Story Disclaimer: The HP Universe belongs solely to JKR; I just play with words. :) Enjoy!

CHAPTER 1

James Potter was undeniably the most infuriating prat on the planet. That stupid Quidditch Captain badge pinned on his robes had already irked me for an entire two terms with the inflated ego it'd given him. Needless to say, when he entered the Prefects' Compartment on September first of our seventh year and pointed cheekily to his second badge—the one that was engraved with bold lettering to say "Head Boy"—I thought I was going to vomit all over the Hogwarts Express floor.

"You are joking."

"I would never."

The playful quality in his response forced my green gaze to snap to his hazel eyes, hidden behind his glasses. He was grinning at me. Surely he wasn't going to test me, egg me on in front of the few prefects that had already arrived for the start of term meeting?

I narrowed my eyes. "Yes, well, I can't imagine why I would think you were."

He ran a hand through his black and already infuriatingly messy hair and stepped towards me, stopping just a few centimeters from my face.

"As much as I hope you imagine me often, Evans, we should probably get organized for this meeting."

I felt the flame of embarrassment reach my cheeks, probably making my pale, freckled skin appear unattractively blotchy. He always said off-color things to me; another of his efforts to tease me. I ignored the pink tinge on my face and nodded, gesturing to the table at the front of the compartment, which had pieces of parchment already spread across it. He sidestepped me and made his way over to the table. I watched his eyes flicker over the notes I'd scrawled to myself in an attempt to create some semblance of a checklist of things to cover at the first meeting of the school term.

His arm reached out to grab at a piece of parchment, and I watched him pick it up, my eyes glued to the muscles that twitched in his forearm. His pressed, white uniform sleeve was rolled up to his elbow in what I guessed was supposed to be a devil-may-care fashion. The toerag was probably trying to get girls to notice his nicely defined arms.

And, okay, yeah, maybe it was working.

I supposed I should admit it to myself—not that I hadn't been admitting it to myself for several months now; I was really quite attracted to James Potter.

Yes, he was an insufferable idiot who liked to tease me to no avail, and maybe he pulled way too many pranks with his little group of comrades, and maybe he was often showy and arrogant, and he was definitely a git to all of the Slytherins. But, honestly, the Slytherins in our year were really quite rude and even bordering on dangerous with their prejudiced mentalities and mean-spirited comments. And it wasn't like he didn't have numerous reasons to be proud of himself; he was an incredible athlete on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and he was rather smart and really quite fit. And while he and his friends pulled ridiculous stunts repeatedly, they were generally good-natured and all four of them were genuinely good blokes. And after a summer of not being teased mercilessly, I was sort of missing the attention.

Mother of Merlin, I was more attracted to him than I initially thought.

"Evans," he called, and his voice broke me from my internal monologue. "D'you just want to start this thing up, and I'll follow along?" His hand flew to his hair nervously. "I've, er, never been to one of these meetings before."

I nodded. "Yes, well, that's a disadvantage to having a Head Boy who has never been a prefect." Guilt coursed through me as I watched his face frown at my passive aggressive insult. "But, uh, don't worry," I said, trying to make up for my harshness. "It won't be too complicated to pick up on."

-/-/-

The prefects were clearing out of the compartment when James approached me. I looked up at him, as he was a good ten centimeters taller than me, and I raised an eyebrow as if to ask what he

needed.

"I just wanted to say thanks, Evans," he said, shoving a hand into his trouser pocket.

I furrowed my brow. "What for?"

He shrugged. "For not making this difficult on me. I thought you'd go barmy when you found out Dumbledore had given it to me," he said, and I knew he meant the position as Head Boy.

It was my turn to shrug. "Professor Dumbledore has liked you for a long time."

"But you have never liked me," James replied with an air of honesty.

I could smell something radiating off of him in his close proximity to me. It smelled like leather and like the Hogwarts' grounds after a good rain; it made my head dizzy.

I shuffled the parchment on the tabletop. "It isn't that I don't like you. It's that you're a bit of a smarmy git."

He laughed, a deep rumbling sound that came barreling from his chest, and I felt the corners of my mouth turn up in a smile that I hadn't given my face permission to make. I watched as he took in my reaction and his face lit with a bright smile.

That smile was going to be the death of me.

When James Potter smiled, his face did this thing where it transformed from just roguishly handsome to utterly adorable. The wider his smile got, the more crooked it went, and he looked like a little boy that had just discovered magic for the first time. Every time that smile graced his face, I had to consciously make an effort not to sigh aloud.

"A bit of a smarmy git," he repeated, still grinning. "I'll take it. And you, as always, Evans, are just lovely."

"Oh." I had prepared myself for one of his usual back-handed compliments (like the time a year or so before that he had told me that I was probably the only girl that ever looked half-decent with freckles), and when he actually said something outwardly kind, I was shocked.

"Oh?"

"I mean, thank you."

It was James' turn to be incredulous. "Thank you?" he repeated, surprised.

"Isn't that what you're supposed to say when someone compliments you?"

He gaped like a fish out of water. "But you've never thanked me before!"

"And you've never complimented me before," I replied, sliding the pieces of parchment into my shoulder bag.

"I've been complimenting you since we were first years!"

"Potter, writing me a birthday poem about how someone has to be the goody-two-shoes is not a compliment."

He looked put out. "Well, I didn't know any better—we were really very young."

"That was last year."

He grinned at me and shrugged his shoulders. "Ah, well, what can I say?"

I inched toward him and replied, "You could say it again."

"But, Evans, I don't remember all of the rhymes!"

I rolled my eyes. "Not the poem, you insufferable idiot. The compliment!"

He grinned that wonderfully crooked grin of his, and I was rather enjoying our friendly bantering. My breath caught in my chest when he leaned in to push a strand of unruly red hair that had popped out of my ponytail back behind my ear.

"You're really something, Lily Evans," he said earnestly, his hand lingering near my face for just a second more.

I blinked at him and tried to bring back the joking atmosphere. "You're something, too, Potter. I just haven't figured out what species yet."

James laughed again, and we were so close that I could practically feel his chest shake. I grinned, proud of my jest.

"Lily Evans," he said in a mock-serious tone, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you were flirting with me."

"Well thank Merlin you know better, Potter," I said, sidestepping him and making my way to the door of the compartment. "Wouldn't want you to get your wand in a knot."