Virgo
Virgo
(The Maiden)
The second largest constellation in the sky; visible from two celestial spheres.
Symbolizes independence, vulnerability and longing for companionship.
The lone traveler finds the world unkind for no journey is meant to be walked alone.
Much to James’ dismay, he doesn’t see Lily the rest of that weekend. He tried to ask Remus a few times—not so subtly—if they’d made any plans but his friend seemed to grow defensive at the pass of her name on James’ lips. Something hardening in his normally soft eyes.
He noticed it when he first came back from the corridor on Saturday, too. The knowing and piercing look that sizzled hot between them. Unbeknownst to James, Remus has shoved it aside when James began spiraling to them, but in the moments thereafter whenever Lily came up—in a much less troubled context, that is—his back would stiffen and he would get that look in his otherwise kind eyes. It was almost sizzling, like lightning striking something fragile. His posture straightens, his tone sharpens and James is just left confused. However, James—for the time being, at least—lacks the proper bandwidth to untangle its meaning at the moment, his priorities elsewhere .
According to the map—not that he was checking, really—Lily, oddly enough, spent most of the weekend with McGonagall. He’s sure it's to help her settle and prepare for classes but lessons on a Saturday and a Sunday? Well that feels almost criminal, if you ask James.
He tries to catch her a few times, lingering longer than necessary during meals, hoping she may turn up. He pays extra attention to what the other seventh-year girls are saying, her new roommates, but it’s not much of anything. Just baseless speculation, most of which he doesn’t even care to entertain.
He spends the remainder of his own weekend with the map hidden under his pillow. He uses the rest of Saturday and all of Sunday drawing up Quidditch plays loudly and obviously—entirely to both prove a point to and annoy Sirius, though he pretends it’s for the team’s benefit.
But he finds when he has a moment to think his mind is a labyrinth. Twisted and tangled with such strong emotions he’s never felt. Of ill fated, astrological promises, he’s never entertained in the past. It weighs heavy on his chest, both deeply personal and almost cosmic.
He spends his nights with the tip of his wand dimmed against the parchment, glasses sliding down his nose as he dozes off with his gaze on the map. It was a security thing, the physical assurance that Snape, Trelawney, Dumbledore—whoever else—was leaving Lily alone. Letting her work through things with McGonagall, whose surge of protection for the young witch was both evident and now, much appreciated.
And he knows he’ll run into her tomorrow, there’s only so many seventh-year courses one can take, especially within the same house.
He thinks it’s the first time he’s ever been excited for a Monday.
He falls asleep that night like the one before, mind a dark storm, fingers longing for something. The weight of something greater—something he doesn’t yet understand.
He wakes up from a dreamless sleep, feeling lighter and less anxious. Something pokes at the back of his brain, telling him it has to do with promises of seeing Lily but he soon pushes it away as he slides his glasses up his nose and swipes his curtains back.
Sirius is sitting up in his own bed, still rubbing the sleep from his stormy-grey eyes. Peter is already dressed in a crisp white shirt and grey sweater vest with his tie tucked beneath it. He sits criss cross at the edge of his bed, flipping through his comic. And notably absent, is Remus. Nothing but his pajama trousers folded at the edge of his neatly made bed left as evidence he was ever there at all.
“Moony?” James asks first, gaze flicking between Peter and Sirius.
The latter turns his head to Peter, seemingly passing the explanation to him.
“Caught him just before he left. He promised he’d show Evans to her first lesson.” Peter says, voice casual and almost bored as he thumbs at the pages of his book, not even bothering to look up.
James scratches at his head, perhaps his brain isn’t quite working yet. “Our first lesson doesn’t start until ten.” He frowns.
No better way to start your day like Advanced Transfiguration with McGonagall.
“Not for Evans.” Peter remarks, finally looking up, “Moony said she starts at eight.”
“But the only thing offered at eight is NEWT level Charms.” He says dumbly.
Sirius, who now has his legs dangling onto the floor has clearly woken up a bit. That is, if his grin and boisterous laugh are anything to go off of.
“Well spotted, Prongs.” He teases before standing to stretch his arms over his head.
“I—” James begins, feeling like he’s being kept in the dark. Then it dawns on him and he nearly facepalms for not putting it together sooner.
Lily takes Advanced Charms.
Lily who didn’t know she was a witch her entire life is in fucking Advanced Charms—arguably and notoriously the toughest NEWT course given Flitwick’s curriculum.
Fucking brilliant, he thinks.
Instead, all he says is “oh.” His face awestruck.
Sirius chuckles, “I reckon she’s one witch I wouldn’t wanna mess with.” He remarks as he makes his way to the loo.
“Yeah.” Is all James responds dumbly, a bit proud. A faint smile on his lips. “I reckon so, too.”
By nine, the trio is dressed and ready for breakfast.
By nine thirty, they’re well stuffed and ready for the day.
By nine forty-five, Sirius is begging Peter for his Transfiguration notes from last lesson.
By nine fifty, James is growing impatient—for once eager to get to class.
And by nine fifty-three, they sat at their usual desks in McGonagall's room—for once early.
Sirius is beside an empty chair, eagerly awaiting its usual occupant. James is beside Peter, the former impatiently drumming his fingers atop the wooden desk.
“I don’t understand why we’re here so early,” Sirius huffs as he takes out some spare parchment. “This was valuable time for me to go over the notes!” He insists, sending a glare to the small blonde.
Peter shrugs, a small scowl coming across his lips. “Maybe if you took your own notes, you wouldn’t beg for mine. Why should I share them anyway? You never give up your Potions notes.” He points out.
Sirius loudly and dramatically slaps his hand on the wooden desk, causing the few students filing in to look his way curiously. “That is because, my dear Wormtail, there is a system. Moony goes over Transfiguration with me,“ he pauses for effect, “and Potions.”
Peter cocks a brow, “so basically, Remus is passing your classes?” He snarks, though there is a smile tugged at his thin lips.
Sirius pretends to look offended, “that is categorically untrue!” He insists, “right, Prongs?”
And James, whose eyes have been hastily flicking between the large clock and the doorway, can’t be bothered to divert his attention. “Yeah, sure.” He mutters distractedly, hazel eyes never drifting.
“Ha!” Sirius crows triumphantly, snapping his fingers to Peter, who just shakes his head and flips open his textbook.
James’ attention falls to the clock again, as more students begin filling up the seats.
And it is exactly when the little hand ticks to nine fifty-five does she walk in.
She’s unmistakable, her pretty red hair tied neatly with a golden ribbon. Her head is ducked down, the gold in her hair catching the morning sun as it dances in its light. There are—one, two, three—books hugged closely to her chest, her robes taught around her body, as if she’s trying to hide in them.
From beside her, James can see Remus’ hand pressed lightly to her back, nudging her to the back corner as she navigates her way through the curtain of hair she’s concealing her eyes with. She scampers quickly, placing herself into the wooden chair before ducking and hunching next to the desk and rummaging through her leather satchel.
“Hey look—it’s Moony.” Sirius remakes, twisting around in his seat to look.
And they’re not the only ones who’ve noticed. The entire room's attention seems to be on the pair—more notably, their newest classmate. James hears the buzz of whispers that begin to zip around the room, but he drowns it out. He watches her hands tremble and fumble around in her bag and perhaps he’s paying too much attention, but it’s unmistakable that she isn’t actually looking for anything other than a distraction. She’s hiding.
After a few seconds, she gives it up, next moving her hand to press against her chest, almost grasping at something hidden. His heart clenches unbidden. He has half the mind to get up and walk over there, but his gaze briefly flicks to Remus who is having one of those annoying silent conversations with Sirius.
He sees Remus’ eyes soften and Sirius nodding his head, giving him a reassuring look and a thumbs up. Next, he watches the dark haired boy point to his empty sheet of parchment, pretending to write with one hand and then shrugging.
Remus rolls his eyes, but nods affectionately.
“No need to worry, Wormtail. Moony’s got my notes.” Sirius tells the other boy cheerily, though his grey eyes stay trained to the back of the classroom—as do James’.
“Thank Merlin.” Peter responds dryly, scratching the date atop his parchment.
James is only half listening—half paying attention—but he sees from the corner of his eye Sirius gesturing vaguely to Lily. This causes Remus to vehemently shake his head. However, his eyes move from grey ones to hazel ones, as he hones in on James. Giving him that odd look he’s been on the receiving one of ever since he came back from the incident in the corridor.
And before James can so much as shrug in confusion to his friend, he sees a blur of red moving from beside his mate as Lily finally sits up.
He watches her visibly startle as she finds every student with their heads turned and bodies twisted in her direction—silencing the whispers. He watches her green eyes flit around the room, wide and seemingly overwhelmed. Her shoulders tense and trembling. Something about her demeanor is akin to a frantic animal being hunted in the woods—a doe, he thinks, for reasons unknown to him.
Suddenly, her eyes land on his own and he swears something changes.
Like a lighthouse in a sea of darkness.
Her eyes become steady. Softer.
The storm within him settles into something calmer. James lifts a hand from his desk, holding his palm out to her as a way of greeting and acknowledgment. A silent message: I see you. You’re not alone.
To his surprise—and delight—a small, shy smile tugs at her lips. It simultaneously warms something in his chest while chasing away the unease sitting there all weekend.
Remus is whispering something in her ear, which she seems to nod at—but her eyes don’t leave his. He swears he sees her hand twitch where it’s fiddling with the pages of her textbook, almost as if she’s going to return to the gesture. Just then, the clock strikes ten and McGonagall strides into the room with brisk efficiency.
At the sound of the door closing, all eyes jump to the front of the room, successfully snapping them back to order. However, James’ gaze lingers just a bit longer than everyone else’s before swiveling to the professor.
“Today,” McGonagall begins, sharp voice slicing the air, “we will be practicing advanced animal transfiguration. One animal to an object, then to a second animal. Open your textbooks to Chapter Twelve.”
McGonagall drones on, warning the class about the dangers of transfiguring one live object to another. James dozes off—this was all she went on about last week and he didn’t need to hear about it again. He was an Animagus, for Merlin’s sake. He knows a thing or two about transfiguring living breathing things—never mind a toad into a teacup. Anyway, his thoughts won’t even let him contend with boredom for long, his mind again drifting back to Lily. Who James quickly decides is much more interesting than lessons.
It’s only after a flick of McGonagall's wand and a fat, slimy toad appears on his desk is he snapped from his reverie. Grudgingly, he finally opens his book to the required incantation.
And while James was at a practiced ease with Transfiguration—across the room, Lily was panicking.
She already had two sheets or parchment filled with frantic notes, McGonagall’s instructions scrawled neatly, despite them already being bolded in the textbook. Lily almost hoped the woman would keep talking, further delaying the inevitable moment when she’d have to lift her wand.
Because taking notes and listening—it was easy, it was what Lily thrived on. Listening and analyzing.
Growing up the friendless, strange, but intelligent Muggle girl she excelled in her education. She flourished academically, her logic and hard work easily, but quietly outshining her peers.
But this—magic. It was something else entirely.
At her old school, the most she was ever asked to apply her skills was on an exam or perhaps solving an elaborate algebra equation on the chalkboard for the class.
Now, she was asked to use magic. On the toad that just appeared on her desk, no less, blinking at her almost knowingly.
For a moment, one silly fleeting moment that she can’t quite fathom, her eyes land squarely on the back of broad shoulders and messy black hair.
She doesn’t even know why she looked, but part of her—some tiny, ridiculous part of her—was hoping he’d turn around and use that uncanny, surely magical, ability to make her feel at ease. Just as he did in the corridor—the thought of its events still made her stomach churn in confusion.
Lily shook her head, not allowing herself to be anymore distracted and nervous then she already was. Briefly, McGonagall caught her eyes, giving her a steady nod.
You know this, Lily, it seemed to say. You worked all summer for this.
Something in Minerva’s eyes softened.
In a deeper, traitorous part of her mind she could almost hear her parents’ voices. Her Mum’s lilting laugh, her Dad’s steady words: Show them who you are, Petal.
She took a deep breath, trying to settle her nerves, to will away the sting in her eyes.
Show them you’re a witch.
With a trembling exhale, Lily curled her hand around her intricately woven wand, knuckles turning white to still her shaking hand. Around her she could see the sparks of magic dancing around the room. Bursts of colors exploding atop the wood as everyone’s toad turned into a teacup, then into a small animal of their choice.
Next to her, she sees Remus’ delicate green teacup, with brown chips, mangling itself into a small dove after he’s spoken the right words. It’s white, with a small tint of green on its feathers and cooing softly against his palm.
Lily smiles at him, which he returns.
“Your turn.” He whispers encouragingly, eyes warm.
She nods faintly, heart hammering. She shuts her eyes in an attempt to block out the chaos around her. She’s read all about Transfiguration. Practiced it on furniture and small trinkets, even on the mice in Minerva’s gardens.
She can almost picture the Introduction to Transfiguration textbook.
Chapter Fifteen: Incantations, she thought, her mind combing through what she once read. When practicing Transfiguration both the syntax and pronunciation are essential. A clear intention ensures stability in the transformation. By enunciating clearly you are eliminating the possibility of one object's properties to carry over to another.
She speaks the first incantation, a whisper, but her voice is firm and the words are clear.
With a tap of her wand to the toad she feels something surge through her. That kind of thing she hasn’t quite got used to.
The bolt of raw power through her. The feeling like it could be an extension of herself.
It makes her feel alive.
She slowly opens her eyes and looks down, the toad has become a teacup. A smooth porcelain with a delicate gold handle.
Lily giggles a little to herself. It’s just as she pictured it. Briefly, her eyes meet Remus’ who seems to be proud as he gives her a strong nod to continue.
She shuts her eyes again, grip firmer on her wand as she concentrates. The next part would be harder.
The book is thick and heavy and green and terrifying. The memory of it is an unwelcome presence atop Minerva McGonagall’s in-home office.
The Dangers & Wonders of Live Transfiguration.
Chapter Four: Memories, Connections and Its Bigger Meaning to Magic.
The text echoes through her mind: You may find it easier to Transfigure an object if said object is more sentimental or has more value to the Witch or Wizard performing the spell. Such a connection, if any, allows for clearer intention of one’s end goals. Memories and emotion, when harnessed correctly, may sharpen the spell.
Memories flood through her brain before she could stop it. Of foggy days and dead grass. But then she sees it—clear as day—a bunny rabbit as white as snow, stark and beautiful against the grey landscape.
Swiping carrots with her Dad. Her Mum giggling. A smaller version of Lily mesmerized as the small creature hopped along her decaying lawn, nestling in her lifeless garden.
For a moment she’s worried she’s lost herself. The memory of something good twisting into something painful.
“Amazing.” She hears Remus breathe in awe, a life preserver in a sea of swirling emotions.
And before Lily can open her eyes she feels something soft nudging her free hand. She looks down and finds the bunny. Small and white, just as she remembered—just as she dared to imagine.
Her fingers deftly stroke between its tall ears, as it burrows into her touch. A moment later, Remus’ hand joins her own, moving to gently stroke its back as he continues his praises quietly.
Across the room, something glimmers in McGonagall’s eyes.
James Potter is turned in his chair, dumbfounded, looking at Lily just as he did the first time he saw her—Captivated. Enchanted.
But Lily—for once—isn’t paying anyone else any mind, choosing to live in her head for a moment, finally feeling like it is a calm place to be. A small smile stretches across her lips, then, something secret and private. Something just for her and this little white bunny.
Because for the first time in her life, she actually feels like she could be a witch.
“Alright,” McGonagall's voice breaks, “settle down.” She tells the noisy class as the sound of incantations quiet.
Once it’s silent, with nothing but the occasional croak or chirp, she speaks again, “can anyone tell me what may have gone wrong?”
Lily takes a moment to let her eyes flick around the room, she sees slimy teacups, the same green as their toad with brown warts growing off the chipped porcelain. She also sees hybrid-like animals—like from a science fiction film. A hamster with webbed feet, a croaking, murky colored kitten.
“Can anyone tell me?” McGonagall asks again, though no one raises their hand. She waits a moment, “no one?” Nothing. “Okay, Miss Evans?”
All eyes cut to Lily in anticipation. The auburn haired girl looks like a frightened doe staring down a shotgun barrel under the heavy gazes of her new peers.
She swallows once, twice. Her throat tightening with the movements and her hand trembling against the bunny’s pearly coat. Lily dares to peel her gaze from McGonagall’s waiting one, daring to glance around the room. Her vision is blurred—nerves, she knows—but staring back at her are dozens of pairs of familiar blue eyes. Cold and icy, small and beady, narrowed into cat-like slits, glaring right into her.
It’s all she sees, all around this suddenly too small classroom, Petunia’s eyes, five, ten, fifteen pairs of them waiting for her to fail.
“Miss Evans,” McGonagall says softly, though her voice is faraway and underwater. Being drowned by her estranged older sisters quips ringing around her head.
Freak. Curse. Albatross.
It’s a poem. Her Mum had dozens of books full of them but Petunia always made a special point to let Lily know this one particularly reminded her of her younger sister.
It’s not about spring flowers or the first glimpses of sunlight. No stanzas about love and sisterhood or beauty.
It’s seared into her—has been for years—but it rang louder over the summer. It shouts at her now.
They tried to warn you about me.
Devils that you know, raise hell worse than a stranger.
She’s the death you chose, you’re in terrible danger.
She’s the Albatross, she is here to destroy you.
She’s not sure why it’s at the forefront of her mind, in this ancient classroom, stroking a rabbit that reminds her of a life she once lived, one born from her magic.
Her hands begin to tingle, she half expects to look down and find white feathers and long wings where her arms are.
Albatross. Albatross. Albatross.
They want her to fail. Just as Petunia expected her to. Just as she had to her parents and—
Something strikes her then, warm and shining in the sea of blue.
Green and brown swirled together, a stark contrast to Petunia’s beady eyes. His are soft—framed by thick glasses which do nothing but magnify his gaze.
Those don’t seem like the eyes of someone who wants her to fail.
“Lily,” Remus whispers steady and reassuring from beside her, the tip of his fingers grazing her own atop the fur.
That isn’t the voice of someone who wants her to fail, either.
She peers up at McGonagall, chest tight—she can feel her breath rattling against her ribs but she is still breathing.
She looks into the eyes of the woman who knows she is a witch. The woman who watched her wand pick her, watched her wave it and execute her first spell—a beautiful bouquet or black dahlias.
“It’s the incantation and intention.” Lily finally says, voice quiet and shaking but loud enough to carry around the otherwise silent room.
Something secret comes across McGonagall’s lips. “Say more, please.” She encourages.
Lily takes a deep breath then, one hand moving to curl at the chain under her robes. “When transitioning from toad to teacup the vowels in the spell must be pronounced as long sounds. Shortening them may destabilize the first transition.” Her fingernails press into her palms as she combs her memories of the thick textbooks. “And… for the second transformation, it is about choosing something personal. It makes for clearer intention.”
The bunny nudges her palm then, as if reassuring her and she nearly cries.
She clears her throat, eyes trained to the wooden desk, “it also helps if the wand flicks resemble the shape.” She finishes quickly, biting her lip harshly after the words tumble out.
The silence returns but it’s somehow so much louder than before—her nails are biting half moons into her palms and she pushes harder almost hoping the pain will distract her.
“Five points to Gryffindor for your concise and thoughtful answer.” McGonagall’s voice cuts through the tension.
Chatter erupts then, small whispers and gasps.
The professor silences the room with a simple raise of her hand. “And another ten points for your bravery.” She adds softly, coaxing a blush onto Lily’s cheeks.
At the front of the classroom James balks at this girl—this brilliant and beautiful witch.
He’s only pulled away by a harsh nudge to his ribs from beside him, “close your mouth, you’ll catch bugs.” Sirius snickers.
James turns then, opening his mouth ready for a good quip, but McGonagall—all commanding—speaks again. “Class dismissed.” She begins, a swoop of her wand willing away all the mornings work, “A reflection on today’s lesson on my desk before class on Thursday. No less than three feet of parchment.”
Groans fill the room dulling into chatter, as chairs knock back and screech against the old mahogany floors.
“Mr. Lupin, a word?” McGonagall catches Remus, who’s just finished shoving his textbook into his bag.
James watches as his friend looks to Lily, he holds up a finger and tells her something as she nods before scurrying from the classroom. Remus pushes his way to the front, a wink, salute and nod to his mates. James barely makes out the snippets between him and McGonagall. Something about the monthly prefects’ meeting before their voices are swallowed by the buzz of conversation lingering in the room.
He sees it then, a flash of red and the wink of a gold ribbon disappearing from the doorway. He works double time to shove his book into his satchel, squashing and stamping down quills and rolls of parchment.
“Come on.” He says to Peter and Sirius, already halfway out of the classroom himself.
“Merlin, what’s with him?” Peter mummers to Sirius as he fumbles around for his cloak.
Sirius chuckles and paws at Peter’s tie, leading him out the door with it. “I’ll explain it when you’re older, yeah?” He teases as they round into the corridor to catch up with James—who has never seemed so eager to get to Potions.
James surveys the long stretch of corridor, looking for that telltale red against the suddenly drab greys and browns of the castle. No bloody way she could’ve moved that fast. She was—
He stops then, school shoes scuffing against the stone with a squeak. Peter crashes into his back with a groan, the feeling and sound dull, because all he’s focused on is her.
She’s tucked into a little stone alcove between two tapestries, her head drawn down as she listlessly slides her black mary-janes against the stone. Her books—several of them—are clutched tightly at her chest as her small hands fumble to arrange them in some sort of order—most likely just as a means to give them something to do.
“I’ll, uh—catch up with you guys.” He says to the pair, his voice far off and gaze trained entirely on the occupant of the dip in the wall.
“Oh.” James hears Peter breathe—and if he were looking, he’d see realization wash over his face.
He takes a step toward Lily, who still hasn’t looked up, but is suddenly halted by a familiar hand clapping his shoulder.
“A word of his advice,” He turns to face Sirius, brows scrunched, “if you’re trying to impress her, you may wanna do something about that hair.”
James grunts then, shoving Sirius, “bugger off.” He grounds out, ignoring the loud laugh that floats down the corridor as he goes.
James begins toward Lily, who still hasn’t noticed his presence. And judging by the way her backs pressed against the wall, it seems as if she’s tricked herself into thinking she’s invisible.
As if—he scoffs internally.
Though, he does take her deterred focus as an advantage. Taking a second to swipe a hand through his hair and glancing briefly at his reflection in some of the stained glass. He mentally curses Sirius, his hair is fine—how it always is, messy and unruly but deliberately and with purpose. He knows his mate was just messing with him and cheers, because it worked.
“Hey.” He says coming closer—and hey, all he has is hey?
Nice one, James. He can practically hear Sirius snickering.
Lily looks up then, all green doe-eyes and pink cheeks, but James swears he sees the faintest tilt of her lips.
“Oh, hi.” She says softly, but almost startled. She must’ve really seemed to believe she was invisible.
He gets lost in her for a moment, it happens every bloody time he’s seen her so he can’t pretend to be too surprised.
“Alright?” He asks dumbly, though he has half the mind to gesture to the nook they stand in so at least she has some idea of what he means to say.
She flushes deeper, a pretty pink against her porcelain cheeks. “Yes.” She answers, gaze diverting as her fingers begin to thumb at the corner of her textbooks. “Yes, I was just waiting for Remus, he said he’d show me to Potions. I don’t—I don’t remember how to get there.” She admits shyly.
He sees the vulnerability and embarrassment in the eyes she’s so desperately trying to hide. And he has the sudden urge to curse anyone who’d ever put that look there.
“Well, you’re in luck.” He begins, reaching out his much larger hand out to pluck the three thick books stacked in her arms. She relents easily, as they slip out of her grasp, more in confusion than anything else. “As it happens, I’m on my way to Potions, too.” He smiles at her—it’s the most natural thing in the world, he thinks.
She looks at him then a bit hesitant but at least her hands have stopped trembling, “But, Remus—”
He shakes his head then, “heard McGonagall talking to him about a Head Boy thing, he’ll catch up.” James assures quickly. “Anyway, can’t have you late on your first day, can we Trouble?” His voice smoother, his head cocked to the side.
She does smile then—no way for him to deny that. “And my books?” Her voice is lighter, much like how it was over the weekend before Trelawney showed up.
He needs to broach that somehow.
And the disdain at the memory must’ve shown on his features because Lily’s smile begins to falter, causing him to mentally curse himself.
“Hm,” he thinks, trying to recover quickly. He grabbed the books because she was honestly making him a bit anxious the way she was picking at the pages. Also, he reckons they weigh as much as she does. It was really to minimize the risk of her toppling over. “Think of it as incentive—now you’ll have to follow me.” He grins then and it’s easy—too easy.
Lily giggles then, he feels the sound all the way down to his toes. She steps forward, out into the sunlit corridor, a silent invitation to join her.
“You were brilliant, you know.” James says after he leads her down the long stretch and turns the corner.
She looks up at him—just now noticing how vast their height difference is. Her head barely level with his shoulders. She notices then too, his legs are about twice as long as her own, but he’s taking deliberately small and slow strides. She wonders if he even knows he’s doing it.
This unknown yet so familiar boy—with her books hanging in one of his arms with a simple kind of ease. His steps matching her own. Those kind eyes.
“Sorry?” She asks next, breaking her own daze, trying to figure out exactly what he’s referring to.
“In Transfiguration.” He clarifies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You were brilliant.” He says one more time.
And the breathless quality of his words, the way his eyes are intent on her own.
He seems so sure of it.
“Oh,” she flushes, “I was just doing what everyone else was.”
And it’s not fishing for a compliment because she reckons it’s true, everyone’s been waving their wands for years. Turning a toad into a teacup was probably child’s play for them. He’s just saying that to make her feel better, she decides.
“Nah, you were doing it better—Peter’s teacup had warts. Davey Rogers’ toad never even left his desk. Anyway, all of that stuff on the vowels and the wand movements—there’s a reason no one else volunteered.”
And he’s doing it again. That uncanny, frustrating—yet endearing—ability he seemingly has to read her mind and suddenly come up with the best answer. It’s not just the words but the way he says them too. So effortlessly, like he’s not even looking for them, they’re just natural. The truth.
It almost makes her believe them.
“Thank you.” She responds, not knowing what else to say, the idea of compliments and accepting them from someone other than her parents is a bit foreign, to be honest.
“‘Course.” He says, making her cheeks burn hotter, “it’s good advice too,” he points out next, “my gerbil looked just as I pictured her.”
“You had a gerbil?”
They reach the stairs then, he maneuvers down them slowly when Lily’s sure he could’ve taken two—maybe even three—at a time.
“Nah, Sirius did though, first-year. His name was Mr. Frosty. He let him into the Forbidden Forest one night, all weepy and saying Frosty deserved a wife and family.” James recounts with a chuckle.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but in the Muggle world, gerbils don’t live in the wild. Is that different here?” Lily asks, more at ease and less embarrassed than before—to James’ delight.
“It’s not different here.” He tells her with a grin.
She laughs then and he nearly drops all her books at the sounds.
Thankfully, Lily doesn’t seem to notice James faltering beside her, continuing down to the dungeons with a soft smile lighting her face. “Anyway,” he presses on, “I didn’t conjure Mr. Frosty. I transfigured who I imagine is the Mrs. Frosty—it warmed Sirius’ cold, shriveled heart.” He tells her dramatically.
She shakes her head in response, though he catches the breathy chuckle that escapes her.
“What about you?” He asks next, glancing sideways at her. “Pet bunny rabbit?”
She stills then, steps faltering clumsily. Suddenly she’s grateful he took her heavy books because she’s sure they would’ve tumbled from her arms right about now.
He pauses a few steps down, turning to look straight at her. They’re about eye level now and his hazels lock on her with a sort of knowing intensity. Quickly she averts his gaze worried she’ll do something reckless if she keeps staring into them.
So instead, she thinks of the bunny. The small white ball of fluff. But not the one from atop her desk in Transfiguration—it’s the memory from years ago. When she was fourteen years old in her too small house.
Spinners End was a horrible, dismal place. It was grey and bleak and gloomy. It had a river running right through it, dirty and brown—more sludge than water. The air thick, suffocating and disgusting thanks to the nearby factory. It was where most men there worked, her father no exception. Spending his days working too hard to forge large metals parts of dredging boats, for too little of a paycheck.
It was about a year after the accident there—one that left his legs crushed and bound him to a wheelchair. Her Mum was spread thin, juggling caring for Dad and working to help down at the local daycare center to make ends meet. Lily herself, had just begun working at the local drugstore to help out, though she insisted it was for a flat when she graduated. She thinks perhaps her parents knew it as a blatant lie, they did not have university money, but always told Lily she would have her pick of schools with that brain of hers.
She’d spent all of her paychecks paying off medical or house bills that came into the mail before her parents could get to them.
Her Dad was miserable, though he tried his best to hide it. Her Mum was constantly stressed and exhausted. Petunia had begun speaking to Lily as little as possible after what Lily knows now to be an episode of uncontrolled magic that resulted in a break-up between Petunia and her then boyfriend.
And Cokeworth did nothing but match the mood of the house tremendously. Their dead lawn, brown and rotting from the polluted air. Clouds of smoke blocking the sun.
That is until the bunny showed up, on a Sunday afternoon, a rare occasion in which all the Evans’ had been home and crammed into the living room.
Lily remembers the childlike glee when she spotted it. Cokeworth didn’t have deer or squirrels or even flowers or green grass and here was this little rabbit, hopping across her lifeless lawn.
“Look at him, Tuney!” A younger Lily cried, voice brimming with excitement.
“Quite a sight.” She remembers Petunia agreeing, her usual detached demeanor slipping for a second. Her blue eyes were transfixed in wonder.
Lily’s mother returned then, a generously large carrot in her hand before she pressed it into her youngest daughter’s palm. She remembers her Dad encouraging her as he lingered in the doorway—a rare occurrence since his accident, having preferred shut curtains and locked doors. She remembers passing it the carrot, watching it gnaw slowly then ravenously, as if starving.
It was one of those rare happy memories that were getting harder and harder to cling to lately. A bright spot in an oppressive haze. She remembered how it felt back then, how it felt in Transfiguration. Twenty minutes it was a happy memory but now, on these stone steps on her way to Potions, it suddenly feels different.
The bunny was alone. It was probably terrified. Dropped in an unfamiliar place. No family by its side. No friends either. Lost. Alone.
Her gut pangs, her hand clutches her chest.
She knows a thing or two about that.
Albatross, Albatross—
“Lily?” He calls worriedly voice cutting through her spiraling thoughts in concern as he notices her glossy eyes.
She breathes easier. Because there it is—she’s the bunny rabbit and he’s this personified happiness, of warmth and relentless kindness, throwing her a carrot against her dead lawn.
“Sorry,” she begins, and she sees his mouth open like he’s about to apologize, “wasn’t my pet, but had one by my house when I was younger.” She adds quickly.
He hears the shift in her tone, the sadness in her eyes and decides not to press her. Slowly, she starts taking the stairs again and he waits until she’s beside him before leading them onward.
“And where is home?” He asks next, voice gentle.
That word—home—it causes her stomach to tighten again. She lacks the mental capacity to work through that and pays it no mind, answering simply instead.
“Cokeworth.”
She watches his brow knit for a moment, “Hm, I’m not sure I know it, sounds familiar, though.”
He wouldn’t know it. No one does.
“What about you?” She diverts.
“Me? Eh, out in the West Country. Though, we go back and forth between there and London, for Dad’s work. Not so much anymore.” He says the last part a bit sadly.
West Country and London.
Potter money—Peverell money.
Lily lived in a house with one toilet and James Potter gets to decide if he wants to use the loo in London or what she assumes is some sort of estate with acres or land—definitely with his pick of toilets. Definitely buzzing with deer and squirrels and bunny rabbits and trees and flowers, too.
And she’s not bitter or jealous or anything like that, but it dawns on her then—they’re so different.
Categories like Pureblood and Muggle-born seem further apart and separated with a firm line all of the sudden.
That’s not fair—she soon decides.
James is sweet and he made it clear he doesn’t care about that stuff. So why should she?
“Is it far from here?”
“Sorry?” And she feels awful for constantly dissipating to some far off place in her mind.
“Cokeworth.” He supplies as they turn down a busier corridor, people in yellows, blues, greens and reds walking into a narrow doorway.
“A bit.” She shrugs, she honestly isn’t sure of the exact distance.
“Sorry,” he says then, almost sheepish, “I don’t mean to ask too much—”
She cuts him off, soft and reassuring because it’s endearing and now his cheeks are pink. “It’s alright, it’s nice, really.” And she finds she means it, having someone to talk to, who seems to care. It’s different but welcome. “I’m sure we’d have gotten around to it Saturday had we not…” it’s her who stops now, voice trailing.
She doesn’t know what to say about Saturday morning. What to even think about it—Dumbledore seemed unconcerned. Minerva seemed confused when she recounted it. Lily thought James was a mix of confusion, fear and anger. Much like her.
“I was meaning to talk to you about that.” James halts, right next to the open doorway buzzing with students. Lily can smell herbs and fire and she knows they’ve made it. “About Saturday.” He clarifies next, the hand not full of her books tangling in his hair.
She gulps, “what about it?”
Trelawney was right Lily—you need to run, run, run, run…
And whatever James is about to say is cut off by a booming shout, “Prongs!” Sirius calls from inside, cutting through the hum of chatter.
Lily watches him grimace and look at her apologetically. “We should probably go in. I promised not to make you late.” He hesitates for a second. “Wait for me after? So we can talk? He asks hopefully.
Her cheeks warm then, her stress about the conversation suddenly soothed by the soft quality of his voice.
He beams when she nods, “brilliant.” James breathes before stepping aside for her to enter.
Her calm suddenly evaporated. Because when Lily walks in she’s met with her worst nightmare—paired tables. Everyone has already broken off, a steady ease and rhythm they’ve probably had all term—if not years.
James notices her go stiff and dares to brush a hand on her lower back, faint and soft as he gently nudges her to the right. “Come on, you can sit with me.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
He shakes his head, “I didn’t lie, Lily, I’m shite at Potions. You’d be doing me a favor, really. By next lesson you’ll be scrambling for a new partner, looks like mine did, anyway.” James shoots a glance to Peter then, who’s sitting beside Alice Fortescue.
She peers behind him then relents with pink cheeks, sliding onto the bench. James smiles to himself—it feels like a small victory. James makes himself busy with placing her miniature tower of books in front of her, but then he feels it. A tingling running up his spine, chilling his bones.
It’s not the warmth he feels around Lily—this is different, cold. Then that feeling returns, the tug in his stomach, the clench in his gut.
Slowly, almost hesitantly, he turns his head to the far corner and their eyes meet. Surprisingly, Snape doesn’t turn away, like James had expected—like he normally does. His gaze is all dark and beady eyed, he shifts from James’ snarl to Lily. She shifts in her chair, unaware of what’s happening, but James wonders if she feels it too—the shiver, the weight.
James looks away first, making a special effort to stand and stretch behind her, blocking Snape’s view of her form. The coldness subsides then, leaving a dull sensation dancing along his back as opposed to the pressing pins and needles. Lily looks at him funny, brow adorably scrunched in confusion at his sudden movement, he offers nothing but a small assuring smile in return, mumbling something about a fictitious quidditch injury.
It’s then that Remus walks in, cardigan askew, cheeks pink and chest heaving. James sees as he peers to where Lily’s sitting, noticing the tension in his shoulder slack ever so slightly at the assurance of her presence. He jolts suddenly, moving toward where he always sits beside Sirius but not without making a point to stare at James. James, who finds the glare he’s receiving isn't all that different from the one Snape threw moments ago. It’s not as heavy with vague implications but it does make James feel odd—embarrassed, for whatever reason—he knows Remus well enough to know if you receive it, it’s for a purpose, though James can’t seem to come up with one at the present.
Luckily—and he’d never thought he’d think such a thing—Slughorn walks in, causing Remus to shuffle across the room. Snape’s gaze averts to his textbook and James plops beside Lily.
The professor claps loudly, calling the room to attention. “Alright class, Chapter Sixteen today, open…” Slughorn begins, round belly nearly popping the buttons of his plaid waistcoat and that dopey smile plastered on his face.
And James finds time goes quickly—for Potion’s that it is—but for some maddening reasoning it’s the best lesson he can remember.
They don’t even brew anything, just sift through the long chapter on Veritaserum. Slughorn constantly alternates between scratching out and droning on about important points. Sometimes, he leaves them to skim the material themselves. And James can’t really help the glances he passes to Lily as time flicks on—really he can’t—not when she’s so in her element. A kind of quiet confidence he’s yet to see from her.
And Merlin, she is going to be the worst fucking thing for his already dipping potions marks—but he also doesn’t find he cares much.
She’s captivating, trimmed brows slanted in concentration, tongue just barely poking past her pink lips as she neatly dances her quill across her parchment. The constant tucking of her hair behind her ear, the effortless motion of her nimble fingers passing through the silky auburn tresses when it falls onto the lines of notes—noticeably more dense and organized than his own.
He’s not the only one who’s noticed too, at one point Slughorn comes over, fixing his glasses in awe at one of the neatly sketched charts she’s drawn up. The conversation then turns into something on the properties of powdered moonstone which somehow ends up onto the topic of his early works on Felix Felicis and ends with an invitation to his office for a more in-depth conversation.
She blushes pink at the offer, clearly not used to the attention. She flushes even deeper when Slughorn mummers something about brilliance as he walks to the next table.
James sends her a grin, then. In the short time he’s spent with her, he’s concluded two undeniable facts—the first, Lily is brilliant. It’s indisputable, anyone who heard her speak to Slughorn or peer at her parchment could back it. The second, is that she is absolute shite at taking a compliment. Not even in a humble sort of way, in a more like she’s not getting hearing them kind of way.
No matter, if the pretty rosy color she turns is his reward for any compliment she gets, he reckons he’ll be unstoppable—helps that she makes it easy, too.
But as he lets the warmth of her small smile overtake him, he’s suddenly drowned out by a bucket of cold water. The penetrating sting of icy eyes trained on their table. James flashes his own hardened eyes to Snape, who is seemingly utterly unrelenting and transfixed by Lily—he supposes he wasn’t the only one who heard her speaking to Slughorn. A majority of the lesson continues that way, a dance of welcomed distraction and unexplainable fear—the constant shifting of warmth and cold.
And maybe it’s the way her golden ribbon seems to glitter under the candlelight or the way her doe-eyes shine when she reads the board, but it’s her who wins out over Snape—he thinks maybe she always will. He finds he doesn’t mind that idea much.
The lesson ends and soon something else is bubbling deep within James’ core. The swell of excitement at the promise of speaking to Lily after—even if the particular subject matter is heavy, he finds he’ll take whatever he can. Especially, if that whatever is working things out for both their peace of mind.
Slughorn calls her over, before he can get a word in. Lily throws James a glance, a desperate look behind her green eyes. In return he nods assuredly—I’m here, I’ll wait, don’t worry—it says.
As the professor prattles on to her at the front of the room and his classmates file out, James makes quick work to effortlessly lug her mountain of books back into his arms. They’re thick and heavy, but he finds he doesn’t mind—not one bit, actually.
A shadowy figure is what manages to draw his attention from Lily. It’s Snape, lingering at his bench, hesitant in deciding whether to leave the class or make his way to the front. James already feels the growl about to bubble past his lips—it’s cut off then. The arrival of Remus, Sirius and Peter ending his indecision, their presence enough to send him slinking out the door.
But Remus has got that funny look in his eyes again, the accusatory glance James can’t quiet place. Something in it darkens when his golden eyes flit to the Charms textbook in his arms. A class James is proudly not taking.
“Alright?” James dares to ask him, tone hesitant.
“Waiting for Lily.” Is all Remus says shortly.
Sirius’ eyes shoot to his hairline at the brevity.
“‘S alright.” James tries for casual. “I got it.” His tone comes out sharper than attended.
“Just raise your legs and piss on her, why don’t you?” Sirius murmurs. The pair pretended not to hear him—though the irony of the comment on their dog-like behavior coming from a literal dog, is not lost on them.
James sighs then, his hazel eyes softening, because that’s not what this is. He’s not trying to lay any stake or claim on her, he genuinely wants to help. It’s not that Remus can’t do that either, he already has. It’s the constant reminder of that pressing, daunting feeling from the corridor Saturday—that’s something only him and Lily understand.
“We agreed to talk after class.” He pauses. “About Saturday.” His voice dropping into something low, something secret.
Something in Remus’ eyes softens then, transforming into something much more familiar.
“James…” he trails uncertainly.
“She brought it first.” James defends honestly. “You said let her set the pace, yeah?” He’s quick to remind, when Remus’ expression suddenly becomes unreadable. “I could tell it was on her mind. If I can help to ease it at all—I’m going to.”
He says it with a sort of finality that leaves no room for argument. Remus sighs, but seemingly in defeat, as Sirius claws at his sweater. The taller boy pushes his hands off, making quick to approach Lily, who’s done talking to Slughorn, before she reaches the rest of them.
James watches with narrowed eyes as Remus whispers something to her, which Lily responds to in kind. Suddenly Remus is flying out the door, Sirius and Peter trailing behind with mumbled goodbyes.
“You really don’t need to carry my books.” Lily says softly, appearing beside him with her own bag slung over her shoulder.
She moves ever so slightly, as if to collect them from him, but he swivels his torso and tisks gently, a clack of his tongue against his teeth. “Incentive, Evans, remember?” He teases gently. “Besides, how can you help teach Transfiguration if you’re sprawled at the bottom of the stairs because your books took you out.”
She giggles then, giving up the useless fight of taking them back—they are quite heavy, anyway and with muscles like those, he seems to have no issue with the weight. Not that she’s noticed them.
They step into the corridor, “want to go to the Great Hall? Reckon, it’s been a long day, you’ve already had three classes.” He points out.
She shakes her head then, metallic ribbon swishing behind her. “I have Ancient Runes at noon,” she moves to tug her lips between her teeth, “mind showing me the way?”
He masks his surprise because four NEWTs—four!
“‘Course.” Effortlessly, he pivots to the left, going to climb the stairs, making sure to measure his normally wide strides so she can keep up.
“Sorry,” she says first, “I feel awful making you show me around, I promise I’ll get the hang of it.” Her voice is quiet.
Fervently, he shakes his head, “please don’t say you’re sorry.” he begins first, gentle but firm. “My first two months here I only knew how to get to the Great Hall, my dorm and the Quidditch pitch.”
“You’re just trying to make me feel better.” But she’s laughing, so he must’ve done something right.
“No!” He protests, smiling. “I swear it. Lucky for the both of us—I befriended the smartest bloke of my year, got me everywhere.”
“Lucky for the both of us?” She repeats.
“Yeah. Remus is still the smartest and best bloke to show you around.” James shrugs easily. He sees her nod from his periphery as they begin to climb another staircase. “Everything good with Slughorn?” He asks next, seemingly avoiding the topic of Saturday. Perhaps if he keeps putting it off he’ll have more excuses to speak to her—and to get her to smile.
“Oh, yes, he just wanted to see if I was taking Herbology, seeing how relevant it is to brewing.”
And this time he can’t mask his surprise, “you’re taking Herbology?”
She nods, misreading his confusion, “yes but don’t worry—I remember where the greenhouse is and Remus said he’d meet me after, to take me to Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
His first instinct was to assure she's no burden but his mouth runs away from him, speaking his secondary thoughts loud and clear. “Defense Against the Dark Arts?” He squeaks slack jawed.
And Lily seems unaware of his turmoil—of how impressed he is—and continues, almost nervously. “Yes, I admit I wasn’t too keen on taking it. McGonagall insisted I get real life defense practice. Same with Charms and Transfiguration, I was decent enough she thought real applications of magic would do me good.”
Mentally, he begins counting them off—Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Ancient Runes, Herbology, Defense Against the Dark Arts—Six. She’s taking six NEWTs.
She squirms under the silence, tucking her hair behind her ear and filling the air with nonsensical ramblings, “we’ve got things like Arithmancy and Astronomy in the muggle world, it didn’t quite make sense for me—”
“You’re taking six NEWTs?” He asks abruptly, just to make sure he understands correctly.
James turns to her as he speaks. Lily tilts her head at the question. He watches her delicate throat contracting against a harsh swallow. Her knuckles tightening white on the strap of her bag, holding it like some sort of lifeline. He could practically feel the nerves radiating off her.
Had he not been so distracted by her sheer brilliance, he’d have scolded himself for seeming like an arse. She’s misplaced his shock—assuming the surprise is rooted in the fact that as a newly minted witch she’d be allowed anymore than two NEWTs. Or any NEWTs at all.
It was quite the opposite, really.
“Yes.” She says slowly, quietly, almost ashamed? One thing was clear, she was bracing for disapproval.
When James just continues to balk at her, glasses askew on his nose and hazel eyes wide in surprise, she shifts uncomfortably under his gaze. Teeth working at her lower lip. “Is that—is that okay?”
James blinks. Once. Twice. Before the world seems to fall back into focus, un-blurring and dulling the buzz in his ears. He notices Lily’s eyes then, wide and afraid. Posture tense and lips trembling in tandem with her words. His heart sinks a little at what he’s done—even if it was accidental. Now he does take a proper moment to curse at himself.
“Yes!” He blurts loudly, causing her to flinch at the sudden insistence. He clears his throat, lowering his voice. “Yes. I mean—yes, of course! It’s just…” His brain begins to scramble again, mouth moving faster than his thoughts.
“Just?” She repeats, tipping ever so slightly toward him on the balls of her feet in anticipation.
He scrubs a hand down his face. Fixes it to tangle in his hair. Blows out a breath.
“It’s just, that’s bloody brilliant! You’re bloody brilliant, Lily.” He beams.
Now it’s Lily’s turn to blink, green eyes and dark lashes batting at him confusion.
He thinks for a second, about those ridiculous romances his Mum reads but his Dad asks her to fondly recount to him over dinner. He thinks of one of the stories she summarized over the summer, about the sailors lured to their death by an enchanting song and otherworldly beauty.
Siren—he remembers—yeah, that must be it, but what does that make him? A man drifting at sea?
The silence continues to stretch and he realizes that as her brows furrow deeper, she’s waiting for his explanation. “Lily,” he begins, voice more leveled, dipping his knees to properly catch her eyes. “Most people take three, maybe four NEWTs. I mean I only take four because—” I want to be an Auror. He bites his tongue and goes on. “The Head Girl? She takes the most and that’s five. And here you are, taking six. Six Bloody NEWTs. You’re mad.” He shakes his head then, “absolutely fucking brilliant, but rather mad.” He finishes fondly.
She turns his new favorite color then. A glowing and rosy pink under his words. One of her fingers moving to fumble nervously with her ribbon.
She shrugs, her face modest. “I had a lot of catching up to do.”
It breaks his heart a little. Makes it pang noisily and harshly against his ribs. Thoughts of Lily feeling she needs to prove herself—prove that she belongs.
“Maybe.” He agrees softly, because he sees where she’s coming from. He would never want to dismiss her feelings. “But you and I both know Dumbledore and McGonagall would’ve never insisted or let you take on such a heavy load if you were nothing more than capable.”
He says it with such certainty. The kind of thing she’s come to expect from him in the short time she’s known him, but it still surprises her each time. Even now, it knocks her back a little on her heels as something warm begins blossoming in her chest.
Before she can get a word in edgewise, thank him, even, she sees his eyes begin to widen in panic.
“Lily, you take six NEWT classes.” His face blanches then.
She starts to giggle, “well spotted, James.”
Suddenly, he’s fumbling around, trying to free one of his arms from her mound of books and nearly sends them tumbling to the stone. He’s got one hand shoved deep in his pocket, another keeping her books from sliding around. “Hold these for one second, yeah?” He thrusts them just in time for her to keep them from falling, but continues to hold them quizzically. “Thanks, love, just a moment. Should be just here.” He mumbles, the endearment slips out unbidden, a quiet breath of air beneath his lips as he continues to wrestle with his robes.
Lily bites the inside of her cheek at the word. It’s so casual, so off-hand. So, why is her stomach doing the same tumbles it does every time he calls her Trouble?
“Fuck.” He says, half-curse, half-groan and successfully pulls her back to reality.
“James, you okay?” She asks concerned and a bit amused at his tousled state.
He takes the books back from her easily but not before running a hand through his hair for good measure.
“Yes,” he says, though defeatedly. “I normally carry Droobles in my robes. Peter must’ve nicked my last box.” He mutters dejectedly.
Lily thinks it’s silly that he’s so put out on missing a few pieces of candy, especially when he’s due for lunch as soon as they part, but keeps that to herself. “You can always grab some between lessons, right?” She tries to rationalize.
Realization washes over him, Lily can see the exact moment his expression changes from frustration to something a bit worried, but also softer.
“No, Trouble, the Droobles were for you .” He says fondly and a bit exasperated. “Bloody barking, brilliant, girl taking six NEWTs. You probably haven’t had a meal since breakfast and won’t again till at least four.”
He’s started walking again, leading her up another staircase. They halt as the thing maneuvers itself around.
And thank god for that, because Lily think’s if she wasn’t gripping the railing so hard she’d be a puddle at his feet. The sincerity and concern making her chest ache.
“You’re sweet but you worry too much.” She decides then, because despite how long she’s known him, it’s one thing she could say as much for certain.
He tuts, “I’m very good at it. Ask anyone.”
He’s grinning, throwing in a wink for good measure. Soon, it fades into something softer, he nudges into her hip with his shoulder from where he stands two steps down. “Ask Remus for a piece of chocolate when you see him, yeah?” He looks almost sheepish. “He always has some on him, it’s not much but it’ll hold you over.”
Her stomach grumbles then, unbidden, loud enough for them both to hear, making her face burn hot.
“It’ll make us both feel a bit better, I reckon.” He rubs a hand against the back of his neck.
Lily looks at him, eyes soft and sparkling and nods. “If it gets you to stop fussing.” She says light heartedly.
And to both their surprise, James doesn’t joke back. Doesn’t match her banter or let that cocky grin ease onto his features.
And it hasn’t got a thing to do with anything Lily’s done. Lily is warm and light and beautiful. But something about her when she thinks no one’s looking—something he’s not sure everyone could spot, even if they were paying attention—is immensely sad and seemingly lonely.
He saw it that day when she walked into the Great Hall, masked by her undeniable beauty, but it was there. It returned this morning in Transfiguration, flickered while they walked to Potions. It was impossible to miss it Saturday in the corridor. Practically seeped from her, leaking out onto the stone and all over the walls of the castle while Trelawney spat false promises and dark omens at her.
“I don’t think I can stop fussing. Not about you.” Is what he admits quietly. Seriously. “What I mean is, Lily, I won’t lie—I’ve been quite worried since Saturday, since…”
He sees something in her shift, watches her gulp. “The Divination Professor.” She answers for him, a throaty, fragile whisper.
James nods, weakly. He hates this. Hates what’s happened. Hates that it’s him who’s upset her. He hears Remus, a gentle reprimand in his head. Echoes of warnings he gave this weekend: “She should set the pace.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
She shakes her head, “Please, don’t apologize. I brought it up first, didn’t I? Walking to Potions.” She assuredly reminds.
He breathes a little easier, the knot in his chest unfurling ever so slightly.
“I don’t mean to upset you or scare you. It’s just—I want to be honest.” He says sincerely.
She nods, beckoning him on.
Before he speaks again, she suddenly feels something snake into her hand. It’s warm and soft. She looks down to see his pinky wrap its way around her much smaller one, tugging her gently to a small bench outside two large mahogany doors. Doors framed by ancient looking stone and carved with runes, meaning they’ve made it.
He places her books down beside him, turning his much longer legs into her space as his trousers brush her bare knees.
“I think you knew it then—I did too, I wanted to tell you. I tried to right after.” He began a bit panicked, free hand tangling in his hair. Tone dipped in guilt.
He thinks of Lily, of the confused and terrified look on her face. Of Dumbledore silencing James with a pointed expression before whisking her away. He can still feel his hand reaching for her own, only to meet the heavy, tense air of the corridor.
“James?” She says gently, drawing back.
He shakes his head sharply, as if willing the memories away. “What I mean to say is, what happened in the corridor on Saturday—the prophecies, the dark omens—that’s not normal.”
Lily’s face doesn’t show shock as much as recognition. He could tell she suspected as much but saying it aloud makes it all the more real.
He feels something clench harshly and almost painfully around his pinky. It takes him a moment to deduce it’s her clenching her fist, digging her nails roughly into her palm. She seems to realize he’s noticed and immediately flinches, moving to pull her hand away apologetically but before she can, he tightens where his pinky lays against her own and brushes the tips of his other fingers against the angry red indents.
“I told my friends.” He admits after a moment. “And I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t have if I didn’t think it was important. But Remus is absolutely brilliant and Sirius can read people better than anyone and Pete knows more about Divination than the three of us combined. I know that—” He begins to ramble.
“James,” she interrupts, soft and steady. “It’s okay.”
And maybe she should be upset.
She already feels like some outcast, freak. An enigma to her new classmates. The Muggle playing pretend witch.
But for whatever reason she doesn’t feel betrayed or even embarrassed—perhaps if it had been anyone else she would have been, but it’s not anyone. It’s James.
James who has been nothing but kind and inviting. James who makes her stomach feel funny. Makes her feel things she doesn’t understand.
James who looks at her as more than The Forgotten Witch.
“What did they say?” Lily asks quietly.
“Trelawney, she hasn’t made a prophecy since she began teaching here.” Panic strikes her face. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Remus—he had an idea about it.” He soothes quickly.
She nods for him to continue, face pale and hand shaking beneath his own.
“Divination, it’s supposed to be kind of like some strong, cosmic, sort of attraction to magic.”
Not his most eloquent, but Lily seems to understand. Her mind drifts to crystal balls and tarot card readings at school dances. She wonders now if it wasn’t all performative. If there was some truth to it.
Images circle her brain, she’s just started secondary school and her parents all but forced her to the start of term dance. There’s a woman with unkempt grey hair flipping cards. She can still picture it—the blades piercing the dead man’s back, the blood dripping off them.
The Ten of Swords.
“And Lily,” James luckily continues, cutting off her thoughts. “You’re a lot of years of a lot of magic that Remus reckons—me too—is just waiting to get out. We thought that maybe, your energy, or whatever, was so strong she felt a sort of physical pull to it she hasn’t with anyone else here. That you were a sort of catalyst.”
And it sounds reasonable, she supposes. She skimmed the chapter on Divination during her studies. Though, she didn’t get very far. Minerva wrote off the subject for something more substantial like Charms work.
“But what about what she said? About me? About needing to leave and being forgotten?” She presses. “I mean it can’t be a coincidence, in some ways, it’s true, I was a forgotten witch.” She speaks the title sadly, like a scar plastered for the world to see. One she’s tried desperately to conceal but is resigned to carry.
“Lily,” he breathes, voice strangled and hoarse. “She doesn’t know the first thing about you.” He speaks it like an oath.
“And you do?” She asked, though not unkindly. Her eyes stay trained on a particularly interesting swirl of granite beneath her shoe.
“In the short time I’ve come to know you, I know you’re brilliant and you’re interesting. And yeah—I don’t know a lot and I’d like to know more, but there is one thing I’m certain of.”
She lifts her head curiously, doe-eyes meeting a swirl of hazel and brown and gold. His gaze is unyielding, sizzling and something she doesn’t yet comprehend.
“You, Lily Evans, are the most extraordinary person I’ve ever met—and it hasn’t got a single thing to do with how long you’ve been a witch for.”
He says it with such conviction but it’s somehow still soft. Breathless. He seems almost embarrassed by such an admission. She hears him swallow loudly, eyes wide and cheeks pink. She’s sure hers are a similar shade to his own as she feels the welcome warmth bloom across the apples of her cheeks, her neck, her chest—all the way down to her toes.
Her fingers are tingling, none more so then the pinky wrapped around his own. Her pulse point thundering against the pads of his fingers.
The sentiment may seem like nothing but for whatever reason she finds herself peeking out the window behind him. She expects to see the world tilting on its axis or standing still. It feels like something’s changing and yet everything’s the same.
“Thank you.” Is all she says—all she can say. She has half the mind to protest such a statement but something about him is so compelling.
Anyway, she can’t very well explain everything else she’s feeling without seeming very mad, can she?
He smiles gently, scanning the pretty blush on her cheeks, reveling in her now steady hand resting against his own, setting his skin alight. He notices she accepts the compliment too, a small victory.
“Of course, Trouble. I mean it.” He adds for good measure. “Anyway, Divination is a crock of shite and I’m not just saying that either. Pete takes lessons with Trelawney, though. He says he’ll let me know if anything strange keeps happening.”
“Thank you.” She says again and this time he swears he feels her hand flinch against his own, like it’s fighting the urge to curl around him. Like she’s trying not to unravel the fortress she’s built so sturdily around herself.
He shakes his head meaningfully, “please don’t thank me.” Not for something like basic human decency. “It just wasn’t fair the way everyone was seeming to lie to you about it. It’s nothing and—”
“It’s not nothing.” Lily says, tone firm but without any edge to it. “It’s kindness, which is something that is harder and harder to come by. Something that's become valuable to me lately.” She finishes softer, though he notices it again—the tinge of sadness he doesn’t fully understand.
Part or him wants to ask—ask who or what hurt her. What kind of life she led before this one. What it was like that made her think she doesn’t deserve kindness. He’s got that urge again, one he can’t ignore either, the need to make things better. Brighter. For her.
He decides against it though, if they don’t get a move on, she’ll be late. He also can hear Remus nagging in his ear, telling him he’s probably overwhelmed Lily enough for one day. Best not to rehash whatever got her upset.
So he leaves it, for now. Until she’s ready. He’ll wait.
“Get used to it.” He says affectionately, nudging her shoulder with his own.
He twists his body around then, feeling the loss of her hand in his own as he moves. He soon fills his suddenly cold hands with her books.
“Looks like people are filing in.” He says, nodding to the students walking through the double doors. “Ask Remus about the chocolate, yeah?” He reminds gently as he passes the books into her outstretched arms.
She nods and he hopes it’s not just to placate him, but he takes it.
“Thank you again James, for all of it.”
He shakes his head, a lopsided grin plastered on his face. “Have a good class, Evans.”
She turns ribbon flicking behind her, hair swishing around her shoulders. She begins to walk toward the double doors, shoulders hunched and looking much smaller than she was moments ago.
And it feels wrong, something about it just isn’t right and before he can help himself—
“Wait!” He calls rather loudly, turning several heads, but only one matters.
Her emerald eyes are wide in confusion, but she halts. Then, she pivots, her fingers working deftly to smooth out the pages of her book nervously as she faces him.
“I’ve—I’ve got Quidditch practice later. Do you?”
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
She looks confused, “not something I signed up for. Or would be very good at.”
James shuts his eyes tightly, scolding himself as he runs a hand harshly through his hand. “What I meant to say is, do you have anything? Later—I mean.”
“Oh.” Lily breathes, taking a minute to think, “well, I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but I’m taking six NEWT classes. Reckon I have a fair bit to catch up on.” She steps closer then, a subtle smile quirking her lips.
James sighs in relief. The teasing. The sarcasm. This is what he thrives on. Hopefully he can save himself just a bit.
“Six classes?” He gasps dramatically, hand over his heart. “I hadn’t heard!”
She giggles. “I would assume after lessons I’ll start on my Transfiguration essay.” She says a bit more seriously, though amusement still graces her face.
He steps forward, hands shoved deep in his robes. “I offered you a tour on Saturday, before—” he stops. “I just thought if you’d like, it still stands. Maybe later, around seven?”
And he’s nervous. So nervous.
Suave. Smooth. Heartbreaker of Hogwarts —reduced to nothing but a bumbling idiot.
It’s a bloody tour, not a marriage proposal, you twat. Take it easy. He tells his racing heart.
Lily trains her eyes on the cover of her book, but begins to nod slowly. “Yes. I—yes.” She flicks her eyes to meet his, “If you’re not too busy or—”
“No!” He says too quickly. “No, not too busy.” For you. “I offered anyway.” He shrugs, aiming for casual.
She closes her eyes tightly, nose scrunching. he can practically hear her scolding herself. “Right, yes. You just did that, sorry.”
Merlin, she’s adorable.
“I’m not sure if I’ll be in the library or the common room or my dorm room or—”
“I’ll find you.” He says quickly, thinking of the map.
Her brow furrows.
“I’ve got my ways, Trouble.” He tells her smoothly, throwing her a wink. Luckily, some of his patented Potter Charm returning.
“Okay well, I’ll see you later then. Or well, I’ll see you for Defense Against the Dark Arts. But after that too, I suppose.” She flushes at her ramblings.
Yeah, definitely adorable. He notes fondly, as her cheeks turn the color of rose petals.
“See you soon, Lily.” He says softly.
She smiles once more before turning to walk away but then she pauses. When she looks back, he’s just as she left him, a little awestruck and with a dopey look on his face. Though, she’s too caught up in her own nerves to notice.
He scrunches his eyebrows as she steps back to him. “Lily?”
“I just wanted to tell you,” she starts, voice shaking and throat suddenly tight. “I think you’re interesting too.” She blurts out, voice trembling. “And it hasn’t got a thing to do with how long you’ve been a wizard for.”
She turns away and disappears before he can so much as come up with a coherent thought. When he finally does come to, it isn’t until the door to Ancient Runes are firmly shut and the lesson is well on its way, leaving him standing alone in the corridor, a stunned and grinning fool.
He doesn’t stop smiling the entire way to the Great Hall.