Chapter 8
James should have known it was too perfect.
In twenty-four hours he’d gone from having not even a shred of hope that Lily Evans would ever be his, to this. Holding her in his arms. Dancing with her in a ballroom made of ice. Snogging her. And… other things.
The fact that he knew the way she liked it when he gently nipped her lower lip when they were snogging… The fact that he now knew exactly how perfectly her breasts filled his palms… like they were made for his hands… That he knew what she sounded like when she was painfully aroused and desperate for more… more of him… He didn’t think he’d ever recover from that knowledge.
It didn’t matter that he’d taken himself in his hand this morning, just to take the edge off. He was hard as a damn broom handle the second his lips met hers.
James lost himself in the sheer bliss of her soft skin. Her swollen lips. The scent of her hair, which smelled like a field of summer wildflowers somehow, even in the dead of winter. They kissed for what could have been a few minutes or several hours, until a group of giggling fifth years stumbled across them, and they startled apart.
Lily’s face was burning red, and James felt heat creep up the back of his neck as the group passed around a corner, breaking into hysterical shrieks of laughter.
“Should we, ah, get back?”
Lily nodded, taking his arm despite her obvious embarrassment.
The mood in the ballroom had loosened considerably. Sweaty, red-faced students were bouncing and thrashing and gyrating in a vast improvement on the waltz, in James’ opinion. As soon as they stepped inside Mary caught Lily’s arm and dragged her towards the loo. James spotted Remus and Sirius in the thick of the throng around the stage, grinning wildly as they jostled together, and Wormtail was playing tonsil hockey with Jenny, so James headed towards the drinks table alone.
As he was ladling punch into a goblet for Lily, an unpleasant, sneering voice spoke behind him. James didn’t have to look to know who it was.
“So… seven years of pathetic begging finally got you somewhere.”
Snape.
James inhaled deeply and thought of Lily. The night was going so perfectly; he didn’t want to ruin anything. And whatever was between her and Sniv—Severus now, at least at one point, he had been a friend of hers. James took another deep breath and turned around.
“Evening, Severus,” he said as pleasantly as he could manage, meeting Snape’s eyes calmly. Once again he had the strong impression that Snape was teetering on a dangerous ledge. “Having a pleasant night?” he asked.
His politeness only served to infuriate Snape further. Blotchy red spots began appearing on his sallow visage. James wished he’d thought of the tactic years ago.
“You don’t deserve her,” Snape hissed, a fleck of spit flying from his mouth.
“I agree completely,” James conceded easily. “Isn’t it nice to find common ground after seven years?”
Snape was visibly shaking now, and James found himself reaching for his wand. While James was confident in his defensive spells, Severus was giving off the impression of someone about to snap and James wanted to be ready in case he did.
A horrible smile spread across Snape’s lips. “Or maybe you do deserve her. She’s nothing better than a Mudblood whore, opening her legs for you.”
James saw red. Fury boiled inside him, through his chest, up his neck, inside his head, until he literally couldn’t see anything other than Snape’s awful smirk. He’d only ever experienced the feeling once before, when he’d hurtled through the castle to find Lily screaming in agony at the end of a Slytherin’s wand.
Don’t ruin it, do not give him what he wants. James gritted his teeth painfully against the rage Snape’s words provoked. He inhaled through his nose, forcing his anger to cool.
He leveled a cold gaze at Severus, who was panting with unabated hatred.
“That’s a lie, and I think you know it. Goodnight, Severus,” he said, his voice cold as the frozen lake. He moved to step around Snape, and that was when it happened.
Snape snapped. With a furious yell, he punched James right in the side of his face.
It wasn’t a particularly good punch—weak and at an odd angle—but James was surprised by it. In all their years of antagonizing each other, Snape had never been stupid enough to opt for physical violence against James, who was much bigger and better muscled from years of Quidditch playing. But that made it a bloody brilliant strategy, because it effectively stunned James for the one second it took Snape to whip out his wand.
Snape was already casting a spell by the time James reacted. Only his fast Chaser’s reflexes saved him. Just as the most excruciating pain he’d ever felt shrieked through his body, his own fist collided with Snape’s face in a much more solid punch. Blood spurted from Snape’s nose and his concentration slipped. The pain in James’ body ended as soon as it had started.
Panting, James pulled his own wand and barely managed a blocking spell in time. With blood pouring over his mouth and into the cracks between his teeth, Snape looked truly unhinged. James felt a flicker of uncertainty. The one thing he’d never been able to ridicule Snape for was his intelligence—Snape had always been dangerously adept at magic. Now, out of control, he was wild and a little frightening.
Dimly, James was aware of students screaming and scrambling away from them as spell after spell crackled from their wands. The ground beneath their feet became scorched and hot. But James’ entire being was focused on Snape—they were too evenly matched for him to dare look away for a second.
A jet of red light whizzed past his ear and he dodged just in time, swearing. Snape gave a satisfied snarl at the near miss and James gripped his wand tighter in determination.
Suddenly Sirius was at his elbow, an unholy light shining in his gray eyes. Something that was somehow both black and made of light shot from Sirius’ wand and Snape had to leap into the drinks table to avoid it. James didn’t even want to know how Sirius managed it—Sirius had always had an unsettling habit of bending existing spells into new shapes, which under normal circumstances required enough magical power to feed a herd of unicorns. But Sirius was the most magically gifted person James had ever met, when he chose to be, except Dumbledore.
The table, which was stacked high with glasses of sparkling wine, went over with a tremendous crash, the pyramid of crystal goblets splintering against the stone floor of the Great Hall.
“ENOUGH,” roared an awful voice.
James looked around, blood trickling from the side of his face where a shard of glass had scratched in his cheek. Dumbledore strode towards them, his face—for the first time since James had known him—twisted in anger.
And behind him—
Gods, no. No, no, no.
Behind him was Lily.
And from the anger and disgust on her face as their eyes met across the hall, James knew she hadn’t seen how the fight had started.
She’d only seen the duel.