Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own butt.

For the Hogwarts Online prompt of the day: A friend in need.

On another note, fic four out of seven! Three more!

Listen to: It's Not About You by Scouting for Girls. (I'm falling in love with this band!)


like one of those corny rain scenes

I don't know how to love you more, my friend

(Scouting for Girls)

It's so very cliché as you sit down beside her, shoving your bookbag behind the tree as you watch silently, the rain making your dark hair blacker (if possible), making both of your clothes stick to your bodies temptingly as she stares at the Lake, hugging her knees to her chest.

"What're you doing here, Potter?" she asks, her voice shaky, not even having to look to know that you're present.

(something like a connection.)

You cough a bit and run a hand through your hair (it's a habit, what can you say?) "Thought I saw a friend in need," you mumble nervously, because you know for a fact that you'd be lucky if she ever considered you a friend.

She lets out this pitiful, strangled sigh and your heart breaks a little bit more. "So you heard, then?" she sniffles. "Amos Digory broke up with me. After three bloody years together. God. What's wrong with me?" she cries, and punches the ground with such force that you want to grab her, hold her to the ground and make her feel loved.

"Nothing," you whisper, because you're a cliché yourself. "You're perfect."

Lily shoots daggers at you with light green eyes. "What Muggle movie did you get that from this time, then?" she growls, and you almost want to just sit silently and take it because you love her. You really do.

(something like letting her win.)

"Are you capable of being civil to me, or do you really just loathe me that much?" you bite back, because you're bloody James Potter of the Marauders and you know how to pretty damn well and, hey, you're only human.

And then she's defeated just that easily. "I'm sorry," she admits, her eyes pained. "Do you really think of me as a friend?" she asks in the small, quiet voice, and you almost want to laugh out loud at the irony of it all.

You ignore the question. I think of you as something more, something so much more. "If you see Digory with a tail, don't be surprised," you say instead, and she laughs and leans back against the tree, looking at the stormy sky.

(something like wishful thinking.)

"Thanks, Potter," she murmurs, and then she's coming closer with her eyes half-lidded, and you swear this is the moment where it all comes together and she kisses you and she opens her eyes, finally, to see you.

And then she reaches for her own bag and stands up stiffly, face pink and eyes red-rimmed and her a mess (God, she's beautiful.)

"I'll see you around," she says in her little voice, and walks away, looking very cliché as her red hair looks almost brown in the rain. And you bend down and lift your bookbag over your shoulder and you sigh because she's never going to see you.

(something like heartbreak.)

And then you turn around and she's there, more tears pouring down her face as the downpour greatens and your heart is about to beat right out of your chest. "I forgot to give you something," she says loudly, shakily, and then you lean right in and kiss her and her arms snake around your neck and into your hair and if this is perfection, then goddammit everyone should be perfect.

"Lily," you groan once, against her neck as the rain floods both of you, and then you open your eyes and she's gone, running away (like always.)

(something like love.)