Chapter Text

LILY

A Fool's Errand

Snow fell from the rafters of the Great Hall in soft, threading flutters that vanished before they could settle upon the breakfasters below. Lily stared up at the endless swirl, her cup of tea gone cold in her hand. It was the first snow of the year, rather late in the game as it was, and the weather seemed to be making up for lost time with intensity. What had started as a light snow had grown into a blustery storm in mere hours. Outside the castle, the grounds had been swallowed up by white; wind hurled snowdrifts against doors and rattled at windowpanes — but from her seat at Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, Lily was free to merely admire the glitter of it all.

Lily loved snow. She always had. There was a magical quality to it, the way it appeared from nowhere, utterly transforming the landscape from dreary and familiar to sparkling and bright. Of course, in Cokeworth the snow had always turned gray with city grime, quick and dirty, but here at Hogwarts, it was like living in the glossy shine of a snow globe, a perfection of winter fantasy.

Fitting, she couldn’t help but think, for fantasy had been almost exclusively the landscape in which she’d lived lately.

Getting a bit dizzy, she lowered her eyes from the enchanted ceiling and looked instead to her breakfast — or she’d meant to, but somehow her gaze got a bit lost on the way, and suddenly she found herself staring at James bloody Potter.

He was seated at his usual spot near the end of the table along with his friends. The other three looked sleepy, slumped over their bowls or rubbing at crusted eyes, but James was bright and alert, speaking with obvious enthusiasm about whatever subject had captured his imagination this morning. She was too far away to hear, and it was impossible to guess. You simply never knew with him. It might be Quidditch, it might be the intricacies of a magical castle’s antiquated plumbing system. This thought caused a quick tug at the corner of her lips, but she straightened it out and hastily forced her attention away, turning instead to the depths of her porridge, pale and lumpy, a scatter of cinnamon sinking into the oats.

A flush of heat spread across her cheeks. Too many times had her treacherous gaze betrayed her over the last week, ever since that stupid dream. She was being ridiculous. It was just a dream, after all, merely a cruel trick of her subconscious. It didn’t mean anything. It was a fool’s errand to take dreams literally. It wasn’t as though she expected Petunia to burn her at the stake over the holidays. Then again…

“What’s with you?”

Lily nearly upset her porridge as she jolted to attention. Marlene had taken the seat across from her and was observing her with a critical expression.

“Nothing,” said Lily. “Just tired. Didn’t sleep well.” She took a moment to pour a fresh cup of tea then glanced back up at Marlene. “Are you going to Hogsmeade today?”

Marlene shot a dark look at the enchanted ceiling. “In this weather?”

“It’s just a little snow.”

“It’s a blizzard, Lily. No, thank you.”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. It’s gorgeous out there. A proper winter wonderland!”

“It’s wet and freezing, and I have way too much schoolwork to do anyway. I still have three feet to write for my Divination essay.”

Lily spooned a generous helping of sugar into her tea. “I still can’t believe you continued with Divination.”

Marlene looked at her blankly. “Why?”

“It’s just such a silly subject, and you seem so…rational. Serious.”

“Divination has a bad reputation,” said Marlene, reaching for the marmalade jar and unscrewing the lid. “It’s true it’s absolutely not a science, but it’s ancient and it still has merit. I won’t claim to have the Inner Eye, but even a rudimentary understanding of auguries is so valuable. You have no idea how desirable a N.E.W.T. in Divination is in the finance industry.”

“I’m sure I don’t,” agreed Lily. She gave her tea a pensive sip. “Have you done much — er — dream interpretation at N.E.W.T. level?”

“No, we’ve been focused mostly on omens, though we started Aeromancy this week.” Another glance skyward. “Figures.”

“Mmm,” said Lily, who didn’t know what that meant.

Marlene’s expression grew shrewd. “Why? Do you need a dream interpreted?”

“No, I was just curious.”

“What was in the dream?”

“Nothing. I just…I have vivid dreams sometimes, so I was curious on your take, that’s all.”

“Well, there’s plenty of overlap between omens and dream symbolism. Omens often appear in dreams, after all. If you told me what —”

“Forget it, Marlene. I don’t even remember the dream.”

Marlene returned to her toast looking a little disappointed, and Lily trawled a spoon through her porridge feeling a little guilty about that, but she’d been stupid to bring it up in the first place. She could hardly tell Marlene about the details of the dream, and it wasn’t as though she could interrogate her about it without giving the whole thing away. What would she even ask? Does finding an ex-enemy in your bed count as a bad omen? What are the precise psychosexual implications of prawn cocktail? Shagging in the forest…that’s a metaphor, right?

Instead, she said: “Are you sure you don’t want to come to Hogsmeade with me? We    can get a drink at the Three Broomsticks. It’ll be fun.”

“I like having all my toes,” said Marlene. “I anticipate at least one would freeze off if I walked all the way there.”

“What about your Christmas shopping? It’s the last trip before the holidays…”

“I do everything by owl order. It takes so much less time. You should too.”

“Oh,” said Lily. “Okay. Never mind then.”

A pause.

“Is this one of those friendship things?” asked Marlene.

“What?”

“You know, that thing where I don’t really want to do something, but you want me to, so I’m supposed to do the thing even though I really don’t want to? Because we’re friends?”

Lily couldn’t help but smile at that. “No. It’s fine, Marlene.”

Marlene thought about this for a moment. “I would, you know. It’s freezing, I hate snow, and I think Hogsmeade is a big waste of time, I don’t understand why everyone gets so excited to go drink syrupy-sweet butterbeer in the same pub they’ve been going to since they were thirteen, but I’d go. If you wanted me to.”

Lily was oddly touched by the offer, and for a moment she considered taking the other girl up on it, but then she remembered that the main reason she wanted to go to Hogsmeade was to visit Dorcas’s bookshop, and she couldn’t quite imagine Marlene among all those radical tomes. “That’s okay,” she said. “But thanks, Marlene. Stay warm, finish your essay, and do keep me apprised if any omens stumble into my life.”

By the time she was halfway to Hogsmeade, however, Lily had to admit that Marlene had a point. Her mittened fingers were numb and her cheeks raw as she battled the blustery snow that swirled about her. When she at last reached the village, she turned immediately down the little side street that she now knew led to Dorcas and Arabella’s bookshop, but as she approached, she noticed a small sign on the door that read: Temporarily closed — come back later.

Lily stared at the sign for a long, shivering moment, feeling slightly betrayed — which of course was nonsense, but all the same. She’d only trekked all the way to Hogsmeade to return the books Dorcas had lent her, and now that she was here, she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. She headed back to High Street feeling rather glum, and even the fairytale snow upon gabled roofs did little to lift her spirits. Lately, Lily had noticed she seemed prone to these quick slumps of sorrow, but she didn’t know what to do about it.

There was something distinctly sad about wandering Hogsmeade by yourself, but it was her own fault and she knew it. More than one boy had asked her to Hogsmeade this weekend, once the news of Harvey and Sophie’s reunion had made the rounds. Lance Haverthorn had cornered her on her way to Transfiguration last week, and Julian Ewart-Jones had hinted rather heavily that he’d like very much to be her date to Slughorn’s Christmas party.

Lily turned them both down. She didn’t really know why.

The Three Broomsticks glowed like the warmth of a fireplace at the end of High Street, and Lily decided that she would find a cozy corner, finish the letter to Mary she still hadn’t written, and call it a day. She adjusted her scarf to better cover her face and pushed onwards. As she made her way towards the pub, she found herself thinking once again of James. He’d told her he and his friends would be at the Three Broomsticks. He’d invited her to join them for a drink. Well, perhaps that was a generous interpretation. He’d probably just felt sorry for her, since she’d just been dumped and all.

No. That was burst of sorrow speaking, not her rational mind. He was being friendly. Nothing wrong with that. And Remus would be there too. She was friends with Remus. So why shouldn’t she join them for a drink? If it hadn’t been for that stupid dream, she wouldn’t have even thought twice about it.

At last she reached the pub, pushed through the door, and looked around. Apparently everyone else had had the same idea; the Three Broomsticks was packed to capacity. She swept the snow from the folds of her scarf and stood on tiptoe, searching for James — no, for Remus. She spotted neither of them. She did however find Harvey and Sophie cuddling by one of the roaring fires. A brief stab in the gut. But no, it didn’t bother her. She wouldn’t let it bother her. She didn’t care.

She made her way towards the bar and managed to elbow her way close enough to order a butterbeer. As she waited for her order, she turned to skim the crowd for a seat once again and spotted a group of elderly witches abandoning their table near the back, no doubt having decided the crowds of Hogwarts students were not the most enjoyable company. Lily grabbed her butterbeer and made a bee-line for the table, collapsing triumphantly into a seat just before a disappointed group of fourth years arrived. She made rather an ordeal out of peeling off her cloak and hat and scarf and mittens, then draped them over the back of her chair. The table had four chairs, and she felt a bit conspicuous taking up so much space to sit by herself, but never mind. She took an awkward sip of her butterbeer, then reached into her bag to pull out her letter to Mary.

She didn’t know why she was having so much trouble composing her reply, but all her lighthearted attempts at correspondence just felt…empty. Dishonest, even. So she’d tried being honest, and that wasn’t much better. After groping around the bottom of her bag until she found a rather crumpled quill, Lily reread what she’d managed so far.

Dear Mary,

It was so good to hear from you, and I’m so happy that you seem to be doing so well in Boston. I’m jealous, to tell you the truth. If I could apparate internationally, you know I would be there in a minute. Carl sounds wonderful, and I hope you have so much fun on tour.

Things at Hogwarts are about the same as they were last year. We do have a new Defense teacher, and he’s a nightmare. Professor Carter-Myles — though Black and Potter have a bunch of different names for him. Rather less polite. (‘Farter-Biles’ comes to mind…) Professor Dearborn is dearly missed by nearly every student, I think. Or those in Gryffindor do. At least, I miss him.

I miss you, too. More than I can put into words. Hogwarts just isn’t the same without you, Mary. So much has happened this year, but none of it seems very interesting, since you weren’t there to share it with me. I’m getting sappy, I know. But it’s been hard without you. This year has been really hard.

Lily sighed, feeling frustrated with herself. Her reply was coming off exactly how she didn’t want it to. Mopey and pathetic. She took another sip of her butterbeer than dove back in.

It’s not all doom and gloom though. Would you believe it, but Marlene and I have almost become friends?  Or, whatever her version of friendship is. Wild, right? I know, you probably think I’ve lost my mind, but I’ve grown fond of her, in a weird way. Black and Potter too have been…

She bit her lip as she struggled for the right word then scribbled:

…nicer this year. I’m not really sure what to make of it, but it’s better than the alternative, I suppose. Anyway, it’s a snowy day in Hogsmeade and I’ve got to get this letter in the post. I’ll write again soon, and hopefully I’ll have more interesting things to say. Until then, I shall live vicariously through you and your rock band.

Lots of love,

Lily

It wasn’t much of a letter, but it would have to do. She wondered if Mary would understand just how unhappy Lily really was. Mary had always been able to see right through her…

“Evans!” said a voice, interrupting these morose musings. “You’re looking…seasonally depressed.” Lily glanced up from her letter to see Sirius Black looming above her, a dust of fresh snow melting upon his robes in the warmth of the pub’s many fires. Evidently, he’d just arrived. “Merlin, please tell me you didn’t bring homework to Hogsmeade.”

“No,” said Lily, trying to ignore the slight flutter in her chest as she noticed James making his way towards them through the thickets of elbows that crowded the pub; Remus plowed along a few steps behind. “I’m writing a letter to Mary.”

“Old Macdonald!” said Sirius happily. “How’s she doing in her exile?”

“Quite well by the sound of it. She’s going on tour with a rock band.” This was a slight exaggeration, but Lily felt she owed it to her friend to make her sound as cool as possible to Sirius Black.

“No kidding,” said Sirius, looking suitably impressed. “Maybe we should all go to America. Tell her I say hi.”

“I will,” said Lily. Mary would get a kick out that for she, like every other girl in school, carried a torch for Hogwarts’ heartthrob. At the bottom of the letter, Lily scrawled: P.S. Sirius Black says hi. Then she folded up the parchment and stuffed the letter away, just as James and Remus caught up. Sirius dropped himself into one of the chairs at Lily’s table. “Mind if we join you? Awfully crowded in here. Or — were you saving these seats for someone?”

“No,” said Lily quickly. “I just popped in to warm up a bit.”

“Brutal out there, isn’t it?” said James cheerfully. Lily cast him a quick smile before looking hastily away to the safety of Remus, who was tugging off his hat with a rather sullen expression, cheeks pink and raw from the swirling storm outside.

“Brutal,” snorted Remus, unwinding the scarf from his neck. “So says the boy who just forced me to trek all the way here in a bloody blizzard. ‘It’ll be fun,’ he says. ‘The wind’s barely blowing,’ he says.”

Lily glanced over at the soft patterns of snow that glistened across the pub’s windowpanes. “I think it’s all rather pretty.”

“Oh, that’s right,” said Remus, evidently unimpressed by the sparkle of winter. “I forgot. You're another snow apologist, just like James.”

James shrugged off his snow-dampened cloak and draped it over the back of his chair before settling in. “One day, Remus, you’re going to get bored of being so grumpy.”

“I doubt that. I quite enjoy it.”

“Well, at least take off your cloak, stay a while.”

“I’m still frozen,” complained Remus. “Let me thaw first.”

“I’ll go order us a round, shall I?” said Sirius, who also had not yet bothered to remove his cloak.

“I’ll get ‘em,” offered James at once, rising from his seat, but Sirius pushed him back down by the shoulders.

“No,” he said. “I am luxuriating in being fiscally irresponsible again. Drinks are on me. Moony, give me a hand?”

And then the other boys were gone, leaving James at the table with Lily. Alone.

“Nice day for a blizzard,” said James conversationally as he pulled the gloves from his fingers and stuffed them in the pockets of his cloak.

“It’s beautiful from in here,” said Lily. “Though far more crowded than I expected.”

“The weather’s got everyone in the holiday spirit.”

“That, or they’ve put off their shopping to the last minute, like me.”

“Also an option. I don’t doubt a good, fortifying drink is necessary before facing the hordes of holiday shoppers.”

He seemed perfectly relaxed, which annoyed her. Her own heart was hammering against her ribcage, her insides fluttering about as though a snowstorm had sprung up in there too and was blowing everything about. And there was no reason for it, she chastised herself. There was no reason for this sudden awkwardness around him. It wasn’t as though they’d never been alone together. Christ, they had Potions together twice a week. Just because she’d had one slightly explicit dream didn’t mean she had to go all…all…all silly around him.

“—though I for one am quite ready for all the hustle and bustle of the holidays,” James was still prattling on. “Nothing compares, Christmas. Most magical time of the year, and all that. I’ll never understand people who don’t like it.”

“Who doesn’t like it?”

“Sirius, for one. I suppose he has his reasons, but even so. D’you know he threatened to hex me this morning for singing carols? Granted, it was a bit early in the morning, but come on. Snow! The occasion called for it. Besides, Remus says I have a lovely singing voice if you don’t mind the sound of sheep bleating…”

Lily grinned. “Which carol? That will determine the severity of your crime.”

“God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs,” said James proudly.

“God Rest Ye…what?”

“Merry Hippogriffs.”

“I…don’t think that’s how the song goes.”

“It is when you’re eight and obsessed with hippogriffs so your dad puts together a whole hippogriff-themed Christmas that year.”

“That is adorable.”

“Thank you. I’m glad someone appreciates the creativity. Unlike Sirius, who threatened to give me scales.”

“So, are you going to Slughorn’s Christmas party?” She didn’t know why she asked. It just sort of slipped out.

“As a matter of fact,” said James pleasantly, “I wasn’t invited.”

“Oh. I just assumed…”

That someone would ask you, was the rest of that sentence, but James finished it for her: “…that I’d be invited because I’m a pure-blood knob?”

“I didn’t say that.”

James laughed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m teasing, Evans. No, it’s Sirius old Sluggy is after, stubborn bastard.”

“Which one is the stubborn bastard, Sirius or Slughorn?”

Another laugh. Why did his laughter suddenly seem to cause the blizzard in her stomach to swirl ever more tempestuously?

“Both, to tell you the truth,” said James. “But Sirius will win. He’s the stubbornest, bastardest of them all.” He said this with such obvious fondness that Lily couldn’t help but smile. James glanced towards the bar. “Taking them rather a long time.”

“It is very busy.”

“Yeah.” James craned his neck another moment, searching for his friends, then he returned his attention to Lily. “So, what are your holiday plans? Going home?”

Before Lily could answer, they were interrupted by the landlady, a very attractive woman named Madam Rosmerta, who Lily knew all the boys at school affectionately (and occasionally lasciviously) called ‘Rosie’. She stood before them holding a tray upon which two foaming tankards were balanced. “Here we are, loves,” she said brightly, setting the tankards down on the table before James and Lily. “Two butterbeers.”

“Er — sorry,” said James. “We didn’t order these.”

“Your friends did,” said Rosmerta.

James froze. “What?”

“Black and…” Rosmerta twirled a finger as she sought a name. “The grumpy one? They said they had to leave but asked me to send over two butterbeers along with their compliments. So!” She gestured at the table. “Two butterbeers. I tend to avoid Black’s compliments, so you can collect those on your own time.” And with a wink, she bustled off towards another group of warlocks flagging her down.

Lily and James both sat stock-still, the easy camaraderie of a few moments ago lost to the awkward display of two accusatory butterbeers sitting untouched on the table before them. At last, James muttered, more to himself than to Lily: “Those bastards.”

He looked absolutely mortified. It took Lily a moment to catch up with what had just happened — what was happening — but once she did, mortification found her as well. Black had set them up, making a show of finding Lily in the pub, of pretending like he wanted to sit with her, then ditching them so James would be left alone with her in a decidedly date-like environment. He’d done it as some sort of…some sort of prank on his mate. A laugh. He likes to take the piss, James had said last week.

Which meant that the idea of a date with Lily was enough of an in-joke between the boys that Sirius would’ve anticipated how embarrassed James would be. Oh, god. She would never stop being the butt of their jokes.

But Remus wouldn’t do that, she thought, grappling at the idea like fingers over the edge of a cliff. But he had. He had done exactly that. She felt a sharp stab of betrayal at the thought. No doubt Black had bullied him into it, but surely Remus would’ve recognized what an uncomfortable position it put Lily in. Surely he would’ve cared a little.

But Remus said James fancied me, argued a petulant little voice in the back of her head. So maybe the butt of joke isn’t me, exactly. Maybe — no. She stopped herself before she could get lost again down that rabbit hole. Don’t even go there. He didn’t fancy her. He certainly didn’t look like he fancied her right now. He looked nauseated by the whole situation. Remus had been wrong, when he’d said James fancied her. He’d been wrong, or — or drunk, or Lily had simply misunderstood and he hadn’t really said it at all — and none of that mattered, because what it all came down to was that once again, she was thirteen and humiliated, listening to the boy she fancied announce that he wouldn’t date her if she were the last girl in school.

“Look,” said James uncomfortably from across the table. “I’m really sorry about this. I didn’t know they were — I wasn’t trying to — I’m going to kill Sirius.”

“It’s fine,” said Lily with a light little laugh, and she was pleased to hear how cool and unconcerned she came across. “Like I said, I only came in to warm up a bit. Don’t feel like you have to stick around on my behalf. I’ve got to run some errands anyway.”

James looked like he wanted to say something but stopped himself. After a moment of apparent self-repression, he settled on: “Shame to let a perfectly good butterbeer go to waste.”

“I’ve already had one,” said Lily, gesturing at the nearly-empty tankard she’d acquired before the boys’ arrival. There was little more than froth left inside, but she took an indifferent sip all the same — which she promptly regretted because she had to wipe the foam from her lips, which was impossible to do surreptitiously when James was staring at her like that.

He looked miserable. “This really wasn’t—” he began again, but before he could finish, Lily glimpsed across the pub two familiar girls seeking out seats, and her heart lifted at the sight of these saviors.

“Aisha!” she called as brightly as she could manage. “Florence! Over here.”

The two girls spotted her and crossed the pub to join. “You have seats,” said Aisha. “A miracle!”

“Are you two…here together?” asked Florence with a sideways glance at Lily.

“No,” said James quickly, before Lily could reply the same. A little too quickly.

“Black and Lupin went to get more drinks,” said Lily. Technically, this was true. “I think they got lost on the way. I was just getting ready to leave, but you should join us. They can find their own chairs when they get back.”

Aisha and Florence settled in, happy to find a spot to sit, and Lily relaxed at least a little with the buffer of company. James, however, still looked troubled. She could feel the flicker of his gaze upon her, but she ignored it steadily.

“We were just talking about Slughorn’s Christmas party,” said Florence. This time, her sideways glance went to James.

“What a coincidence. We were too.” Lily’s voice was almost abrasively bright. She wondered if James noticed.

“Florence is trying to convince me it’s actually fun,” said Aisha.

“It is! Tell her, Lily.”

Lily had never actually been to a Slug Club Christmas party, as Professor Slughorn hadn’t held one last year, and she told them as much.

“Yes, but you’ve been to other parties, and they’re fun.”

“Depends on the guest list,” said Lily, thinking of Lucius Malfoy.

If Florence followed that train of thought, she did not show it. Instead she rolled her eyes in a good-natured sort of way and said, “You’re no help. Are you going, James?”

Though Lily had been pointedly avoiding looking at James since Florence and Aisha’s timely arrival, she could not help but sneak a glance at this. The next few moments played out before her like a film reel she couldn’t pause: James admitting he hadn’t been invited, Florence insisting he go with her, James and Florence at the party, enthralled with each other, fitting in oh-so-perfectly among their pure-blood peers, a dance in slow motion, a tender kiss, a wedding, a big house in the country, two kids and a dog…

God. She was unhinged.

“I didn’t have any grand plans to,” began James, but before he could finish and Lily’s nightmare reel could unfurl, they were interrupted yet again — this time, by a drawling voice from a previous life.

“Well, well, look what the cat dragged in.”

“Phin!”

The thud of a tankard, the scrape of a chair, and Florence was on her feet, arms thrown around the neck of one Phineas Phillips, last year’s Captain of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team and close friend of Florence and — briefly — Lily.

“Good to see you, Lily,” said Phineas, without a trace of resentment or acknowledgement that the last time they’d spoken had been during the argument that ultimately led to Lily breaking up with —

“And Anson’s here too!” cried Florence. “Oh, how lovely!”

And indeed, he was. Lovely. Lily’s ex-boyfriend came loping over to the table with a firewhiskey in hand, possibly even more fit than he’d been when she’d dated him last year. For a moment, all Lily could do was stare. He’d always been handsome, with those blue eyes and that swoop of barley hair, but now he seemed…older. More mature. More…muscly.

“Hey, Lily,” said Anson with a warm smile that would melt any snow.

“Hey yourself,” said Lily.

From across the table, Florence cast a quick, calculating look between Lily and Anson, and Lily knew at once what she was up to. Florence had always wanted the two of them to overcome their differences and get back together. “Well don’t just hover over us, come on, let’s find you some chairs. I’m sure we can beg some from—”

“Don’t bother,” said Phineas, and with a graceful swish of his wand, he produced two wooden chairs which they shuffled into the mix. Lily wasn’t quite sure how Florence had managed it, but somehow Phineas had been wedged between Aisha and Florence and Anson had been seated directly beside Lily. Across the table, Florence inched her chair a little closer to James who — was Lily imagining it? — looked distinctly unhappy with the new arrivals.

A strange sense of nostalgia settled over Lily as her gaze flickered between Anson and Phineas. When Lily had dated Anson, she’d also been absorbed into his social group, and in a sense, it had been one of the happiest times of her life. She missed those days, laughing with Florence and Phin at Slug Club parties, whispering with Anson at dinners, always being on the right side of the inside jokes. Yes, she missed it. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming to Hogsmeade!” Florence complained. Both Anson and Phineas had graduated last year, and Lily knew that Florence missed them dreadfully.

“Thought it’d be a fun surprise,” said Phineas. “First time in a long time Anson and I have both had the same weekend off, so we thought we’d grab a drink at one of the old haunts. See what the Hogwarts youth are up to these days.”

“And nothing’s changed, clearly,” laughed Florence.

“That’s part of the charm,” said Anson.

“You remember Aisha Collins, of course — and James Potter?”

“Our Gryffindor Quidditch adversaries,” said Phineas. “How could I ever forget? We lost the House Cup thanks to these two. You’re fraternizing with the enemy, Flor.” He said this without even a shade of unpleasantness, as though the world in which school Quidditch matches mattered at all was very far off, and rather sweet in its recollection.

Florence swatted at Phineas’s shoulder. “Oh, stop. I have missed your beastliness.”

“It was an impressive win,” said Anson with a gracious nod towards James. She wondered if he remembered that James had once rudely interrupted them snogging in the library. She rather doubted that he did. “Nearly cost me my contract with Puddlemere, losing the final, but I’ve forgiven you.”

James, who’d been rather quiet and sulky since the older boys’ arrival, sat up a bit straighter at this. “Puddlemere?” he demanded. “You got recruited to Puddlemere United?”

“Just as a reserve Seeker for now,” said Anson, “but I’m hoping in a few years, I’ll actually get to play.”

Florence beamed. “And Phin’s joined the Wasps, isn’t that right?”

The conversation moved in a decidedly sport-related direction after that. Neither James nor Aisha seemed able to help themselves from asking questions about the professional Quidditch team experience, and both Anson and Phineas seemed to enjoy having an audience.

Lily’s attention drifted from the details of the conversation, to the murky fog of what might have been. Would she and Anson have stayed together, if they hadn’t had that one fight? Would he be meeting her on the weekends, swooping in and kissing her in the pub like something from a romance novel? Would she still be the cool girl, the one with all the friends, with the professional Quidditch player boyfriend that all the other girls envied? It was shallow, perhaps, but it was an enticing fantasy all the same.

Probably they would have found another reason to break up. Probably long distance would’ve been too difficult once he graduated and she remained interred in the castle. But now she’d never know, because she hadn’t been forgiving. She’d never even given him the chance to learn or grow…

“How have you been, Lily?” said Anson quietly from beside her. “It’s been a while.”

“I’m good,” Lily lied. “Really good. Keeping busy. You know, N.E.W.T.s.”

“I don’t miss those,” smiled Anson. For half a delirious moment, she imagined that he’d just been wondering the same thing. Had time and distance softened the jagged edges that had separated them?

“And you?” said Lily. “How have you been? I mean, obviously you’ve been busy with Quidditch…”

“Yeah, life’s good. Exhausting, but good.”

“Good.”

“You know,” said Anson, leaning in closer. “I’d love to have a chance to catch up properly sometime.”

“Definitely,” breathed Lily.

Anson smiled again, and for a moment, she thought he would kiss her, or stroke her cheek like he used to do. His breath was warm against her skin…but then Phineas called across the table. “Oi, Nott. Is it true Puddlemere got an order for new Comet 220s for the whole team?”

“I can’t disclose that,” said Anson amiably, and he leaned back in his chair. Lily took what she hoped was an inconspicuous, shuddering breath. She stared at her hands for a moment to compose herself, but when she looked up, James’s eyes were upon her. He looked quickly away.

“I’m trying to get my hands on one,” complained Phineas, “but it’s practically impossible.”

“They’re not supposed to be released until spring, right?’ asked Aisha.

“Yeah, but I’ve heard some teams are getting early orders, for publicity purposes, you know. Like Puddlemere, you poncy bastards.”

“No comment,” smiled Anson.

“I’m on the bloody waitlist,” moaned James. “For all the good that’ll do me.”

“Yeah, you’ll be waiting a while,” said Phineas. “Worth it though. Naught to sixty in ten seconds…”

And once again the conversation swerved in a direction Lily had little interest to follow. She knew nothing about broomsticks so she just sat quietly and listened. Florence and James, however, had a good long debate on the aerodynamics of different handles or something. Aisha argued with Phineas about whether or not Cleansweeps would ever be relevant again. Anson had a surprising amount to say about turbulence.

Time was a funny thing. Once upon a time, these people — Anson, Phineas, Florence — had felt like home. She’d felt part of the inner circle, sitting among them. But now Lily once again felt like an outsider. She had nothing to contribute to the conversation. Nothing to say.

“Well, I’ve got to get going,” she announced a little too suddenly. “It was really nice to see you, Phin. Anson.” And hardly pausing for goodbyes, she grabbed her cloak off the back of her chair and bustled back out into the cold. Shivering, she pulled on the cloak, tugged on her knitted hat, wrapped a scarf around her neck. She gave one last lingering look at the boisterous pub before turning to leave. The snow had slowed from a tempestuous billow to a gentle but steady fall. She was only a few steps away, when —

“Hey.”

Lily turned. James was standing there, his cloak thrown over one arm, the door to the pub swinging shut after him.

“What?” she said, rather more harshly than she meant to.

“I  wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

James rubbed his neck, shivering slightly as he stood cloakless in the cold. “Well, you left in a bit of a hurry—”

Lily gave a flippant shrug. “Like I said, I have errands to run, and homework to do. I don’t want to be stuck in Hogsmeade all day.”

“—and I figured seeing your ex-boyfriend out of the blue probably wasn’t fun.”

That stopped her. Lily bit her lip. “Yeah. I could’ve done without that.”

James gave into the cold and shrugged on his cloak. “Well,” he said while fastening the buttons, “for what it’s worth, I thought he looked awful. Just — old and depressed and ugly. And, you know, so what if he’s a professional Quidditch player now? I mean, Puddlemere…it isn’t…I mean…it’s not that good of a team…”

Lily considered the boy before her with a critical eye. “That was physically painful for you to say, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” admitted James immediately. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

And Lily started laughing. He always, always did that. He always made her laugh in exactly the moments she was convinced laughing was the last thing she wanted to do. The sound of her laughter seemed to allow James to relax for the first time since Sirius and Remus had pulled their little vanishing act, and a grin slid across his face.

“That’s sweet,” said Lily, “but you needn’t pain yourself on my behalf. I’m fine.”

“Well, good. Because like I said: old and ugly.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Yeah.”

Lily glanced back at the pub. Florence would be missing him, she was sure. “Well, I — I’ve got to go run my errands.”

“Right.” Neither of them moved. “Want some company?” offered James, and Lily stared at him. He shrugged. “My friends ditched me, remember?”

“Wouldn’t you rather stay warm inside the pub?”

“Nah,” said James. “I like the snow.” He pulled a hat down over his ears, slipped on his gloves, threw a scarf around his neck, and Lily realized he really did not have any intention of returning to the the Three Broomsticks. He’d rather be cold and miserable out here. With her.

Some light, happy bubble inside her expanded so quickly she thought she might float away, and though perhaps she ought to have felt ashamed of herself — Florence would be so sad — she couldn’t muster it. There, for a moment in the glistening snowfall, she felt almost giddy.

They were about halfway down High Street, feet plodding through drifts of snow, when James said: “Oi. Look who it is. Everyone’s favorite professor.”

Lily looked: Professor Carter-Myles was stalking his way down the street, far ahead of them, a bundle of packages under one arm. When she looked back to James, she found him packing a snowball in one gloved hand. “Dare me to hit him?”

“No way can you hit him all the way from here,” scoffed Lily.

“I will take that as a dare,” said James. “I may not play for Puddlemere — yet — but I am a House Cup-winning Chaser, thank you very much.”

“Let’s see it then.”

James flashed her a grin, gave the snowball an extra pat, then sent it hurling down High Street. The snowball exploded with a glittering thlump against Carter-Myles’ back. Bullseye. The professor started and turned on his heel, spluttering with fury as he searched for his assailant.

“Get down, get down!” hissed Lily through her laughter, and she grabbed James by the arm and dragged him into one of the alleys between shops so that Carter-Myles wouldn’t see them. James was also laughing, and he looked delighted with himself — or perhaps with Lily. She couldn’t quite say.

He leaned down and packed another snowball. “Your turn,” he said, tossing it to her.

Lily caught the snowball and considered it; the ice seeped through her mittens. It was playing with fire, this, but she inexplicably found that she wanted to impress James, so she took a careful step forward and peered around the edge of the wall that shielded them from their professor’s wrath. Carter-Myles had given up the search and continued on his path.

Lily shook her head. “There’s no way I can throw it that far.”

“You’ve got to try, Evans.”

She glanced back at James, at the faint quirk at the corner of his lips. Then, after half a second’s consideration, she pulled out her wand, tossed the snowball into the air as though playing a game of catch, cast a quick duplication spell as it fell, and with a purposeful thrust of her wand, she sent three snowballs plummeting towards Professor Carter-Myles. They struck him on the back in quick succession; their professor’s furious oath echoed across the soft snowfall.

James was howling with barely-muffled laughter in the alley. “It was a good shot,” he told her when at last he composed himself. “Though you cheated.”

Lily rolled her eyes and stowed away her wand. “We can’t all have Quidditch arms,” she told him sternly. Oh, god. Why had she said that? She didn’t give him a chance to respond, but rather pushed past him through the alley. “Come on. Through here, before he tries to track us down.”

The alleyway lead them out to one of the little side streets lined by crammed-together shops with glittering windows. Once they were convinced Carter-Myles wasn’t following them, the pair slowed their pace.

“So, what are these errands you keep fussing over?” asked James.

“Well, I’ve got to stop at the post office so I can mail this letter to Mary.”

James frowned. “Why not just post it from the Owlery back at school?”

“You can’t use school owls for international post. I don’t have my own owl,” she added with a faint touch of embarrassment. Plenty of people didn’t have their own owls, but James Potter would never know the inconvenience of not having everything at his fingertips, and his look of bafflement stung ever so slightly.

“Oh,” he said. “You’re welcome to use my owl whenever you want. That way you don’t have to schedule your correspondence with Mary around Hogsmeade weekends.”

Lily blinked. “It’s a really long flight, Hogwarts to America…”

“Poor Homer probably gets bored only ever flying from school to home. He’d enjoy it. A chance to stretch the wings. If you want, we can stop by the Owlery on the way back, and I’ll show you which owl’s mine. It’d save you the postage anyway.”

That was a difficult offer to refuse. International postage was expensive. “Thanks,” muttered Lily. “That’s…really kind of you.”

“It’s nothing,” shrugged James.

“I do have some Christmas shopping to do too,” she said, because she did in fact need to do some shopping, and because she felt she needed another errand to excuse her rushing out of the pub like that, and because…maybe just a little…she wanted a reason not to rush back to the castle. “I can’t for the life of me figure out what to get my sister.”

“The sister who hates magic?”

“Correct.”

“I see the issue.” James thought for a moment. “Trick flowers from Zonko’s?”

Lily snorted. “Yeah, that’d go well.”

“Oh, you wanted her to like the gift? Sorry, read the room wrong. But who doesn’t want a bouquet of daisies that turns into a budgerigar? Gift for the whole family, that.”

“She would murder me. And then she’d overcome all her qualms with magic just to learn necromancy so she could murder me again.”

“She sounds like a treat, your sister.”

“You have no idea.”

They strolled on. James walked with his hands in his pockets, peering happily into various shopfronts and offering inane gift ideas that made her laugh at the absurdity. She couldn’t help herself. It was remarkably easy to talk to him out here, away from the judgmental eyes of everyone else, away from the pressure of facing what they were or weren’t.

“Oh, here we go,” said James, pausing to examine the window display of the salon, all lit up with twinkly fairy lights. “Does your sister enjoy shellacking her hair to her skull? Because if so, have I got the gift idea for you.”

Lily followed his gaze to see an elaborate display: Fresh garlands hung around a stack of Sleekeazy tins, arranged in the conical shape of a Christmas tree. A banner hung above with sparkling letters that read: Have Yourself a Hairy Little Christmas!

“If you’d reconsider giving your sister a gift she’ll like, I can personally vouch for Sleekeazy’s as a wonderful torture device,” said James. “Half my childhood was spent dodging my mum with a tin of that stuff in her hand.”

“It was your dad’s invention, right?”

“Yeah. He sold the company long ago, but it was his patent. Family trait, the hair.” He paused, and turned away from the window to look at her, a faint line of surprise etched in his brow. “How’d you know that?”

Lily felt a faint flush across her cheeks. “All anyone talks about in the Slug Club is everyone else’s fathers.”

“Charming.”

“Yeah. Mine never seems to come up much, oddly enough.”

“What’s your dad do?”

“Well, he’s a Muggle.”

James raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize that was a career. Must’ve missed the pamphlet on that one.”

“I just meant—” Lily hesitated. No one had ever bothered to ask about her family, once they’d realized she was Muggle-born. The fact that her parents were Muggles was everything they needed to know. But James was looking at her with an expression of such genuine curiosity that she found herself answering. “He’s a vicar, actually. In the church.”

“No kidding,” said James. “What’s that like?”

“I dunno. Normal to me, I’ve never known anything else. There was always a lot of God in the Evans household. Christmas is actually a very busy time at home, all the services…”

And as she detailed the very boring role of growing up as a vicar’s daughter, James listened with rapt attention, as though her Muggle father was the most interesting thing he’d heard about all week. All of a sudden, she felt exposed. Naked, almost. She never talked about home or family at school. Not with anyone except Mary…and Severus, back when they’d still been talking. But now she’d told James about her mum, her sister, and her dad. It felt like too much.

“Anyway,” she said quickly. “I wanted to see if that bookstore over there was open yet. It was closed earlier.”

“Let’s do it,” said James.

Another hesitation from Lily. “You don’t have to come in, if you don’t want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to?”

“I don’t know…you might get bored…”

He gave her a sardonic look. “This will shock you, but I do know how to read, Evans.”

“I just meant…” she petered off. As they crossed the snow-covered cobbles, she saw his gaze land on the banner in the window that read: MUGGLE RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS. The ‘temporarily closed’ sign on the door was gone.

“Oh, it’s a Muggle bookstore,” he said. “I didn’t know we had one of those here.”

“It’s new,” Lily mumbled.

“Cool,” said James. Lily waited for some further comment, but James just held open the door for her then followed her in, peering around the shop with the same interested expression he’d worn as he’d asked about her father.

The shop was as empty as the first time Lily had entered it, the air heavy and quiet in that peculiar way that bookstores often had. The tortoiseshell cat was asleep in the window which, unlike the rest of the windows in Hogsmeade, had not been decked out in Christmas swag. A fluffy gray cat came strolling from the stacks to greet them.

“Cats!” said James happily, bending down to scratch the obliging feline’s ear. “I love cats.”

Lily left him to it, muttering an excuse and heading towards the back of the stacks, pausing only to look around the shelves for Dorcas or Arabella, but neither of them appeared to be in the shop. They must be somewhere though, since they’d taken down the sign.

“Hello?” she called, and when no reply came, she headed towards the beaded curtain that led to what she assumed was the back room. “Excuse me?” she tried again.

No response.

After a moment’s hesitation, she pushed through the beaded curtain and found herself in a rather cramped kitchen. A large fireplace sat beside what appeared to be an antique cooker. A narrow staircase led up to a closed door, and across from the fireplace an armchair was pushed into the corner, rather worn and scratched, undoubtedly from all the cats. Slumped in the armchair, still dressed in a traveling cloak, her head lolling back against the cushion, was Dorcas. She was fast asleep.

Feeling like an intruder, Lily was about to back away when Mr. Mittens, the orange cat she’d met before, slunk between her heels and leapt upon the woman’s lap. Dorcas awoke with a start.

“Sorry,” said Lily at once. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to — I just wanted to return your books, but I didn’t know—”

Dorcas blinked at her; recognition seemed to take a few moments to arrive. “Right,” she said. “Lily, wasn’t it?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

“No need to apologize,” said Dorcas, her voice still somewhat gravely with sleep. “I’m the one who fell asleep on the job. Bel’s run to the apothecary for me, I gather she’s not back yet.” She winced as she pushed herself up.

“Are you all right?” asked Lily.

“Oh, perfectly fine. Just had a bit of a late night last night, that’s all.” Dorcas flicked her wand and sent a kettle onto the fire. “Can I offer you a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you, that’s okay. My friend is out in the shop…I shouldn’t stay long.”

“Two customers at once!” said Dorcas. “That must be some sort of record.”

Lily laughed. “I just wanted to return your books, and say thank you.”

“What did you think of Daggert-Smith and Adeyemi?”

“I’ve never read anything like it,” Lily admitted. “I enjoyed the history lesson from Daggert-Smith, but with Adeyemi — The Muggle-born Revolution — it was amazing. It all felt so…so obvious, even though I’d never heard it before. Because no one ever talks about these things. About…about the Muggle-born experience. I’ve never seen anyone put it to words before.”

“And that’s power,” nodded Dorcas. “There’s power in words, Lily. There’s power in naming things.”

The kettle whistled. Dorcas made a move as though to pour the tea, but groaned slightly and fell back in her seat. “Would you mind…?”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Lily hurried over to the kettle.

“There’s tea in that pot there.”

As Lily assembled the teapot, she cast a surreptitious glance back at Dorcas. She moved as though she’d just been beaten up. She wondered if it had anything to with the shop being closed this morning, or Bel running to the apothecary. She wanted to ask, but she didn’t even know the woman, and it wasn’t any of her business, anyway. So instead she stood quietly as the tea brewed, gazing with interest at the photos on the fire’s mantel. Most of them were of Dorcas and Arabella, along with friends or possibly family.

One photo in particular caught her eye: It showed a swarm of protestors marching through the streets of Diagon Alley, carrying signs and posters. The only legible sign read: SQUIB RIGHTS, RIGHT NOW! At the front of the throng, four friends walked with arms linked. On the far right was clearly a much younger Dorcas, dressed in a mini-skirt and platform boots. Arabella marched to her left, a fierce look on her face. Beside her stood a young man with reddish-brown curls whose bright smile seemed aimed directly for the camera. And next to him was another man, somewhat taller, very handsome, with an elegant sweep of brown hair. He looked not at the camera but at the man with whose arm he was linked. Still, Lily recognized him immediately.

“Is that Professor Dearborn?” she demanded, shocked.

Dorcas looked up at her in surprise. “Professor…?” Then she laughed. “I always forget that idiot was a professor.”

“So it is him!” said Lily excitedly. “You know him?”

“Caradoc? Yes, we were at school together. He was a few years behind me. Also in Ravenclaw. Tell me, what sort of teacher was he? I cannot imagine it.”

“He was the best teacher I ever had.”

“High praise,” said Dorcas, raising her eyebrows. Clearly, that wasn’t what she expected to hear.

“He gave me a pack of cigarettes once,” Lily added, smiling at the memory.

Dorcas laughed. “That sounds more like Caradoc. He always had trouble with authority. I reckon that’s why he was fired?”

“He quit.”

“Mmm.”

Lily remembered the tea and poured a generous portion into one of the mugs from a nearby shelf. She handed it to Dorcas who accepted the drink gratefully. Lily turned back to the photo, fascinated. “This was during the Squib Rights protests of the sixties?”

“Yes, that’s when I really got to know Caradoc. Him and…” she trailed off and took a sip of tea to cover.

“Samuel Cornfoot,” Lily answered for her, for she had now recognized the bright smile of the man with the reddish-brown curls. She’d seen him once before, giving a speech in Diagon Alley. That had been mere months before he’d been tried and convicted for assassinating a ministry official. “That’s him in the photo, right?”

Dorcas’s expression dimmed at once. “Was,” she said darkly. “He died. In Azkaban.” She muttered the next bit almost to herself: “Bel says I should take the photo down, but…”

“But he was innocent,” said Lily softly.

Dorcas seemed to come back from wherever she’d gone, and she stared at Lily as though she’d never seen anything quite like her. “How could you possibly know that?”

“I don’t know it, but Professor Dearborn believed it, and I believe him.”

“Well, for once I suspect Caradoc was right about something. Sam could never have hurt a fly. Bright young idealist, he was. Pure sunshine. Caradoc was always angry at everyone and everything, but Sam…” Dorcas shook her head. “That’s ancient history, and Bel’s probably right. It’s not wise keeping photos of convicted murderers on your mantle.”

She looked unbearably sad for a moment, but then she stood with a wince and a groan, walked to the fireplace, and placed the framed photo of Samuel Cornfoot and Caradoc Dearborn face down on the mantle.

Lily did not stay long after that. Despite Dorcas’s insistence that she was perfectly fine, it was clear she was exhausted and Lily felt guilty for waking her up. Besides, she had not forgotten that James Potter (of all people!) was still out in the shop, and all the cats in the world would not entertain him forever. Or perhaps he’d already gotten bored and left.

But when she slipped through the beaded curtain, she spotted him perched on a chair near the front of the shop, flipping through Bad Blood: The Politics of Purity. She watched him for a moment, heat rising in her cheeks as she realized what was so familiar about the scene. That stupid, stupid dream. It wasn’t a premonition. It wasn’t an omen. It was just a stupid coincidence, that was all. It didn’t mean anything.

“Oh, there you are,” said James brightly, setting the book aside as he noticed her arrival. “I was beginning to think you’d ditched me too.”

The walk back from Hogsmeade was much more pleasant than the way there. For one thing, the wind had slowed to a gentle hum, and the snowy landscape, though frigid, was breathtaking to behold. For another thing, she had company. She and James chatted the whole way back, and it was easy. It was lovely.

“Still want to pop by the Owlery?” he offered as they approached the castle gates. Lily had nearly forgotten her letter to Mary, but agreed that yes, she would like that very much, and so they began the trek up the many stairs.

“Evans,” said James, about half way there. “Can I ask you a question? A nosy, personal question I’ve got not right to ask?”

Lily was reminded of Florence asking her about James in just the same way. “How can I say no to that?”

“What happened between you and Nott?”

Lily blinked. Whatever she’d expected him to ask, it hadn’t been that. “What?”

“I know it’s none of my business, it’s just…he still seemed pretty into you today.”

“I doubt that.”

“Are you kidding? He stared at you the whole time we were in there, Evans. I — forget it. Sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“We had a fight last year, that’s all. He said something I deemed unforgivable, and I…didn’t forgive him. Kind of my M.O.”

James frowned. “What did he say?”

Lily raised an eyebrow.

“Right, sorry. Nosy and none of my business. I just want to make sure I don’t say the same thing.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I’ve said some impressively stupid things in my time, so…”

Lily considered telling him everything — something about his stupid face made her want to tell him everything — but she and Anson had broken up because he’d said he didn’t believe werewolves were people worthy of basic human rights. Admitting that would be as good as admitting that she knew about Remus — or thought she knew — and for some reason it felt like a betrayal to tell James before she’d told Remus himself.

So she just said: “You wouldn’t say this.”

“Hmm.” James seemed unconvinced. “Well, I’ll take your word for it.”

They reached the Owlery, and a handsome eagle owl flew down to greet them at once. “Hello, Homer,” said James happily. “Having a nice nap? Fancy some flying? Bit of sightseeing in the states?”

“You’re sure you don’t mind?” asked Lily, pulling the letter from her pocket.

“Of course not. Like I said, the poor bird gets bored.”

“Okay. Thanks again. I’m just going to take a moment to finish up my letter. No need to wait on me.”

“Right,” said James. “See you around, Evans.”

And he was gone.

Lily took a deep breath and read through her letter to Mary once, then twice. Finally, before she could change her mind, she pulled out a quill and scribbled a confession at the bottom: P.P.S: I think I fancy James Potter again. Help???

Then she stuffed the letter into an envelope, fastened it to the obliging Homer’s talon, and watched as the owl took off into the snowy sky.

Oh, god.

A long exhale. She turned back from the window — and found herself face to face with James Potter once more.

“God,” she gasped.

“Sorry,” he said at once. “Didn’t meant to startle you. I just — there was one more thing I wanted to say.”

Lily stared at him. He stood before her, pink-cheeked and a bit out of breath, as though he’d changed his mind halfway down the stairs and jogged back up. Outside the Owlery, the wind had picked up again, and it blew swirls of snow through the open windows of the stone tower.

It had been a whimsical impulse, jotting that little P.P.S. at the end of her letter and sending it off into the ether. The truth was that Mary felt so far from her, America barely a real place, her life unimaginable, that in the moment admitting her crush seemed like almost nothing. A whisper to no one. But writing down her confession had made it real, and she was forced to face the unvarnished truth: She fancied James Potter. She likely had for a while now. Perhaps she’d never even stopped. She had to face the facts…she just hadn’t expected to face him so soon. “Er…” she said, a model of eloquence as always. “Okay?”

James shuffled his feet, suddenly awkward. Or perhaps he was just cold in the blustering wind, and she was the awkward one. “Look, I — my friends and I can be gits sometimes. You know that, obviously, but — I really wasn’t trying to put you in an uncomfortable situation today.”

“No,” said Lily. “I know.”

“The thing is…”

He went to run his hand through his hair, only to be impeded by the hat he’d apparently forgotten he was wearing. He lowered the hand with an air of mild self-consciousness that she suddenly found completely adorable. She bit her lip. She could kiss him. Just a few steps and she’d be close enough. She could…she could…make a compelling argument…

“The thing is…I’d really like if we could be friends, you and I.”

Friends.

He wanted to be…friends.

“Friends?” Lily repeated, nearly a whisper, softer than the bellow of wind.

“Is that so hard to imagine?” said James. “I mean, we have a lot in common.”

“Like what?”

“Well, we both think I’m an idiot, so that’s a good start.”

She nearly laughed. She did laugh. He was always making her laugh exactly when she didn’t want to laugh…

James took a step forward, his expression earnest. “Let’s say we just met today. Last year never happened. I never asked you out. You never called me an arrogant toerag. I never —”

“Pushed me in the lake?”

That stopped him. “I didn’t push you, you slipped. And I thought I wasn’t allowed to bring that up ever again?”

“You’re not. Never…invented embarrassing poems and said I wrote them about you?”

“Okay, that wasn’t me.”

“Never stole my diary and spread its contents around school?”

“Again, technically — not me.”

Lily rolled her eyes. “No, just your best friend.”

“And I’m sure he’s really sorry about all that.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” she said with a faintly derisive snort. She hated the way she sounded all of the sudden — harsh and…and unforgiving — but it was easier to slip back behind the icy wall that had kept her safe for all these years.

James, however, immediately melted her defenses. Bastard. He looked as though he was regretting diving into this conversation at all. “So…is that a no on the friend thing?”

Lily lowered her eyes to the floor of the Owlery, dusted with snow and owl droppings. He wanted to be friends. She had no right to be disappointed. No right at all. And who was she to turn away a friend? She wanted friends. She needed friends.

She looked back up at him. “No,” she said at last. “That’s not a no. I’d like to be friends. I’d like that very much.”

James shoved his hands in his pockets. “Cool,” he said.

“Cool,” said Lily.