James didn't give a damn. It was never about hurting Snape. It was about getting his goddamn attention. It was about not being ignored by him. This was a powerful fucking wizard, and all he wanted, was to shatter Snape's quiet control and make him see that he could be his equal. But no, Snape had to look down his nose at everyone. Snape had to keep his distance, like he didn't want to blemish those beautiful, spell-black robes with the likes of them.
Only James could see the power behind those pitch eyes. Only James knew that silence wasn't helplessness. It was judgement. And only James knew that in his torment of Severus, he was wrestling with an angel. He would get his blessing. He would get his annointment, if he had to rip that magic from Snape's veins. This wizard was going to take him seriously. This wizard was going to take every inch of him.