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“The horoscopes aren’t in your favour today,” James remarks, a copy of the Prophet spread out on the table before him.
“Oh, what are they saying?”
Lily is curled into the coziest armchair in the common room, the crackling fire thawing her frozen limbs. It’s late, and most of Gryffindor has gone to sleep. The only people left in the common room are the Head Students and a harried fifth-year cramming for exams.
“Nothing of sense.”
“Typical, then,” says Lily wryly, thinking back to the several times The Daily Prophet’s horoscope column had predicted an untimely end to every one of her friendships.
Well, they had been right about Severus, but even a broken clock is right twice a day.
“They say to make sure you don’t light candles or attend masquerade parties but do eat a packet of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans. Today’s your lucky day. Or they’re being paid to advertise for Bertie.”
“I absolutely will not!” she exclaims. “Don’t think I forgot what happened last time you gave me a Bertie Bott’s Bean.”
James ducks his head, laughing. “Hey, I only said it might be chocolate.”
“And then it was liver,” Lily grumbles. “Worst flavour ever.”
James waves a dismissive hand. “Nah. One time I popped a mouthful and all of them were horrible. Egg salad, moldy cheese, pickled onion, sardines, and wasabi.”
“All right, yeah, I take it back. Yours is worse.”
“I know,” he says triumphantly.
Lily rolls her eyes. “What else does it say?”
“It says you shouldn’t be afraid of broomsticks,” James answers. “Huh, maybe this isn’t all rubbish.”
“You’re just saying that because you love flying,” she shoots back. “And I’m not afraid of brooms! I can fly. Somewhat.”
He makes a disparaging noise. “Sure, that’s why you faked vertigo to get out of flying lessons.”
“… I don’t like being bad at things,” mumbles Lily.
He shakes his head fondly. “Of course you don’t.”
She gestures for him to continue, and James frowns dubiously at the paper. “This is stupid. ‘Aquarians, avoid rash decisions and save yourself the disappointment of rejection.’ What, everyone born in the winter is going to be rejected today? That seems bold even for the Prophet… surely they’ll blame it on Saturn, or maybe — ah, yes, Mars and Pluto form an angle tonight.”
He looks up at her and grins, running a hand through his hair. “Well, today’s almost over and you’ve managed to evade rejection thus far, so I think you’re safe.” When she doesn’t respond, he adds, “What, don’t tell me you professed your undying love to Finneas Duke and got turned down?”
Belatedly, Lily laughs. It’s half-hearted, and the furrow between his brows only deepens.
“Of course not,” she says. “How did you even know I spoke to Finneas today?”
The seventh-year Ravenclaw had pulled her aside after lunch and asked for next week’s Prefect rounds to be rearranged, but Lily hadn’t spared a thought for Duke since they parted ways.
Of course, the same cannot be said about the frequency of her thoughts on James, but the past few months have taught Lily not to hope.
The sixth year brought them a reluctant friendship, and thus far seventh year has birthed trust and a steady partnership, but, selfishly, Lily wants more. It’s hard not to when James has matured into himself unbearably well. He’s courteous and charming and still a little bit vain, and Lily hates how much she likes it.
That and his forearms. The forearms played a significant role.
But, Godric, ‘save yourself the disappointment of rejection?’ She’s not one to trust Prophet horoscopes, but today’s seems too on the nose. It’s like the editors know she’s been summoning up the courage to tell him how she feels. When the rest of the Gryffindor seventh-years headed to bed an hour ago, leaving just the two of them to finish the week’s reports, Lily had even hoped for tonight…
Well. Not anymore. She’d rather not take her chances.
James shrugs nonchalantly and fluffs the newspaper. “He reeks of desperation. It’s palpable, even from far away. Anyway, even if you had made the appalling decision to share your feelings with Duke, there’s no way he would have rejected you.” His smile, normally warm and open, is jagged to her defeated eyes. “The Prophet’s wrong.”
“You’re grossly overestimating how well Finneas and I know each other.” Lily picks up the stack of Prefect reports she’d set down an hour ago in favour of making conversation. “I don’t know what your issue with him is, but he’s an all right bloke.”
“He hasn’t got a personality,” James interjects, almost exasperated. “We’ve known Duke for seven years, yeah?”
“Right.”
“Then name one of his interests,” he challenges. “Just one hobby. One non-academic activity he does to make his sad, miserable life a little bit less sad and miserable.”
Lily narrows her eyes at him. “You’re an arrogant git.”
He sets down the paper entirely and leans forward, grinning. “That wasn’t a hobby!”
Lily wracks her brain, thinking back to years of shared Charms and Herbology lessons, being partnered up with Finneas for a few Prefect rounds, and that one Hogsmeade trip they’d shopped together at Scrivenshaft’s.
“Finneas likes… quills.” She’s wincing even as the words leave her mouth.
“Quills, Evans? Really?”
“Shut up,” she grumbles.
“That’s like saying I like treacle tart. It’s true, but also completely irrelevant,” says James, almost absurdly delighted by her defeat. “And quills, too! Anything is better than being known as the guy who likes quills.”
“There’s nothing wrong with quills,” Lily argues half-heartedly.
He fixes her with a knowing look. “There is something wrong with his one defining interest being ‘quills’.”
She can’t argue with that, really. James is… not wrong.
God, she hates that he’s right, the arrogant prick. Seven years and a whole friendship later, and she still needs to have the one-up over him.
“Well,” huffs Lily, because she’s hardly going to admit that he’s right, “then it’s a good thing I don’t fancy him, and he doesn’t fancy me.”
James picks up the paper again and says in the same breezy tone as earlier, “You’re either blind or dense if you think Duke doesn’t fancy you.”
Lily bristles. What is he trying to accomplish, with his veiled comments and sudden coolness?
Perhaps if she weren’t already on edge she would pause and wonder why he is pressing his point apropos of nothing, or why he peruses the astrology column of the Prophet whenever he mentions Finneas Duke’s supposed crush on her, or why he’s even sitting in the common room with her at a quarter to midnight on a Tuesday when he could have been sound asleep hours ago.
Instead, she says archly, “And you’re so certain because, what, you’re the expert on fancying me?”
The second the words leave her mouth, she wishes she could take them back.
Across from her, James stills. His expression is unreadable, and half-covered by the paper.
Lily’s suddenly aware of the thudding of her heartbeat, the crackling of the fire, and the faint turning of pages coming from the fifth-year who is still in the common room — why is he studying here at this ungodly hour, would he please leave, and could he not tell that she would appreciate some privacy to fix the unbelievably stupid thing she just said aloud?
They’ve never talked about it — it being, of course, fifth-year James’s feelings for her.
They may have never discussed it, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t thought about it — about the flirtations and compliments, him stumbling over words in her presence, and even the time he Charmed a magical snowglobe for her birthday, all the while thoroughly infuriatingly her.
Reluctantly pining after the boy she rejected and called an ‘arrogant toerag’ in front of half the school has turned her foolish and illogical and, worst of all, hopeful.
She never used to be hopeful.
“I’m sorry,” she croaks, certain that her cheeks must be red with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean that. I only meant — never mind.”
He’s silent. Lily peeks over the stack of reports on her lap and sees his gaze trained again on the newspaper.
Lily takes a deep breath. “James, I’m—”
“—no, don’t,” he interrupts, contrite. “I’m sorry. I’ve never told you before, but I want to say, I want you to know, I’m sorry for everything. The posturing and the prancing about, and worst of all, asking you out like that in front of everyone after what I did.”
He looks genuinely sorry, and Lily feels even worse.
“You don’t need to say that,” she says weakly.
“No, I do,” James says, a determined gleam in his eye. “I owe it to you. You probably think I’m immeasurably vain, making fun of Duke like that when I was no better than him.”
“You were worse, actually,” she blurts out, and slaps a hand over her mouth. “Shit! Sorry.”
James winces. “Ah, well, I deserved that.” He smiles thinly. “At least he has a chance.”
Lily bites her lip. If anyone had a chance, anyone at all, it would be James. James then was maddening and infuriating and pissed her off more than anyone else… but he made her feel alive like no other. He made her competitive, he made her heart race, he made her animated like no one else could.
And James now…
She watches as he runs a nervous hand through his hair, his Quidditch jumper stretching over his torso. He does have nice arms, doesn’t he?
Lily tears her guilty eyes away from him, fiddling with the reports she hasn’t once touched since picking them up.
You have a chance, she thinks. Do I have a chance?
Instead, she says, “I don’t fancy Finneas Duke.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lily sees the studying fifth-year pack up his scrolls and head up the stairs to his dormitory. They’re completely alone now, and she wishes she could revel in it at all — fluff her ego, hope, pine, want.
“I know,” James sighs, and sinks back into his armchair. “You don’t like desperation.”
She can’t read him. Why can’t she read him? James Potter is supposed to be an open book, but his impassive gaze isn’t telling her anything.
“What does that mean?” she asks, baffled. Desperation?
“Just that you wouldn’t like guys who throw themselves at you,” says James. “I don’t blame you. It’s tacky.”
Lily blinks at him. “I... don’t think I’ve ever had a guy throw themselves at me?”
He looks almost frustrated, then resigned; Lily is just more confused.
“Evans, I’m right here,” he says wryly. “You don’t need to spare my feelings.”
Her cheeks warm. “I never thought of it like that. I don’t think you were throwing yourself at me.”
If anything, she thought the opposite. She thought him so vain that he’d embarrass her in front of everyone just to lark about. She deemed his brief infatuation with her superficial and conditional. Really, she assumed he would forget about it as soon as they went on summer break.
James stares at her. “Right,” he says. “Sure.”
“Really!” she insists.
A muscle ticks in his jaw, and he says tightly, “I was half in love with you, Lily, and not very subtle about it.”
“Oh,” she murmurs. Just when she thought it couldn’t get worse. Half in love? Merlin. Lily tries desperately to hide what the words do to her. Her face twists and her heart pinches, and if he half-loves her, then she half-hates herself for missing her chance. “I… didn’t know.”
His lips thin. “How? I always acted like a prat around you.”
“I thought you were just a prat all the time!” she cries, throwing up her hands.
James grimaces at that. “Well, I was awful at flirting, but surely you could tell something was up when my voice always deepened around you? Really, I was embarrassingly obvious.”
“Sometimes I noticed,” she admits. “But it never struck me as desperate.”
“I asked you out after OWLs—”
“—Well, I had bigger worries that day,” she mutters.
“And I always asked Remus to put in a good w—”
“Why are you doing this?” Lily blurts. “Why are we arguing about years-old grudges right now?”
James slouches deeper in the chair, and when he meets her gaze, all she sees is resignation.
“You really don’t know?” James asks, and if she weren’t certain he didn’t have a stake in this conversation beyond a bruised ego, she might say he looked upset.
“You’re being confusing!” she cries. “Just be straight with me, please.”
James stares at her, then sighs and picks up the paper. “It’s nothing. Look, the Aries horoscope says the quarter moon will bring friction to my relationships, but also that Venus will put me in a loving mood. Now that’s just contradictory. And — I’m supposed to try mud wrestling. What does any of this have to do with mud wrestling?”
He looks up and blinks when he realises Lily is staring at him.
When she stays silent, James tries, “Do you think I should try mud wrestling?”
“Are you serious?” Lily asks, annoyed.
He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it. “Er… no? It sounds messy.”
She’s going to strangle him.
“Oh, they have an Enter the Void column today,” comments James, oblivious to her mutinous glare. “Hm, what should I pick… how about ‘Am I a Seer?’ Ah, it says to trust my instincts and listen to my dreams. Unhelpful. Last night I dreamt that I was a Mandrake dug up by Tilden Toots.”
Is he going to sidestep her question entirely? Even though he was the one who brought up his past feelings for her?
“Here’s the classic ‘Do they like me back?’. I don’t even need to read it. The answer’s no,” he says mirthlessly. “And look at that, it’s because Venus is agitating Neptune. Or is it Mercury? Whatever it is, the planets are squabbling yet again.”
“James,” interrupts Lily. “Why are you being weird?”
He looks at her. “What? I’m not being weird.”
“Yes, you are!”
“I’m perfectly normal,” he retorts, the same weird expression on his face.
“Would you quit pretending?” she says through grit teeth. “I asked you to be straight with me and instead you’re rambling about astrology.”
He sighs. “Is there any chance you’ll let me keep rambling about astrology?”
“Not a chance.”
“I’m trying to spare you and you’re being stubborn,” grumbles James. “Fine, whatever. I was reflecting on our fifth year, and… I suppose that revealed some lingering bitterness. It’s really nothing, and I promise I don’t hold a grudge over something so trivial.”
“Well, I never thought you did.”
“Great!” James says immediately. “Then let’s talk about something else. I’m quite done with the horoscopes. It says here that Wizengamot advisor Flavian Margolyes was discharged for breaking the Statute of—”
“Wait.” His words finally register. “What do you mean by lingering bitterness? Are you mad that I rejected you?”
“No,” he says, almost miffed. “I wasn’t thrilled about it, but I couldn’t blame you for not returning my feelings. I was a prat.” Hastily, he adds, “But even if I wasn’t, you made it clear your answer wouldn’t change.”
Oh, if only he knew how wrong he was.
“… I suppose I’m not quite over that, or everything else,” admits James, avoiding eye contact. “But I promise you, that won’t affect our partnership whatsoever. I can be professional.”
He explained why he was behaving so peculiarly, yet Lily still felt like she was missing something. There was a final piece to the puzzle that she had yet to discover, and it bothered her endlessly. What did any of this have to do with Finneas Duke; why was James insistent that she had to have known about his crush; what did he mean by not quite being over everything?
It would be easy enough to drop the subject. As it is, she’s certain she’s pushed him far enough.
But hope rears its head again. Lily promises herself that this will be her last question.
“When you say that you’re not over everything,” she begins, an audible tremor in her voice, “do you mean the rejection, or… something else?”
James stills.
Slowly, his gaze rises to meet hers. In the reflection of his glasses, she sees flickering flames. They mimic the thumping of her heartbeat — up and down, down and up, up and up and up.
“Which would you prefer?” he says quietly.
Finally, Lily pieces together the puzzle. She sees the brown in his wide irises, the careful folding of his hands on his lap, the straightening of his spine — she sees it all, and she sucks in a breath.
“Something else,” she breathes and watches as his walls cave in.
James Potter is proud. This, she knows. She knows his pride like the back of her hand. She knows it from flying classes and Transfiguration successes and Quidditch games and pompous hair-ruffling.
James Potter masquerades behind a pillar of pride, and to witness those pillars crumble is a precious rarity.
His shoulders sink in relief; his carefully reticent expression is replaced by naked surprise; his hand jumps to his hair, and he tugs at it until it’s a shock of black.
“Should I — will you — won’t you come here?” he says in a rush.
Lily’s up in a flash. Her knees protest in disuse, but she’s already falling into him before it registers. He’s warm and soft, and his jumper-clad arms envelop her immediately, tucking her into the crook of his neck as if he’s imagined doing so a hundred times.
“I like your jumper,” Lily whispers into his neck, and he shudders deliciously.
“I like you.” James pauses. “Is that okay?”
It’s her turn to shiver. “More than.”
“Good,” he says. “That’s — good. I’m glad.” His hands hover awkwardly above her torso before he finally rests them on her waist, his cheeks flushed a delightful pink.
For a long moment, they’re silent; she can only hear the steady pulse of his heartbeat and the faint roaring of the fire in the background.
Then, a hushed: “Did you truly not know how much I liked you?”
Lily laughs into his chest. “Why, did it bruise your ego to hear me deny it?”
“Honestly? Yes.”
“Mmm, I’m all right with that. Your head could use some deflating.”
“The astrology editors over at the Prophet seem to agree with you.”
Lily hums in assent. “Maybe it’s not all rubbish.”
“Well, our horoscopes claimed we would both be rejected today,” he points out.
“I take it back. All rubbish!”