The Price of Freedom

Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters, objects, settings, and plots are the property of J.K. Rowling. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise associated with Harry potter. No copyright infringement is intended and no money is being made from the writing of this fanfiction.

Notes: I know it's not a chapter of Antithesis, but this plot bunny has been bugging me for ages! Also, it's short, and I really needed to write, so here it is. The next chapter of Antithesis is coming, I promise, but it's just so long! It's a little daunting to work on when RL is as crazy as it is right now. Sorry! Anyway, a little James and Lily interaction here, as an early birthday present to myself, which all of you get to benefit from. Enjoy (just don't expect fluffy. It's been a bit of a rough week, so this is definitely pre-fluff).

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"All right there, Evans?"

She sighs when she hears his voice. She's more than tired of this little joke. Alright, yes, he's fit, and popular, and witty and clever. And certainly he's attractive. And the attention he heaps on her is, admittedly, flattering. But he's loud and arrogant and sometimes cruel, and she's never going to say yes, never, and she hates the way he humiliates her as much as himself almost every time he asks her, "Will you go out with me?"

The memory of the question is so strong that the word "no" leaves her lips before she even realizes he hasn't actually asked her yet.

Oh well. Asked or not, the answer remains the same, although it startles her how angrily she's spit the word out.

There's a huff of air—not Potter—and an angry curse, before Black snarls, "Really, Evans, you might at least let him speak first!"

His tone is vicious, and it shocks her enough—because Black is usually the first to laugh whenever she shoots Potter down—that she blinks once, twice, before reacting. But when she does, it's with the characteristic blaze of fury that only Potter and Black ever seem to pull from her.

"And why should I?" she demands, spinning in her seat before the fire to face him. "He always asks the same thing. And he only talks to me when he intends to ask it. I see no reason to wait about, listening to meaningless pleasantries, when I could just circumvent the whole process."

"Meaningless pleasantries?"

Her eyes roll heavenwards. "You expect me to believe he actually cares how I am, then?"

"Brilliant deduction, Evans! Why else would he ask?"

She slams closed the textbook she has been unsuccessfully trying to read and clenches her fists, bright green eyes narrowed to angry slits. "For the same reason he asks how my revision is going, whether I've slept well, if my hair charms are giving me trouble, do I need help with my transfiguration assignments, whether I was as horrified as he was that Snape is in two of our classes this year, or if I'd like help warming my chocolate to the right temperature: he's building up to the inevitable question the whole school, thanks to this running practical joke, knows he's going to ask the minute he so much as glances in my direction!"

Black's fists clench as he starts across the room, his expression as dark as his name. "You heartless little—"

"Padfoot!" Potter reaches for his friend, grasps his arm, pulls him up short. "Padfoot, enough!"

She watches as Black wrenches his arm from Potter's hold and gestures wildly with it in her direction. "But Prongs, this is the last time and she isn't even—"

"Sirius, please." Potter sounds tired.

Black looks at him and sighs, offers a thin smile. "If that's what you want, Jamie." Potter nods. Black puts a hand on Potter's shoulder, squeezes, and turns away, moves to lean against the mantle.

She watches their interaction, her anger fading as her puzzlement grows. When she turns back to face him, she finds that Potter is watching her watch him, the expression on his face unreadable. It makes her nervous. This boy, usually so easy to read, has no business being so suddenly serious. She finds for the first time in years that she can't predict him; she feels a sliver of something like panic slide through her.

Potter takes a deep breath and crosses the room to her chair without his usual confident swagger. Her eyes are wide, and she feels that panicky feeling again as he sinks down onto the end of the couch nearest her. His open palms slide nervously over the fabric of his trousers, thighs to knees.

"Lily?" His eyes meet hers, then slide away again. "This is the last time. After this, if you say no, I'll never bother you again, I promise."

He is looking at her again, his eyes steady on hers, and she feels the weight of his gaze, feels that something momentous is happening, and doesn't know what to do about the way her nerves are jangling.

"Lily, will you go out with me?"

Her breath catches. That sliver of panic widens into something thick and hard, blocking her lungs and forming a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach. She feels confused, almost claustrophobic, as she drags in air past the stone in her throat and curls her fingers over the hem of her skirt.

"Potter," she hears her voice say, as if from a distance; it's cold and calm, and she hardly recognizes that it's hers, "your decision to end your attempts to date me don't change the outcome of this attempt one iota. The answer is now, as it has always been and always will be, no."

Because she is watching him, unable to look away, she sees it, just barely, when something breaks in his expression. Some thing, some emotion, that always lingers on his face when he asks her The Question, something that allows him to laugh off her rejections and endure the ridicule of his friends, the same thing that drives him to come back and ask her again and again day after day, something bright and strong and good, flickers at the backs of those hazel eyes. And dies.

Something that looks like hope.

His face is unreadable again, and his expression, his eyes, are distant and cool, and she can't breathe. He stands up and smiles down at her, but it is not the wide, intimately bright grin she is used to seeing from him. It is a small, polite little smile, an acquaintance's smile, and she sees black spots on the edges of her vision.

"I'm sorry to have wasted your time, then, Evans," he says quietly, his voice every bit as polite and impersonal as his smile. "Have a good evening."

And then he is turning away from her, turning away, and he is walking towards the portrait hole, and he is not looking back, does not look back, and he does not say even one thing, not one infuriating or teasing remark, and the panic forms a fist and clenches down around her heart.

There is a flash of pain as the panic squeezes into a tight knot in her chest, and then an odd detachment, an emotionlessness, fills her as she watches him leaning in to push the portrait out. She feels empty, hollow, as he walks away, like he's walking out of her life instead of just walking out of the room. And she doesn't quite believe it, can't quite grasp that it's happened, that she's free of him at last, but then there is serious Black, laughing grey eyes now glinting cold and hard as he gives her a disappointed, disgusted, look, and dismisses her with a shake of his head as he follows Potter out of the common room, away from her, and from the look on his face, it must be true.

She doesn't realize she is shaking until she reaches one trembling hand up to push a strand of bright red hair behind one ear. And she doesn't realize she isn't breathing until her view of him fades, blurs, and begins to go black. She doesn't realize these things because the panic is still there, growing stronger and more potent with every step he takes, until he's out of sight, and Black with him. She feels something like desperation well up inside her. She blinks, and something wet rolls down her cheek.

The portrait closes with a soft thump, and she is alone.

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Well, it's not what I intended it to be—how did it end up so serious and dark? Anyway, I wouldn't say this is finished, as this is obviously not how the story ends, and also, I hate writing angst. (Really, how did that happen? I honestly don't think I've ever written anything angsty before…) So I will have to resolve this little bunny with another bunny or two eventually. Keep an eye out. In the meantime, review!