[ r ] you reject my advances [ prower ]

[James Potter]

James was in full-pout mode, his lower lip sticking out so far that it was surprising it was still attached to his face. He didn’t seem to notice how quickly Lily was becoming enraged; only that he was not getting his way. He didn’t understand why she found him so unbearable—he was obviously a very attractive person and he wasn’t so very daft that they couldn’t have a conversation. He understood that he wasn’t as intellectual as Remus, but that didn’t mean that Lily couldn’t ever get along with him . . . did it?

He was about to form as this thought formed in his head when her eyes were already on something else. He didn’t have enough time to turn around and see who it was that was even more intolerable than he was before she was clinging to him like he had always wanted him to, whirling him around in pursuit of some strange muggle contraption that was probably going to make him vomit. “The—the what?” he inquired, his feet easily catching up to hers even though his mind still hadn’t quite made it.

It was out of the corner of his eye that he saw them, the green, black and brooding crowd that he had found so odious for several years. He wasn’t sure if he should feel insulted or thankful that they had arrived, though the smile he shot at Lily was certainly not as bright as it should have been. He had always wanted her close to him like this, always wanted to go out with her. But, somehow, the circumstances had suddenly become a lot less fortunate than he would have thought. At least he was her first choice against the Slytherins? But even that didn’t cheer him up.

He gently linked his arm around hers, his fingers dipping into her pocket just deep enough that he could deposit his money while his other arm hooked around her waist, pulling her to him so that he could retrieve the rather light puppy cage. He let go of her after that, allowing her arm to rest in his but not clinging to her as he wished that he could. She didn’t want to be here, she didn’t want to be with him. He didn’t feel the need to unnecessarily punish her.

The situation was made even worse by the realization that not even if he had the choice would he have given up this chance with her. It didn’t matter that she was just as unwilling as she always had been, that she only clung to him because she couldn’t cling to someone else. He was with Lily Evans. Just like he had always wanted.

[Lily Evans]

Fear settled firmly into Lily’s chest, choking her. With the hated sensation came his constant companions, self-loathing and the general realization that, as a Gryffindor, she was a complete and utter failure. Strange, she thought, that she could move with the three of them weighing her down. Absolutely absurd, actually, the way entirety of her adolescent maturity seemed to pile up on her now, bearing her down, forcing her through all of the emotions and irrationality of being a teenager at once. Everything that she fought so hard to suppress came to the surface, not bubbling like a stream but exploding like an unexpected geyser.

The arms that surrounded her, she was oblivious of the money being slipped to her pocket and had given up on carrying the cage, were harsh and comforting all at once—like a seatbelt in a hideous sort of car wreck. She didn’t want them there; they were a very solid reminder of the too-recent-to-be-comfortable change of events. She could see, now, the way things would turn out—the way they were supposed to; the way she had been so determined not to allow. She would never outgrow the desire to laugh at his dumb jokes; she would never find a way to repair her relationship with Severus. Sometime, not so very long from this time, she would not even want to.

Still they remained, did not recoil from her though more than one pair of curious eyes lingered and turned hostile as they examined the handsome arms and the body they embraced. Potter was a total arse, but he was exactly the sort of arse that would never shy away from or underplay the depth of their relationship—and that was becoming an increasingly rare trait in potential partners these days. Better still, there would be pride in his conquest—and she was starting, against her will, to believe that such pride would not be short lived.

True, she was not ready to accept the quiet perfection of a relationship with James Potter. She could not yet even want to be. To be fair, Potter had been very kind to her, but he still had a great deal of growing to do before she could consider any sort of serious future with him—his idealistic outlook would have to be tempered in the fire-and-brimstone of reality, at least a little. And there was nothing in the world that would make her consider a short-lived fling with the black-haired boy; there had been too long a build-up for such an anti-climax.

Not a little shy, greatly concerned about any inflation of his ego, but still too grateful to the arms that had supported her so readily for the past two days to feign indifference, Lily allowed herself to wriggle just a little bit closer to his torso, placing herself more easily within his reach. Her spine was still stiff, her eyes still directed straight ahead, her mind lingering on the group that she still worried was hot on their trail, and yet her head tilted ever-so-slightly to the left, just enough that the ends of her hair splayed lightly over his shoulder.

“The tube? It’s a train,” she explained, her voice loud and a little stiff so that it carried tonelessly over the noise of the crowd. “The track is underground and it goes faster than ordinary trains. Muggles take them back and forth to work.” With a stroke of kindness even she hadn’t expected, she added. “They’re very safe. They all travel at the same speed in the same direction so they can’t hit each other and no traffic runs through the tunnels so they can’t hit anything else. We’ll just take one to—wherever it is you live to drop off the puppy. Then I can apparate home, change, and meet you at the restaurant—You had a restaurant in mind?”

[James Potter]

James was curious as to what exactly Lily’s idea of ‘safe’ was. After all, she had seemed perfectly comfortable inside the death trap that she had called a car. However, that didn’t seem like a good way to prolong a conversation that neither of them were particularly interested in having and so he remained silent as he walked through the exit to Diagon Alley. It took almost all of his willpower to keep from looking for his shoulder again.

Suddenly disoriented by the scent coming from Lily’s hair, James frowned and blinked a few times. “Restaurant?” he inquired, his eyes widening a fraction as he tried to figure out precisely where he should take her. There weren’t any really nice wizarding restaurants but there was a decent muggle place near his house. It was rather fancy—perhaps too fancy for Lily’s taste. But James figured it would be better to impress her than to take her to something less than impressive . . . not that that really made any sense.

“Er—yes. I most definitely have a restaurant in mind. Do you have a dress?” he asked, glancing at her as he realized that he hadn’t actually seen her in one. Didn’t most muggle girls wear dresses? He wondered if Lily was trying to hide her legs from James or if she disliked the breeze. He made a mental note to ask her sometime in the future when she was more susceptible to answering his questions.

He looked at Lily questioningly as they reached the road, unsure of which way ‘the metro’ was and if he even wanted to walk in that direction. He did value his life quite a bit but apparating with a puppy was out of the question. Maybe they could owl it to his house? He resisted the urge to ask, not interested in angering Lily any further than he already had that day.

“Which way is this death trap you speak of?” he asked, the sarcastic words punctuated by a slightly exaggerated roll of his eyes.

[Lily Evans]

James Potter might have had the most bloody annoying voice in the entire world.

It grated like razor-fine teeth of a comb over her skin, sinking into her pores, jarring them and splitting her open. She was coming apart again, all the old newspaper stuffing spilling out over the sidewalk, leaving a paper Mache trail by which to find her way back. Way back, not just in space but also in time, to the age she longed to be, the fate she longed to choose, the blinders she longed to slip over her eyes.

But she had looked too long upon the horrors to forget them. He was wrong, she knew it, and in that knowledge the choice had already been made. She could not stand idly by, would not be a bystander, trivialized for the sake of her own survival. If it was only her insignificance, his desire for the emeralds of her eyes and the ruby of her hair as glittering trinkets, that separated her from one of his victims—well, she would not have him as her shepherd.

The arm around her was strong, though, and warm—the voice, while painfully devoted to a divinity she could not begin to fathom, could not detract from that. If he was slightly more lacking in charm than she might have hoped, she was not the type to fantasize about a savior, anyway. She would far rather be the knight than the princess.

“What are you implying?”

Always on the defensive, she found the worst conclusion she could draw from his words and suckled venom from it greedily. Her brows came together, glaring up at him. “If this is one of those twisted attempts to get me to date you to prove my femininity or something . . .” The glare wavered; the words faltered. “Er . . . Come to think of it . . . I don’t really need to dress up over the holidays, y’know, for my family . . . I have last year’s Easter dress? . . .”

Looking to lighten the situation—and, against hope, attempting to distract him from the way she might have accidentally leaned into him, tugging on his arm until it could not possibly encircle any more of her waist—she added, “Why? Looking to borrow one?”

[James Potter]

James snorted. He didn’t chuckle, or giggle, or even grin the cute way that he did when he found something funny. No, he snorted. The most casual and yet rude thing that he could possibly do, especially when trying to woo someone who was of the opinion that he was the most immature boofhead she had ever laid eyes on. He nervously chuckled in an attempt to cover it up, resisting the urge to focus his gaze so calculatingly on Lily that he would pry the sound from her ears.

“Are you barmy? Of course I know you’re feminine. You’re a bird, y’know,” he informed her as if she had never entertained the idea that she was in fact female. He shook his head as if dismissing the silly fact before continuing to reply to her. “Anyway. I might be looking for a dress, if we’re the same size . . .” he eyed her figure appraisingly in the sort of way that made most girls stick out their chests and swing their hips back and forth. Lily probably didn’t appreciate his attention as much as they would have, unfortunately.

“But, I don’t think we are.”

He glanced up and down the road again, almost apprehensively, as if the ‘metro’ was going to jump off of its tracks and come flying into the road to pick them up, no doubt endangering his health simultaneously. He clenched Lily’s waist in the way that seemed more protective than afraid, though James really was quite frightened. These muggle things seemed to be terrible medieval and, well, not many people from back then were still alive. Obviously it meant that they were doing something wrong.

“You’ll probably need to wear one wherever we’re going. I’m sure I could . . . find you one, if you wanted,” he carefully worded his sentence, hoping she didn’t put two and two together and realize that he was not only taking her to a fancy and rather expensive restaurant but he planned to buy her evening wear, as well. Maybe she would forget how to use her brain around the same time she realized how adorable James really was and they could live happily ever after without a hint of sarcasm?

But that would have made everything way too easy.

[Lily Evans]

“Nah, Potter, I thought I was a blo—Bloody hell! What the . . . What exactly . . . What . . . What,” Lily flushed darkly, spluttering heated questions as she made great, swooping hand gestures that didn’t seem to be helping her elaborate on her general basis of confusion. “You . . . What do you think you’re . . . Potter!” As was the norm for these types of situations, when she was simultaneously embarrassed and enraged, she spat his name, pulling a face, as if that summed it up. This time, however, she did manage to add, “YOU LECHER,” for good measure.

She shoved him, hard, in the ribcage. For once, the breathtaking lack of proximity worked to her advantage, allowing her proper aim towards one of Potter’s more vulnerable areas. Recently, Lily had done her best to avoid physical conflict with Potter. A broken nose was about as flattering as the angry red stones that dripped out of their hour glass, the only points Miss Evans had ever stolen from her own house. Nonetheless, this was nowhere near the first time they had clashed—her elbow to his ribs, her knee to his groin, his arm flying up to defend himself and accidentally knocking against her too-fragile face. She knew full well that, even with this advantage, he usually wound up hurting her on accident while she could never purposefully wound him at all. She danced three paces out of his reach in anticipation, though it was doubtlessly not far enough.

“Don’t . . .” She held up her arms in self-defense, one across her chest, one directly out in front of her. “Don’t look at me like that, pervert. I’m not a bleeding prostitute. I agreed to go to one lousy dinner with you, not shack up with you or . . . or snog you or . . . or kiss you or anything.” As though those three acts all fell into the same general category.

“I don’t . . . Potter, don’t look at me like that, either,” she frowned, disheartened by the vulnerability of his hazel eyes. Why did he always look so injured when she slipped away from him? He was a spoiled brat, a playboy. Surely he had built up some callousness, some cold-hearted defense system to not have to sympathize with the endless trail of women he left in his wake. Was it really just that he couldn’t stand not having everything he wanted?

“You’re not buying me a dress. I don’t even want you to buy me dinner, and I definitely don’t need you to buy me anything, so don’t push your luck.”

[James Potter]

James grinned, the only thing he knew how to do when she had successfully wounded both his pride and a very important part of his wellbeing. He stayed unnaturally straight, as if the pain would suddenly disappear from his groin, but it was still very alive and throbbing several moments later when he fixed his gaze on Lily, once again. He allowed his lower lip to protrude, the hopeless look coming back into his eyes, as he took a single step in her direction.

“But, Evans,” he whined, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as if that would make her even more susceptible to his sulky gestures. He spread his fingers as he very slowly moved his hands towards her, showing with an unusually serious countenance that he didn’t plan to attack her or rape her or anything—at least not right away. He grasped her wrists, tugging them to the side until he was spinning her in a circle, her hair flying up and his gangly legs maneuvering as carefully as possible so as not to trip her.

“Of course you don’t need me to buy you anything. But you promised you would go to dinner with me and I’m most definitely not letting you out of it,” he decided to prove his point even further by gently prodding her nose with his index finger. “Now, are you going to show me which way the metro is so that I can lead you to it in an extremely gentlemanly fashion before all of the decent establishments close or not?” he asked, releasing her wrists just as hesitantly as he had captured them, offering her his elbow with a hopeful glint in his eyes that she would touch him, willingly, once again.

As if she had forgotten that he had been speaking at all, he gave her a toothy grin, though he wasn’t sure how likely that was to wake her up. “C’mon, Evans dearest,” he repeated, though he was quite certain that the throbbing the pit of his stomach wasn’t just Lily’s well-aimed blow; he really didn’t like the sound of this ‘metro’.

[Lily Evans]

Potter was treating her like a child.

Worse, he might actually be justified. She was teeter-tottering with toddler-like determination. Lily could no more make a decision and stick with it than she could stop fate’s current from slapping her again and again against his side–like a goldfish against a boulder, helpless to stop the stream. Some invisible weight tried to force her under, to make her submit to the role of the good Gryffindor warrior, the type of girl who could move on, the type of girl that could someday maybe not resent the idea of being Potter’s girlfriend.

But she wasn’t ready to relinquish the role of the elitist mudblood, the Slytherin lover . . . Severus Snape’s best friend. The betrayal ran too deep. The victim: it was a role she had not yet tired of, one she would bear until she could see the sheer absurdity of self-pity in a time of war.

Lily was ambivalent; that was the real problem. She hated both options and loved them in equal proportion–that is, she loathed the thought of being a Death Eater’s mudblood pet about as much as she longed to run back into her old assumptions like the open arms of a grim reaper. And she cherished the concept of freedom just enough to almost tolerate the idea of walking arm-in-arm with a boy that she may still hate; one she was certainly not comfortable with. But not quite.

Her pride was wounded and bleeding, but it still lived. She would not murder it; she would not slink back to place her hand beneath the foot of someone so obviously willing to stand upon it.

Potter cared for her like a paper doll–like she might seizure at the slightest touch, might be swept away in the slightest breeze, like she would dissolve away after the slightest precipitation; she realized as she allowed him to spin her. She didn’t know why, only that she was so tired of fighting the current. It would annoy her, this too-gentle handling–in the wake of this open wound, she craved equality, a validation of her humanity–but it would not hurt. She could use some time to recuperate, to allow someone to care for her, to think of her and for her. Perhaps, given time, his tenderness might even become a tonic, might help her to forget that taking the right path felt more like taking the easy way out.

Lily took James’s arm.

She flashed him a quick, impish yet heartbreaking smile that was half-way between I-intend-to-manipulate-your-fear-of-muggle-devices and I-swear-to-God-if-you-say-anything-about-how-my-heart-is-obviously-racing-I-will-forget-how-sheepishly-grateful-I-am-for-you-right-now-and-hex-you-into-next-Monday. “Out through the Leaky Cauldron,” she half-sighed, her hand waving in a vague indication of the general area before them. “Left down the street. There’s a station on the cross street . . . Where do you live, exactly?”

[James Potter]

James beamed at Lily, unable to wrap his mind around the situation. He most definitely hadn’t forced her to grab his arm just now, no; that had been completely of her own volition. Even though she wasn’t going out with him because she wanted to, he didn’t care anymore. Certainly she could have made up an excuse by now to get away, if she really wanted to. And she wouldn’t have been clinging to him like she was if she didn’t want to be there. Or, at least, that’s what James told himself. Being arrogant made everything easier.

He led the way through the Leaky Cauldron, stopping at the curb and then turning to the left. He glanced at Lily, remembering that she had asked where he lived. Would she know the name of the neighborhood if he told her? He knew that she was studious but Godric’s Hollow wasn’t really even a wizarding neighborhood and would probably only be mentioned in Hogwarts, A History or something of the sort.

“I live in Godric’s Hollow. It’s that way,” he pointed sort of to their right, glancing at Lily. “Why can’t we apparate? I’m sure your puppy would come with us, wouldn’t it? Usually if you’re holding something, like your wand, it does . . .”he trailed off, looking at the redhead by his shoulder in a questioning manner. He had a feeling that she wouldn’t want to chance it, but it made sense to him that it would come with them. And why take some creepy train when you could be there in just a few seconds, right?

He stuck out his lower lip, only slightly, his eyes widening a fraction behind his glasses. He wasn’t sure that Lily would be susceptible to his charms—she never had been before—but maybe he would be granted another miracle. It would be quite a shame for him not to live to go to their first date . . . though, that was just James’ luck.

[Lily Evans]

“Mmm,” Lily hoped that James was not going to pick now to have another flash of insight into the female mind. She didn’t particularly want to admit that she had never even heard of Godric’s Hallow, let alone attempted to find it on a map. Instead, she nodded noncommittally, wondering how all the years of his inescapable presence had somehow left her so ignorant about his life outside of Hogwarts.

“Potter,” she deadpanned, planting her feet firmly on the sidewalk as though that could keep her from being swept away by magic. She attempted to arrange her features into a careful imitation of mild annoyance, reluctant to admit that she was about as fond of apparating as he was of muggle methods of traveling. It gave her a distinct claustrophobia; each time she grew more certain that she was going to be crushed to death, and had to spend the rest of the day worrying that she had left some part of her behind.

“A PUPPY is entirely different from a WAND,” she announced, stressing the words heavily as though that could make them penetrate his incredibly thick skull. “You wouldn’t apparate with a BA . . .” She trailed off, frowning. For all she knew, Potter very well might have thought it alright to apparate with a baby. He didn’t exactly seem like the paternal type, after all, and as far as she knew he had no younger siblings. He had no idea how incredibly frightening an experience like that could be for something so small and helpless.

Or, in her case, average-sized and generally self-sufficient.

“Besides, I’ve never been to your house,” she added compellingly. “You wouldn’t want to risk me getting lost, would you?” For a moment she paused, unsure why she was seeking some sort of compromise to quell the fears of someone she didn’t even like. Probably, she decided, because she valued her own mental health greatly enough to attempt to avoid listening to him complain for what could be an hour-long train ride. “Is your house hooked up to the Floo Network?”