Written for the Game of Life Competition, for sweet seventeenth; for the Art Museum Challenge, for invisibility cloak; for the Rock-Paper-Scissors Challenge, for unkempt; for the Build-a-Bear Challenge, for James Potter.

"Have fun, James!"

"Bring me back a pastry or two!"

"Or seven, James!"

"Got it!"

Every one of the four boys is loud and incredibly rowdy while inside the dorm, but upon his exit, James turns eerily quiet. He has practice with this sort of thing – sneaking out of the common room after hours – and he knows that should he be heard by anyone other than his three roommates, he would be toast. So he walks towards the kitchens with a silent pace rivaling that of a spy, under his father's Invisibility Cloak, checking the map he's made with Remus and Sirius and Peter.

He might easily get caught, but that's a risk he's willing to take: it's his seventeenth birthday, his parents have forgotten to send him his annual package of pastries in favor of a new broomstick, and he's not finishing up his sweet seventeenth without eating a puff pastry or two or three or forty. He's got his cloak, he's got his map; he'll be fine.

In fact, with his map, he'll be great. He's currently ensuring he won't be caught by the new caretaker, Filch, by tracking his footsteps on the next corridor, making sure Filch isn't coming too close to where James is walking. Everything going absolutely, wonderfully, beautifully fine.

Then he crashes into none other than Lily Evans.

She doesn't know who it is at first, of course, but she pieces things together soon enough. James has been caught out at night enough times to warrant her assumption, and she's somehow learned about his cloak. He doesn't know when it happened, but she knows about it know; it's absolutely the worst thing that's ever happened to him. "Potter, get out from that under your goddamn cloak!" she says exasperatedly.

He sighs and pulls it off, knowing his hair will be disastrously messy when he does so. True enough, it is, and he runs his hands through his hair a few times so that it will look attractively unkempt. "Yeah, Evans?"

"Why're you out so late, Potter? You know you should be in bed, you've got school, it's late!"

"I know, I know. It's my birthday. I wanted some pastries from the kitchen. Is that too much to ask?"

"It's your birthday? Why didn't you just ask for some from your parents or something, then?"

"They didn't send me pastries like they normally do!"

"They didn't send you anything?" Lily asks in an almost-sympathetic tone.

"No, of course they sent me things. I've got a new broom – fastest on the market!"

"Oh, well, aren't your parents so horrible for not sending you pastries," Lily says as she rolls her eyes, any sympathy she had lost.

"Look, I just wanted pastries for my seventeenth."

"Alright, James. Go and get your damn pastries."

"You called me James!"

"Congratulations."

"Does this mean you'll date me?!"

"You wish."

But even if she still refuses to go out with him, she's called him by his first name. No top-of-the-market broomstick could compare.

Sirius and Remus and Peter won't be able to wash the smug smile off James's face for weeks.