Borrow
April, 1976
Lily could not believe this was happening.
McGonagall was handing out the quizzes right now and Potter was ruffling his stupid hair in the seat beside her right now and Lily was searching frantically for a quill in her bag right now and coming up so absolutely short that it excruciating.
"Remus," she hissed, checking over her shoulder reflexively to make sure McGonagall wasn't going to kick her out for cheating. Of Potter's stupid friends, Remus was the only one she could stand. At least he had a respectable study schedule. "Remus." She thought momentarily of taking off her shoe and flinging it at his head to catch his attention, but McGonagall was getting closer, and Lily didn't think either of them would take kindly to it. Plus Potter might actually appreciate it, and that was absolutely against every rule Lily followed.
"Professor," Lily said in her sweetest voice as McGonagall handed her the parchment. "You wouldn't happen to have an extra quill on hand, would you?"
McGonagall shook her head sternly, but Lily saw a flicker of sympathy in her expression. "Sorry, Evans, you know the rules."
Lily nodded morosely until McGonagall passed, at which point she deflated in her seat and grabbed her bag with renewed desperation, searching through it.
"Evans," came the deep voice from her left. She squinted her eyes so hard that the only way she needed to pay attention to him was if he put his hand directly in her line of vision...
Just like that.
"Put the bag down, Evans, I'll lend you a quill," he said coolly, procuring a quill from his own bag even as he put hers down.
"Oh, you will, will you?" she spat, hair flying in every which direction as she shot her head up. Potter raised his eyebrows and recoiled only slightly at the look in her eye.
"Will I? I will! I'll lend you a quill," he replied jovially, and held the pure white quill at arm's length across the aisle.
"Oh, you're so charming with your rhyming, I can hardly stand it." She crossed her arms with resolve and refused to take the instrument from his hand.
"Just take the ruddy quill, Evans," he whispered with a final glance at McGonagall, who was walking rather more slowly than usual toward the front of the room.
"And what will become of my fate if I do?"
"You'll pass the test with flying colours, for one."
"And I suppose I'll be in your debt forever, will I?"
"Do you think you will? Now take the damn--"
"Shut up!" she hissed angrily. His rhyming was not helping matters.
"Look," he finally resigned. "If you want to borrow my quill, just ask." He placed it carefully down so that the feathers hung over the edge of the desk, moving gracefully in the slight air flow of the room. "There aren't any strings attached," he added, raising his hands in a surrendering motion. "I just wanted to do you a favour."
"You have thirty minutes," McGonagall announced at the front of the classroom, drawing a large timer in the air with her wand and tapping the top. The seconds began to tick down. Lily panicked.
"All right, Potter, I'll take your stupid quill," she hissed and reached across the aisle. Unfortunately, his Quidditch reflexes were faster than hers, and he snatched it right out from under her fingertips.
"Remember when I said there were no strings? I lied," he said boyishly, grinning like the idiot he was. "You have to be gracious, Evans. I'm doing you a favour here. Show a little appreciation, will you?"
Lily clenched her teeth. "James," she choked out after moments of not-trying-to-kill-Potter ticked by. "May I please borrow that loving quill?"
"Absolutely you may, Lily. Thank you for asking so politely." He handed the quill over with a wink and returned to his own parchment, smiling arrogantly as per usual.
Lily finally turned to her quiz, trying to suppress the seething hatred that usually struck her when Potter was anywhere near her. By the time the half-hour had gone by, however, she felt rather calm. It was with a happy formality that she placed the last period and handed her test to McGonagall before filing out with the rest of the students.
Lily caught up to James halfway down the hall and handed him back the quill. "Thank you," she said with sincerity, forcing a half-smile.
Potter seemed to recognize that she was at least partially serious and half-smiled back at her. "Nah, you keep it. Suits you better anyway."
Lily raised her eyebrows. "Are you sure?"
"Absolutely. It's yours." And with a grin clearly intended to dazzle, James sprinted down the corridor to catch up with his friends.
"Evans," came McGonagall's voice from behind her. "May I have a word?"
Lily followed McGonagall back into the classroom. She held a strange formality about her as she leaned against the wall and beckoned to the nearest desk, indicating that Lily sit down. "Lily," McGonagall started. Lily immediately began panicking. McGonagall only used first names when something serious was going on. "I understand if... well... I always rather thought that..." McGonagall cleared her throat. "In any case, I am a bit concerned. I think it's rather in your best interest if you keep comments such as this off your schoolwork." McGonagall waved Lily's test around vaguely in front of her and regarded Lily with sympathy.
Lily was very confused. "Comments such as what?"
McGonagall half-smiled. "Your personal life is none of my concern. I merely think that if Potter is distracting you..."
"He isn't," Lily said suspiciously. "I mean, if you'd like to move him to the other side of the room, I won't stop you, but..."
"In the future, then, I can expect to see fewer... efforts along these lines?"
Lily frowned and, unable to stop herself, got up and stood beside McGonagall to peer at the parchment.
Each and every question had been answered, in Lily's neat writing, with "I am going to marry James Potter". Where there was a second line provided, the subtext read "Lily Potter" surrounded by tiny hearts.
"This is highly unusual procedure, but I am willing to let you write the test again," McGonagall said, "only perhaps we might place you in a less... obvious location this time."
But Lily wasn't listening.
Lily was standing at the front of the room, eyes crazed, pulling each and every feather out of the quill with equal fervour and precision, plotting new and exciting ways to put Potter in a situation to die easily.
Extremely easily.