foil to some Shakespearean princes.
She hates to admit it, but there’s something nice about it.
As the boys fall into a steady conversation, Lily’s attention breaks away, her mind steering towards another path. She ought to stop herself, but the sheer curiosity of it pushes her gaze to scan the rest of the room until, like fate, she lands on her target.
His hair is longer, though still unwashed and a whisper of facial hair peppers at the tip of his chin. He looks sallow, hollowed out by high cheekbones and she wonders if Eileen even fed him over summer. Like the opposite side of a coin, Severus sits flanked by Mulciber and Avery, all the boys leaning inwards and talking in short hushed tones. Every once in a while Mulciber lifts his head to survey a passing student, eyes predatory and raking regardless of the girl.
If she hadn’t lost her appetite before, she definitely has now.
“I’m gonna go for a smoke,” Lily says, standing abruptly. From both her previous zones of interest, pairs of eyes look up at her, but she does her best to ignore them.
“Hey,” Mary whines, “Didn’t you just say you don’t have any cig–”
But Lily is already out of her seat and striding towards the double doors. Head high, one step at a time, don’t look back.
If the eyes of James or Severus follow her out the door, she doesn’t care to look.
She isn’t that stupid.
* * * * * *
Unlike the rest of the sane population, Lily rather liked the dungeons. Yes–sure, it was dark and dank and smelled faintly of rotting vegetation, but she liked how the cool stone sweated moisture from the lake lapping into the otherside of the wall and how light danced across the sombre floors like a beacon in a storm. Severus used to insist it was a sign that she should have been in Slytherin, but then again, that was a time in their lives where he would have found any reason to keep them together. Still, it was comforting somehow—and in many ways it resembled her muggle town of Cokeworth: smelly, grimey–in short, a shithole —but home nonetheless.
In the past, she and Sev would have walked down the halls together, talking in low, excited voices and comparing their notes before class. Maybe they would have stepped out to share a quick drag of a fag, shivering shoulder to shoulder as the winter air whirled around them. Instead, Lily now slumps against the side wall of the courtyard, bracing against the wind to keep her last half of a cigarette lit, then rushes down to the classroom to get there first. It’s not like anyone ever takes the seat closest to Slughorn’s desk, but she arrives early to snag it anyways. It's a clear message: Leave me alone.
“Can I sit here?”
Well, clear for the most part.
Bertha Jorkins waits for an answer, her brown eyes wide and unassuming. Lily had thought that it had been her proximity to such large personalities that had made her seem so small back in the Great Hall, but up close she is a petit wisp of a thing, barely a foot taller than Lily even when sitting down. Her tight chestnut curls bounce at her shoulders, framing her rounded cheeks that tighten with an anticipatory smile.
Lily surreptitiously glances behind her, watching as the rest of the class streams in. In the back of the class, Peter and James are already unpacking their scales and cauldrons, carrying on a conversation that might as well be the same one from lunch period. James rolls up his shirt sleeves to reveal rather nice arms, ones that looked like they could keep someone warm even in the worst of winters—not that it mattered, because it didn’t.
“Er–yeah of course.” Lily pulls her gaze away from the boys and sidles over so Bertha can heave her bag onto the table. Bertha opens it up to show a potions kit in complete disarray, everything from the cauldron to the scales caked in some lingering goo that makes Lily nauseous just looking at, but if Bertha cares or is remotely embarrassed, she doesn’t let on. Wiping the excess grime onto her skirt, she turns and blows a dramatic kiss to a blushing and somewhat embarrassed looking Peter.
“Isn’t he just lovely, ” Bertha croons, turning back to finish setting up her station. “You’re so lucky to share a house with them. It’s so annoying always having to part ways.”
Lily can think of a myriad of times Black has smuggled someone from outside Gryffindor into the tower, but for the sake of keeping the peace, she doesn’t mention it.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder—or something, right?” Lily offers, half heartedly. “I imagine that’s why you aren’t working together?”
Lily must have landed on the exact thing to say because Bertha beams at her, cheeks going rosy with a newfound confidence. “Oh sure,” Bertha chirps, tossing some of her curls behind her back. “Petey takes his friendships very seriously—and I for one think it’s awfully cute. They hardly separate— sometimes it feels like I’m dating all of them at once!”
One look at Bertha confirms she’s thought about that quite a lot.
Somewhat invigorated, Bertha begins a steady stream of prattle and gossip for the better half of an hour, hardly taking into account the silence Lily offers in return. Lily can hardly keep up, the Hogwarts rumor mill being laid out in front of her more succinctly than if the Daily Prophet were to start printing it in the society section. It makes her wonder if she’s like this around the boys and it only deepens her respect for Remus: between Sirius, James, and now Bertha it’s no wonder he ends up in the hospital wing once a month—bloke probably just wants a bit of quiet.
“...And they never stop blaring that bloody muggle music, even when I ask them to–”
“Wait, what?” Lily snaps back to reality, the rest of the conversation entirely lost.
“Sorry?” Bertha blinks, hand perched on her hip. Unlike Lily, she has hardly prepped any of her ingredients.
“What do you mean muggle music?”
“You know, music made by muggles? Shouldn’t you know this seeing that you’re a—”
“No, I understand that ,” Lily huffs, the idea of accidentally chopping her hand becoming increasingly appealing. “But they can’t possibly be listening to muggle music. Muggle things don’t work inside Hogwarts.”
It’s clearly something Bertha has never thought about. She purses her lips then shrugs in dismissal, already bored. “Dunno.They just do. And it’s bloody annoying—no offense.”
Lily steals a glance to the back of the room again. Peter flips through the potions textbook with an air of frenetic energy while James stares deep into his cauldron, the heat from the simmering potion making his hair blow out farther than normal. Her stomach gives a violent flip.
“I need more tannis root.”
Lily stands up and strides to the back of the classroom. Midway down the aisle she tries to make herself reconsider her plan, but by the time she has pleaded herself to see reason, she’s already standing in front of them, unable to find the words she had been dying to say just moments ago.
“Alright Evans?”James says, squinting through fogged glasses. It’s definitely not cute—not a bit. “Decided to join us in our increasingly masochistic endeavor at learning potions?”
“You listen to muggle music?” Lily says without preamble. James raises an eyebrow, knowing a good spar when he sees one.
“Might dabble a bit.”
“Yeah, and how? Last time I checked, turntables don’t work on school grounds.”
She knows. She’s tried. Many times. Even in third Sev had begrudgingly helped her stowaway an old phonograph just to see if it’s vintage state would be less assuming to magical interference. Nothing worked.
James’ smile lowers into a teasing grin. “Aw, Evans. You're not the least bit interested in what my musical tastes are?”
“No, but I would love to hear your secret.”
She sizes him up–or maybe he sizes her up–it’s hard to tell. His arrogance is back full force, leaning towards her with a boyish grin that looks awfully tempting to slap. Maybe it was a false alarm, she tells herself, maybe he hasn’t changed a bit. Maybe earlier was just a fluke.
“Since you asked, I fancy myself some Sweet but Bowie is good fun in a pinch,” James deflects, completely disregarding her demand. “Should I try to guess your favourite band? If I’m taking you at face value I’d assume you have a disco streak–which is not an insult by any means, I quite like the stuff actually–but to be perfectly honest you seem more like a Slits fan…”
Damn. He guessed correct.
“Ugh, forget it,” Lily sighs, cheeks going rosy. “Sorry I even asked.”
She means to move— should move–but she doesn’t. It doesn’t quite figure: he’s a pureblood, probably never fiddled with electricity in his life. His mum and dad no doubt listen to Celestia Warbeck or some posh classical drivel that would put her to sleep. He has no right to know who Sweet or Bowie or who her favorite band is, but he does.
It’s infuriating and surprising and making that thing in her stomach burst aflutter. And worse, it fills up her brain with questions, each of them tumbling to the front of her mind to be picked first.
Instead, she just goes with: “It’s better if you crush it—the tannis root.”
“Uh, pardon?” James brow furrows, caught off guard by the stark change in subject, but Lily nods towards the table where he had been slicing the root into narrow pieces. “Crush it—it will cut the simmering period by half and make a cleaner mixture.”
“But the textbook says–”
“I know what the textbook says, Potter,” Lily sighs, “Since when have you been a rule follower anyhow.”
That rewards her a grin, a cheeky one that lights up his eyes. She must be breathing in too many cauldron fumes because she finds it rather handsome.
“Ah, is that why I’ve been such shit at potions this whole time? I’ve been following a traitorous book? Silly me, thinking that the very foundation of learning would steer me wrong.”
Despite herself, she laughs and it feels good. She can’t remember the last time she’s done so—could it really have been all the way in last year? James grins in return, a blush rising to his cheeks.
From somewhere within, a burden lifts and she feels a bit lighter than before. Suddenly, the world is more possible and full and worth living. For the first time since the school year started, she feels whole.
But as quickly as the relief comes, a hand reaches out and pulls her back under.
“What was that?” Severus hisses, pulling her until she stumbles against the table. As a child his grip had felt comforting and warm. Now, the tips of his fingers cut into her.
“You had no right, Lils. We came up with that together. ” The last word hangs heavy on his tongue. It flashes something sharp and stinging through her heart, the remembrance of how just a year ago they would have been sitting together. When was the last time they even talked? Outside the Gryffindor tower last year? He’d come around over the summer hols, throwing stones at her window and standing outside the cafe while she was on shift, but she couldn’t justify giving him any more of her time and energy. Even now, she still can’t.
“No right, no right?” Lily hisses, yanking her arm free. Around them, other classmates start to turn and watch. She can feel James’ gaze burning into the back of her scalp.
“Oooh, careful Severus,” a sneer calls from behind him. Mulciber leans over his cauldron, shooting her a lecherous grin. “You’re mudblood’s acting up again .”
There’s a clatter from behind and both boys glance warily in the noise’s direction. She doesn’t turn to look but whatever it is, it makes Mulciber’s grin grow wider.
“Or–perhaps,” he mewls, “Miss Evans here has a new keeper?”
Severus’ reaction is immediate, his lips twist into something pained and furious, eyes focusing back on Lily with an almost pleading stare. From across the room, Slughorn stirs, hurrying to the back of the class with his eyes jumping from her, Snape, and Mulicber to whatever is occurring beyond.
“What is this? What’s gone wrong?” Slughorn looks between the students. “Mr. Potter I’d greatly appreciate it if you lowered your wand…”
“Everything’s fine, Professor,” Lily says cooly, not dropping her gaze from Severus. “I was just going back to my table.”
With a final glare, she turns back to a wide eyed Bertha and without any other preamble quickly sweeps her things into her bag, leaving the classroom.
“Hey Evans–Hey! Wait—damn you’re fast.”
James bounds after her, his potions kit clunking into his side. Lily stops and lets him catch up, wiping any stray tears that might have fallen while making her exit.
“I just wanted to say—that was real shit what happened back there. I’m–I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, really,” Lily says, with a heavy wave of dismissal. “It would have happened no matter what, I reckon.”
James looks taken aback, brow knitting together. “Why would that make it excusable?”
It catches her off guard—the sincerity behind his words. His jaw clicks, gaze scanning her face for something and even through a cloud of concern, his eyes are an inviting honeyed gold under his rims.
“Right—well,” James says, clearing his throat. Tentatively, he juts out a leg to tap his trainer with her mary jane, a small smile forming again. “Thanks for the potions advice—though surprisingly more trouble than it was worth. And I meant what I said in charms. If you’d want to trade pointers, I’m sure my potions note would thank you.”
It’s a shoe tap, hardly classified as one of the most intimate touches in existence, but it does something horrid to her heart rate.
He stands there waiting for a response, hair still blown out from the heat of his cauldron. She can’t figure him, one minute he’s just like he’s always been and the next—the next he’s this : all smiles and sincerity and tapping her bloody shoe like it’s the cutest action to ever be performed by a human. She’s seen him look like this a million times, but suddenly all she wants—and feels like all she’s ever wanted to do—is grab him by the collar and kiss him.
“I’ll see you, Evans,” he says, taking a few backward steps away. Her fingers twitch at her sides, feet ready to close the distance and to find out exactly what his arms feel like when they are wrapped around her. But by the time the courage comes, it’s already too late.
He’s already gone.