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James had probably had better first weeks at Hogwarts. Wait—no probably about it. James had definitely, one-hundred-per-cent had better starts to a Hogwarts year. It seemed like every day, right from the beginning of term, something had gone wrong.
It all started on the train. James had been proudly showing off his Quidditch captain’s badge to Remus and Peter—Remus was telling him what the Prefects’ bathroom was like, now he could use it—when Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon and Dorcas Meadowes walked down the corridor towards them. They’d clearly decided to find the trolley witch ahead of the train’s departure from Platform 9 3/4; their arms were laden with all kinds of delicious sweets and cakes, and they all clutched a goblet of ice cold pumpkin juice.
The three girls were quite the sight to behold. Tall, willowy Marlene, with her unusual violet eyes; Dorcas, with her rich, ebony skin, and a mustard-coloured headscarf atop her head; and beautiful, fiery-haired Lily with eyes like emeralds and a smattering of summer freckles across her fair cheeks. They all-but-glowed with good humour and the prettiness of youth. James felt a little like he needed to squint just to look at them.
“Boys,” Dorcas said as the two groups met in the corridor.
“Visited the trolley already, I see,” Sirius said, as relaxed around the girls as he always was. He nodded towards their goodies. “Anything new on the menu?”
“No,” replied Lily, “same as usual. There are about a hundred second years up there at the moment, so if you want to get anything, I’d wait a while.”
“Congratulations, by the way,” Marlene smiled, nodding at the glistening crimson badge on James’ chest. “I thought it’d be you. I’m glad it is—I might have a chance at getting back on the team, eh?”
James could hardly think of anyone better than Marlene to make the team. She was incredible—quick and agile, with a kind of precision that her usually-relaxed demeanour belied. He was absolutely certain that after Hogwarts, one of the major league teams would snatch Marlene right up; he thought she’d be a good fit for his team, the Kenmare Kestrels, but James knew that Marlene had her sights on the Harpies. Regardless, James wanted no one else than Marlene for his seeker.
“Thanks!” he replied with enthusiasm, swinging round to show off the badge to Marlene.
Clang!
James’ elbow had caught Lily’s goblet and the thing went flying, colliding with the metal doorframe and shooting pumpkin juice in a hundred different directions. Both the Marauders and the girls scattered. Marlene dropped all of her sweets in surprise, and her sugar mice took the opportunity to make their bid for freedom, racing down the corridor and out of sight. Peter—inexplicably—ended up quivering on the floor with a look in his eyes that told James he’d been about three seconds away from transforming into Wormtail and joining the mice.
“Bloody hell, Prongs,” yelped Sirius.
James looked around, thinking that they’d all just about managed to avoid the pumpkin juice, when—
“Ugh,” Lily cried, looking down at her blouse as the orange liquid soaked the fabric.
“Shit!” James hastily patted his pockets and fished out his wand, aiming it towards Lily with the intention of shooting a cleaning charm her way. Before he could open his mouth, however, Marlene swiftly reached across and snatched the wand from James’ fingers.
“Not a chance,” Marlene said smoothly, taking out her own wand and wordlessly cleaning Lily’s blouse. She handed James’ wand back to him. “You’re a menace with cleaning charms; you’d end up taking Lily’s blouse off, or something equally hideous.”
Both James and Lily blushed. Lily shot James a dirty look as though to say, you’re trying my patience already, Potter. He didn’t blame her. After all, the last time James and Lily had really spoken to one another properly had been after their OWLs at the end of the summer term, in that rather unfortunate incident by the Whomping Willow…
James was embarrassed by that incident. He wasn’t embarrassed at holding Snape to account for generally being a slimy turd; no, that was fine as far as James was concerned. What he was embarrassed about, though, was the fact that Lily had been so humiliated by it all. He cringed when he thought about asking her out—what had possessed him?—and about the look on her face when Snape had called her that godforsaken slur. He knew what that look meant because it was the same one that had been on Remus’ face when he found out Sirius had sent Snape down to the Whomping Willow a few weeks before their OWLs…
Lily had sent James a very kind letter over the summer holidays. He didn’t think he deserved it; Remus said he definitely didn’t deserve it. She’d apologised for saying that she’d rather go on a date with the Giant Squid, but that James really had put her on the spot, and asked him again to stay away from Severus Snape. James could hardly believe it—after everything Snape had said to Lily, surely she couldn’t still be defending him?
“Well, we’d better get back to the carriage. Mary’ll be wondering where we’ve been,” Dorcas said. “See you later, boys.”
Marlene gave them an awkward smile as Lily glowered at James, and the three girls continued on down the corridor. The Marauders watched them go.
“You alright, Prongs?” Sirius asked. He looked sidelong at James. “You look like you’ve just swallowed an imp.”
James shook himself and grimaced back at Sirius. “Yeah, I’m fine. C’mon—“ he nodded towards the compartment— “let’s get a seat.”
Despite a good night’s sleep following a luxurious Welcome Feast, James’ first day back at Hogwarts wasn’t particularly successful, either. Their first lesson of the year was Potions. James somehow ended up managing to burn a hole through the table with an absolutely disastrous Draught of the Living Death, which had also eaten its way through the edge of Lily’s new schoolbag. She’d fixed it with a quick charm and a look in James’ direction that made him want to shrivel up like a sopophorous bean.
The week that followed was no better. Somehow, James managed to fall out a window on September 3rd; he smashed a pane in one of the greenhouses the next day, too. In a Transfiguration class on the 5th, he accidentally turned Peter into a badger, which earned James a rollicking telling off from McGonagall and a pat on the back from a hysterical Sirius. Then he’d put his elbow in the scrambled eggs at breakfast on September 6th, and capped the first week off with being shrieked at by a library book and then sent packing from the library by an equally-irate Madam Pince.
By the time September 8th came around, James was certain he was cursed. The day had gone without too many incidents, other than tripping out of the Charms classroom and falling headlong down the stairs. A bouncing charm from a quick-thinking Remus had left him with nothing more than a bruised ego. After supper, he’d gone down to the Quidditch pitch with the remainder of the previous year’s Gryffindor team to work out what they were looking for when they held tryouts. Other than some rain as they flew, James felt it had gone well.
He was the last to leave the pitch. Timothy Wood had been James’ first captain back in second year, and had instilled in those that came after him the rule that the captain ought to be the first on the pitch, and the last off. Once the Quidditch balls were tidied away, James headed back up to the castle. He was looking forward to a hot shower and the last of the millionaire’s shortbread his mother had sent him back to school with, and might even get started on the Charms essay he had due for Professor Flitwick. It wasn’t particularly exciting, but after the mental week he’d had, James was hoping for some peace and quiet.
It wasn’t meant to be. As James was crossing the Entrance Hall and heading towards the staircases, something interrupted him.
“Tracking mud all over the castle, are we, Potter?” came a dry, sarcastic voice from the direction of the dungeons.
James turned. Loitering in an alcove—was he waiting for James?—was Severus Snape. He looked as he always did: greasy, pallid, dressed all in black. Of all the people for James to run into, he thought that Snape had to be the worst one at the end of James’ horrendous week.
“Oh, bore off, Snivellus,” James replied, narrowing his eyes at Snape.
“Let’s see: five points from Gryffindor for the muck, and five points for being too arrogant to use the changing room showers like the rest of your team.” Snape looked thoroughly delighted with himself. “Thought you’d use the Prefects’ bathroom now you’re captain, did you? Perhaps I’ll speak to Filch and get you banned from there for bad behaviour.”
It was the straw that broke the camel’s back. On another day or another week, James might have had the patience to simply turn around and walk off; he might have thought of a witty retort before he went. As it stood, James simply didn’t have the capacity to do anything other than whip his wand from inside his robes and shoot a stinging jinx towards Snape.
“Shut up, would you?” James barked. “The showers in the changing rooms are out of order, you utter git.”
It wasn’t a particularly strong jinx. It was a warning, nothing more. A light snap to remind Snape that he might have the power to deduct points, but James was the better fighter: both with his wand and with his fists. James watched Snape wince as the jinx caught his cheek, and the way an irritable sneer appeared on the Slytherin’s face.
“Mister Potter!”
James spun round, grimacing. Professor McGonagall was standing at the castle doors, staring at him. He hastily schooled his features into a charming—if somewhat cheeky—grin. “Hallo, Professor! Lovely hat, is it new?”
McGonagall strode towards him, a thunderous look on her face. “Explain yourself!” she hissed, gesturing between James and Snape. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, Potter: no hexing in the corridors.”
“Professor, it was justified! Snape took points from Gryffindor for—what was it?” James turned to Snape with a sneer. “Muck and being too arrogant to use the changing room showers. Only, they’re out of order, Professor. Madam Hooch thinks the Slytherin team’s annual shower clogged the drains.”
Snape swelled, clearly about to spit back something when McGonagall held up a hand. “Enough,” she said sharply. “Did you take points from Gryffindor, Mister Snape?”
“Yes,” Snape bit back. McGonagall raised an eyebrow. Snape added hastily, “Yes, Professor.”
“How many?”
“Ten.”
“For what?”
Snape avoided McGonagall’s eye and muttered mulishly, “The mud.”
“And the supposed-arrogance,” interjected James derisively. “You said it, you might as well own up to it.”
McGonagall looked back at Snape again. “Was it just the mud?”
“No, Professor,” he muttered again, “it was for not showering at the changing rooms.”
Professor McGonagall looked a little bit like she wanted to clip Snape round the ear. Taking a deep and steadying breath, she said, “I see. The ten points will be returned to Gryffindor house, then, because I cannot imagine a Prefect like yourself failed to read the notice that went up in all common rooms that the changing room showers are currently out of order. That said, Potter, I have told you before about hexing in the corridors.”
At that moment, Lily Evans rounded the corner from the Great Hall, a book in one hand and an apple in the other. She was utterly engrossed, and James really hoped that she would walk on by without noticing him, McGonagall or Snape standing there. Lily had asked him to stay away from Snape in her letter, and James had been trying his hardest to do that. It wasn’t his fault that he’d been ambushed on his way back to Gryffindor Tower.
McGonagall apparently did not have the power of Legilimency, contrary to the whisperings of students, because she did not do as James wished. Instead, she called out, “Miss Evans!”
Lily looked up from her book and blinked a couple of times confusedly, before slowly replying, “Yes, Professor?”
“Unfortunately, I am otherwise engaged this evening, which means I need you to supervise Mister Potter here in detention.”
Snape looked horribly smug. James could tell that Lily was bitterly disappointed as she spotted Snape standing next to James, and put two-and-two together. Her shoulders slumped a little and she looked James in the eye with a gaze that said really? After everything?
“Yes, Professor,” she replied quietly.
“Thank you.” McGonagall turned and looked at Snape sternly. “Mister Snape, this is not the first time I’ve found you taking points from another house vexatiously. Come with me—Professor Slughorn will hear about this.”
His smug smile replaced with a scowl, Snape sloped off behind Professor McGonagall. He shot a filthy look at James and—bizarrely—behaved as though Lily simply wasn’t there. Odd, James thought. That wasn’t like Snape. Normally, he’d be slavering all over Lily, desperate for her attention, for a word of kindness beyond the coldly polite pass the valerian root, please, Snape that he got from her in Potions class.
“Well done, Potter,” Lily said breezily, as the pair of them watched McGonagall and Snape walk away down the corridor. “I was looking forward to having an evening off.”
“I didn’t bloody start it!” James began, but Lily rolled her eyes.
“Whatever.” She waved a hand irritably. “Eighth floor, the corridor on the left—you know, down by the overgrown classroom? There’s an empty room there; I think it used to be Muggle Studies before that moved. I’ll meet you at eight.”
“Right,” replied James through gritted teeth. “See you then.”
When James headed to the eighth floor that evening, he was certain he was going to be writing lines. Maybe it would be I must not hex the Slytherin prefects in the corridor. Or, perhaps it would be I must not drip mud all over the castle AND then hex the Slytherin prefects in the corridor. That latter one would do an absolute number on James’ writing hand…
Lily was waiting for him in the empty classroom when he arrived. She was sitting cross-legged at one end of the desk at the front of the room, a paper bag on the surface in front of her. Her cinnamon hair fell around her face as she looked down at the book she had open in her lap. For a minute, James stopped himself from crossing the threshold—she looked so lovely like that, with the flickering light of the torches around the classroom shimmering in her red hair, that he wanted to take it in for just a second.
Time was of the essence, though. He cleared his throat and said, “Evening, Evans.”
“Hi,” Lily smiled as she looked up, and held out a packet to him in her hand. “Fancy a Drooble?”
James blinked. He blinked again and cleared his throat. “Oh, um, no thanks.”
“I’ve got sugar mice, if you’d prefer?” Lily held up the paper bag that was wiggling and rustling all of its own volition. “I couldn’t remember if you liked Droobles or not. They’re a bit divisive.”
James wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. He thought it was best to err on the side of caution and focus on the detention. “Am I writing lines?” he asked, pulling a quill from his pocket.
Lily stared at it. “What?” Realisation crossed her face. “Oh, no. I thought we could talk.”
James raised his eyebrows. This was setting up to be the weirdest detention he had ever had—and that included the time Professor Flitwick made him learn to knit to improve his concentration. “Talk,” he repeated, stuffing his quill back into his pocket and taking a tentative step from one foot to the other.
“You can sit, you know.” Lily nodded at the other end of the desk. “No need to stand on ceremony all night.”
James did as he was bidden. He was too tall to balance cross-legged like Lily could, and so instead he perched on the edge of the desk, facing the classroom. He could feel Lily’s eyes studying his profile, and turned to look at her.
“Have a mouse, Potter,” she insisted, proffering the rustling paper bag again.
“Thanks,” replied James. He fished out a pink sugar mouse and waited for it to finish its wriggling before he nibbled on the tail.
Neither of them spoke for a moment. James was starting to feel quite uncomfortable as he stared out across the classroom, which was absolutely not how he thought he’d feel when Lily Evans was offering him the chance to sit with her and talk instead of doing detention. If anything, he’d expected that she’d be cold and callous with him considering the fact that not only had he ruined her free evening, he’d also hexed Severus Snape again. Her pleasantness had rather blindsided him.
Lily broke the silence. “Rough start to the year, right?” she asked casually.
James’ head snapped round. “What do you mean?”
Lily shrugged. “I don’t know, you seem like you’ve been on edge a lot. Potions has been a disaster. I feel like I need to start wearing protective gear in case you throw polyjuice potion all over me next time. I wondered if you wanted to talk about it.”
James blushed red. His embarrassment was in part over the fact that Lily had noticed his disastrous week, but it was also down to the fact that she seemed to care enough to notice, and care enough to ask. Remus often told James that he thought too much about all the ways that Lily might not like him, and it seemed there might be some truth in that. James had been so consumed with certainty of how much Lily didn’t like him that he’d not thought about her paying enough attention to see when things were going wrong.
“It was… a weird summer,” he admitted. He hadn’t really been allowing himself to think about the summer holidays. It had been so turbulent: Remus and Sirius not speaking for a full month after the end of term; Peter barely responding to any letters; James’ father coming down with a nasty bout of fairy flu that had worried even the normally-unflappable Euphemia. He realised now that might have been contributing to the jumpiness and lack of concentration that had been present all week with disastrous consequences.
“My dad was quite badly ill,” James continued carefully. “He’s older, you know—my mum is as well. Didn’t think they could have kids and then I arrived. Imagine that: you wanted kids your whole life and didn’t think you could have them, and then your miracle baby ends up being me. You’d start wishing there’d been no miracle baby in the first place.”
He laughed at his own joke, but it rang hollow.
“I bet they dote on you, don’t they?” smiled Lily, the look on her face kind and thoughtful. “I can imagine they’re very proud of you. They should be.”
James looked at her incredulously. “Who are you, and what have you done with Lily Evans? I can’t believe she’d say my parents should be proud of me.”
“Oh ha ha,” Lily said, rolling her eyes and giving his shoulder a good-natured shove. “I’m not that much of a git. I bet they’re proud of you.”
“I guess. When I’m not blowing things up or getting letters sent home from school.”
Lily hummed, and popped a Drooble in her mouth. She was clearly thinking hard. “How’s Quidditch going?” she asked finally.
“Not too badly. We’ve still got some of the old team left, and it’ll be good to get some fresh flyers.”
“First game’s against Hufflepuff?”
“Yeah, last weekend in November.”
Lily reached over to the floor behind the desk, and pulled up two bottles of Butterbeer. She handed one to James, who took it with surprise. “What’s this?” he asked.
Lily pulled the cork out of hers and fixed him with a bemused look. “It’s Butterbeer. You know, that thing you get in Hogsmeade at the Three Broomsticks? Only strong enough to get a house elf drunk, we won’t get in trouble for it.”
“Yes, thank you, I know that, I just… Can I ask you something?” James said. Lily gave him a nod. “How come I’m sitting here eating sugar mice and drinking Butterbeer with you, and not writing lines?”
“Honestly? You looked utterly miserable earlier and I didn’t have the heart to make you do a proper detention. That, and I couldn’t be bothered coming up with something for you to write.”
James laughed. He pulled the cork out his bottle and took a sip, before staring down at his feet. “Thanks,” he said a little sheepishly. “This is nice. Didn’t realise I needed a minute to just…”
“Breathe?” Lily sighed. “I know how that feels.”
“Something like that, yeah.”
They sat in silence. It was a little more comfortable than it had initially been. As they sat, a wind picked up outside the window and blew a light smattering of raindrops against the pane. At this height, James expected they might have been able to get a great view of the stars if it weren’t for the weather; he liked the idea of that, looking at the stars with Lily. Then again, that wasn’t why they were there.
This time it was James who broke the silence. “It wasn’t what it looked like, by the way,” he said, “me and Snape in the Entrance Hall. I didn’t just hex him out of nowhere.”
“No?” Lily wasn’t accusatory when she said it, but she paused at where she was about to take a sip of her drink. She surveyed him over the top of the bottle. “What was it?”
“He took points for no reason from Gryffindor. I know he was—is?—your friend, but he’s an absolutely foul git, Evans, and—“
“He’s a terrible person,” she said firmly, giving James a look that told him she was fairly insulted that he thought she might still be friends with Snape. “To be quite honest with you, that doesn’t surprise me. I think he’s always had this horrible streak in him; I just don’t think I recognised it before. I remember once when we were kids and my sister was spying on us—she’s never liked him. He made a branch fall on her and it ended up breaking her arm. I know he’s always said it was an accident, accidental magic, childish—you know the sort of thing. But I can’t help wondering…”
Lily chewed at her lip then, lost in her thoughts about Snape.
“You wrote to me asking me to leave him alone. Why does it matter so much to you?” James asked. He was genuinely curious, not seeking to start an argument with her. “He was horrible to you, absolutely awful. If one of my friends behaved the way Snape does to you, I wouldn’t be asking people to leave him alone.”
“I’m not asking you for his sake,” she said softly, “I’m asking for yours. Don’t get yourself wrapped up in something as stupid as Severus Snape. You’re an incredible wizard, and you owe it to yourself to pursue good things.”
James was somewhat taken aback by the compliment. He was desperately searching for something to say in response when Lily continued.
“I also know… what happened at the end of last year.” Her tone was cautious, measured. “It didn’t take me long to put two-and-two together. Severus had been harping on for weeks about Remus being ill every time there’s a full moon and well…” She held up a hand at the clearly-horrified look on James’ face. “Don’t worry! I’ve not told a soul, and I’m not going to. But Severus went looking, didn’t he?”
“Yeah,” sighed James. “Sirius told him to go looking, and the stupid idiot did. He almost found Remus, too, but I managed to drag him away. He was furious at me. I was furious at Sirius. Remus was furious at everyone.”
James could hardly bring himself to look at Lily, but he managed it. She was staring into the middle distance. Her green eyes were narrowed and she was pulling at her bottom lip again as she thought. “What I don’t understand, though, is that you saved him, and then you hexed him after our OWL?” she frowned, speaking slowly. “That makes no sense.”
Something in James’ stomach dropped like a stone. They’d been dancing round the topic ever since he arrived in the classroom. “I know it doesn’t,” he sighed. “I’m embarrassed about it, if you must know. I don’t know why I did it and I don’t know what the bloody point of it was, but I did it all the same. It was my mistake and I should have just left him well alone. He’d been goading Sirius before the exam, and then I spotted him afterward and for a minute it all seemed like sport. Only it’s not sport, is it? Not anymore.”
“I don’t think it ever was,” Lily replied, that same careful tone returned. “I think for all of you, it seemed like a game, but it’s not for the rest of us. Not for those of us who got caught in the crossfire, or who suffered the ire of the Slytherins when they couldn’t get back at you and the boys.”
James looked at her. “I’m sorry,” he said honestly, shame burning in his chest. “It makes me so furious that they see the world the way they do, you know? But I’m trying to do as you said in your letter and focus on better things.”
Lily smiled sadly. “I know. I was almost glad when McGonagall sent me a note to say the reason you had detention is for hexing in the corridors again—I though you might be back to being your usual self again. Ever since the start of term, you’ve looked a bit like you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders. You get this look about you that reminds me of my mum when she worries.”
James chuckled. “Thank you? You know just what to say to a chap.”
Lily’s laughter joined his, and she gave him a teasing wink that made James’ stomach turn over in delight. “Any time.” She took a sip of Butterbeer and the smile slipped slowly from her lips. “I’m serious: I won’t tell anyone about Remus, I promise.”
“You swear to it?”
“I swear.”
“Because he doesn’t deserve anything bad, and I don’t think I could stop Sirius from doing something even more stupid this time around if it got out. He’d kill someone, honest to goodness, he would, and—“
Lily laid a hand on James’ arm. “I know,” she said softly. “You can trust me.”
And somehow, James knew that he could.
They sat together for some hours, talking. Lily’s hand stayed on James’ arm; at some point, he ended up with his elbow resting on her knee. It became easier with each passing minute, as though James and Lily had known each other all their lives. They talked about their families, their pets, about what they hoped to do after Hogwarts. James peppered Lily with questions about Muggle music and fashions; she asked him about growing up in Godric’s Hollow and about the work his parents did. Some kind of understanding, perhaps even friendship, blossomed between them in the flickering light of the torches and in the brushing of their hands as they passed the pack of sugar mice back-and-forth.
Somewhere, a clock chimed midnight.
“Oh blimey, is that the time?” Lily glanced down at her wristwatch. “We should get back to Gryffindor Tower.”
They gathered up their things and extinguished the lamps in the classroom. Outside in the corridor, it was dark—not quite pitch black, but near enough. A little moonlight spilled over the window sills as they descended the first staircase, and then another; the pair of them were cast in a silvery light that made them look like ghosts as they passed each window. Down and down they went, occasionally murmuring things to one another like watch that step, it’s a sinking one and God, you really had to pick a classroom as far away from Gryffindor Tower as possible, didn’t you?
James and Lily had reached the fourth floor when a loud bang sounded from one of the corridors below them. Instinctively, the pair of them drew their wands. Something else instinctual occurred, unexpectedly and quite surprisingly: Lily and James moved at the same time to grasp the other’s hand.
James had never felt anything like it before. As his and Lily’s hands met, a strange, powerful surge of magic seemed to course from their grasp, right up his arm and across his chest and down to where his other hand clutched his wand. It wasn’t like an electric-shock. No, it was steadier than that, and different: almost like the magic in James was mixing with the magic in Lily and producing something stronger and even more powerful than the two of them alone.
It was only there for a second before they jumped apart awkwardly. James stared at Lily. The only reason they could both hold their wands and each other’s hands was because she was left-handed; he’d never noticed that before. For some reason, James was dumbfounded—in all the years of knowing Lily Evans, and all the years of feeling for her as he did, he’d never noticed the fact she was left-handed.
“You’re left-handed,” James blurted out.
“What?”
Lily was giving James a look that told him she’d felt it too: that surge of magic, that strange feeling of completion. It had unsettled her, caused a rose-pink flush to rise in her cheeks.
“You’re left-handed…” James trailed off. “You know, your wand hand’s the opposite of mine.”
“I’m aware of what left-handed means, Potter,” replied Lily drily. She cleared her throat and nodded at the staircase. “I was questioning its relevance to the issue at hand. Come on, we should really go and see what that was. I bet it’s those Ravenclaw second years again, trying to get to that Boggart in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.”
“Right…” James mumbled, rooted to the spot.
Lily moved to the top of the stairs and looked back. As she looked at James, something in her face softened a little. She’d never looked at him like that before. James felt as though Lily was somehow managing to see right into his mind, somehow understanding him.
“James?” she asked gently. “Are you coming?”
“Yeah,” James nodded and moved towards her like a moth to a flame, “I’ll follow you.”
There was a decided spring in James’ step the next morning as he made his way to breakfast. He was alone—it was early, and the rest of the Marauders were still fast asleep. The early autumn sunshine was spilling over the windowsills as James walked by on his way to the Great Hall; it cast the stone walls of the castle in buttery yellow. Beyond the windows, the sky was blue and clear, and James was already thinking about how it would be a perfect day to take his broom out, practise zig-zagging around the Quidditch pitch and taking shots at goal.
It being a Saturday, James was one of the first students at breakfast. He took a seat about halfway up the Gryffindor table and poured himself a large cup of tea, adding a splash of milk. The early edition of the day’s Prophet had been delivered already and so James turned to the sports pages to read about the week’s Quidditch endeavours as he ate. He began with porridge, topped with cream and heather honey from the magical bees that Hagrid kept down at the edge of the forbidden forest where the soft, springy heather covered the earth. The large bowl of rich, creamy porridge took him all the way through the Quidditch pages, plus a report on the World Duelling Elite cup, and some Skrewt racing results.
James turned to the news reports. He had just got started on some kippers and an article about cursed necklaces when he heard a voice to his left.
“Ah, Potter.”
He looked up from his breakfast. Professor McGonagall had stopped next to him on her way to the teachers’ table.
“Did you complete your detention with Miss Evans last night?” she asked.
“Yeah, it was great,” replied James with a smile, before realising what he’d just said. Shit, he thought, rapidly trying to think of a way to cover the fact that Lily hadn’t even bothered trying to give him a proper detention. He didn’t want her to get in trouble, after all. “Greatly… humbling. Definitely gave me a lot to think about.”
The corners of McGonagall’s mouth twitched, and James was almost certain that she was trying not to smile. Unexpectedly, she leant towards him and said in a low voice, “If you ask me, Potter, there are better ways to spend time with Miss Evans than detention. Hogsmeade, perhaps. Just a thought.”
McGonagall turned then, and swept away from James towards the top table before he’d even had a chance to formulate some kind of response. He stared after her, open-mouthed, not quite believing that the conversation they’d just had was real. Surely not? Had Minerva McGonagall just given him dating advice?
James returned to his kippers. Some things didn’t bear thinking about.