All Right, Evans?

Chapter 28: Ready Or Not

Day Eleven

James sat alone outside in the courtyard, in the same secluded corner where Lily had half bled to death, where Frank had proposed to Alice, and where – eleven days ago – James Potter himself had dropped Lily Evans's hands and watched her walk away. He wondered how such a small and inconsequential corner could suddenly hold so much, mean so much, hurt so much... But then he supposed that was Lily Evans in a nutshell, so he also supposed that it made sense.

He'd been doing this a lot lately, walking around and sitting alone in all the places that meant something. He'd skipped Charms twice to sit in the empty classroom on the left. He'd skipped more meals than he could count to sit at the back shelf of the Restricted Section. He went out of his way to walk down the corridor where he'd pushed Lily up against the wall during her rounds. He even sat alone in Hogsmeade one night, all night, leaning against the brick wall of the alleyway where they'd had their last real kiss, and on his way back he lingered too long in the spot where they'd laid in the snow on Lily's birthday. It was difficult to fall asleep in his bed and he'd lay awake, thinking about when Lily would sleep in it with him. His hands were perpetually bloody from punching so many walls; he hardly bothered to clean himself up anymore because he knew it was only a matter of time before he busted his knuckles open again.

So here he was, day eleven, and he was staring at the faint bloodstain that still marred the wall of that corner of the courtyard. He sat there for Merlin knew how long, staring at the wall, not blinking or shifting or shivering in the crisp March air. And all he could think, like it was a drum pounding in his head at an aching and rhythmic pace, was I want her back. I want her back. I want her back.

He was vaguely aware of footsteps coming around the corner. A shadow passed over the wall and then someone was sitting beside him, but he didn't care; he already knew who it was – more importantly, he knew who it wasn't. He couldn't smell pomegranate or cinnamon and he'd never wanted a good long inhalation of Amortentia in his life. But right now he got this, and he didn't need this. From the corner of his eye he saw Gwen McIntyre fix him with a concerned stare, and if he could have moved he would have left, but he was still mesmerized by his bloodstain on the wall so he didn't go anywhere.

After a moment of waiting for him to acknowledge her, Gwen cleared her throat and spoke. "Are you doing okay, James?" she asked, and she moved to place a hand on his knee.

James didn't know what she was on about, but he shifted away from her immediately. "Don't touch me, all right?" he said, not caring about the sharpness of his voice. "I don't want someone to see and get the wrong idea."

"It could –" Gwen cleared her throat again and dropped her rejected hand into her lap. "Well, it could be the right idea, if you know what I mean."

Oh, so that's what she was on about. James was not in the mood.

"I do know what you mean," he said, "but no, it's the wrong idea. It's always going to be the wrong idea and... Well, that's that."

Gwen bristled a bit at the abrupt and harsh rejection, and she jumped to the defensive to heal her bruised ego. "So, what, you're just going to wait around so Lily Evans can turn you down again?"

James raised his eyebrows at the bloodstain. "Yeah, I reckon so."

"There are other girls, you know."

"No, there's not," James said, and he had to fight the urge to laugh at the absurdity of her statement. He didn't want other girls, so there might as well not be any for all he cared.

"There's one right here! I'm a girl who'd actually like to go out with you."

"Well, bully for you, McIntyre, but I'm afraid it takes two to play that game."