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James held Snape in his arms, snuggling for warmth. They were shivering, their teeth clacking. Wrapping the blanket around them tighter, he skimmed Snape’s waist. It was small enough that James could engulf it with his hands.
“Do you ever eat?” James blurted out.
Snape turned his head and glared at him over his shoulder. “Stop groping me.” James had been obliviously squeezing and rubbing Snape’s sides.
Hands twitching and stopping what they were doing, James apologized.
“This mess is all your fault.”
“I’m sorry. I just—well, you know—you just make it so difficult to apologize to.”
Snape slumped, his back flush with James’ front. “Why are you so persistent? You’ve already said multiple times that you didn’t know what Black was planning.”
“I know, but you still don’t trust me or want to be my friend.”
“Not everyone wants to be your friend, Potter. Especially not me. You have harassed me for over six years now.”
James felt his heart sink. “I’m sorry, but I promise I’ll never again prank you, hex you, or do anything to harm you.”
“I can’t trust your words. You offered me “friendship” in our third year and I believed you. Remember what happened after I accepted your friendship?”
James winced. James, Sirius, and Peter had laughed at Snape and told him that they would never be friends with a slimy git like him. That was the day they saw Snape cry for the first and last time. (It was also the day Sirius came to call him Snivellus, and James followed along.)
“That was a cruel joke that an immature child made. I promise this isn’t the same situation. I want to get to know you. I want us to be real friends.”
Warmth bloomed in James, as Snape said, “Fine.”