milliways_bar | (no subject)

If Evans were to look a few short paces away from her book, she might find a familiar set of shoes belonging to a familiar pair of feet. But the boy with the messy black hair is sporting a slightly unfamiliar look — that of vague hesitation.

They'd seen each other plenty of times in passing back at school — it's inevitable when you share the same House, Common Room and classes — but there hasn't been any actual conversation since ...

Well.

(And there certainly hasn't been anymore meetings here.)

Still, that's no reason to avoid someone, is it.

Particularly if you fancy them.

Does he honestly think she can recognize him by his shoes?

Our Mr. Potter has a right high opinion of himself, doesn't he?

No, Lily doesn't recognize the boy until she has picked up her book, and looked up from it and and seen his face. And his hair.

And then?

Then Lily drops her book again.

Well, he is Mr Potter.

And Mr Potter is pretty freakin' fantastic.

(But that's another conversation for another day.)

At the dropping of her book, James gives her a slightly nonplussed look.

"All right, Evans?"

"Fine, thank you. Yes, great. Brilliant. Never been better."

Oh, for the love of God, Evans, shut up.

"What are you doing here?"

... Right.

His eyes flick to the book still left on the floor — but it doesn't look like some wholly embarrassing Fifi LaFolle tripe this time around.

"Found a door," says James easily, stooping to pick Lily's book up for her. "I decided to take advantage of it as per usual."

"Right. Of course."

Lily watches him warily.

Picking up her book is all ... chivalrous and stuff.

This is crazy.

James Potter is not Lancelot. She's not Guinevere. And Severus certainly isn't Arthur. The analogy doesn't even work. Sirius Black would have to be Arthur for the analogy to work.

And that's not even worth thinking about.

It was just a dream. Brought about by strain and reading material.

It doesn't mean anything.

That's Lily's story and she's sticking to it.

She is also making no attempt whatsoever to take her book back from Potter.

... well, that's all right, then.

James sets the book down on the nearby coffee table and gets to his feet.

"Right."

He runs a hand through his hair.

"Are you all right, Evans? You're acting a bit ..."

Un-Evans-ish?

Weird?

"Different."

"I'm fine," Lily says.

"Perfectly fine.

"Completely, totally ... protesting too much."

Oh, God.

"Sorry, just ... dreaming about OWLs."

It's sort of true?

There was definitely studying.

Before things went all ... Arthurian.

"Um. How are you?"

"Fine," James says. "Perfectly, completely, totally fine."

He grins a little.

"Were they chasing after you down the Great Hall, shooting hexes and jinxes you'd never heard of in your direction?"

Now, see, that would have been preferable.

To arranged marriages and Knights of the Round Table.

Instead of answering, Lily asks, "Why? Is that what they do to you?"

James laughs.

It's almost incredulous.

"No," he says easily. "I'm not worried about OWLs in the least. But Peter had that dream a while back. He woke up practically screaming bloody murder."

He pauses, looking thoughtful.

"Actually, I think we all assumed someone was trying to kill him at that moment."

"How is that even possible? That you're not worried about them in the least?

"They're our OWLs.

"Are you even studying?

"No, don't tell me. Because if the answer is 'no' I'll have to turn your nose purple or something.

"Just on principle."

"... well, then the answer must obviously be 'yes'," James says obligingly. "Of course I've been studying. Every moment I'm not in class, or on the pitch, or — well, anyway. All spare moments are spent studying."

Is he overdoing it?

Oh, yes.