#lilyevcans

–

“Prongs is in love with you.”

Your left hand jumps over your chest, your right already clenching around your wand. This is what the beginnings of a war does to you, you see. There’s a good chance it could’ve been someone like Avery or Mulciber or, God forbid, Severus creeping up on you like that in the bathroom, but it’s only Black.

Ha. Only Black.

“This is a girls’ bathroom,” you say, raising your hands to fix your hair again in the mirror. You can see his reflection raise a shoulder to shrug and roll his eyes. “What’s this about Potter?”

“He’s in love with you,” Sirius says again, slower. His expression doesn’t change. The dark hue of his eyes, even when sparkling, have always been a little unnerving — sometimes in a good way. You try not to flinch right now. You hold his gaze in the mirror.

“Suppose he were, I’m not sure why you’re telling me,” you try to say nonchalantly. He sees right through you, of course.

“Because you’re flirting with him, and he doesn’t realise he’s gone for you again,” he says bluntly, and your finger fiddling with your clip slips.

You suppose you have gotten closer. Being Head Boy and Head Girl does that. Your life has somehow turned from slightly barbed insults thrown at each other across the classroom to friendlier banter. A solid structure that helps you shoulder the weight of responsibility placed on your shoulders this year. He makes you laugh. That’s all, isn’t it?

“You’re being ridiculous,” you scoff. Lift your chin a little higher. You lean forward to turn on the tap.

“I’m not.” This may be one of the most… serious you’ve ever seen him, and it bothers you just a little. “Be careful with him, Evans, all right? He’s a bleeding heart, and all. You would know. You’re the same.”

You finish washing your hands and turn off the tap. Shaking the water droplets off because you’re lazy, you press your lips into a smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not… I’m not going to do anything.”

–

“Fucking — fucking Potter’s in love with you, Lily, can’t you see that?”

There’s something disgustingly pathetic in Severus’ voice that makes you want to recoil, so you do.

“I don’t know why you’re so concerned, but you might want to let go of me before you hurt me anymore, or I swear to God, I will hex your fingers off.” The words come out harsher than you anticipated. You thought you weren’t that angry anymore, that your resentment had melted into hurt instead. The Incident had been two years ago. There have been two summers that have gone by where you avoided him and didn’t speak. Yet, the flame in your stomach is lit again, and he doesn’t fucking deserve you, you know it — You don’t fucking deserve this. He made his choice, and you wish he could give up, because you are getting oh so tired of having to say no to him.

Severus drops his grip on your forearm like it’s burning him, looking down in shock for a second, as if forgetting for a moment that he hadn’t just grabbed you in the middle of a hallway, hadn’t just grabbed you as soon as your conversation with James ended and he’d walked away, hadn’t just dug his fingers into your skin until they were stinging. As if he hadn’t just purposely forgot that you weren’t friends anymore, and he had absolutely no fucking right to be doing this. None at all.

“Did you not see the way he — he acts around you?” He says ‘he’ like it hurts him. You hope it does. You’re still a bit taken aback by his audacity, in all honesty. “You hang around with him way too often. You’re leading him on.”

“Who I hang around with is none of your business, Snape.” Your tone is stiff, but you are seething. He jerks his head as if he’s been slapped. “And we are not friends, I do not know why you seem to have this belief in your head that you can determine whether or not I’m leading him, or anyone else, on.”

His face does a very ugly thing, twists into a facial expression that you’ve never seen before. You hate it. “You flirt with him. For arrogant twats like him, he’s going to believe you like him.”

“Have you thought that maybe I want to flirt with him?” It slips out, really, before you can fully register it, because you’re angry at Severus for thinking he can still dictate who you can talk to and you’re frustrated that he won’t fucking leave you alone and you’ve been very confused in your head about James Potter for a while now, but have been a coward to thinking about it. Severus’ eyes widen, and so do yours, and you lift your chin higher determinedly.

“But – but, Lily — you — we — we always said that we hated Potter, I don’t —” He’s spluttering, stumbling over his muttered words, and you laugh.

“We haven’t said anything recently. You’re with Mulciber and Avery and — all that lot, and — I don’t care anymore, Severus, all right? You’re not my concern anymore, anything you do, so stop making my affairs yours. It’s nothing to do with you. You chose to be an utter prick and lie and join up with a group who wants to kill me, and that’s your choice, but I’m tired now. Stop — Stop following me, and checking up on me, and talking to me. I don’t want anything to do with you. Leave me alone.”

–

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that, Lily? You can’t — You can’t get jealous over Potter with Fawcett, and not admit you don’t fucking feel something for him. Christ, the boy’s in love with you. He’d marry you right now if you asked him to. You’re being the twat here.”

You are used to Dorcas’ outbursts like this. Seven years of a friendship, of sharing a room with her, meant getting used to the way Dorcas displayed her feelings. You hardly ever take the things she says to heart, not like Mary does. Dorcas is a prickly character, thick skin over thick skin, but everything she says is honest.

There’s a short silence following Dorcas rolling her eyes and getting up to head back to Madame Rosmerta at the bar for another Butterbeer. It is only you and Marlene and Dorcas together right now, despite you trying to beg Mary off her date with Effie Macmillan so you do not have to feel like a third wheel.

“She’s sort of right, you know,” Marlene says first, breaking the odd silence. You feel a flare of irritation, but she is right. They are both right. You’ve been sneaking glances over at James ever since Felicity Fawcett walked in the Three Broomsticks and proceeded to bat her eyelashes at him as he was getting up to leave. They have been talking for ten minutes.

“I don’t like James,” you say stupidly, and Marlene sighs.

–

“James is in love with you. No, wait —” Marlene raises her hand before you can interrupt, and the authority she seems to emit makes your splutters fall silent. She smells of grass and fresh air and broomstick polish, with a hint of mud that’s splattered on various parts of her clothing. She always smells like that, but it’s only stronger as you’re sitting, watching the Quidditch field. She drops her hand to her broom again, twisting herself so she can face you full-on in her seat. You find yourself doing the same, though there is something similar to fear twisting in your gut.

“Lily, I have known this boy since I was born, okay? You know this. We were the typical neighbours since birth best friends. We always were. I was there when he fell off of his broom the first time, and he gave me my first scar when he accidentally tripped me when we were playing together. Every stolen treat was my idea, and well executed by him. I’ve seen him through his best, when he’s grinning and bursting and full of light — and I’ve seen him at his worst, trying to shut the world out. I’ve seen it all, okay? I’ve seen what he looks like in all his states, and Lily — Lily, he’s in love with you. And I know you’re scared. But that’s kinda everything, isn’t it? He’s been in love with you for a while now. But he won’t tell you until you’re ready.”

Marlene turns her head to watch the flying figures ahead of you, eyes easily following the boy in question. His hair is messier than always, eyes lit up as he yells something, Quaffle under his arm. You don’t know why your chest is aching.

“And, Lily Evans, I know you too.” Marlene reaches forward to grab your hand, your soft palms brushing against the roughened feel of her Quidditch gloves. “I’ve seen you through it all — when Snape was the biggest prick, when your foul sister sends you ugly letters, when your father died. When you got your Prefect badge, and when you punched Mulciber for what he did to Mary, and when you saw us playing Quidditch for the first time. I’ve seen you have crushes and I’ve seen you been drawn to people. You’re so afraid, Lily. You’ve got to accept he’s in love with you, truly. What’re you going to do about that?”

What’re you going to do about that?

–

“Potter.” You pause. “James. You — you really like me, don’t you?”

You switch out the word love for like, because you are standing here, doing this, but you are still afraid, just a little bit. You are taking small steps into this landmine. You do not want this to blow up in your face.

You can see him studying you. His glasses are slightly wonky, and his hair is sticking up in all sorts of places, and you really want to fix it, but you don’t. He looks like lightning has just struck him, lightning boy with a lightning heart, and you are suffocating from the air, because he still has not said a word.

You suppose you have ambushed him. Marlene’s words stuck in your head like a sore thumb, painfully aware of its existence. You have been trying to work up the courage to say something, but he laughed at the book you transformed into an egg instead of a pineapple earlier in Transfiguration, spending the whole day making egg-related puns and roping in everyone in the vicinity to join him, and it’s been all you could think about. Doing your Prefect rounds with him today, which you swapped with Remus months ago without coming up with a better excuse in your head other than wanting to talk to James every week like this, has become something you’ve been looking forward to. And you looked at him, laughing and realising that this is how it always is; he was making a joke about eggs, again, and you blurted the question out, whilst staring at his face in the half-light of a lamp.

“Yes.” His voice is steady. He does not say anything more. You realise that he’s studying you because he’s trying to see on your face if you’re ready.

He’s given you time. You thought at the beginning of the year that it was ridiculous he could’ve liked you all this time, from teasing jabs in class in third year to your rocky relationship from The Incident in fifth year. It has been so long. But he has not pressed you once this year, not even when you’re looking at each other like this, not when you’re alone with him and you could’ve kissed, you could’ve, but he has said nothing.

It is not because he is burning quietly. It is because he has matured into this brilliant young man standing beside you, instead of an arrogant little boy with too big of a heart and no way of filtering it through his words, and he is waiting. He seems to always be waiting.

“Okay,” you say, and he raises an eyebrow. “Okay.” And you’re leaning forwards now, on your tip toes because he’s so bloody tall. You do not pause as you move your lips to press against his. He’s kissing you back immediately, like this has been the moment he’s been waiting for, and you can’t feel anything. You can’t feel anything except him, just for a moment, before you’re bombarded with everything — all fire and hope and passion andeverything. You do not want to stop. So you don’t.

–

“James is in love with you.”

It is not that you are not Peter’s friend. You are. He has a habit to not necessarily push himself into the background, but when hanging around such vibrant, dynamic people, he fades away slightly. But you like Peter. You like the way he grins with his entire face, and that he listens as if he truly cares, and how he shares the anxiousness with you that everyone seems to be too brave to admit to feeling. He’s always been more Dorcas’ friend than yours at first, and then Remus’ friend than yours, and then James’, but he’s your friend too now. That’s how life works, see.

You kinda crashed his and Dorcas’ studying meeting in the library. His and Dorcas’ friendship has always fascinated you a little, in the way Dorcas is all brute force and bluntness and roughed edges, and Peter is all stammers and one-liners and wavering hands. Dorcas is not gentler, per se, around him, but it works.

Of course, she’s gone at the moment, her things left unceremoniously scattered across the table. Marlene came by for a Quidditch book earlier, and now they’re in one of the aisles.

You tilt your face to meet Peter’s eyes, blinking thoughtfully. It’s not worry in the seed in your mind, about the Marauders not liking you now that you’re James’ girlfriend, because you’ve been their friends too, individually. You’re surprised Peter’s spoken, honestly. “He is?” Like it’s a surprise.

Peter nods, and you cannot tell on, what you had previously thought, his transparent face if it’s with enthusiasm or glumness. This unsettles you slightly, but you shake it away. “I think he’s been in love with you since third year, but it’s real now.”

“How do you know?’

He pauses. Leans forward like it’s a secret, like he’s embarrassed. “I’m — Well, I wouldn’t say I’m good, because… I don’t know, but I’m not sure I’m good at much. But I’m — All right at observing people, I guess. You’re good for him, Lily.”

You blink again. There’s something singing happily in your bones, and you smile, pressing your hand against his. He looks surprised, as if he is not used to such affection. You recognise the reaction from your friendship with Severus, but this is Peter — Peter, who is best friends with James, who is tactile with his emotions, and Remus, with his quiet tenderness, and Sirius, who defends until death. “Thank you, Peter.”

–

“For all your intelligence, Lily, you’re not acting very clever right now. James is in love with you, and this argument about not wanting to be with him because your being Muggleborn is not a valid point.”

It’s a blow, coming from Remus; he’s sighing, and giving you A Look. You love Remus, you do, but he has a habit of making you feel like you’re being scolded by a teacher every time you disappoint him.

“But — but, Remus, you should understand,” you very nearly whine. None of your other friends have sided with you on this argument; in fact, Marlene had given you a very dirty look when she found out, and had uncharacteristically not talked to you for a full day. “You’re always going on about being unable to be with anyone because of your — you know. Furry little problem. At this moment of time, being Muggleborn, or associated with Muggleborns, is very dangerous!”

Remus heaves out another sigh, and you try not to flinch. “My — my condition is an entirely different situation. My point is that no one’s in love with me, so it doesn’t really matter. James, however, is head over heels in love with you, and keeping him at a distance is only going to do more harm than good. You know this.”

“I know.” You join him in the next sigh. You feel your shoulders slumping. “But you know what’s going on outside this castle. I mean, did you read the newspaper this morning? Jonas Fawley — do you remember him? He was a couple years older than us, I think he was in the same year as Alice Fortescue. But the Death Eaters got him and his wife, their little girl too. Because his wife was Muggleborn. He’s Pureblood and everything, but they still killed him.” You pause. Feel the bile in the back of your throat. Your next words come out as a whisper, even though you don’t mean it to. “That could be James. And I don’t — I don’t want to put him in that position.”

“With all due respect, Lily,” Remus says, and his eyes are kind. “That’s his choice to make. But you’re both fighters. We all are. We kind of have to be.”

–

“Is that James? He’s looking at you like you hang the stars, honey. I think the boy’s in love with you.”

This is one of the very first things your mum says to you when you step off the train. You’re probably much too old now, all eighteen and everything, to have your mother picking you up from your last day at school, but here you are, not caring. It is only your mum waiting for you on the other side of the platform, smile wide, eyes happy. Of course, you didn’t expect Petunia to come at all, not when she stopped tagging along as soon as she was old enough to stay home alone. And your dad… Your dad should’ve been here too. Because Hogwarts is over, your time in those protected walls where you were still a kid, is done, and he should’ve been here to hug you like this, he should’ve been here.

You follow your mother’s gaze to James, to where he’s standing with his own parents and Sirius. He’s looking at you, of course. He’s always looking at you. You kind of want to go over there and kiss him now, but you smile instead and turn back to your mum.

“He looks like how you described in your letters,” she muses, and you grin. “Very handsome. I’m happy for you, Lily.”

In a sudden rush of affection, you kiss your mum on the cheek, hugging tight. She gives you a startled look, but she squeezes your hand. She tears her eyes away from you to watch the Potters again, who are starting to levitate James and Sirius’ trunks. She’s always been fascinated by magic, your mum.

“We should go over there,” she says abruptly. She’s already starting to march over before you can catch up, true Evans style and all. It is easy to pretend, just for a second, that people like Dolohov are not throwing your mum glares, dressed up in her Muggle attire. “Mr Potter, Mrs Potter, James! Is it true, James, that you dyed my daughter’s hair green in her fifth year, or was she telling lies in her letters?”

Your mum throws you a cheeky wink at James’ horrified look, and you’re laughing, wondering how much you would give up to stay in moments like this forever.

–

“Lily, I’m in love with you,” he breathes, and you hold your breath. There’s no doubt in his words, no I think or Maybe. He says it like he’s certain. He says it like it’s the only thing he truly knows.

“I know,” you say, and you want to laugh into his kiss, really. You know. You’ve known for a while. You know because he’s looking at you like that, with his hazel eyes and lopsided grin, and you know. For him, it’s always been you. There have been other girls, there have been other boys, but it’s always been you. You’ve always been it for him. How does that feel? How does that feel to know your two souls are wound around each other so tight?

You’ve always been it for him, but he’s always been it for you. That’s important too, isn’t it?