The Great Hall ceiling had barely finished displaying "LILY EVANS: DATE ME OR THE BADGER GETS IT" (James had stolen a Hufflepuff mascot and was holding it hostage with a water pistol) when Lily marched over and slapped him across the face.
"That badger is a first-year in a costume, you absolute menace!" she hissed. "No!"
The week had been a catastrophe of James Potter's own making.
On Monday, he'd released two hundred doves in the library and asked Lily out. They'd pooped on Madam Pince. Lily had said no.
On Tuesday, he'd paid two seventh years to sky-write "LILY + JAMES = TRUE LOVE" over the Quidditch pitch during a match. He'd nearly been decapitated by a Bludger looking for her response. She'd said no.
On Wednesday, he'd serenaded her outside the potions classroom with a mandolin he couldn't play. Snape had given him detention for "crimes against music." Lily had said no.
On Thursday, he'd attempted to Transfigure chocolate frogs into hearts. He'd turned them into heart shaped bugs instead. Lily had been disgusted, then said no.
And now it was Friday, and James Potter was sitting alone by the Black Lake, his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking.
He startled, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve, but Lily had already seen the tears. She sat down beside him on the grass, her expression suspicious but concerned.
"Are you—are you crying?"
"Allergies," James said quickly, his voice thick. "Pollen. It's... it's ragweed season."
"Dirt, then. I'm allergic to... dirt."
Lily reached out and pulled his hands away from his face. His eyes were red-rimmed, his glasses smudged, his cheeks wet.
"James," she said, softer than he'd ever heard her. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm fine. I'm brilliant." He tried to laugh. It came out broken. "Just... just realized I'll never be good enough, is all. For anyone. Keep trying to be... to be impressive, or funny, or... and I'm just..." He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I'm just embarrassing."
Lily was quiet for a long moment. The lake lapped against the shore.
"James," she said finally. "Do you know why I keep saying no?"
"Because you're acting like one." She turned to face him, her green eyes serious. "All these stunts—the doves, the sky-writing, the hostage badger—you're not being you. You're being... a performance. A fool. And I don't want to date a fool, James. I want to date someone who is honest. You just need to be yourself."
James stared at her. "You... you think me as myself would be worth saying yes to?"
"I think," Lily said, standing and brushing off her skirt, "that the boy who stood up to Snape in fifth year when he called me a Mudblood—that boy, the real one, not the one with the chocolate bugs—that boy might be worth saying yes to. If he ever bothered to show up."
She walked away, leaving James blinking at the lake, the words settling into his chest like something warm.
It was three days later when Lily found a single white rose on her Charms textbook. No doves. No fireworks. No singing. Just James Potter, standing beside her desk, looking nervous and sincere and heartbreakingly himself.
"Evans," he said, his voice steady. "I really like you. Not because you're pretty or clever or because my mum would approve—though you are, and she would—but because you're kind when no one's watching, and you bite your lip when you're concentrating, and you stood up to Slughorn about house-elf rights last term even though it cost you an internship." He picked up the rose and held it out. "Would you please go to Hogsmeade with me?"
Lily looked at the rose. Then at James—really looked at him, at the hope and the fear and the sincerity in his eyes.
"About time, Potter," she said, taking the flower. "Yes."
James's face transformed, bright and blinding and real. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." Lily smiled, small and secret. "But if you ever kidnap a badger again, I'm feeding you to the giant squid."
"Deal," James breathed, grinning so wide it hurt.
