The Gryffindor common room was nearly empty now, bathed in the dying glow of the fireplace. Most had gone to bed, the echoes of laughter and clinking bottles fading into silence. Only you and Lily remained, tucked into a shadowy corner of the room, legs barely touching, the tension between you thicker than the air.

You were both a little drunk. Enough for words to slip more easily, but not enough to forget them. The night had been full of teasing—Sirius making loud jokes about you two, Remus giving you those knowing glances, and Peter nodding along with a smirk. James had stayed oddly quiet through it all. But none of them knew. Not really. Not what was going on beneath the surface.

The fire crackled quietly. Lily’s gaze was on the embers, her fingers curled around an empty glass. Her hair was messier than usual, cheeks flushed from the heat or the alcohol—or maybe something else.

Then, just as the silence began to stretch, she spoke. Softly.

—“I never thought this would happen,” she murmured, almost to herself. “But here we are, right? And now… I don’t want to let you go.”

You turned to her slowly, heart hammering in your chest. The question came before you could stop it.

—“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Her lips pressed into a line. She stared at her hands for a moment before answering, and when she did, her voice was barely above a whisper.

—“Because I didn’t want you to be like James.”

The words hit harder than you expected. Not because they were cruel—but because they were real. Raw. Honest.

She wasn’t afraid of you. She was afraid of what this could mean. Of getting too close. Of being let down. Of loving someone who didn’t take her seriously.