"I'm not saying we should be best mates," she argued. "I'm just… I just want consistency. If you're going to be nice to me sometimes, I want warning. If you're going to tell me I'm an idiot and put me down for no reason, I want warning, so that I can keep some fair sized rocks in my book bag to hurl at your head from time to time. I just... you confuse me, and I hate it, and it makes me dislike you even... especially when you're a decent bloke. Which..." she hastily added, "is very rare, but there you go."
James looked at her carefully. In the dying torchlight and artificial moonshine, Lily Evans seemed just about perfect, and James knew what he wanted, but he also knew that this would be the last time in a very long time that she would sit so close if he told her the truth just now. Instead, he quite safely said: "Well what do you want me to say?" And perhaps it came out slightly harsher than he intended, but... only slightly.
Lily noticed that his tone possessed an unmistakable edge, but for whatever reason, she found that she didn't much care. She thought maybe she could get used to his sharpness. "I don't care what you say," she informed him coolly. "But I sort of want to be your friend."