Lily knew that James was itching for a fight. It'd been months, months of him pacing and writing spells and rewriting spells and rearranging the entire house with magic, because he was bored - he'd never been meant for peace, her stupid Quidditch hero turned soldier. So that meant that he was going to do something reckless and stupid and impossibly brave. She knew that, like she knew everything else, and she hated knowing, suddenly. It would almost have been better not to know; all the knowledge in the world wouldn't have meant she would be able to stop him. James was on his feet in a second, wand in hand, and it was much too late to tell him not to be a hero.