Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Hello, Mr. "Perfectly Fine,"
How's your heart after breakin' mine?
Mr. "Always at the Right Place at the Right Time," baby.

Hello, Mr. "Casually Cruel,"
Mr. "Everything Revolves Around You!"
I've been Miss Misery since your goodbye,
And you're Mr. "Perfectly Fine…"

“Mr Perfectly Fine (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault),” Fearless, Taylor Swift

“The theme for this unit is transformation. We will be reading literary works – whether poems, short stories or novels – centred around this theme, exploring it as we discuss it. Mr Pettigrew, could you please hand out the Reading List for this term to all of your classmates, thank you!”

Peter stood, and Lily watched as – out of the corner of her eye – Evan Rosier moved his foot just so that their sturdy classmate might trip. He looked around to see if any of his friends had caught the movement, finding her narrowed eyes on him instead. She merely tapped her Head Girl pin, his face falling as he retracted his foot, placed it back under his desk.

“You will find that some of the transformations in the works we will read are to be taken more literally than others – we are to tackle this theme looking at four different sub-topics: Mythical and Magical Transformations; Psychological and Bodily Transformations; Gender, Identity & Feminist Transformations – no need for that face, Mr Flint – and, finally, Personal, Emotional and Natural Transformations.” McGonagall stopped next to Sirius Black’s desk, taking the piece of paper he’d been doodling on and balling it up. “We won’t be reading all of the works in full –” Peter handed her the Reading List, his smile almost apologetic, “– some poetry bundles we’ll be reading a selection of, such as Duffy’s, Heaney’s and Plath’s.”

Lily’s eyes dropped to the list, devoid of emotion almost:

1. Mythical & Magical Transformations

• Ovid (Ted Hughes trans.) – Tales from Ovid
• Shakespeare – The Tempest
• Shakespeare – A Midsummer Night’s Dream

2. Psychological & Bodily Transformations

• Franz Kafka – The Metamorphosis
• Robert Louis Stevenson – The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde
• Mary Shelley – Frankenstein

3. Gender, Identity & Feminist Transformations

• Angela Carter – The Bloody Chamber
• Carol Ann Duffy – The World’s Wife
• Virginia Woolf – Orlando

4. Personal, Emotional & Natural Transformations

• Seamus Heaney – Death of a Naturalist
• Sylvia Plath – Ariel

Her eyes slid from the list up to James Potter’s knee, which bounced restlessly underneath his desk. When her eyes slid higher, she found him looking at her, mouth ready to form a message she was not quite ready to hear.

They’d fought on their way to class – a rarity for the two of them these days. She couldn’t quite stand the look of him right now. Not without nearly breaking into tears.

She dropped her eyes back to the Reading List, cataloguing the works. She had read a good chunk of them, which alleviated some of the pressure that she’d already felt piling up on her with A-Level Chem and Maths.

Not to mention the emotional turmoil Potter had all but dumped on her a minute before the start of class.

I can’t do what you asked, Evans. I know it’s rubbish, and I wish I could explain...

McGonagall had made her way back to the front desk, asking all of them to take out their notebooks, so they could take notes as she went through her PowerPoint presentation. Lily – who already had her notebook on her desk and had written down the word transformation in neat calligraphy, outlining it with her pink glitter gel pen – started writing down the definition of transformation as given by her teacher.

A balled up piece of paper ended up on her desk, her lips pursed as she pushed it to the side, let it drop to the floor.

“Even some of your favourite childhood works will have included this theme of transformation. Of course, we would then often refer to it as ‘Coming of Age’ but truly it is no more than seeing the main character transform from their child to their adult self. Can anyone name the title of a work where this happens?”

Ms McGonagall raised an eyebrow, eyes flitting from one student to the next. “Mr Potter, surely you can. I would say you yourself are a prime example.”

Snickers rippled through the room, mostly coming from Rosier, Mulciber, Flint and Nott.

James cleared his throat, leaning forward on his forearms. His dress shirt pulled taut across his shoulders as he did. “Uhm... Dorothy in The Wonderful Wizard of Oz? Alice in Alice in Wonderland?”

Prat, she thought, writing the titles down in her notebook all the same.

“Why would you name those two?”

“Well... Dorothy’s journey on the yellow brick road sees her understanding of home and self transform, while Alice undergoes actual physical transformations – shrinking, growing – while also finding out who she is.”

McGonagall nodded. Their teacher couldn’t quite hide the slight uptick of the corners of her lips.

“I agree,” she said. “Other notable childhood stories surrounding this theme might be Peter Pan by J.M. Barrie and The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis.” Her eyes flitted through the room, gaze sharp. “I trust you are all writing this down?”

There was loud scribbling in notebooks. Some of her classmates, she thought, sounded like they were scratching the word on paper rather than writing it. She felt sorry for their pens, for they paper they butchered.

Class ended both far too soon and far too late. She neatly folded the Reading List, and placed it in her notebook, Mary appearing at her side.

“So, what did Potter want?”

She looked pretty and effortlessly chic with her new bob. She’d let Marlene have a go at it, the only instruction being that she wanted to look like Gracie Abrams – it was a miracle that their other friend had succeeded.

Lily’s eyes flitted briefly to Potter, who was packing his bag very slowly, clearly trying to stay behind and talk to her – he’d want to make amends, no doubt. Would want to make it right. Would want to explain.

“We’ll talk about it later,” she whispered in her friend’s direction, not quite ready yet to spill. The thought of their conversation turned fight made her stomach turn unpleasantly and bile rise up her throat.

She hoisted her bag on her shoulder, taking the long route – the one that would allow her to keep her distance from Potter – out of the classroom, Mary on her heels. She could feel her best friend shoot furtive glances between her and the Head Boy. She appreciated, though, the she didn’t say anything.

After English, she had a double Chem class – one Potter, thankfully, didn’t take – narrowly avoiding Severus as her partner by taking a seat next to Polly Parkinson, who hated her, but would gladly use her for her skills in that particular class. The girl spent the duration of the experiment filing her nails, and talking to Narcissa Black – Sirius’ cousin – about her plans for the weekend, which – by the sounds of it – included heavy drinking and smoking plenty a sneaky cigarette.

Lily still earned a compliment from Slughorn, but that was no surprise. She could do no wrong in his eyes – except for the fact that she wasn’t in his House. That, though, was something that relieved her greatly.

After that class ended, she made her way out of the building, her flats loud against the concrete of the school’s parking lot. It wasn’t long before her name was called, before she could hear the soles of his hurried sneakers join the rhythm of her flats. He reached for her wrist.

“Evans, come on, don’t be like this.”

Don’t be like this? He infuriated her.

“I have every right to be however I’d like, Potter.”

“Yes, of course, I know, I didn’t mean –” he inhaled sharply, let go of her wrist, stuffed his hand into the pockets of his slacks. “I just meant to say that this doesn’t have to be a thing. I agree with you, you know that. I just don’t think that my mum –” he seemed to mull his words over. “Look, it just feels like you’re taking an unnecessary risk. Why not write a letter of complaint, or – I don’t know, voice your opinion online.”

His words incensed her.

“Oh my goodness! Thank you so much, Potter! I am sure that a strongly worded letter of complaint, or a rousing speech is going to bring about the change and justice we need. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that! It must be because I’m a delicate flower of a girl –”

“I didn’t say that!” He reached for her elbow now. She stopped in her tracks, and he moved to stand opposite her. She hated that she had to crane her neck to look up at him – he’d gotten unreasonably tall between Year 9 and 10. She’d towered over him in Year 7 and 8. That had been much easier. “You know I would never say that. You’re –” he stopped, nostrils flaring. “I think you’re amazing, Evans. You know I do.”

He’d asked her out in Year 10 once. She had almost said ‘yes.’ But then Severus had told her how he spoke about her in the PHE changing rooms, and she’d been horrified.

They’d never talked that out – James and her. It seemed safer not to. She hadn’t wanted to ruin the tentative friendship they’d formed in Year 12, the solid one they had now in Year 13 – that was, until today apparently. Because a true friend, an actual friend would understand and do what she wanted, no questions asked.

“It’s my dad, Potter,” she almost whispered now, tears stinging behind her eyes. “What would you do if it was yours that Riddle ruined?”

“Evans, I understand. I really, really do, but there’s other ways to go about it. However much I loathe to admit it, Riddle’s a powerful man. He owns half the county. He’s got all the means available to ruin everyone who gets in his way.”

“Which is why I can’t do this alone and asked if you could help.”

“And I’m willing to give it –” she threw him a disbelieving look. “Really! I just don’t want...” He swallowed, ran a hand through his perpetually messed up curls. “... I don’t want anyone to get hurt. I don’t want you to get hurt. You get that, right? This would be a massive case – it would take years and years. It’d be too late anyway –”

She stiffened, and he must have recognised what he just said, because his eyes widened in horror. ”Evans –”

“Too fucking late, Potter,” she almost whispered. “But thanks for your concern, really. It’s touching, truly. Talk to me again when you’re done being a dick about my death dying, okay?”

“Evans...”

She stepped around him, eyes burning as he didn’t follow her a second time. Something she might not have said she wanted, but very clearly did.

“Hi, mum,” she said, kissing her on the cheek when she got back from school. Her mother looked gaunt, tired to the bone. She had ever since the doctor had told them that there was nothing to be done for her dad anymore.

“Enjoy the time you have left, Mr Evans,” he had said, his face one of badly concealed pity. “You have a wonderful wife, two beautiful daughters. Make memories together.”

She found herself scoffing at that last bit. Which memories could be made when your dad was dying of lung cancer and so ill with it that he could barely get out of bed most days.

“Hello, love,” her mother now said, “how was school?”

“Fine,” she replied, opening up the fridge to grab some milk before moving over to the kettle to boil some water. “It was a bit slow, to be honest. Rather boring. We’re staring a new unit in English, though – the theme seems interesting.”

Her mother smiled, the purple bags beneath her eyes crinkling. “That sounds lovely, dear. I actually ran into the mother of that friend of yours – the Head Boy – in town today. She is ever so friendly.”

“Oh,” she said, thinking about how she’d shown up to the Potters’ house two months ago, after receiving the bad news about the terminal status of her father’s cancer. It had been Mrs Potter who had opened the door, who had wrapped her arms around Lily and had let her cry her eyes out, while she waited for Potter to come back from bloody football.

“She was so kind. She offered to make us an oven dish. She said we’d only need warm it.”

Lily hummed, reaching for the bun on top of her head and undoing it. Her hair fell about her shoulder in waves.

“I couldn’t possibly accept, of course. They live up in that big house, they do. She’d be shocked by the state of ours – I haven’t vacuumed in a week!”

Lily let out a heavy sigh, looking at her mother.

“Mum... you can accept help every once in a while, you know.”

“I do,” Rose Evans nodded, “I just like to keep it in the family. You know your dad, he doesn’t like people to pry –”

“They’re not prying, though,” Lily interrupted. “They are being nice. They want to make things just a little easier on all of us.”

Her mother looked away. “I will think about it.”

“Mum –”

“That’s enough, Lily. Have your tea, do your homework, and then go up to see your dad. He’d love to hear about your day.”

She wanted to throw a tantrum – not quite having calmed down after her run-in with Potter after school – to tell her mum that she didn’t have any homework, thank you very much, but she decided against it.

As her mother left the kitchen, she prepared two mugs of tea, one with a dash of milk, the other practically all milk. Then, she made for the stairs, ascended it, and said loudly as she reached the first floor: “I hope you’re decent, dad.”

Her father chuckled as she came in, sitting up slightly.

He looked pale, thin. His red hair sticking up in all directions.

“Barely,” he murmured as she placed the mug of tea on the nightstand.

“It’s mostly milk,” she told him. “Just how you like it.”

“Perfect,” he said with a tired smile. “What have you got for me today then?”

She pulled her legs up on the armchair she was sat in, pulled her English notebook out of her bag. “We’re starting a new unit in English. Want to pick out our next read?” She handed him her Reading List, his eyes scanning the paper.

“Death of a Naturalist sounds fitting, ey?”

Her face fell. “Dad...”

“I’m joking,” he said. Then, he returned the paper to her. “I’d like to hear some Heaney poetry, though. Lofty, but not enough to bore me to sleep.”

She sighed, taking out her phone. “I’ll take it out of the library then. In the meantime... would you like me to read you one of the poems?”

He nodded, closing his eyes.

She looked up “Death of a Naturalist,” read the first few lines to get a sense of the tone she’d need, and then cleared her throat: “All year the flax-dam festered in the heart, Of the townland; green and heavy headed, Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.”

Her father’s brow relaxed, the lines around his mouth disappeared, and his breathing slowed. He was asleep by the end of the first stanza.

Chapter Text

Hello, Mr. "Perfectly Fine,"
How's your heart after breakin' mine?
Mr. "Always at the Right Place at the Right Time," baby.

Hello, Mr. "Casually Cruel,"
Mr. "Everything Revolves Around You!"
I've been Miss Misery since your goodbye,
And you're Mr. "Perfectly Fine…"

“Mr Perfectly Fine (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault),” Fearless, Taylor Swift

James Potter lay on his bed, tennis ball in hand. He threw it up, caught it, and threw it again. The motion helped him think – and that’s exactly what he needed right now: to think.

He wanted to help her. He did. He just… he’d have to ask his mum, and that was not an option right now. It had been a minor scare, she’d said. “Nothing to worry over, James. They just needed to take a biopsy. You’ll see that it’ll come back clean.”

But he’d looked it up. They didn’t just contact anyone after a mammogram. They didn’t just decide to take tissue from your breast. There was something going on with his mum, and her dazzling smile could not disguise it for once. Nor could her usual mantra of let’s keep this in the family, darling, we will only worry people.

James clenched the ball. If the roles were reversed, he’d do the same: protect his friends from the worry, even when his chest ached with it.

So, yes. He did want to help Evans. He just… how could he ask his mum to meet with her? To take on this case and not worry about her overworking herself, while she tried to get the Evanses the compensation they deserved. While she fought to get Riddle’s Industrial Construction closed for good?

Because he knew his mum would take it. She’d do it for free, too, in her spare time – while sitting at the hospital undergoing chemo or radiation therapy.

His eyes watered.

Talk to me again when you’re done being a dick about my death dying, okay?

Well, his mum might be, too. Did that cancel out the dick part? He didn’t think it did.

He sighed heavily, sat back up, placed his tennis ball on the nightstand and made for his dad’s study – hands pushed deep in his pockets. He knocked on the door, his father had barely looked up when he’d told James to come in, sitting so close to his laptop screen that James rolled his eyes.

“You do realise you can actually zoom in?”

“I don’t need it, James,” his dad – recently retired after selling his company to an investor. “I am merely fascinated. Did you know that octopi have three hearts and that two of them stop beating when they swim?”

“No, dad, I didn’t know that.”

His father found something new to obsess over every week. Ten years his mother’s senior, he had the luxury of finding hobbies beyond his haircare company.

“Do you have a copy of Kafka’s The Metamorphosis?” James asked. “Or Heaney’s Death of a Naturalist? McGonagall wants me to read it.”

“There should be a copy of both of those, yes. I believe you’ll find Kafka’s on the third shelf to the right – ah, yes, you’ve found it.”

The spine of his father’s copy was worn and when he opened it, he found his father’s scribbled thoughts in the margins.

“Is it any good?”

“I think you will take a liking to it. It’s about a man turning into a cockroach. Not quite your Bambi ambitions, but close.”

Right.

“Good one, dad.”

His father must have detected something in his tone for Fleamont Potter frowned, and he very rarely did. The man was made to smile – much like James himself, but seeing as James was an adolescent, he also still found lots to brood over.

“Come and sit,” his father said, gesturing to the unoccupied seat opposite him. He made his way over, slumped down. “What’s going on, son?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, fingers toying with the cracked spine of the book he had to read. He knew he sounded surly, but didn’t quite care. “It’s just… I can’t stop thinking about mum.”

“Ah.”

His father looked uncomfortable, lowered his eyes.

“Yes, it is… dreadful business. But you know your mother – she will bounce back. She always has.”

“But what if it is malign?”

“Then we will deal with it as a family.” His father had steepled his hands. “You know your mother wouldn’t want you to worry.”

James huffed, not even minding that he probably sounded like a spoiled, petulant prat doing it. “There’s loads of things mum wouldn’t want – like, for me not to sneak crisps up to my room, or for you not to hide those sweets in that tin in the bottom drawer of your desk.”

His father nodded. “There is only so much she can control, you mean.”

“Yeah,” James sighed. His legs were too long. It bothered him how he couldn’t stretch them properly in this chair. His mother didn’t like that, either – how tall he had gotten. It made her feel tiny, she said, and she was perfectly average as far as her height went. “She’ll have to go to the hospital all the time, she might lose her hair – she fucking loves her hair.”

“Language, James.”

“How are you and mum so calm about this?” He asked. Even breathing hurt now.

“Because we don’t know what any of this means yet,” his father spoke patiently. “It very well could be awful, you are right. But it could also be easily fixed.”

He hit his knee against his father’s desk in an attempt to get up. “I bet that’s what Mr and Mrs Evans thought, too. And now he’s dying, so…”

His father leaned back, watched him carefully.

“I understand if that worries you. Seeing a close friend go through the very worst is… it is unfathomable. To then also have to deal with your mum’s illness on top of all of that… well.”

James shrugged, had walked back over to his father’s bookshelves, located Death of a Naturalist, but stalled with his fingers on the poetry bundle’s spine.

“Do you know of any lawyers working with mum who do what she does?” He asked, trying to sound casual almost. “Like… anyone else who specializes in personal injury, or –?”

He could hear his father’s fingers tap on his desk.

“You would need to ask your mother, James.”

“I can’t ask mum –”

“Why not?”

“You know why,” he said, turning back around, anger flaring. “She’d tell me there’s no one as good as her, and she’d pull the reason I’m asking out of me, and then she’d be out there playing the hero again –”

His father’s smile was soft. “Perhaps, you should let your mother decide what she can and cannot handle, my boy.”

He scoffed. That’s exactly why he couldn’t ask, because she had no idea.

“Thanks, dad,” he said, reaching for Heaney’s poetry and grasping Kafka’s novel off his dad’s desk. “I’ll start going through these two.”

He stalked out of his father’s office, stomping upstairs.

“Still no luck talking to Evans, huh?” Asked Sirius, eyebrows raised. A cigarette dangled between his best friend’s fingers. That had been Sirius’ one positive when James had told him he’d been made Head Boy – at least, James would not take merits from him for smoking.

“She thinks I’m being a dick about her father dying.”

“Well, that’s probably how she sees it, isn’t it? I mean… you tell her she can ask you anything if she ever needs it, and then when she does ask for help – a huge thing coming from her, by the way – you say: ‘Ah, sorry, Evans. Can’t talk to my mum about talking to you about your father’s lung cancer.’” Sirius took one more drag from his cigarette and then dropped it, stubbing it with the toe of his shoe. “Come on, let’s find the others, shall we?”

James followed Sirius back in, where Remus and Peter guarded their lunch table.

“You get why I can’t ask her now, right?” He asked, hands shoved into his pockets. “You know my mum –”

“Yeah, I get it, sure,” said Sirius. “I’m sure Evans would, too, if you’d tell her.”

“Mum doesn’t want anyone to know. I only told you, because she said we needed to keep it in the family, and you are family.”

Sirius slung his arm over his shoulder. “I appreciate that, mate. Just as I appreciate that you’ve become such a goody-two-shoes this year. You actually listen to your parents now –”

“Very funny.”

“I’m just saying that you could tell Evans. It’s not like she will send your mum a fruit basket the second she finds out. If you ask her not to tell anyone else, she’ll be good about it, I’m sure.”

He sulked, his head lowered.

“Come on, Prongs. Isn’t she the love of your life? Doesn’t that make her family – ow!”

Sirius rubbed his side, glowering at James.

“Don’t say that out loud, all right?” He hissed. “We’re friends now. I’m not supposed to… you know.”

“Think about her when you get off?”

His cheeks tinged pink and Sirius cackled, throwing his head back. This caught the attention of two girls two years below them – a common occurrence, seeing as Sirius was clearly a good-looking guy.

When Sirius had stopped laughing, he said: “I think you should just tell her. Both that your mum is sick, and you’re worried about her taking on too much, and about her being the sole star of your sexual fantasies –”

“Fuck off, mate.”

They entered the cafeteria. His eyes immediately clocked Evans, who sat at a table with Mary, Marlene and Ishani. Lily’s eyes flitted to his for a moment, too, and his gaze held hers for one, two, three seconds. Then, she resolutely turned her head, pretended to be fully absorbed in the conversation her friends were having.

His heart twinged.

It fucking twinged.

Sirius appeared oblivious, happily getting in line for lunch and handing James a tray. He fiddled with it as he waited to order the beef lasagna. He was perfectly lost in thought when fingers touched his shoulder.

“Hi James.”

Emmeline Vance stood behind him. She was a year younger, and James had helped her with her History mock a month earlier. He remembered how Evans had almost taken offence to that – “She likes you, you know. She’s only pretending not to get it.”

He'd been so hopeful then. Had thought that maybe… he felt stupid about it now.

“Hi Emmie.”

She smiled – she was very pretty. Her hair was blonde and had waves that made it look beachy. Her eyes were a light, striking blue, and her nose was a cute button one. She was taller than Evans, but not quite up there with James.

“Are you coming to the party at Greengrass’ this Saturday?”

“Oh, uhm – beef lasagna, thanks –” he turned to look the girl beside him as he was handed a plate of pasta. “I don’t have any plans, I think. Pads –” he looked at his best friend, “– do we have plans for Saturday?”

Sirius turned his head, looking almost bored. His eyes fell to where Emmeline Vance stood. “I could make some plans up.”

James frowned at his best friend, then turned back to look at the blonde. “We don’t. Sorry, he gets like that sometimes.”

Emmeline laughed. “That’s all right. I’ll see you there then?”

“Sure.”

She left the queue and James realised that she hadn’t been waiting for food. His brows furrowed further. “Do you think she just asked me out, or –?”

“I think you’re an idiot if you have to ask me that,” said Sirius. The two of them left the cafeteria, sitting down next to Remus and Peter. Remus was going through some of his notes for Political Science – they’d have a mock later. James hadn’t bothered to study for it. It was his best subject anyway.

“Guess who just asked Prongs here out,” Sirius said.

James glared at him.

“Not Lily,” piped up Peter. “She’s sat there the whole time.”

Remus snorted. “He wishes.”

James wondered if it would truly be such a bother for him to look for new friends in his final year at Hogwarts.

“Emmeline Vance,” Sirius said, shovelling some lasagna into his mouth. “He didn’t get it until after she asked and he said yes, of course.”

“She’s pretty,” Peter said.

Emmeline was. It was just that James only ever had a very specific type.

“I should tell her I’ve got plans after all,” he said, eyes having gotten stuck on the back of Lily Evans’ head. She wore her hair in a ponytail today – it swished as she talked animatedly with her friends. “It wouldn’t be fair –”

“What wouldn’t be fair on Emmeline,” Remus supplied, “is you not giving her a chance.”

He pulled a face. “I’m not in the mood to go to a party anyway. What was I thinking? My mum’s –” he stopped talking. Not even Remus or Peter knew about his mum being potentially unwell. He sighed. “I just feel bad. Mum doesn’t like it when I drink.”

“Then don’t drink,” Remus said. “Shouldn’t be too hard.”

He sulked properly now, picking at his food.

“I know how to solve this,” Sirius spoke up. Then, voice loud, he said: “Oi, Mac!”

James as good as cringed when all the girls at Evans’ table – she herself included – turned around in unison. Mary’s eyebrow was raised.

“What, Black?” She asked haughtily, like she hadn’t shared a sneaky cigarette with him and had subsequently snogged him at a party just a month ago.

“Are you girls going to be at the Greengrass party on Saturday?”

The girls shared a look. Lily was a bit slow for her eyes had caught on James’ again. He couldn’t help it – his heart beat out of his chest.

“I suppose we don’t really have plans just yet. Will you lot be there then?”

“Vance just invited Prongsie here.” Sirius slapped him on the shoulder. “I figured that meant the rest of us were welcome, too.”

He was certain he imagined the slight widening of Evans’ eyes when Sirius said he’d been invited by Emmeline Vance. He did that more often these days – imagine what wasn’t quite there.

He'd thought, for example, that she’d wanted to kiss him when they’d been in the library together two months ago. He’d hung on to that memory – of Evans’ eyes dropping to his lips for far too long.

In any case, it had been before she’d gotten the news about her father dying within the next few months. Before she’d showed up to his house. Before he’d found her crying in his mum’s arms. Before his mother had casually dropped at the kitchen table that tissue would be taken from her breast after a routine mammogram.

“All right, we’ll be there,” said Mary Macdonald carefully. Then, the girls all turned back around, whispering fervently amongst themselves.

In the past he would have wished to be a fly on the wall. After their fight the day before, he figured that he didn’t want to know what they were talking about exactly.

Chapter Text

Hello, Mr. "Perfectly Fine,"
How's your heart after breakin' mine?
Mr. "Always at the Right Place at the Right Time," baby.

Hello, Mr. "Casually Cruel,"
Mr. "Everything Revolves Around You!"
I've been Miss Misery since your goodbye,
And you're Mr. "Perfectly Fine…"

“Mr Perfectly Fine (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault),” Fearless, Taylor Swift

Lily had spent an hour coaxing her hair into glossy waves she thought made her look like a film star. Still, it had that carefully styled look, while Emmeline Vance’s hair always tumbled like she’d just walked out of the sea. With her own fiery red, Lily should’ve been the mermaid, but Emmeline wore it better.

She grabbed the keys from the bowl by the door and poked her head into the living room. It was Petunia, not her mum, who noticed first.

“Is that a crop top?” Petunia spat the words like they were poison. “Mum! Have you seen what she’s wearing?”

Their mother, half-absorbed in Netflix, glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, Petunia, let her. She looks fine – beautiful, darling.”

“Thanks, Mum. My phone’s fully charged, so you can track me all night.”

“Good. It’s dreadful what’s been on the news lately. Only last week, they found that girl –”

“Yes, all right, Mum,” Lily cut her off. “I’ll be careful.” She was halfway turned when Petunia’s voice came sharp again.

“Those parties are notorious. Posh kids, drugs – it’s practically a den.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “I’ve never seen anyone do drugs at one of these parties.” True enough – she’d only suspected. Severus with his reddened eyes, that sweet cloying smell that clung to him…

“Anyway,” she added, brutally pushing the memory down, “lucky for you, I’m hardly posh. Besides, what anyone else does is none of my business. I wouldn’t poke drugs with a stick. So if you’re worried, sister – truly heartwarming, honestly – there’s really no need.”

She walked out, throwing a casual bye and love you, mum – pointedly not addressing her sister – over her shoulder before she left the house, hugging herself against the cold, though perhaps the chill would cool down her mind.

She had always been fond of walking, but was even more so now that her head was always so bloody full. She couldn’t stop thinking. Her mind was on overtime. It just wouldn’t stop.

She kicked a pebble down the road; it pinged off a post box. She breathed deep through her nose, lifted her chin. Her dad was dying. It was the worst thing that could possibly happen, and it consumed her.

So why did her heart still have room to break over a boy?

A boy she thought had liked her back. A boy she’d almost kissed in the bloody school library. A boy she’d leaned on. Trusted.

She should have known better.

She shouldn’t have asked him for help.

She shouldn’t have put all her faith in him.

She should have known better – the end of her friendship with Severus had already taught her that: how easily she gave her trust, and how quickly – far, far, far quicker than she could have imagined – it was thrown aside.

She sighed heavily, feeling utterly, completely silly about her hopelessly devoted crush on the Head Boy, while also hating herself for feeling something akin to love for him in the first place.

The music was loud. So loud that Lily could hardly hear Mary when she found her dancing on top of the Greengrass’ coffee table - it was, she knew, her best friend’s favourite vantage point at any party.

She pulled Lily up on the table, too, saying into her ear: “You look hot! Also, Potter’s dancing with Vance, but he seems to be keeping his hands to himself.”

Her stomach twisted and turned, her face - however - remained stoic, even as her eyes flitted in the direction Mary nodded her head.

Her friend was right. Potter kept a respectable distance from Emmeline Vance. Still, the girl was doubled over with laughter as Potter danced goofily.

Lily knew for a fact that he was a much better dancer than his flappy arm movements suggested. She’d danced with him before. His hand had been on her waist then.

She also knew, though, that humour was James Potter’s key medium when it came to charming people. He must really like her then.

The thought burned, so she shoved it down, averted her gaze, faked a smile, and joined her friend in her dancing, losing herself in the music. Her head felt a little less fluffy for a moment. Even if her heart still pulled her in Potter’s direction - a call she would certainly not heed.

I think you’re amazing, Evans. You know I do.

It hurt. It actually physically pained her to think about it too much, to share this space with him when he was so… James.

“I’m getting a drink,” she shouted to Mary over the music. “Do you want -?” Her best friend shook her head as Lily stepped off the coffee table, shouldering her way through the crowd - a mix of schoolmates and people she had never seen before. She took a detour, not wanting to risk Potter seeing her.

The kitchen was busy still with a group of people chanting at a boy she knew was no older than fifteen to chug, chug, chug Normally, she’d have said something. Tonight, she just slid past, silent, ashamed at how little she cared.  

She found herself a cup that looked unused, filled it with water and gulped it down. Then, she filled it again, and made her way out of the back door into the Greengrass’ garden.

While the claim that the garden was quiet was a definite overstatement, it was much more serene than the inside of the house. Music pulsed through its walls, doors and windows, and people still laughed, gathered around a fire pit, while others snogged in poorly hidden nooks, but it was still far more serene and less oppressing than the inside had been.

She walked to the edge of the garden where – leaned up against the wooden fence separating the Greengrass’ from the neighbours’ – Remus Lupin stood, a smile turning up the corners of his lips when she joined him.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she told him.

“I was dragged here,” he replied with a shrug.

“At least you’re far too dignified to be dragged kicking and screaming.”

His chuckle was airy as he looked down at his shoes, hands shoved in his pockets. “You didn’t want to dance?”

“I’m not in the mood for much of anything at the moment,” she admitted, leaning her head back against the wood, closing her eyes. “It’s...” Her nose prickled with the threat of tears she refused to shed here. “It’s... a lot.”

She didn’t specify the what – he would take it to mean the obvious: her dad, and it was about her dad in large part. There was just the tiny other hiccough – the far quieter misery – of loving the Head Boy, one of his three best friends.

It took a few seconds, but then his hand clasped hers, his long fingers were cold to the touch but felt like the friendly reminder that she needed more than anything in that moment. The reassurance that she would one day be okay, even if it didn’t feel like it as of right now.

“You know you can always talk to me, right?”

“I do.”

“And there are others who’d say the same. Mary. Marlene. Ishani.” A brief pause, like he was weighing his next option. “James.”

She nodded, grateful she didn’t have to meet his eyes, that he just let her stare straight ahead. “I’m lucky to have all of you.”

His next words were almost sombre. “I wouldn’t say there’s any luck to it, Evans. You’re here for us, we are here for you. Besides… I’d rather we didn’t need to be there. It’s… shitty.”

She almost laughed. “Very, yes.”

The song that had played inside ended, and a new one started. A couple of girls - she recognised Magnolia Brown among them - ran outside, holding hands and laughing and shrieking.

She resisted the temptation to bite the nail of her thumb, chewed on the inside of her cheek instead.

“There’s too much going on at once,” she confessed to Remus, her voice so quiet she was surprised he heard her. “My mind is never quiet these days. There’s no rest ever.”

He squeezed her fingers with his own.

“I hate him so much, Remus.” She let it sink for a moment. “Riddle, I mean.” She swallowed thickly. “He ruined our lives, and he just gets to continue, because no one with actual power is going to press him to take accountability.” She balled her free hand into a fist. “I asked Potter to ask his mum to help, but -” She shrugged. “It probably wouldn’t do anything anyway. Maybe it’s for the best.”

“Effie said no?”

Lily turned her head, frowning slightly. “He didn’t tell you?” She asked, genuinely surprised. “He never asked.” Remus let go of her hand, so he could turn and face her fully. “He said he couldn’t, and I’m sure he had an excellent reason for it, but it stings that the one time I really need him -” She flushed. “Need his help -”

It was embarrassing to admit to it. To admit to how desperate she was, to how dependent on his hand in hers. She didn’t say it like that, of course, but it felt as though she might as well have screamed it in Remus’ face and the furious tear that slipped down her cheek did not exactly help matters.

“Anyway, I’ll find a way to do it. I’ll protest outside his office every day if I must. I am sure people will pick up it one way or another. They’ll notice I’m not at school at least -”

“A right shock that’ll be.”

Her smile cracked through, and his followed.

“Think it’ll get their attention?”

“Oh, absolutely.” He cleared his throat and intoned like a newsreader: “Lily Evans, Head Girl and Hogwarts star pupil, follows in Greta Thunberg’s footsteps – demanding justice not for the climate but for those harmed by Riddle Construction’s negligence.”

Her laugh broke out, watery but real, and for the first time that night, her chest felt a fraction lighter.

“Thanks,” she spoke softly, pushing a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear.

His voice was warm as he said: “Any time, Lily.”

She stayed out with Remus for a bit longer – chatting and laughing – until Peter and Sirius found him and dragged him off. Lily followed, found Mary, told her she was going to go home – her friend had protested, but had given up soon enough when Reginald Cattermole had asked her to dance – and then left through the front door.

She was halfway down the path leading up to the streets when someone called her name.

“Evans, wait!”

She stopped in her tracks, was tempted to tell him to fuck off and go back inside, but she let him catch up. Her heart beating too rapidly at the idea that he had noticed her leaving, even if he had been dancing with Emmeline at the time she did.

“You weren’t going to walk home all by yourself, were you?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s fine, Potter. I texted my mum, she’s tracking me.”

“Not fine, actually,” His frown deepened, hands shoved deeper into his pockets as if he could bury his own unease there. He nodded ahead, and they fell into step – his stride shortening instinctively to match hers, like it always did. “Didn’t you hear what heard to that girl –?”

She snorted. “You sound just like my mum.”

“Sensible woman, clearly.”

Silence crept in, stitched with the crunch of their trainers on gravel. The breeze slipped icy fingers under her crop top; goosebumps prickled her stomach, but she ignored them. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him glance at her. She looked away quickly, only to find him doing the same a moment later.

At last, he cleared his throat. “So, we haven’t talked since –”

“Yeah.” She nodded without lifting her eyes. Her trainers were filthy. She’d need to scrub them tomorrow.

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to... apologise, or –”

Her laugh was short, brittle. “You don’t have to apologise.” She shrugged, though the movement felt like armour more than ease. “You don’t owe me anything.” A pause. “I was probably a little unreasonable, holding on to my self-righteous anger as I did.”

“I did promise you I’d do anything to help. That might have been a little…” His gaze tilted skyward, searching the night. “I don’t know. I suppose I wanted the chance to play Prince Charming or something. Be someone’s knight in shining armour for once, you know?”

Butterflies stirred treacherously in her stomach. She had no words – none that wouldn’t betray her.

“I… I haven’t been honest with you.”

Her brow creased. “What do you mean?”

“I –” He rubbed the back of his neck, wincing like the words themselves hurt. “Mum made me swear not to tell anyone, but… I owe it to you, right? I can’t just tell you no and not explain.” He half-muttered the last bit, like it was more for himself than her. “She might be ill. My mum.”

The ground seemed to tilt under her.

“Potter –”

“She might not be,” he rushed to add. “It could be nothing. Just… they found something on the mammogram, and they had to take tissue, and I –” He broke off, fists deep in his pockets again. “I don’t know how to stop thinking about it.”

Her hand flew to her mouth. She felt sick with guilt, heat rising in her throat. “Oh god, James. I – I feel awful – I’ve been so selfish –”

“You haven’t been,” he said with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Your dad’s dying, Lil. There’s nothing worse than that.”

She felt tears prick behind her eyes, and she suddenly felt far less inclined to hold them back. “I feel so stupid asking you to ask your mum, being so cross when you wouldn’t –”

“She didn’t want anyone to know. It’s only you, me, Sirius and my dad that know. So, if you could please… you know… not say anything to anyone else.”

Her throat tightened. She nodded quickly, but it felt inadequate, too small for the trust he had just handed her. She wasn’t sure what startled her more – that he had told her at all, or that he had told her before Remus and Peter.

For a moment, the ache in her chest wasn’t only about her dad, or about her unrequited crush on the boy at her side. It was for him. For the Head Boy who laughed too loudly and waved too much in corridors, who was suddenly standing here with his fists jammed in his pockets, terrified for his mum like she was for her dad.

Their eyes caught – just for a breath, but it was enough.

She didn’t reach for him. She didn’t dare. But she wanted to.

God, did she want to.

She’d hold on to him like he had to her when she’d come running to his the moment she’d heard her dad wouldn’t get better. She’d embrace him so tightly that he wouldn’t feel the pain that accompanied the thought of living without one of your parents – however hypothetical the situation might still be.

The night air stung colder than before. James shifted, his fists still buried in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he was holding himself together.

I get it, she wanted to say. That’s how I feel too.

Instead, she told him: “I won’t say a word.”

He nodded, his smile a little wan. “I know you won’t.”

They walked in companionable silence a bit longer, walking past a particular dark alley before they left the larger buildings in town, and entered the more working class one. They found themselves in front of her house a couple of minutes after.

They walked in silence, though it wasn’t empty; every step seemed to hum with the words they hadn’t spoken, with the loss they were both already imagining. When they passed a narrow alley, swallowed in shadow, Lily was grateful he was there – his arm brushing hers just close enough to feel.

The town’s larger houses – the posh ones, the largest one of which was his – gave way to smaller ones, the glow of porch lights flickering on as if to mark the end of their detour from reality.

By the time her street came into view, she felt the ache in her chest shift. Not lighter. Just different. She almost wished the walk had been longer.

“Thank you,” she told him. “For taking me home, and for trusting me with the news of your mum.” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. “I hope her results come back clean.”

He nodded. “Me too.” His voice was quiet, careful, as though the night might break if he spoke too loudly.

For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. The porch light caught in his glasses, hiding his eyes from her, and Lily hated that barrier. She wanted to see them. She wanted –

He straightened himself then, eyes avoiding hers. “I should probably head back. I promised Emmeline I’d take her home, too, so...”

Right. Emmeline.

It shouldn’t sting. Still, it did.

“Yes, of course.” She hoped she didn’t sound as stiff as she felt. “Thank you for taking me home. I feel bad now, knowing you’ve got to go all the way back.”

He shrugged like it was nothing, like it didn’t cost him anything to peel away from her doorstep. “Don’t. I don’t mind.”

But she minded. She minded more than she could say.

Her hand twitched at her side, useless, empty. “Well… goodnight, then.”

“You too,” he said, his smile was lopsided. “And thanks for... letting me vent, for listening. I –” he sighed. “You always make me feel safe like that, Evans. Like I can tell you anything.”

Then, without waiting for an answer – perhaps sensing how close she was to reaching for him – he turned and walked off.

Lily stood there under the porch light, cold biting at her bare arms, trying not to imagine Emmeline Vance waiting somewhere warm, laughing at something James said, leaning into him the way Lily had wanted to, kissing him outside her door, perhaps sneaking him inside...

She unlocked the door with stiff fingers and slipped inside. The house was quiet, her mum and sister, it appeared, had already gone up. She hated the silence.

Pressing her back against the door after closing it, and breathing in sharply, she worked to hold herself together with nothing but air.

Chapter Text

Hello, Mr. "Perfectly Fine,"
How's your heart after breakin' mine?
Mr. "Always at the Right Place at the Right Time," baby.

Hello, Mr. "Casually Cruel,"
Mr. "Everything Revolves Around You!"
I've been Miss Misery since your goodbye,
And you're Mr. "Perfectly Fine…"

“Mr Perfectly Fine (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault),” Fearless, Taylor Swift

He yawned as he ruffled his hair, stepping barefoot into the kitchen. His mother was already fully dressed, looking as though she was about to go out. It made James frown.

“Where are you off to?” He asked.

His mother turned her head, looked at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were soft, fond. “Was it a good party?”

“It was…” he thought of how he’d danced with Emmeline Vance, how she’d laughed at his jokes, at his ridiculous over-the-top moves, how easy it had been – and how it had all dimmed the second Lily Evans had stepped into the room, when she’d joined her best friend on the coffee table… “Fine,” he concluded. “Nothing too exciting, really.”

“No drinking?”

He shook his head, he’d kept his word. His mother’s smile brightened.

“I am off to Bath,” she told him. “Batilda suggested a day at the spa, and I jumped on the idea. You’re allowed to come with, if you’d like!”

He almost shuddered at the thought of seeing his mother’s elderly friend in anything but clothes.

“No, thanks, I’m good.”

His mother’s smile was devilish, almost as if she’d only suggested it to torture him. Knowing her, she did. Knowing what she wanted to know next, there was no doubt about it.

“How was Emmeline?” She asked. “Did she have a good time?”

“I think so,” he replied with a shrug, walking up to the refrigerator and opening it in search of some milk for his tea.

“How about Lily Evans?”

He kept his head in the fridge a moment longer, hoping that it might cool his cheeks. Did his mum somehow know what he’d confessed to the girl he’d been in love with for what felt like the better part of his life? Could she tell he had not kept his promise of keeping whatever might be wrong with her in the family?

“Was she at the party?” His mother prodded again – oh so casually.

“She was, yeah,” he replied, slowly grabbing hold of the milk and avoiding his mother’s eye as he emerged from the cool and comfortable environment he had been in. “I walked her home first. Then Emmeline.”

“Such a gentleman,” his mother cooed. There was something about her smile that James did not like. Something almost a little knowing. She had stepped up towards him, her hand going for his hair and ruffling it up as she’d done when he was four or five. “Your dad and I raised you well. That is… unless anything ungentlemanly occurred…?”

Her eyebrows waggled as he balked.

“Mum!”

“I am merely checking if you are being safe –”

“Bloody hell, mum –”

“Consent is important, darling. You do always ask for it, don’t you?”

“Nothing happened, mum,” he grumbled.

“All right,” she said lightly, turning towards the table where her handbag stood. “I do hope you’re not stringing either of the girls on either. That wouldn’t be fair –”

“Jeez, are we done yet?”

“– Emmeline looked at you as if you’d hung the moon at the Community Barbecue two months ago. You might want to be very clear with her if you don’t like her like that. If you find yourself too full of Lily Evans to –”

“Mum, please stop,” he interrupted. He wished he was still gazing into the fridge, it might have helped with the heat of his cheeks. “Lily and I are friends. Head Boy and Girl. There’s –” he swallowed, turned his back on her just in case she could read his face still. He reached for a mug. “There’s nothing going on between us.”

His mother was quiet for a moment.

“Are you certain?” She asked. “She did show up here when she’d heard the dreadful news about her dad –”

“Because I’m her friend! She needed a friend!”

Euphemia only hummed, slipping her bag over her shoulder. “Mm. That’s what I said about your father, once upon a time. Funny how that turned out.”

“MUM!”

“Okay, okay,” his mother said, chuckling softly and patting his shoulder, “I will stop my teasing.” He had spilled some milk on the countertop, fighting his blush, he moved to wipe it off.

“Do make sure you are there for your friend Lily Evans?” His mother continued. He did not miss how she emphasized the title he’d just bestowed on the redhead. “She and her family must feel as though they are living a nightmare. I so wish there was anything we could do to help...”

He swallowed. Hard. For a moment, he considered asking - but then he remembered the anguish he’d felt, the chill that had spread throughout his body, when his mother had told him about her own health issues.

“Yeah,” he thus nodded, “I have her back.”

“Good,” his mother’s response was curt. “Now, tell your dad I’m off if he ever wakes, and be sure he changes out of his pyjamas. Just because I’m not here, it doesn’t mean he gets to slack off.”

He nodded, but it didn’t sit right with him. He thought of Lily’s face last night, pale and tight. He thought of his mother’s eyes now – ones that were bright yet tired at the same time. Did he imagine it or were the circles under her eyes darker today? Had she lain awake? Had she worried about what his dad might do without her? What he would? What Sirius would?

His mother, however, didn’t falter at his half-hearted response, pressing a kiss to his cheek before declaring she would be home later that night.

As soon as she left the kitchen, guilt started eating away at him.

“So you told Evans,” Sirius said, shrugging. “Big deal. She won’t blab. You know you trust her not to, because otherwise you wouldn’t have told her.”

He grunted. Slouching just slightly as he sat in his dad’s armchair. He was bored out of his mind already, but Sirius was feeling hangover and didn’t want to get off the sofa he’d said. The game of Monopoly they had started - his father’s old, worn set - had soon been abandoned, too.

“I just don’t want her to feel sorry for me. She’s got it so much worse. Mum might be okay.”

“She will be okay,” Sirius said firmly, speaking as if he had any kind of authority over the matter. “When has your mum ever gone down in a fight? She literally always wins.”

He sighed. “I don’t know if it’s about fighting and winning. I’m sure Evans’ dad didn’t want to give up.”

Sirius frowned slightly. “Okay, now you’ve ruined my mood.” He brooded for a couple of seconds, then shifted and sat up straighter. “No, you know what? I stand by my point. Effie will be fine - and I’ll do you one more! She would be fine taking on Evans’ dad’s case.”

His eyes widened. “You cannot -”

“And I won’t, but get it through that thick skull of yours: just like you want to decide for yourself, she gets to as well. I think you should tell her.”

James grimaced, uncertain yet also partially persuaded. “Not until we know for sure she’s not about to die.”

“Fair enough,” Sirius nodded. “She is just the type to work herself to death.”

James nodded, sagging into the sofa. He was just about to get comfortable again, when Sirius spoke up once more.

“How was the date then?”

James pulled a face.

“It wasn’t a date.”

"I think Emmeline thought it was," Sirius replied, one eyebrow arched. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she texts you to hang out just the two of you next.”

He considered this. Then, he ran his fingers  through his hair. “We didn’t kiss, or anything. I didn’t even hold her hand.” It had been a conscious effort. He had been too preoccupied still, the ghost of Lily Evans never far behind.

He had thought about kissing her.

Lily Evans, that is.

He had needed to physically pull himself away, let his feet drag him back to the party. He hadn’t mentioned Emmeline Vance for nothing - he had sorely needed the reminder that he should have been with another girl altogether. Even if Lily Evans was the one his heart ached to part from.

He sometimes wondered if he was forever doomed to love her. If he would be stalking her on Instagram years into the future to find that she’d married Gilderoy fucking Lockhart, or Caradoc Dearborn.

He imagined seeing pictures of her ringed finger, aesthetically more than pleasing ones of her in a wedding dress, her with perfectly blonde or auburn-haired children… and he’d be looking at her through a screen, half drunk, wishing she were his one rather than the one that got away.

And all of this - his misery - was followed by that sickening jolt in his stomach that reminded him that he was sick to want anything but happiness for her.

Always, but especially so now. Especially now that her father was about to die and he could only mourn the fact that he hadn’t kissed her that day in the library. Never mind that he would have likely made a fool out of himself if he had. Never mind that she might have told him - gently, because she would be so nice about it - that she didn’t see him like that.

And now he was once again feeling sorry for himself. What a selfish prick he was. A miniature violin might as well accompany his internal, existential crisis.

His thoughts only soured his mood further.

“One thing I know for sure is that Monday is going to be interesting,” Sirius interrupted his inner monologue. “I, for one, will be enjoying the show.”

James glowered as his best friend stood, reaching for the fag that he fished from his pocket.

“I’m going out,” he said. “Want to join me, or will you drown in self-pity, because two girls are in bloody love with you and you don’t know how to reject the one, and are too chicken to declare your undying desire to the other?”

He followed Sirius begrudgingly, deciding that going against him - because Evans sadly did not like him like that - was time wasted.

He couldn't sleep.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise, maybe. He'd lazed about most of the day - the game of Monopoly not exactly stimulating - and had had no coursework to do either.

He tossed the sheets to the floor and reached for his phone. A like on an Arsenal post, then a blur of reels - bad makeovers, Champions League highlights, junk. Then a cat. He smiled before he could stop himself, forwarding it to the name that always hovered just next to Sirius’: Lily Evans. Her heart came back almost instantly. His own did the same.

(Evidently, he was a lunatic.)

He couldn't help it. He started typing and hit send: still up?

The three dots appeared. His heart pounded. He wanted to throw the phone across the room. "Obviously, she's still up, you dolt," he said under his breath just as her message arrived.

You know I'm a night owl. I was actually reading.

He hovered, thumb poised, typing and erasing twice before settling on: sorry. Then, quickly after: didn’t mean to disturb you.

He thought this might have been the end of it, but her reply was quick.

You didn't. It was just fanfic anyway, and I've read it a couple of times already. It's my comfort read.

She sent through a link to AO3 and he clicked on it. It was a Stranger Things fanfic for Nancy and Steve. James knew that Steve was her favourite character, that she really liked the actor, too. He'd overheard her tell Mary that she liked his hair. James had considered taking a picture of Joe Keery to his next appointment at the hairdresser's before deciding he'd look like an idiot for it.

And yet, lying there in the dark, he couldn’t help running a hand through his own hair, wondering if he should have done it anyway.

He skimmed the opening lines. A oneshot, 3,582 words, told from Steve’s point of view as he watched Nancy with Jonathan Byers. The pining, the quiet ache - it hit a little too close to home. Lily wasn’t dating anyone, not right now. But reading Steve’s words, he felt like he was staring into his own head, longing for someone who might never look back at him the same way.

does it end well? He asked. does steve get her back?

The three dots appeared. Vanished. Appeared again. He thought he might be sick by the time her message finally came through.

It doesn’t.

His chest tightened as the rest followed:

He dies at the end - saves her life, actually. We switch POVs then. There’s a flash forward at the end where she’s married to Jonathan. They have a little boy called Steve and she visits his grave, puts flowers down.

James stared at the screen until the words blurred. His fingers ached around the phone. Somehow, it felt like his own ending spelled out in black and white. Except he hadn’t saved her, had he? When she’d asked, he hadn’t given her what she needed. No heroic sacrifice. Just him - useless, not even the hero in her story. Just a boy who could never get it right.

Who would he be to her when they moved on? When - eventually - they graduated, would go to different universities and would start a new life where the other wouldn't quite fit. She'd forget about him, surely.

Bile rose up his throat, the thought was horrific - he wanted to be someone that mattered to her. Someone that she'd remember fondly. Someone she'd miss. 

There was only one thing he could possibly do. So, he thought it through for a moment, but was quick to make up his mind. He'd ask his mum in the morning. He had to.

Chapter Text

Hello, Mr. "Perfectly Fine,"
How's your heart after breakin' mine?
Mr. "Always at the Right Place at the Right Time," baby.

Hello, Mr. "Casually Cruel,"
Mr. "Everything Revolves Around You!"
I've been Miss Misery since your goodbye,
And you're Mr. "Perfectly Fine…"

“Mr Perfectly Fine (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault),” Fearless, Taylor Swift

It was Monday morning, and Lily found herself hopping around on one of her shoes, trying to locate the other as her mother urged her to hurry.

“Coming!” She yelled back.

Her cheeks were flushed. She had – admittedly – spent too much time lazing around in bed that morning, reading smutty Steve and Nancy fanfiction that had made her spiral and think of James Potter.

Thank goodness that her parents didn’t know what she read other than the classics on her bookshelves, or the intense Google searches into personal injury cases caused by employers. Although she supposed that the smut wouldn’t shock them as much as Lily’s endeavours to right the wrongs committed by the most successful construction company in all of the Cotswolds.

She found the missing shoe under her desk, shoved her foot in, and slung her bag over her shoulder. She sprinted for the stairs, then stopped short. Remembering, she turned around, made for her parents’ room, and found her dad on the bed, eyes closed. They flickered open at her approach,  his smile soft and weak.

“There she is.”

She bent to kiss his cheek, careful, as though he might break. “I’m off, Dad. I’ll be back later, and we’ll read some more Heaney poetry, okay?”

He nodded, eyes already fluttering closed again. She wondered how many times it was possible for a heart to break – hers had over and over whenever she’d been with her dad. Although it was a heartbreak altogether different than the one James Potter had caused.

Not that it mattered. The James thing, that is. His absence was nothing compared to losing her father piece by piece every day – and soon, entirely.

She blinked back her tears, left her parents’ room, and bolted down the stairs. A quick hug to her mum, a grab of the sandwich waiting on the counter, and she was off.

She stepped out of the door, ran for the pavement, shoving the sandwich one-handed in her bag – she would have to eat later – and started to speed walk towards school. She’d taken four or five steps when a car door clicked open a few paces ahead and none other than Euphemia Potter – James’ mum stepped out.

She nearly stumbled to a stop, catching herself just in time, watched as Mrs Potter brushed some invisible to the eye dust off her wide-legged, smart trousers. brushed invisible specks from her wide-legged trousers. She looked like a 1930s film star, the kind who could silence a room just by walking in. Wide eyes, flawless skin– someone who’d made audiences flock to her. Her eyes were wide, her skin – for someone who was older than her mum, she knew – was flawless and her sleek black hair was cut in a layered bob.

While very much alike – the same cheekbones, the same presence – where her son was chaos, Euphemia Potter was the calm before the storm.

She might be ill. My mum, he’d said. It seemed impossible that a woman like her could possibly topple over in the heels she was even now wearing, even though she had just exited the driver’s side.

“Lily,” said Mrs Potter kindly, “would you like a lift?”

She didn’t think she could refuse, nor did she want to. So she nodded—a quick, jerky dip of her chin – before rounding the car to the passenger side and sliding in just as Mrs Potter did. The woman started the engine, backing smoothly out of her spot.

Lily fiddled with the hem of her skirt, restless. She felt almost dishevelled beside James’s mother, even though she always made sure she looked worthy of the title on the badge pinned to her chest. Had she even brushed her hair properly this morning? Had she checked in the mirror at all?

“So,” Mrs Potter said lightly, “my son mentioned you are looking for legal representation?”

Lily sucked in a sharp breath, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t quite bring herself to turn her head.

“I can’t –” she faltered, brow furrowing. “I am, but –”

“I know he told you, Lily. No need to beat about the bush.” Her voice was calm as she flicked the indicator on. “I’d be more than happy to listen, and see if there’s anything I can do to help.”

She flushed, swallowed hard. “But what about –?”

“I may get bad news this week, it’s something I will not deny,” Euphemia said, eyes on the road, “but I’m choosing to stay positive. The doctor said if they found anything, it’s early. I got lucky – and there’s still so much to be done.” Then she glanced over, her smile soft, kind—and so unmistakably James’: “And I realise that must feel unfair. That I’ll have options, while your father has none.”

Lily battled the swell in her throat.  “It’s fine –”

“It actually is not,” spoke the lawyer, her tone firm now. “You believe your father’s cancer to be caused by asbestos used on Riddle’s construction site?”

She nodded, swallowed. “His specialist as good as told us.”

Mrs Potter pursed her lips, nodded.

“Then we’ll need documentation. Medical reports. Employment records. Any proof of exposure while he was working there.”

Lily blinked, her stomach sinking as her chest also constricted. “I – I’ve started,” she said. “I can email some of it to you. It’s not much just yet, but… it’s something. I also took notes on the health issues that some of my dad’s co-workers have faced over the years and all of it can be related to poor working conditions –”

Her words tumbled over themselves, too fast, but Euphemia only inclined her head, listening. “Excellent work,” she said, making Lily’s heart swell slightly with the praise. “Very good.” Then, after a short pause: “But Riddle will fight. He’ll bury you in red tape before he ever lets you into a courtroom. Do you understand?”

Lily nodded, fierce. “I don’t care.”

A quiet hum of approval left Euphemia’s throat. “Good. Don’t. If we do this, we do it properly. Quietly at first. You say nothing to anyone – not even your friends. Not until we’re ready.”

Lily’s chest tightened. “We?”

Mrs Potter smiled, eyes flicking toward her just long enough for Lily to feel its warmth.
“Yes, dear. We.”

She had been restless all through McGonagall’s English class, her gaze snagging again and again on the back of James Potter’s head as he sat hunched over his desk—his body entirely too tall for it – taking notes with the sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows. His uniform jacket hung off the back of his chair. He was perpetually warm, she knew.

Her mind buzzed. She’d wanted to talk to him, to thank him, ever since stepping out of his mother’s car that morning, but he’d slipped past her every time she’d tried to catch him.

Now – seconds from the bell – she was determined not to let him get away.

The second the sound rang, she was up like a jack-in-the-box, skirting around desks and classmates alike until she stood beside him before he had even closed his notebook.

His shoulders stiffened, indicating that he was aware of her presence, but he did not look up.

“You talked to your mum.”

His movements were slow. He placed his pen on his desk, reached for the backpack on his right, and then slowly lifted his head, hazel eyes meeting hers. “I did.”

She was aflutter with nerves, emotions that she could not quite place. “You said you couldn’t. You explained – I got it. I wasn’t even angry anymore –”

He grimaced. “I know,” he said. “Look, Evans, I’ve felt…” he faltered, dropped his eyes from hers. “I’ve felt rubbish, all right? With your dad being this ill, and wanting to help… you asked, and I know I said no before, but that was because I was…” He got up now, too, towering over her as he lowered his voice. “I don’t want to be the person you can’t rely on.”

Her chest squeezed painfully. He looked so earnest, so raw.

“You’re not she said, as classmates began to filter out of the room. She could feel eyes on them, but imagined most would assume she had urgent Head business to discuss. “Clearly, you’re not. You…” she stopped, looked down. “You’re the most dependable person I know, and I have no way to repay you –”

“I wouldn’t accept it anyway, so let’s not talk about that, all right?”

“No, but James –”

His fingers wrapped around hers, silencing her, though her heart pounded, reminding her just how alive she felt in that moment.

“I don’t want to hear it,” he almost whispered. “Was she good about it? Does she think she can help?”

She’d raised her head to look at him again, momentarily lost in his gaze before she nodded. “Yes,” she told him. “She’s been great – I already emailed her what I’ve got on my way here, and she was the sole reason I wasn’t late this morning, so –”

His face broke into a smile.

“You were going to be late…”

She huffed. “You know I don’t like mornings.”

“Only because you stay up until god knows when, reading about Nancy and Steve –”

“And trying to bring down Riddle, don’t forget about that.”

“Well, of course,” he said lifting his backpack onto one shoulder. She hated how attractive he looked doing that. It made it so much more difficult to ignore her feelings for him. “And you will, by the way. My mum loves throwing men like him in prison. Or to see their fortune diminished because of the pay-out, or the ruination of their companies.” He flashed his perfectly straight, white teeth at her. “Add your tenacity to the mix and he won’t stand a chance.”

She rolled her eyes, noticing they were the only ones left in the room aside from Mrs. McGonagall – who seemed absorbed in an email and either wasn’t listening or was very good at pretending not to be – and turned for her bag.

“Anyway, I won’t keep you from lunch,” she said, almost breezily. “I’m sure you’ve got people waiting for you.”

Your friends. Emmeline.

“Just my mates,” he replied as she moved for the door, falling into step beside her and letting her exit first – a stupid, gentlemanly thing that definitely did not make her stomach flutter. “We could have lunch together? If you’d want to, of course? We could talk about the case, or – I don’t know.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, looking almost a little awkward.

She felt foolish, but for some reason she thought: Did your mum ask me to have lunch with you? Is this a pity thing? What about Emmeline?

“I actually think I might head for the library,” she said, choosing to avoid her feelings rather than confront them. Her heart smarted a little too much still, her pride too. “I’ll just have a quick bite before doing some coursework.”

“Oh, yeah, sure.” The words fell of his lips quickly, his hand twitching at his side. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to butt in –”

“You didn’t!”

“I’ll just –” He inhaled sharply, gesturing right where she’d go left toward the library. “I’ll see you later, yeah? For our meeting with the Prefects?”

“Oh, right, yes!”

She’d forgotten about it entirely. Now, she definitely ought to go to the library and prepare an agenda for it.

He nodded, walking backwards and saluting her. She waved back – lamely so – cursing herself as she did.

“All right,” she said, avoiding the eyes of Severus Snape, who had done nothing but stare at her during their meeting. This, she noticed, had not gone unnoticed by James Potter either, who had been tapping his pen rather restlessly against the table in the abandoned classroom on the top floor, which now served as a meeting space for the Head students and Prefects. “That’s it for today. Thank you so much for being here –”

Chairs scraped back against the floor, and the boys and girls stood, chatting animatedly all at once. She reached for her and James’s agenda – meaning to stack and bin them – fingers brushing against his as she did.

She meant to pull away, but James’s pointer finger curled around hers. His voice was low. “Don’t leave without me, yeah? Unless you’re okay with Snape accosting you. He looks like he’s adamant to talk to you.”

He did, and she wished she felt nothing but gratitude towards the Head Boy, but his touch had caused colour to work its way into her cheeks. She nodded, actually pulling her hand away from his grasp now, and bent to grab her bag off the floor. She as good as buried her face into it, pretending to be looking for something. Her phone? A pen that had slipped from her pencil case to the bottom? Her house keys?

It took a moment, but then Potter cleared his throat. “He’s left.”

“Fab,” she breathed out, trusting herself to look up again and sending him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“Sure,” he said, getting up from his seat. “Let’s not pretend I didn’t enjoy the look on his face when he realised I was not going to leave you alone with him.” She could feel his eyes on her as she too stood. “Did you manage to get some work done in the library today, or do you still have lots left to do?”

“I managed a bit,” she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “But I still have some prep to do for tomorrow. Nothing too exciting.”

“Right,” he replied, following her out of the classroom and closing the door behind him. “If you’d ever like to combine forces again, know I’m open to it, yeah? You make me actually work. When you’re not there I tend to slack off and then remember late at night that I had to actually do something.”

She laughed. “Like you don’t pull it off then too?”

“Hey!” He complained, hands in his pockets. “I don’t want to go prematurely grey or bald, all right? My hair is my one vanity feature.”

“Your hair is great,” she admitted, hoping she didn’t give too much away. “I think you’re safe, though. Your mum’s hair looks amazing and your dad’s got so much hair that I imagine their combined genes have blessed you unfairly.”

He laughed and she didn’t think she imagined the way that his cheeks coloured slightly. Still, she didn’t want to read too much into it.

Emmeline, remember. He likes Emmeline. He danced with Emmeline. You’re his friend.

“All jokes aside,” he started.

“I wouldn’t joke about your hair, Potter. I know how much it means to you.”

“Right, well –” he was definitely blushing now. “I mean it when I say I wouldn’t mind studying with you again. I always liked it, and I know you’ve got tons on your mind at the moment, so if I can alleviate some of the burden…”

Her stomach turned, but not unpleasantly. “I don’t –” she knew her cheeks must have been pink at the very least. “It’s not like you have it easy at the moment.” He opened his mouth to contradict her – she could tell by the look in his eyes – so she was quick to add: “And don’t say I’ve got it worse. I’m done drowning myself in my own misery.”

She could feel his eyes on her, it made her want to self-consciously reach for her hair, her face – all to check if there was something there that he might find fault in.

“Fair enough,” he said slowly, “but just know that if you did want to –”

“I really don’t, Potter. Not at school, too. Being at home –” she stopped, her fingers curled. “It’s suffocating, you know? Not just the atmosphere, but… he smells like he’s dying. I know that’s a weird thing to say, but whenever I am in the room and I read to him… at a certain point I’m grateful that he’s fallen asleep, because then I can leave and breathe again. It’s the worst thing to think – shouldn’t I want to spend all my time with him? Shouldn’t I not even want to be away from him for a second?”

“Evans.”

His voice was quiet but firm, pulling her gaze up to meet his. The teasing glint had gone; there was nothing but sincerity in his expression now, soft and steady.

“You’re allowed to breathe,” he said. “You’re allowed to want a break. It doesn’t mean you love him any less.”

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

“It just means you’re human,” he went on, his brow creasing faintly. “And you’re doing more than most people could manage. He’s lucky to have you.”

The corridor was empty, their footsteps the only sound as they slowed near the stairwell. Lily felt something tight and aching in her chest loosen just slightly, and she hated that she wanted to cry in front of him.

“There’s nothing I can do, James. It makes me feel so...”

And there it was, there they came. She stopped, buried her face in her hands and she started to cry – proper heaving sobs that she should feel embarrassed about releasing, but couldn’t bring herself to.

There was some shuffling of feet – some shock mixed with hesitation, she imagined – but then his voice sounded, soft, pained: “Hey – hey Evans.” Then, barely audible: “Lily, hey.”

Her shoulders shook under the weight of it all, of weeks spent holding herself rigid, and she hated herself for falling apart in the middle of the corridor – until his hands settled, gentle and solid, on her arms.

“Come here,” he said gently.

And she did. She let him draw her in, let her forehead fall against his chest, his tie brushing her cheek as his arms wrapped tight around her. He held her like he meant it, like he had no intention of letting her break alone.

She clutched at the back of his shirt, trying to muffle the sounds she made into the fabric. He didn’t flinch. He only murmured her name again, so quietly it was barely sound at all, just a shape on his lips.

It took a long moment before the sobs ebbed into hiccoughs, before she could breathe again.

When she finally peeled herself back, she wiped furiously at her eyes, keeping her face down so he couldn’t find the blotchy evidence of her mental breakdown. She was certain she looked hideous, and while she had felt more than comfortable breaking down in front of them, while she had let herself – embarrassment now took over.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Don’t be –”

“That was the worst. I can’t believe I just… shit, you’ve got mascara on your shirt.”

“That’s – I really don’t mind that, Evans.”

A shaky laugh broke out of her, surprising them both. It wasn’t much – just a breath through her nose that caught on the remnants of a hiccough – but it was real, and it softened the corners of her eyes. She dared look up at him now.

He doesn’t like you like that anyway, so why worry? Why wonder what he’d think when he wasn’t going to look at her like that ever anyway?

“Honestly,” she mumbled, trying half-heartedly to rub at the smudged patch on his shirt with her sleeve, as if it would do anything at all, “this is mortifying. Forget it happened, yeah?”

“Evans –”

“I swear I’m normally more mentally stable than all of this. That I’ll be all right again some day. I’m just a bit of a mess right now, and I promise not to unleash it all on you again –”

“What if I want you to?”

Her breath caught.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right – wasn’t sure the corridor hadn’t just swallowed the words and spat back something she only imagined. But he was still looking at her, not flustered or teasing or wearing that easy grin of his. Just… serious. Quiet. Like he meant it.

Her mouth opened, then closed again. “Pardon?”

James shifted his weight, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck, like he’d said something impulsive and only now realised he couldn’t take it back. His eyes, however, stayed on hers. “I mean… you don’t always have to hold it all together. Not with me. If you need to cry or scream or… I don’t know, throw a book at the wall – then do it. I can take it.” A beat. “I’m sure the book and the wall can too.”

There had been that moment in the library. When her eyes had fallen to his lips and she had wanted to lean in and silently begged him to do it for her.

She had wanted nothing more than to feel his lips on hers then – to know how soft they felt, to taste his tongue – always so sharp but then so gentle with her, too – to breathe in his air.

Now, she wanted to do it again – to hell with it all. She’d stand on her tiptoes, place her hands on his shoulders, and just do it.

Her fingers twitched at her sides. It would be so easy – just a shift forward, the smallest tilt of her chin, and she could be kissing him.

She could almost see it: his surprised intake of breath, the way his hands would hover for a heartbeat before settling at her waist, warm and sure, like they had been just moments ago when he’d held her together.

Her heart hammered so hard it hurt.

But then she blinked, and the image shattered like glass. Because if she kissed him and he didn’t kiss her back – if he pulled away, if he gave her that soft, apologetic look – she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.

Emmeline. She had to remember Emmeline.

So she forced her feet to stay planted, and just smiled at him – grateful.

“That’s… you’re far too nice, Potter. I’d suggest you’ve never seen me in a rage before, but we both know you’ve born the brunt of my temper before.”

“And survived it every single time.”

He grinned, and she almost slipped: do you know I like you? Do you have any idea how much I’d give for you to hold me in your arms always? Do you have any idea that I fancy you so much that I don’t just cry over my dad but you too? That I regret nothing as much as I do missing the boat on you?

“At least you’re used to being knocked about on the football field,” she said instead, forcing a small smile. “Builds resilience.”

He laughed, and they turned almost in sync, descending the stairs side by side.

She kept her hands carefully at her sides, resisting the absurd urge to let the back of hers brush against his.

Chapter Text

Hello, Mr. "Perfectly Fine,"
How's your heart after breakin' mine?
Mr. "Always at the Right Place at the Right Time," baby.

Hello, Mr. "Casually Cruel,"
Mr. "Everything Revolves Around You!"
I've been Miss Misery since your goodbye,
And you're Mr. "Perfectly Fine…"

“Mr Perfectly Fine (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault),” Fearless, Taylor Swift

He was sick. Depraved. Should be in prison, in court at the very least, pressed for criminal charges.

She had just bawled her eyes out, her face in his shirt, her mascara left there as evidence of their closeness, and all he could think about was how badly he wanted to kiss her.

He told himself it was only because he wanted to make it better. To soothe, to comfort. But he knew better. He just wanted her, and it made him feel filthy.

Her dad was fucking dying.

And here he was – just thinking about how he’d like to press his daughter up against the wall and have her way with her like he had any idea how to properly do that anyway. He was bloody seventeen. He’d snogged girls, for sure, but he was by no means confident enough to think he was an expert in that field.

And he certainly shouldn’t be thinking about it when she was coming apart in his arms, when she just wanted to feel safe with someone, to be able to just vent and let her emotions run freely.

He shouldn’t have wanted to kiss the salt off her cheeks, shouldn’t ache with it now that he was in his bedroom, lying on his back, his uniform trousers tenting with the intensity of his feelings for her.

If she knew what he was thinking then, what he was thinking now, she’d recoil. And he’d deserve it.

For he was sick. He was depraved. He should be sentenced and put on permanent house arrest by his very own mother.

Fuck it all.

“James!”

He hoped she didn’t notice how he physically froze, how he cringed almost. He turned around ever so slowly, standing at his locker, his History books lying forgotten in there.

Emmeline beamed up at him, her cheeks flushed pink, her blue eyes wide and sparkling. Her hair looked windswept and he imagined she had just come in. She seemed a little out of breath as she pushed some of her hair out of her face.

“Gosh, you are difficult to get a hold of!”

“Am I?”

It was a stupid question, but he – of course – was a stupid person.

He refrained from comparing Emmeline Vance to Lily Evans, even if his brain immediately clocked their differences always. It took some real effort.

“Yes,” she said, laughing softly. “I just wanted to thank you for walking me home last Friday. It was ever so nice of you.”

“Yeah, of course,” he nodded – again, stupidly. “Thanks for inviting me to the party in the first place. I had a good time.”

“You did?” She sounded so eager, and it made him feel awful.

“Yeah, I did,” he said, forcing a smile that felt too tight. “It was… fun.”

Her eyes lit up at the word, and he felt a pang of guilt shoot through him. Fun. That wasn’t the word his mind would have used if he were honest – he’d spent half the night thinking about someone else entirely, about Lily. He’d been so aware of her presence the moment she’d entered – he couldn’t believe Emmeline hadn’t noticed.

He reminded himself, however, not to let it show. Not now. He would be perfectly cordial, kind – a good bloke who did not set out to break a girl’s heart. Because he didn’t. He really... fuck, was he arrogant to think Emmeline even liked him like that?

She tilted her head. “Are you all right?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure, I’m just –” his eyes flicked to the other people currently in the corridor, trying to find an escape. Then, he turned towards his locker again, took his books out. “Sorry, I’ve got a bit on my mind at the moment.”

“Oh.”

She sounded disappointed, and his face scrunched up, still turned toward his locker.

“A-levels, innit?” He murmured.

She gave a small laugh. It was tinged with hesitation. “I wouldn’t know yet, but I believe you.”

He turned back around, shoving his books in his bag. Then, inhaling sharply and bracing himself for the way her face would fall, he said: “Listen, Emmeline, I had a really great time last Friday –”

“I did, too!” She was all smiles again, her eyes eager, hopeful. “That’s why I thought I’d ask if you wanted to do something this Saturday. I know you’ve got your match, and I thought I’d come and watch, and then we could go bowling maybe? Just the two of us?”

James blinked, his bag half-slung over his shoulder. Just the two of us? His heart hammered so fast he was sure it could be heard across the corridor.

“Uh… yeah,” he said finally, voice catching slightly. “I mean… that sounds… really fun.” He cleared his throat and forced a grin. “I’d like that.”

Liar. Liar. Liar.

Coward. Coward. Coward.

His throat felt dry. He tried to meet her eyes, tried to offer her a smile that didn’t taste like ash in his mouth.

Her smile widened. “Great! I’ll meet you outside the changing rooms then? After your match?”

“Yeah. Sure. Sounds good,” he muttered, fumbling with the strap of his bag as if it might stifle the alarm that sounded inside his skull. Then he nodded, forcing his bag higher on his shoulder as if that could steady him. “Right… see you then.”

Her grin didn’t falter. “Perfect! I can’t wait!”

And just like that, she spun on her heel, her hair catching the light as she walked away, leaving him staring after her like he’d been struck.

He exhaled shakily, hands still gripping his bag strap a little too tightly. What the hell are you doing? The words whispered in his mind, growing louder with every step he took toward the stairs, toward the first classroom of his day. You don’t even like her like that. You love Evans.

By the time he slid into the classroom, he raced for the seat next to Remus, plopping down with a thud. “I just fucked up beyond belief,” he muttered, voice barely above a groan.

Remus, who was ever patient, spoke amusedly: “Isn’t it a little early in the morning for that to have happened?”

“You’d think!” He agreed, unpacking his bag. “But apparently I’m capable of creating all the drama before the start of the first class of the day.” He turned his head to send his friend a grimace. “I just agreed to go out with Emmeline on Saturday.”

Remus raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. “With Emmeline? Not –?”

“Not that I’d stand a chance with… you know who.” A sigh escaped him.

“Now, I don’t know if that’s true –”

“But to agree to a date with someone I like… fine as a person, but not like that?”

“Don’t you think it’s self-sabotage?” Remus asked.

James groaned, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair. “Self-sabotage doesn’t even cover it, Moony. It’s… it’s stupid. I mean, I like Emmeline, don’t get me wrong. But…” He trailed off, staring at his desk as if the solution might appear written in ink. “…I don’t like her like that. Not like… her.”

Remus smirked knowingly. “Ah. Her, huh?”

James’ stomach knotted. “Yes! And now I’ve agreed to this… thing… with Emmeline, and all I can think about is… her. Every damn time.” He tapped his fingers against his desk. “Do you think something’s wrong with me? Am I a bad person? I feel like one.”

Remus’ face softened. “You know you’re not.”

James exhaled sharply, leaning back further in his chair, staring at the ceiling like it might hold the answers. “Doesn’t feel like it.”

Remus hummed. Then knocking his knee into James’. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m not quite sure if Evans is all that indifferent to you these days.”

James froze, his fingers halting mid-tap as he turned to look at his most sensible, mature friend. “What?”

Remus shrugged. “Just… I talked to her at the party on Saturday and I don’t know, but I had this feeling that –”

“Did she mention me?”

His elbows were pressed on his desk now, his heart hammering.

“Just that you didn’t want to ask your mum to help her with her whole Riddle revenge scheme? Which, by the way, I get, because those men aren’t child’s play –”

James huffed out a breath. “So, it had nothing to do with me.”

Remus’ brow furrowed. “Now, I wouldn’t say that. There was this… look on her face, a feeling I got.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, Remus, but I can’t trust my feelings when it comes to her. She’s… look, I’m a prick for complaining in the first place. It’s not like she’s got headspace for romance at this moment, does she?”

Remus leaned back in his chair, studying James with that careful, measured look he always gave when trying to get through to him. “No, she probably doesn’t have the headspace right now. But that doesn’t mean she’s indifferent.”

He was about to open his mouth and say that there was a wide gap between indifference and feelings, but didn’t get a chance to. Binns entered and – in his customary dry tone – started lecturing the moment he noted his students sitting there.

She might not be indifferent, no. But there was no way she was as in her feels about him as he was about her.

He picked up his pen, opened up his notebook and tried to focus on taking notes.

His mother had ordered take-out when he got home, which meant that he was immediately distrustful. Sirius – it being Tuesday evening, which meant he was to have dinner with them – was there, too, and told him he was mad, but James’ suspicion was confirmed when his mother cleared her throat when Sirius had started loading his plate.

“So, your father and I were at the hospital today.”

James’ fork clattered to his plate, his hand trembling slightly. Sirius’ eyes snapped to him, sharp and concerned

She looked well enough, he noted. She didn’t look like she had just received the worst news in the world. Surely that meant –

“It isn’t… good,” she said, her voice steady but tight. James’ stomach turned. “It is malign… and they will need to operate–”

Malign. The word hit him like a curse. Operate. His stomach lurched.

It was a good thing that he hadn’t had his food yet for it would have come right back up. He placed his elbows on the table, buried his face in his hands.

“Now, James, don’t do that –”

“Don’t do that?” He stood, his chair almost falling over with the force with which he stood. “You’re fucking telling me you’ve got cancer –”

“It’s operable,” his mother interrupted as his father asked him – ever so calmly – to sit back down. “It is the best possible scenario. There will be some radiation but the doctors think I will make a full recovery.”

“Shit, mum,” said Sirius, his brow furrowed. He used the title she insisted he use, because she was as much a mother to him as she was to James.

“I know it sounds scary –”

“It’s because it is!” James shouted. “What the hell, mum?”

He couldn’t breathe. Stars danced before his eyes. His hands gripped the edge of the table as if it could hold him together. He dropped back into his seat, wondering if this was what a panic attack felt like.

Before he knew it, arms wrapped around him, pressing his head to a familiar chest – one he knew he would never be ready to lose.

“Oh, James.”

Her voice trembled in her chest, and he couldn’t stop the tears pricking his eyes.

“This is bullshit.”

“I know,” his mother said soothingly. “I had hoped for better news, too, but at least it’s not anything worse, isn’t it? It’s just a tumour – and one that’s easily removed.” There was a moment of silence and then his mother sighed. “Sirius come here.”

To his great horror – and strangely guilty relief – James heard his tough as nails best friend sniff.

It was good to know he wasn’t alone in his terror, but as Sirius joined them and clung to his mother, too, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander to what Evans had said the day before – about her dad smelling of death, about how suffocating it all was, about how guilty she felt wanting to have time to herself when she should only want to spend time with the person she was set to lose. Was that how he’d feel, too? Would he – like her – have to face the greatest loss he could possibly fathom within the foreseeable future, too?

It was operable, she’d said. But it was cancer. Fucking cancer.

How did she do it? How did she get up every morning, go to school, smile, look radiant, when he couldn’t even imagine letting go of the woman who had birthed him, breathed life into him, and was not allowed to ever leave him?

“I’ll be fine,” his mother repeated, one arm around him now, the other around Sirius. His father, too, had joined them, standing behind her and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. “This is a setback, but not the end. I promise I’ll be right as rain before you know it, and it’ll all be a distance memory for us.”

Together, they held on, the food almost going cold before any of them thought of touching it and eating again. All of them teary-eyed and silent as they did.

After dinner, Sirius was quick to leave – lighting a cigarette as soon as he was outside. James wanted to tell him to quit, to take the ones he’d left and throw them in the bin, but he felt too tired to do much of anything. Too desolate.

He dragged himself up the stairs, entered his bedroom again, threw himself on it facedown.

He lay there for a moment, not so much as making a move, but then he reached for his phone, tapping on it and typing a quick: so it’s cancer. The response was near instantaneous.

His screen lit up with her name and he accepted the call, bringing the phone to his ear.

“Oh my god, James, I’m so sorry.”

Just hearing her voice steadied him a little, like a lifeline in the dark. He closed his eyes, picturing her face, holding onto it as if it could keep the rest of the world from collapsing.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding lethargic almost. “It’s fucked.” Then, he cleared his throat, sitting up. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve got so much on your plate. I just… you were the first person I thought would understand.”

“Yes, of course,” she spoke hurriedly. Her voice was laced with concern, making his heart twinge with guilt. “I don’t know what to say, how to make it better –”

Just hearing your voice is enough, he thought but definitely couldn’t voice.

“It’s not –” he fought to find the words. “It’s not as bad as your dad, I think. It’s operable and she’ll likely recover –”

“But she’s still ill.”

The words landed like a stone in his chest, the reality of the situation sinking with it. “Yeah.”

There was a silence on the other end of the line except for the soft rustle of sheets. He wondered if she – like him – was sat atop her bed, too. He wondered what she would look like when she did. Was she in her uniform still, or did she wear jeans and a t-shirt? Her pyjamas maybe? Did she wear a tank top? Were her shoulders bare? Her legs?

He swallowed hard, trying to dispel the image that was altogether all too inappropriate at this time.

“It’s fucked, right?” He spoke softly.

“It is,” she agreed. “I wish it wouldn’t have to happen to you, too. You mum is…” she paused for a moment. “She is really something, Potter.”

He nodded in agreement even if she couldn’t see it. His nose pricked and he pressed the heel of his hand against his eye, as if he could push the tears back in.

“I know that everything I will probably say over the phone right now is not going to help any, but I’m here for you, okay? Just like you are for me. If you ever want to talk, or just want to vent… just message me, I’ll make time.”

I love you, he wanted to say. Can you come over? Can you hold me and make it all go away? You have the power to make me forget just about everything in the world but you.

He almost voiced the first question, only just managed to keep it in.

“I appreciate it, Evans.”

Some more rustling. It made him go a little woozy.

“And tell your mum it’s okay if she can’t take on my dad’s case. It’s fine – it doesn’t matter anyway. The outcome is not going to change the fact that he’ll die, and I’d rather she focuses on her health and lives, so –”

There was a lump in his throat, heavy and unmoving. The finality in her voice as she talked about her father’s inevitable death deepened his sadness.

“She will still want to,” he said hoarsely. “She’d never give up on her job, definitely not if it’s you she’s helping. She likes you an awful lot.”

When he’d gotten home the night before his mum had not so subtly mentioned just how lovely Lily Evans was, as if he didn’t know that himself. As if it wasn’t what he thought about every second of every day.

There was a pause, and then a faint laugh down the line, small and disbelieving.

“What is it about you Potters?” She asked. “Do you all have a hero complex?”

“Afraid so,” he replied. “Not to mention that we don’t ever do things by halves. Once we’ve decided someone is worth our time and energy, we waste all of it on them.”

She hummed, and he could picture the way her lips would twitch when she was trying not to smile.

“That sounds exhausting,” she said lightly, though her voice had softened.

“It is,” he admitted. “Completely hopeless, really.” That’s how I am about you – a lost case if there ever was one.

“The world is a better place for it,” she replied. “For having people like you and your mum in it.” He didn’t quite know what to say to that, but he didn’t need to for she added: “I’m really glad you told me about your mum, James. I know it’s... a lot to process, and that it’s just the start for you guys, but it’s going to end well. I’m sure of it.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said, and it came out quieter than he meant it to. “Because I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“I know,” she murmured. “But you won’t have to find out.”

His throat tightened at the certainty, at the promise in her voice.

“A Potter always wins, right?”

He laughed, rubbed at his eyes.

“Don’t throw the words my fifteen-year-old self believed to be wholeheartedly true back at me, Evans. I was a git then. Am still now, probably.”

“No, you’re not.” Her voice was gentle, warm. “I don’t think you were either.”

His heart snagged on her words, and as they talked a while longer – voices soft, laughter quiet and fleeting – he felt the tension in his chest slowly ease. For the first time all evening, he could breathe.

And somewhere between her laugh and the way she said his name, he knew.

He’d talk to Emmeline tomorrow. Because even if Evans didn’t fancy him back, even if she never would, even if it was all hopeless and one-sided – he couldn’t keep pretending his heart wasn’t already hers.

Chapter Text

Hello, Mr. "Perfectly Fine,"
How's your heart after breakin' mine?
Mr. "Always at the Right Place at the Right Time," baby.

Hello, Mr. "Casually Cruel,"
Mr. "Everything Revolves Around You!"
I've been Miss Misery since your goodbye,
And you're Mr. "Perfectly Fine…"

“Mr Perfectly Fine (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault),” Fearless, Taylor Swift

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. This was by no means a rare thing these days, but the thoughts that swirled through her mind after they’d spoken on the phone last night were those of worry and not so much heartbroken longing today. That feeling, she was sure, would come rushing back to her as soon as the shock of his mother’s being ill had settled.

Although, thinking on it now, she was heartbroken, too. For him rather than about him.

She hoped he was all right. That the news hadn’t dimmed his spark. That - when she saw him today - they’d share a glance, a moment, and she’d know he’d be fine again - one day, some day. Just like, surely, she would.

So preoccupied was her mind - thinking of how he’d sounded as he had spoken to her, how desperately worried he was about his mum, his dad, about Sirius, too - that her classes that morning - sadly devoid of him - passed in a blur.

It was just after Maths that she stood at the sink in the girls’ bathroom, washing her hands, when Emmeline Vance burst into the bathroom - eyes red-rimmed, tip of her nose pink, cheeks flushed. The blonde’s eyes swam with tears and for a moment Lily stood frozen. Then - tentatively, wondering if this was to be her week, assuring that classmates did not quite break down - she asked: “Are you quite all right?”

It was a stupid question, really. The girl was clearly far from it.

Emmeline’s bottom lip trembled. “It’s Potter,” she said.

She had no right to feel jealous. But she did. He’d called her, chosen her last night, and for a fleeting moment she’d fancied herself special. The one person he wanted. Now, faced with Emmeline’s tears, it struck her that maybe she was only one of many.

Which was fine. It was. She was just… yeah.

“I know,” she nodded sympathetically. “It is awful.”

“I just don’t understand,” Emmeline spoke wateringly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "One moment everything was fine, and the next -" She shrugged, inhaled sharply. "I don't know what changed."

As the girl spoke, Lily had gone into the stall, retrieving some tissue which she handed to the blonde. Emmeline immediately brought it up to her nose, blew into it.

“He’s torn up about it,” Lily heard herself say, arms crossing tight over her chest as if that might hold her together. As if admitting aloud that Potter was hurting would make this easier – make it easier that he seemed to like the girl in front of her instead of her. “But he’ll be okay.”

The words, meant as comfort, only shattered Emmeline further. A broken sound tore out of her throat, her sobs hitching, jagged, as her whole frame shook. She buried her face in her hands, shoulders trembling violently, words spilling out between gasps.

“But – what about m-me?” she wailed, voice breaking, raw. “If he’s so torn up, why’d he – why’d he b-break it off? Why’d he tell me he changed his mind? That it wouldn’t be f-fair to date me?”

Her heart stopped.

Date Emmeline?

The words the girl had spoken lodged like a stone in her throat, her stomach twisting so violently she thought she might be sick. The bathroom walls seemed to close in around her, while Emmeline’s sobs echoing like they came from very far away.

Not special at all, are you?

She swallowed, looked away, exhaled shakily before she said, sounding hoarse: “It’s not you. It’s his mum –”

“Does she not like me?”

Lily frowned. “What? No, I mean… she’s ill.”

“Ill?” Emmeline repeated, the word catching, brittle. She blinked hard, as though trying to force it into sense, into something that wasn’t happening at her expense. “Ill… how?”

Lily’s eyes widened in alarm. Shit.

“Oh god,” she whispered, the words little more than a breath that escaped her. Her fingers clenched uselessly at her sides, nails digging into her palms. “I don’t think I should have said –”

Emmeline lifted her blotchy face, lashes spiked with tears, and stared at her with wild, desperate hope. “What do you mean she’s ill? What’s wrong with her?”

Something akin to hope appeared in the girl’s eyes, and Lily found herself backtracking, stepping back. “Look, I don’t know if I was supposed to -”

There was such relief on Emmeline Vance’s face, her whole body releasing the tension it had held seconds before. “So, it’s not that… he hasn’t stopped liking me?”

Her thoughts flitted inevitably back to their phone call last night - the intimacy of the conversation, the recognition that felt like so much more than understanding what the other was going through, that felt like she belonged, like they were meant to talk like this… in the safety of their bedrooms, voices low.

They had been miles, streets, homes apart, yet she had never felt closer to anyone in her life.

How stupid she now felt to think he might have felt just a little like she had.

“I think you should give him some time,” she heard herself say. “I’m sure it’s the shock of it all -”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Emmeline nodded, turning towards the mirror to fix her appearance.

She looked so effortlessly pretty even when she had just bawled her eyes out. Yet another reason to well and truly envy her.

“Thank you so much, Lily. You have no idea how much this means to me.”

“Sure,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper, her smile so forced that her cheeks ached.

She’d just taken a cheeky bite out of her sandwich - hoping that Prince wouldn’t notice - when he arrived.

His cheeks were a tad flushed, almost as if he had run here, his hand going up to his hair the minute he spotted her, backpack hanging off one shoulder. He came to a halt in front of her desk, so tall, so lean, so handsome - she hated it, but he took her breath away.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi,” she replied.

He gestured towards the seat next to her. “Is that taken or -?”

“No!” Her voice was too loud and she half expected Pince to shush her. “It’s not. You can sit down, if you’d like - that is, not that it’s my chair, so it’s not as if I have any claim to it anyways, so - really - you can sit if you want to sit.”

Stop babbling, she told herself, her nerves clearly having taken over. He is going to think you are a lunatic.

“Thanks,” he said, dropping his bag onto the floor. His knee brushed hers as he sat, sending a ridiculous spark shooting straight up her leg. “Not just for the chair, by the way. For last night, too. For listening.”

She worried that her blush would show, that it’d reveal too much. She averted her eyes, carefully closed the book that had lain open on the table she was seated at. “It was nothing, Potter. We both know I was a right old mess when I heard about my dad, so –”

“You weren’t a mess.”

She sent him a look.

“You weren’t,” he insisted, shocking her to the core when he reached out, took a hold of her hand.

Her breath caught. His fingers were warm against hers, firm but not pushing. She stared down at their joined hands, her heart thudding so violently she thought Pince might actually come storming over to hush it.

She didn’t pull away, though. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

“Shall we call it even then?” she asked, hoping her voice didn’t sound as thin as she feared. “No more thanking the other person, seeing as we both were happy to offer a shoulder to cry on?”

His mouth tugged into a smile – not his usual cocky grin, but something smaller, softer. “Even,” he agreed, brushing a thumb over her knuckles.

She started counting inside her head. One, two, three, four, five... that’s when he let go, and his eyes shifted, his entire figure sagging as he sank lower into his chair, started to lean back and balance on the two hind legs.

Her palm felt – somehow – strangely empty.

“Anyway, what are you spending your break in the library for?”

She snorted softly. “Heaven forbid a girl likes to have some peace and quiet.”

"Did I talk your ear off last night?" 

His smile was almost sheepish now, his fingers twitching just a little. She wondered if - possibly - he could be nervous too. Then again, it made sense. Hadn't she been twitchy, too, when she had first seen him at school after running to his house, crying her eyes out as she'd grieved the loss of a father she still had - even if barely so.

"Not at all," she said, palm of her hand pressed into the table. "I'm..." her inhale was shaky. "I was so glad you called."

"Yeah?" 

He was definitely nervous then. 

She was, too. Her throat felt tight, and for a wild second she wanted to reach across and take his hand again.

"Yeah," she said, and then, averting her eyes, she cleared her throat. "Anyway, I fear I won't be all that entertaining just now. I didn't do McGonagall's homework, so -"

His eyes lit up, a smile tugging at his lips as he leaned his forearms on the desk. "You've got to be joking," he teased. "You didn't do the coursework?"

She rolled her eyes, her cheeks hot to the touch. "Oh, shut up, Potter." 

He laughed, reached for her copy of Death of a Naturalist. The spine was already slightly cracked after she had been reading her dad a poem a day. "Do you want to copy my answers?"

She snatched the book back, holding it to her chest like a shield, her expression one of mock outrage. “Absolutely not. I have standards."

"And my work wouldn't possibly meet those?"

"You know you're too clever for your own good. Your work would more than suffice -"

"Then copy it. Don't waste your break on answering questions you already know the answer to. You've got more important stuff to think about, anyway."

He scooted a little closer, and for a moment she thought she could do the same, that she might dare knock her knees into his. She thought about that moment in the library a couple of months ago - how she had almost kissed him... She had dreamed about it so often that she had started to almost make herself believe that his eyes had slid to her lips, that he had leaned in.

She knew it was nothing more than that, though - a dream. For James Potter liked Emmeline Vance. He liked the girl so much that he'd danced with her at the party - looking so happy, so much like him. She wanted that for him - she wanted him to be that happy, to just... be James Potter.

“Come on,” he said, reaching for his bag, unzipping it. “I’ll get it. Just copy it the once.”

The laugh that escaped her was tight. “It’d be a first.”

“Well, I’d be honoured to be your first.” He set the notebook on the desk – and froze. His eyes snapped up to hers, wide. “Oh, fuck, I didn’t mean –”

“Language, Mr Potter!”

Pince’s voice was loud and snappy, and Lily had to stifle a giggle.

“Shit, sorry – I mean, sorry, Mrs Pince!” James spluttered, face flushing scarlet.

Lily bit her lower lip to keep her laughter at bay, barely keeping in a snort. The Head Boy’s eyes flitted to hers.

“I swear she’s got bloody supernatural hearing sometimes,” he murmured, lowering his voice, leaning in closer and pushing his notebook towards her. “Go on then, or our break will be over.”

Her fingertips brushed the back of his hand as she took the notebook, and sparks shot up her arm. She ducked her head, flipping it open quickly. His neat, slanted handwriting filled the page. There were doodles in the margins, too – stars, planets, and a flower that looked an awful lot like a lily. Her finger hovered over it for a moment, brushing lightly against the ink.

A tightness curled low in her stomach. She hesitated – then, the words escaped her before she had fully thought about it.

“I ran into Emmeline earlier today,” she said quietly. “Emmeline Vance.”

For a beat he didn’t say a word. Then, he cleared his throat, his voice a little strained as he asked: “You did?”

She reached for her pen, twirled it between her fingers, then put it to paper. “Yeah. She told me you’d spoken to her. She was... upset.”

“Right.”

She started to write that day’s date. “You shouldn’t put your life on hold just because your mum is ill,” her eyes slid ever so casually to his notebook, reading the answer he had given to the first question, but not registering it at all. “I’m sure your mum wouldn’t want –”

“Evans –”

“– you to, and I don’t think it’s healthy –”

“Evans –”

“– to give up what makes you feel happy, even if things seem dark right now –”

“Evans, please. Don’t.” His voice was firm enough to stop her ramble mid-sentence. “I... I didn’t break things off with her because of my mum. I mean, I don’t even know if you could call what we had something worth breaking off. We didn’t even go on a date.”

She looked back up at him, frowned. “You danced with her at the party.”

He blinked, his cheeks were pink. “Yeah, I did, but...”

“I think she might have thought that meant something.”

His nostrils flared. “Right, sure, I mean... I shouldn’t have led her on, I didn’t think I was –”

The bell rang, cutting him off.

She stood, her chair nearly toppling over.

“I need to get to class.”

She scrambled for her pen, her notebook, found herself stacking his on top of hers. She reached for her bag.

“Lily –”

He had gotten to his feet, too, his hand on her elbow. She stepped back, almost as if she had been stung.

“I really need to go. Thanks for your notes – I’ll get it back to you when we get to English –”

“Lily, please, can we just talk?”

She’d rushed off before he’d gotten a chance to pick up his bag, doors to the library swinging closed behind her.

“Give this to Potter, please,” she had said as she’d passed Peter Pettigrew in the hallway, handing him the notebook. Now, it rested neatly on the corner of Potter’s desk, his knee bouncing on his desk and his head turned towards her, her name a hiss on his lips.

She shook her head, eyes flitting up to where McGonagall stood – eyes on the screen as she tried to get the screen to work. Sirius Black had already gotten up – his expertise with laptops sorely needed it appeared – and was fiddling with the USB-C cable connected to their teacher’s laptop.

“Evans!”

Another hiss, and then a piece of paper hit her square in the shoulder. She caught it, narrowing her eyes as she looked at him. Still, she opened it up, her eyes falling to the handwriting that was as familiar as her own:

Please meet me after class?

Underneath it, he’d drawn three different boxes for her to tick:

• Yes
• Maybe
• No chance in hell, Potter.

After each he’d drawn a different emoji – a happy, smiley one for yes, a meh one for maybe and one with crosses for eyes after the last.

Despite herself, she found herself taking out a pen and scribbling at the bottom:

What are you? Eleven?

She threw it back, just in time for him to catch it before McGonagall turned back to the class, and said: “While you are all waiting for Mr Black and I to fix this, I’d like for you to open up your copy of Death of a Naturalist to annotate ‘Follower’ – I am not here to entertain you, Mr Rosier, so you can lift your head off that table and do as I ask – maybe do it in pairs. Find someone to sit next to –”

Potter was up from his seat in an instant, grabbing his chair and carrying it over to her desk.

Her heart did a treacherous little skip when he sat down, hands folding, look on his face ever so serious as he started, looking like he’d been preparing this little speech of his for a while: “Look,  I know I came off like some kind of dick, and maybe I’m in danger of being one now, but I swear to you that nothing happened between Emmeline and I. We just danced at a party, and then she asked me out, and I said yes, because I didn’t know what else to do, how to not hurt her feelings. And then last night happened He swallowed hard, gaze dropping to his whitening knuckles. “Mum happened. And I thought: Stuff it. Life’s too short. I shouldn’t be doing things I don’t want –’”

She placed one of her hands over the pair of his, they were warm to the touch.

“You don’t have to explain yourself.”

“But I do,” he said, voice still low. “You have no idea, Evans – Lily – do you? You don’t know how much I –”

“Mr Potter, Ms Evans. As important as that conversation appears to be, you are supposed to be annotating a poem.”

She flushed, lifting her hand off his, reaching for the copy of Heaney’s poems on her desk and flicking pages, very much aware of the boy sitting beside her.

You don’t know how much I…

• … care about you?
• … like you?
• … love you?

She almost wanted to write a note of her own. One that she would create boxes next to  like he had done. Her fingers trembled as she held her book open.

“Right, so…” she cleared her throat: “My father worked with a horse-plough, his shoulders globed like a full sail strung, between the shafts –”

“Lily.”

It was soft, sweet, made her look up and catch his eyes.

She didn’t quite know what did it, why she would ever do such a thing in a classroom of all places – surely, she became a woman possessed – but the poem slipped from her hands, she leaned forward, and kissed him. Right then and there.

Chapter Text

Hello, Mr. "Perfectly Fine,"
How's your heart after breakin' mine?
Mr. "Always at the Right Place at the Right Time," baby.

Hello, Mr. "Casually Cruel,"
Mr. "Everything Revolves Around You!"
I've been Miss Misery since your goodbye,
And you're Mr. "Perfectly Fine…"

“Mr Perfectly Fine (Taylor’s Version) (From The Vault),” Fearless, Taylor Swift

“Never in my entire career, in my life –”

They stood outside McGonagall’s classroom. From inside came the sounds of chaos: chairs scraping, laughter, Sirius probably making a spectacle of himself – was that another wolf whistle? He was meant to be listening to the lecture she was delivering in sharp, clipped tones.

But he couldn’t.

Lily Evans had just kissed him.

Kissed him.

Fuck.

He had kissed her back, of course. He’d practically attacked her face. Or – he hoped it had been more romantic than that, but he couldn’t remember anything beyond the pumping of his heart, the deafening beats of it. He knew he had reached for the back of her neck, fingers getting lost in her auburn hair –

“– you are Head Boy and Girl, supposed to set an example –”

His mind wandered to the kiss again: the initial press of her lips against his, the tiny breath that had escaped her – had it been relief? – when he’d responded with such reckless enthusiasm that he was certain he’d been far sloppier than he’d have liked. The way she’d tasted, the way she’d fisted the front of his shirt and pulled him impossibly close…

“– I am most disappointed that you’d deem such a public display of affection appropriate –”

He chanced a glance in Lily’s direction. Her arms were wrapped around her waist, her cheeks a beautiful cotton candy pink. Her eyes slit to his, too – as if the two of them were in complete synch after the kiss – and when their eyes met, she had to bite back a smile, making his face split with the widest of grins he had ever worn, he was sure.

“What do you have to say for yourselves?”

The question hung heavy between them, his eyes quickly shooting back to McGonagall, who looked far from impressed – which was quite offensive, really, because you’d think she’d be more supportive of his high school romcom moment. Wasn’t an English teacher supposed to appreciate romance?

“Well, you see –” he started, but the Head Girl interrupted him.

“It’s my fault.” The words rushed out of her, they were breathy. “I was the one to kiss him.”

Fuck yeah, she had been! What had he done to deserve that?!

McGonagall’s eyebrows rose. “I can assure you, Miss Evans, that you were hardly the only one involved. You might have initiated it, but Mr Potter here certainly didn’t do anything to stop it.”

He opened his mouth, but McGonagall held up a hand to silence him.

“I hope you understand that a classroom is a place of learning, and while I suppose I should take it as a compliment that you’d feel safe enough in my classroom to momentarily lose any and all sense of propriety, I do hope you realise that my subject is English, not French.”

He snorted – loudly. McGonagall’s eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

“Now, seeing as I have little faith that either of you are going to work, and I hardly wish to cause any further racket, I suggest you make your way to Professor Dumbledore, where you can explain to him why both the Head Boy and Girl were sent out of my class.”

She turned on her heel and swept back into the classroom, the door closing behind her with a definitive thunk.

For a few seconds, they just stood there. Then Lily dissolved into giggles beside him.

“Oh my god,” she said, burying her face in her hands. “Oh my god, Potter, I’m so sorry.”

“What?” He laughed too, turning fully towards her. He reached for her wrists, gently tugging her hands away from her face until she met his eyes. “What are you sorry for?”

She pulled a face – fuck, she was so cute, so beautiful, so perfect. “I kissed you in the middle of our English class –”

“I don’t accept your apology,” he said immediately, grinning. “Not if that’s what you think you ought to be apologising for. Because I promise there’s not a single part of me that’s not absolutely ecstatic – that’s not over the bloody moon.”

She seemed shy almost, eyes wide as she blinked up at him.

“You are?”

He nodded once, slowly. Then he took a step closer. And another. She backed up instinctively until her shoulder blades met the cool stone wall behind her, the palm of one of his hands resting next to her shoulder as he stopped just a breath away.

“Yeah, Lily,” he said softly. “I really am.”

Then, he bent his head as she tilted her chin, the tips of their noses brushing before their lips found each other for the second time, his stomach fluttering something fierce, his breath having been taken as her arms wrapped around his shoulders and she stood up on her tiptoes to close the gap between them fully.

He pressed her gently into the wall, this kiss slower, more deliberate than the one they’d shared in the classroom. He hoped she thought he was a good kisser. He hoped she wanted to keep kissing him forever, because heaven knows knew he did. He’d gladly set some sort of record – die right there of a heart that had burst from too much joy – if it meant staying like this.

But she eventually pulled away. Maybe it had been minutes; it felt like seconds. He still wasn’t ready to stop.

She rocked back onto her heels, her teeth catching her lower lip. There was something earth-shatteringly shy about Lily Evans like this, and it took everything in him not to blurt out something utterly stupid.

“We should go find Dumbledore.”

He was the one to pull a face now. “Do we have to?” He complained. “What’s he going to do anyway? We can just stay here, or –” he lowered his voice, eyes glinting, “– we could find somewhere more private.”

She shook her head, though her lips were still curved, and slid her hand into his, their fingers lacing together. It didn’t take much for her to pull him with her.

“I’m not risking any more trouble, Potter.”

“Yeah, all right,” he said, sighing, still feeling dazed and wondering if he had possibly dreamed all of this up.

Fuck, he really hoped he hadn’t. That would be one rude awakening that he wasn't quite sure he'd ever get over.

“What the fuck was that?!”

Sirius launched himself onto James’s back the second he stepped out McGonagall’s classroom, his knuckles digging mercilessly into James’s scalp and undoing all of Lily Evans’s attempts at taming his hair — after she’d been the one to mess it up in the first place.

Peter and Remus were there too, trailing behind with wide, eager eyes, clearly ready for the full story.

“Can you get off?” He asked, half laughing, half exasperated.

“It’s you who’s getting off — with Lily bloody Evans!” Sirius crowed, hopping back to his feet and immediately slinging an arm around James’s neck to drag him along. “Where is she, anyway? I can’t believe you actually snogged her in English class!”

“All right, Pads,” Remus chuckled. “I’d almost think you’re more excited than Prongs.”

“Not possible,” James said, his cheeks aching from how wide he was grinning.

“What did Dumbledore say?” Peter piped up, eyes huge. “Did he tell you off?”

“’Course he didn’t,” Sirius snorted. “He’s sweet on the both of them. I bet he’s already counting on officiating the wedding –”

“They kissed just the once –” Remus started.

“Do you see that dopey look on his face?” Sirius cut in, pointing accusingly at James. “There’s no way Lily didn’t let him have a second go at it –”

“Jeez, Pads –” James protested, shaking his head although his smile did not dim in the slightest.

“What? She didn’t?” Sirius had let go off him now, walking backwards in front of him, eyebrows raised.

James rolled his eyes, looking down and running a hand through his hair. “I mean... yeah, we did kiss some more –”

“Knew it!”

“– but she had to run off for Debate after meeting with Dumbledore, so we didn’t really get a chance to talk about it.”

“Hence your being here,” Sirius said, bumping James’s shoulder with his own. “Now, what the fuck happened? One second the class is dissecting some boring-arse poem, the next I see you and Evans lock lips. Like… did I see tongue?”

“Did you tell her you love her?” Peter asked.

“God, that would put me off –” Sirius wrinkled his nose as he said it. “Please tell me you didn’t barf out a sonnet mid snog...”

Remus gave a long-suffering sigh. “Honestly, the pair of you.”

“I barely had time before McGonagall threw us out, so of course I didn’t. Besides... I was too stunned for words when she just leaned in and kissed me –”

“Wait? She initiated it?” Sirius’ eyes widened.

“Well fuck me!”

“I told you that she wasn’t indifferent,” Remus replied, sounding far too smug about it, too.

“What the actual – you talked about Evans liking him and didn’t tell me? What the hell, Moony? I’m the one you gossip with about Prongs.” Sirius pulled a mock-offended face. Remus rolled his eyes, and Peter looked like he was about to demand why he hadn’t been invited to any of these conversations either.

Then Sirius suddenly stopped in his tracks, a hand shooting out to grab James’s arm. “Wait… you don’t think it was a pity snog, do you?”

James furrowed his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Just that... you told her about mum, didn’t you?” Sirius said. His voice had lost some of its earlier teasing edge, turning curious – almost cautious.

He swallowed, a low hum starting up in his brain, like static. “No, that’s not why –” He broke off, his confidence faltering.

Had she kissed him to shut him up in class? He had been babbling, hadn’t he? And then out in the hallway… she’d been the one to pull away first. She’d insisted they go to Dumbledore, said she didn’t want to risk getting into any more trouble. Sure, she’d reached for his hand, but –

Had she even wanted this?

Or, no, screw that. She had enjoyed it, he knew she had, but...

Had she wanted this like he did? Or was it, as Sirius said, just a pity snog – a way to comfort him about his mum? A way to make him feel better without having to say anything at all?

She had run off right after meeting Dumbledore, hadn’t she? Too quick for him to reach for her, to tell her how he hadn’t been exaggerating earlier, that he was over the moon... She hadn’t said anything even remotely as exuberant, had she? Now that he thought about it, Lily Evans hadn’t said much of anything at all. Had he read her wrong? Had she just indulged him? Was she not in it like he was?

“Okay,” Remus said, snapping him out of it. James blinked, the low hum in his head faltering. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s ridiculous. Lily wouldn’t just kiss you because your mum has breast cancer. Definitely not in a classroom in front of a teacher. That, to me, just goes to show how much she wanted to do it – she forgot where she was, clearly.”

“You think?”

“I do, yes,” Remus nodded. “I think I know her well enough.”

James’s heart lurched. “Wait, aren’t you heading for Debate too?” He grabbed Remus by the shoulders before he could even answer. “Can you ask her for me? Not – obviously don’t tell her I asked – but just… check?”

Remus looked far from happy to be given such a task.

Remus looked decidedly unenthused. “James, I don’t – this seems like a conversation the two of you need to have.”

“Come on, Remus,” James pleaded. “I swear I’ll get you a lifetime’s supply of chocolate. I’ll bake you brownies, yeah? The triple chocolate ones.”

“Not the brownies!” Sirius howled from behind them. Peter sniggered.

Remus looked determined to resist, but after a good five seconds of mulling it over he exhaled heavily, shaking his head: “All right, I’ll ask.”

All the tension that had been coiling in James melted away, and he nodded, dropping his hands from Remus’ shoulders. “Don’t make me sound… desperate, of course. Just… don’t let her know I was the one to ask you to ask. Be cool about it. Casual.”

Remus shook his head. “Those better be the best brownies you’ve ever baked, Prongs.”

James ignored the jab. He knew Remus was the superior baker of the group – and everyone else did, too. “All right,” he said, exhaling a shaky breath, the relief settling. “Report back after Debate? Video call?”

“I’m sat for that conversation,” said Sirius, wrapping his arm around James’ shoulder and pulling him back. “Now, let’s go Romeo. We’ve got some shopping to do.”

James let himself be guided down the corridor, Sirius practically dragging him along, Peter hurrying after them as they left Remus behind.

He threw one final glance at Remus over his shoulder, saluting him with a shaky grin. Then he turned his gaze forward, stomach fluttering with nerves. What if Remus was wrong about Evans?

He swallowed hard, forcing the thought aside. No. He refused to dwell on doubts now. Whatever came next, he would face it.

Because Lily Evans hadn’t just kissed him. She had started it, had chosen to, had let him kiss after... surely, that meant something?

“So... you’ll never guess what happened at school today,” said Sirius, sitting on the kitchen counter when his mother walked in. James was melting the chocolate he’d bought and sent his best friend a fierce glare.

“Don’t, Pads.”

“What? You don’t want mum to share in your joy? Bloody awful that. She’s got cancer!” Sirius hopped off the counter, walking towards their mum, throwing his arms around her. “You’re craving some good news, right mum?”

James had to resist throwing the spatula his best friend’s way, a lump immediately forming in his throat at the mention of his mother being ill in the first place. That heaviness that had settled over him the night before, wrapping around him like a cloak once more.

“If it is good news, I am always in need of it,” she said, closing her eyes as Sirius hugged her before opening them again and cocking her eyebrow at James. “Well then, should I ask Sirius or will you tell me yourself?”

He pulled a face. “Is there no such thing as privacy in this house? You, Pads –” he pointed his spatula in Sirius’ direction, “– are revoked off your best friend privileges for the next three days.”

“Who’s taking over? Remus? Peter?” Sirius snorted as if the thought alone that James would be capable of replacing him was laughable. In all fairness, it was. “Let’s face it, Prongs, you love me too much. As much as you love Lily Evans...” Sirius waggled his eyebrows and James dropped his chocolate-covered spatula.

“All right, that’s it –”

“What? You know mum would love to hear all about how you snogged Lily Evans in the midst of class –”

“We didn’t snog –”

“He got sent to Dumbledore’s office for it even, Effie. Not that he minded, I don’t think even Evans did – or did she, Prongs?”

His mother’s face had lit up at the mention of his locking lips with Lily Evans. “Is this true, James?” She asked, letting go of his best friend and brother. Then, when he did nothing to deny it, his mother walked up to him and wrapped him up in a hug this time. “Oh, sweetheart, how lovely! I know how much you like her!”

His cheeks burned. “Mum, can you please not –”

She pulled back, her eyes wide. “We should have her over for dinner! I have been meaning to talk to her anyway, seeing as there’s something I’d like to discuss regarding the case.”

His mortification only intensified. “I don’t even know if she likes me like that, mum. It might have been a spur of the moment thing.”

His mother sniffed, rolling her eyes. “Oh, James, believe me – it’s not. I remember how that girl found her way here when she heard the terrible news about her brave father. I can guarantee that she likes you.” Euphemia Potter’s smile was wide now. “She and I are kindred spirits – we have excellent taste in men!”

Sirius cackled. “Do you hear that, James? You’re practically dating your mum!” Then, as his mother turned on her heel, Sirius backtracked, hands up: “Just joking mum, jeez!”

Before his mother could scold Sirius – and surely she was going to do that, James had grown up on her narrowed eyes and wagging finger – the doorbell rang, and James declared he’d go and get it.

Fully expecting it to be a package, or his mother’s shopping being delivered, he walked out wearing his dad’s apron which read: I like big buns, and I cannot lie – and which he had donned without giving it a second thought – he opened the door wide, and with a ‘thank you’ ready to fall off his lips.

But the ‘thank you’ died in his throat, because it was none other than Lily Evans who stood on his doorstep, eyes immediately dipping down to the apron, the corners of her mouth fighting a losing battle against a smile.