I wrote this years ago and quite honestly, looking back, I don't know what I was thinking. But I digress.

He realises that he loves her when they were in their Second Year. He didn't even have a say in it. The fates just decided, "Hey, you're going to go after this girl and do excruciatingly stupid things numerous times to get her attention because we said so." There wasn't anything else to be said. No protests were made.

And he did end up doing excruciatingly stupid things numerous times to get her attention. But it wasn't the attention that he wanted. It was the bad kind of attention, the kind where her eyebrows would be drawn so close they would almost-but-not-really touch, the kind where her nostrils would flare and her lovely jaw would set, the kind where her usually brilliant smile would be replaced with an equally brilliant scowl. His favourite part of this breathtaking anger was the way her eyes would sparkle and shine with frustration, the dark line of eyelashes adorning them making her world-renown glare striking and beautiful.

Maybe Sirius was right, maybe he was indeed crazy to be so whipped for a girl who hated him, but he couldn't help himself. The world and the universe had decided it for him, he would say, as if he could do anything about it. Then Sirius would hit him over the head for being a sissy. Seriously though, it wasn't his choice, or maybe it was. He never knew, and neither did he need and/or want to know.

He loved her. And that was that.

But she didn't love him, not yet at least, and he would see that she one day will.

"Really mate," Remus says one night as they lounge near the common room fire. James, who had been watching Lily as per usual, says, "Hm?"

Moony rolls his eyes, says, "I was just saying how incredibly, ruggedly handsome Padfoot is, don't you agree?"

"Oh, ha, ha, ha,"

"Well, the entire female population of Hogwarts students will agree with you," Peter quips, earning a shove to the shoulder from Sirius, who was doing his homework for Transfiguration the night before it was due as always.

"What, you actually disagree?" Remus asks, incredulous.

"No, I definitely agree that ladies are just naturally drawn to the charm of Sirius Black, but I do wish you lot would stop talking so I can finish this essay before dear old Minnie loses her hat," Padfoot remarks, not looking up from his parchment.

"What were we even talking about Moony?" James cuts in, not taking his eyes off Lily, who was reading a book on one of the squashy armchairs near the portrait hole.

"I was talking about Miss Evans, Prongs." At this, James tears his gaze away from the redhead and turns his full attention to Remus, who had an open Charms textbook on his lap.

"It's weird to hear you call her 'Miss Evans'," Padfoot cuts in, moving over to dip his quill in one of the few inkwells they had uncorked. "She's always just been Lily to me," He then groans as he mistakenly writes with red ink instead of black.

"And it's weird to hear you call her 'Lily'," James bites back, slightly resentful.

"You're just jealous because we," (He gestures between himself and Remus,), "Are on good terms with her and you aren't."

"Shove off,"

"Now children," Moony says with a bit of a smile as James huffs and sinks into his armchair. "Let me speak. As I was saying, I do not think Lily will appreciate you staring at her."

James scoffs. "That's it? I mean, yeah I'm pretty sure I know that already so you went through all this trouble to tell me something relatively trivial. With the voice you were using I thought you were going to say something groundbreaking. "

"Like what?" Peter snorts.

"Like, I don't know, if she has a fetish for guys in glasses or something like that."

Padfoot guffaws. "Prongs, oh dear, little, idiotic Prongs," When James frowns at him, Sirius carries on with haste. "Mate, seriously, if she had a fetish for guys in specs, she'd have been all over you by Fourth Year. Heck, she'd be all over Amos Diggory even if that was just a blatant impossibility. Just face the fact, Lily Evans is not turned on by anything related to James Lancelot Potter."

The rest, sans James, dissolve into laughter.

"Hey Evans," This was the first time James had tried to pick Lily up, two weeks into Fifth Year. She was sitting with a few of her friends on the bottom of a staircase, talking about, out of all things, the probability of LSD being in the castle. (Which James found hilarious to overhear. Hearing the supposedly innocent and prim Lily Evans talking about drugs was just priceless. Also, she proved to have quite the colourful vocabulary, as she adeptly displayed it when Donna Shacklebot accidentally dropped a small bottle of the potion they brewed in class. James thought it was ridiculously attractive.)

"What Potter?" She sounds exhausted.

Ignoring this, James puts on his best smile, raises his eyebrow nonchalantly. "How would like to have the privilege of being the girl on my arm this Hogsmeade weekend, eh?"

Her eyebrows furrow together, and her mouth sets into a thin line, not unlike McGonagall when she spots mischief in the hallways.

"I mean," James hastily adds, a hand running through his hair. "I'm pretty sure you haven't been asked yet as no one would have the gall to." (the crease between her eyebrows becomes more and more prominent as he continues talking and he considers shutting his mouth,), "So why not save yourself the trouble and just go down to the village with me? And maybe afterwards, we can go nip up to my room for a bit." He wiggles his eyebrows, and Donna's jaw drops open.

Lily looks at him like she can't believe what she's hearing. And then, she starts laughing.

"You have got to be kidding," she says between laughing fits, laughing so hard she's actually crying.

"Um, no, I don't think I am." James answers, sounding more confident than he felt at the minute.

"You actually thought I'd say yes? Oh my God this is perfect."

James raises an eyebrow again, his mouth pursed.

"If I had a concussion, maybe," Okay, she was really starting to bruise his ego. God, rejecting him was one thing but then this? James had gotten the point. She can stop laughing now.

But she doesn't, so James turns and leaves.

He asks her again the next day, and the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that…

(And the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that, and the day after that, and the day – you know what, I think you get the picture.)

Then the day at the lake happens, and he isn't sure if he can ever look her in the eye ever again without feeling an intense shame in the pit of his stomach.

He tries to tell her that he's sorry (he really is), but she turns away at the sight of him, her electric green eyes filling with tears. And that hurt more than any beating on the Quidditch pitch, witnessing those eyes that brimmed with such confidence and such strength suddenly run out of light slowly, like moons that are covered by stubborn clouds.

Sirius tried to assure him that it wasn't his fault, that it was Snape's words that caused her this pain, but he just can't help but think, what if he didn't provoke Snape? What if he didn't make those jibes while Snape hung like a ragdoll?

Remus tells him that time would heal her eventually, and although Sirius had said that this was a cliché beyond the forgivable, it gives James the tiniest silver of comfort knowing that she would eventually be okay. She was like that, his Lily. Always fighting, always getting up when life sweeps her under her feet. And that she will, because James knew that she was stronger than that.

He couldn't wait for the day when he could say all of this to her face.

When he found out that he had, somehow, got Head Boy, she was the first person he told.

He didn't exactly know how to start out the letter; he spent a good thirteen minutes just looking at the blank parchment and only properly began when Padfoot walked in and told him to just get it over with.

He didn't know how, which was one thing, but they had remained friendly and the arguing had went down a notch when James finally got the message that Lily doesn't like being asked out in front of everybody every single day. That gave him a bit of hope, but what else was there?

"We're not even friends yet!" he reasoned, trying to look for enough words to put on the parchment. He found none.

"You got along well enough. I think a letter is justifiable."

"What do I even say?" He reminds himself that Sirius doesn't know about the badge (that he stowed underneath some rather revolting socks at the very bottom of his dresser) and he doesn't think he can handle the irony so he withholds from letting the news slip.

"I don't know; ask her how she's doing or something. I got nothing."

"I thought you got on with her? Aren't you supposed to have some sort of insight in the bird's brain?" he asks, helpless.

"Yeah, we still get on despite what's… happened." Sirius scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, and James feels that familiar rush of shame. Despite this, he is grateful that Padfoot doesn't mention the full event. "But what am I supposed to know about writing to girls? Girls write to me, just so you know."

"Fine, just get out of my room so I can actually get this done."

"Are you being distracted by my marvelous body? I knew I shouldn't have walked in shirtless. People will faint at the sight of me."

James threw a quill at him, which he dodged. "All right, all right. Write to Evans." He then left James alone to complete his letter.

It went a little bit like this:

Dear Lily (assuming I'm allowed to call you that and if I'm not: Dear Evans,),

Yeah, I'm pretty sure I wasn't expecting myself to write to you either. Not that I don't want to! I just, don't think you would have appreciated it that much. Now that sounds shite, doesn't it? Oh well.

Now what was I supposed to be talking about? Right, um, I sort of have news and I don't want to tell anyone else so I guessed the next best option is you. See, Pad - Sirius would have laughed and then proceeded to die from lack of oxygen, Remus would clap me on the back and say 'well done', which would have been unbearable, and then Peter would just collapse from shock. So seeing as you are the most sane out of all of my, dare I say it, friends (if not, then sort-of-but-not-really-acquaintances), I will entrust this vital piece of information to you. You must feel very privileged, and for that I shall not blame you. Now you are probably wondering why James Bloody Potter is writing to you and talking about nonsensical yet important things, you impatient little pet, so I hope you haven't rushed down to the end of the paragraph and cheated. I can see you, you know! Stop that at once!

Okay, now that I have efficiently established suspense, I shall impart upon you my news.

I, James Lancelot Potter, have been made Head Boy.

*waits for laughter*

Has Dumbledore gone barmy? Maybe, can't tell yet. But before you accuse me of nicking the badge and what-not: No, I did not make my dad (or my mum, for that matter) bribe Dumbledore for me to get the position, and I don't think Dumbledore would have tolerated that type of bribery anyway. Also, my dad's pretty shit at bribing people. Don't ask how, can't explain it. How he became an Auror is beyond me.

I don't know what to do, so some sound advice would be really good. And I already know you got Head Girl, because who else would get Head Girl? Really.

How is your summer, by the way?

Sincerely,
James

P.S.: Yes, my middle name is indeed Lancelot. Laugh all you want. What's yours?

Her reply didn't come for a few days, three in fact. He only found out that her letter had come when Sirius complained about an owl being in James' room, so he rushed up there at once. A large, elegant tawny owl was indeed on the ledge of his open window, an envelope in its beak. It gave an indignant hoot as he appeared, dropping the letter on his nearby desk and fluttering away.

He ripped it open. The parchment had vague hints of lilac, which reminded James of Lily's hair, and the penmanship was narrow and sweet.

Dear James (I am pretty sure you are allowed to call me Lily,),

I was wondering that, because you never really wrote before. (Not counting the love letter you once sent me back in Fifth Year, and I remember sending back a Howler. Apologies about that, by the way.) But nevertheless, I am pleased you decided to take the time to write to me.

I must admit, your colourful descriptions of your friends' reactions are definitely more than a bit over the top. I mean, okay Sirius definitely will laugh, Remus will congratulate you, but I don't think any of them will be shocked. You worked hard last year, James. Even I am willing to admit it. By the way, I did not rush to the very end of the paragraph, I merely accidentally glanced upon and proceeded to stare at it for four minutes and once there was immediate proof that it was real and not a dream, my gaze lifted to where I was reading at once.

*laughs uncontrollably*

(But only because you waited! I was pressured, mind you.)

Now I cannot help but wonder how one such person could be terrible at bribery. A three year old could manage it. You know, way back in the day when children considered biscuits as currency. Your father is an Auror? You failed to mention it to me.

Advice with what? How to grapple with the fact that you are now responsible for the student body and shall be working harder than ever? Because to be honest with you, I don't think you need any advice at all. Remember what you told me back in Sixth Year, before the summer holidays? How you felt a bit claustrophobic being holed up in Scotland while we knew a war was inevitably on the horizon in the real world? Being Head Boy would help, most definitely. People listen to you, you know. You actually have some power to do something to help, small or big. Even though the workload is annoying and bothersome, especially with a teacher like McGonagall, but I am willing to assist if you ever, somehow, need any help.

And yes, I did get Head Girl. Did you find out from Remus, or Dorcas, or anybody else?

Oh, the regular. Cokeworth is as boring as always. But I did get a tan. And then it faded, which was a shame. Redheads don't look nice with tans anyway, but it made me feel different.

Love,
Lily.

P.S: Lancelot? Out of all the names that there is, you got Lancelot? It's Marilyn.

Marilyn. He tested the name out on his lips. It lilted off as easily as Lily. As he sped off to write a reply, he spelled out her name in his mind. Lily Marilyn Evans. It sounded nice coming off the tip of the tongue, unpretentious yet not simple. It summed her up perfectly. But, because his brain was a fervent tyke, he imagined something that had been lingering in the back burner for quite a while:

Lily Marilyn Potter.

And, as conceited as it was, he couldn't deny how nice that sounded.

He realises that he loves her in their Second Year. He didn't even have a say in it.

Classes were done for the day, and all of them, besides Remus, who had been taken into the Hospital Wing again, were outside to bask in the first ever sunshine that month. It had been cold and drafty in the castle, and the gloom was difficult to cut through, but the sun reared its very welcomed head out of the clouds and gleamed at them. Along with the sun came optimism for a better week and everyone, even the slightly cynical Sirius, felt the glow and sudden leap of happiness. It gave them something to hope for, as ridiculous at that sounded, because the sun was just there to give them body heat and keep the world alive. Alive—that was the right word. They all felt truly alive.

Unbidden and unexpected, James' eyes followed the trail of other Second Years who were near the lake. A sallow-faced, skinny boy was seated beneath a tree next to a vibrantly red-haired girl who was laughing at something she had read. The boy looked over to see, and an uncharacteristic grin spread over his sour features as he read. They were both familiar to James; it was that Slytherin weirdo Snape and a fellow, rather pretty, Gryffindor called Lily Evans.

James, who was as innocent as a would-be troublemaker at the time can be, did not really understand why suddenly his heart started speeding up when he saw her head thrown back, her red hair cascading over her shoulders and onto the flat plain of her back; why her laugh that sounded like church bells sent chills down his spine. He had no clue.

But on the few occasions that he had talked to Evans alone (Snape had always been tailing her like a lost dog), she had turned her nose up in the air, say something remarkably witty (she had an impressive vocabulary for a twelve-year-old), and stomp away. Not exactly the most likeable person. She was compassionate, that he knew. She was kind, to others who wasn't him; that he was aware of. And she was way too beautiful to be twelve. Also, her eyes were startlingly green, sharp emeralds against the softness of her pale face. And when she looked at him in that glare that was reserved for only him, it made his stomach do backflips.

But he didn't know that, at the time, he had fallen resolutely in love with the evasive Lily Evans; he realises that in Fourth Year. He just looked at her and suddenly saw a different person. He looks at other girls and he doesn't feel the pull, the impulse to be near, to them as he did for Lily.

Funny thing is he truly didn't have any say in it. It just happened. Crashed on his head the minute he heard her laugh for the very first time; the moment he saw her smile radiantly, even if it was not for him. And he felt it again, all of those new emotions and sudden epiphanies, when she looked at him the day they got married, when she looked at him like he was the only thing she could see. It made him feel like a girl, but it felt lovely.

His fate was decided long ago, that he was to fall in love with Lily Evans. He didn't mind, really.