Chill breeze whips down the darkened corridor piercing me right through my robes--a draft. One of many, in fact. The lights seem to flicker from the cold blast. I know it's an optical illusion, but it makes me shiver just the same. Hogwarts is distinctly creepy after curfew. I'm patrolling. Alone. And I hate it. That daft git of a Head Boy stood me up for patrol. Again. When I get my hands on James Potter...

I don't finish the thought. A hand reaches out from behind a statue and grabs me by the arm, pulling me into the darkened void. I collide with the hard warmth of a masculine body, which promptly pins me to the frigid stone wall. He leans into me, his breath hitting my cheek. My nipples peak as his chest presses against them. Hot. Erotic.

"Potter!" I yelp at him, in surprise as much as fear. "What the ruddy hell do you think you're doing?"

"This." He says in a raw, hungry voice.

A fraction of a second later his lips are on mine--devouring them with reckless abandon. He flicks his tongue across the seam of my lips--a request. They part for his searching tongue, which he thrusts into my mouth without hesitation. My arms settle about his neck possively, pulling him closer. He oblidges wholly-heartedly, crushing and grinding into me as desperately as I could wish. I can feel every ridge, every hollow of his hard strength. My hands slid upward, tangling into his messy hair. I run my fingers through it, nails lightly scratching his scalp. He responds with a low, gutteral moan, almost primal.

"Lily." He gasps into my mouth.

I arch my back, tilting my head to allow deeper access. My tongue pushes past his, brushing his lower lip. He moans again, his hand wanders from my waist to my thigh, grasping. He pulls it upward, tugging it into position about his waist. I gasp into his mouth, long and shuddering. His lips trail to my neck, fastening to my pulse point--sucking. My heart races, pounding so frantically he must feel it under his tongue.

"I hate what you do to me." My words are belied by a throaty moan.

"I can tell." He replies. His lips flutter across the hollow of my throat. I shiver and clutch at him.

"I hate you." I tell him, my lower lip pouting outward.

"Please do." He smirks. His lips slide from neck as he pulls back to look at me. "I love how you hate."

He pauses, taking in outward thrust of my lower lip. He attacks it with his mouth, sucking it between his lips--needy and frantic.

"Oh, god!" I moan out, rolling my hips against his--pleading.

"No need to call me 'god,' Lily." He says between kisses. "Just James will do."

Did he just...? He did, that incredible arse! My eyes narrow. My hands press against the toned muscles of his chest and shove. I pull back and snarl, furious.

"Where do you get off?" I demand, glaring at him.

He meets the angry green of my eyes without flinching. He grins, brow arching up.

"If you don't like it." He says in the same irritatingly egotistical manner. "Stop me."

He waits.

I grab him by the tie, pulling his head to mine, just as he knew I would. I kiss him in angry need, my teeth grazing his lips. My tongue thrusts inside his mouth roughly. He moves his tongue to meet it--clashing. Needy. Moist. He crushes against me, meeting the frantic pace I'm setting. We kiss. And kiss. His hands tangle into the unapologetic red of my hair, forcing my head backward and regaining control. His mouth covers mine forcing me into a slow, famished kiss, speaking to me of love and desire.

We break apart, panting and breathless. He rests his head against mine--forehead to forehead--staring into my eyes.

"You stood me up!" I accuse, still struggling to find breath.

"I'm sorry. I was working on something for Dumbledore." He gives me his famous 'wounded puppy routine.' "You know I'd never cut in to our time together for anything less than vital, right?"

I roll my eyes at his charade and bite my lip in vexation.

"Cut the crap, Potter." I tell him. "We get so little time together and you're constantly cutting into it! If it's not Dumbledore, it's detention. If not detention, it's Quidditch. If not Qudditch, then it's the Marauders. I get stuck with what's left!"

He sighs and closes his eyes. "You know, it doesn't have to be this way."

I know instantly what he's refering to. "Potter." I warn him.

He ignores me and persists. "If you'd just agree to go out with me, we could make 'us' official. Then we wouldn't need to sneak around like our relationship is something shameful!"

My heart sinks into my shoes. I do not want to have this conversation.

"I never said it was something shameful!" I protest.

"Then just say 'yes'!" His eyes flutter open. "Then I can walk you to class. Hold your hand. Snog you senseless whenever I please, instead of whenever no one is around!"

I avoid his eyes. "I don't get why this bothers you so much all of a sudden. It didn't used to."

His hands cup my chin, tilting it upward and forcing me to meet the captivating hazel of his eyes. "You're mine, no one knows it, and it's driving me crazy! Do you have any idea what torture it is, watching other guys hit on you, and not having the right to stop them?"

"Not having the right never stopped you before." I point out. "You hexed my boyfriends on a regular basis."

He's not amused. "I want the right! I want them to know that when I hex them for looking at you, it's justified! And you make it worse. You flirt with them, Lily!" He accuses.

I smirk at him. "Jealous?"

His eyes narrow and I realize I've gone too far. "You know I am!" He growls out. "Insanely so. And I can't take much more. I need you to be my girlfriend, Lily."

"I've seen the way you treat your girlfriends, Potter." I retort.

He bats his eyelashes at me. "But Lily, love, all those other girls were merely practice until I had you."

My cheek twitches and I smile against my will. "That has to be the corniest line I've ever heard." I inform him.

"No it's not." He brushes my cheek with his hand--a tender, fleeting caress. "It's true. And besides, the line I fed you when I was drunk was far worse."

My lips touch his lightly in a casual kiss. "No, it wasn't. It was sweet. It was the only reason I agreed to kiss you."

He kisses me back, but he doesn't deepen it. He's intent and won't be distracted.

"Be mine, Lily." He begs. "Just...be mine."

I hesitate and he feels it. "Not...yet."

He pulls away.

"Then when?" He demands. "Can you give me a timeframe? Or do you ever intend on telling the world about us?"

"I don't know." I admit.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take." He sighs.

"Then end it." I tell him in a shaking voice. My lip quivers. I wait.

He glares at me. "How can you even say that? You know I won't!"

"Then just leave it!" I'm close to tears. "Leave things the way they are!"

"We can't, Lily! Don't you see that? Someone is going to find out. Sirius and Remus are already suspicious. Even Peter's making suggestive comments. They're my best mates. They're bound to discover the truth sooner or later! Merlin's beard, Lily, they saw us snogging once already."

"How did you manage to cover that?" I wonder.

He runs a hand through his hair. "It sure as hell wasn't easy! I have to mope about, pretending I'm still despondent over it."

My jaw drops a bit. "You used to mope about over me?"

He fixes me with a hard look. "Of course I did! I was in love with you, and you wouldn't give me the time of day."

"Oh." Is all I can manage to say.

"Yeah. 'Oh.' " He pauses. "But you can end all that. All you have to do is say 'yes' the next time I ask you out. I still ask you, you know, even if you pretend to ignore me."

I roll my eyes again. "I know you do. And it's still annoying. But I can't, James, I just can't. I'm not ready."

He jerks away, taking a step back. I've vexed him beyond his limits. "Fine." He says in a hushed, angry tone. "Do me a favor and owl me when you're ready."

He turns away.

"James." I call after him.

He keeps walking.

"James!"

He doesn't look back.

I rush after him, frantic, but he's already gone. Disappeared, as if he was never there. I've never been able to account for his annoying tendency to be able to vanish at will. I give up the chase. I know a lost cause when I see one. I sigh deeply, making my lonely way back to our Dorm. He isn't there and I don't really expect him to be. It's our first major row and he's upset. I imagine that he's off with his mates, brooding.

I climb into bed and find I can't sleep. My emotions are too raw, too potent. I stare upwards, watching the moon-lit shadows dance pell-mell across the ceiling. I realize that I'm afraid. Terrified. What if I've pushed him too far? It's my greatest fear, that he'll leave me, that he's not as devoted as he appears to be. But I can't bend on this point. I can't have an official relationship. What if I gave in, gave him myself completely, only to have him tire of me? Could I take it, watching him abandon me for some other girl? I've seen the way Potter treats his girlfriends. I ferverently don't want to join their number. It could be me, my heart whispers, I could be a Grace or a Meg or a Brandi. What happens when he finds a new obsession, when he decides that I'm not good enough? I can't bare that kind of rejection. Not from him. Not from James. As long as it's just snogging, I'm safe. I can guard my heart.

I awaken sore and haunted by the ghostly remenants of half-forgotten dreams. I shower and dress quickly, hoping to catch him before breakfast. He isn't waiting in the Common Room like he usually does. How typical. How very male of him. I say 'no' and he's pouting. He should be used to my refusals by now. He's had years worth of them.

I reach down and grab my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. A peice of parchment flutters to the floor. My heart leaps to my throat--hopeful--as I reach down and retrieve it.

Sorry to miss you. Marauder business.

The paper crumbles under my suddenly fisting hand. I struggle to hold back tears. I've always been able to tell when he's feeding me a line. He's lying to me, avoiding me. Summoning a cold indifference I don't really feel, I make my way to the Great Hall for breakfast. I'm not hungry, but failing to show up for a meal would definitely raise questions I don't want to answer.

I take a seat at the end of the Gryffindor table, as far removed from the Marauder's seats as I can. No one bats an eyelash at this--it's par for the course. I sip at my tea, pretending to study the patrol schedule. There is nothing wrong with it, but it gives me an excuse for silence. It's not a very clever ploy. Susan eyes me curiously from across the bench. I rub my temples as if vexed and draw out my quill. I'm a terrible actress and an even worse liar.

"What's with you?" She asks around a mouthful of food.

I shrug. "Tired." The truth is always best. I just avoid the whole truth. "I didn't sleep well last night."

She raises an inquisitve brow. "That all?"

I sigh. "No. I had to patrol alone last night. Again. Potter is hopelessly irresponsible."

Susan reaches across and pats my arm soothingly. "I'd hate that. Last patrol shift and by yourself. Are you trying to work Potter out of the schedule?"

I shrug again. "Don't see how I can. Schedule is pretty much fixed."

She withdraws her hand. "Odd though. For a bloke that didn't patrol, Potter seems pretty exhausted himself." She nods towards the middle of the table. My eyes flick over to the Marauder's usual seats, inspite of my resolve not to look. He's sitting there silently, picking at his food with a fork. He looks pale, his expressive eyes dark-rimmed from lack of sleep. He looks up suddenly, his eyes locking on mine. I try to look away and find that I can't.

"Evans!" He calls down the table, startling his mates.

I find myself the unwilling recipient of mass attention--all eyes are on me. I hate it and he knows it.

I roll my eyes. "Yes, Potter?" He's going to ask me out again, I'm sure of it.

"McGonagall wants to see us after breakfast. Head business." His tone sounds cold and detached, all business.

I nod my reply, not trusting myself to keep the surprise from my voice. I set my tea down, revolted by the thought of another sip. I stand and grab my bag.

"Off so soon?" Susan sounds perplexed, her eyes bouncing from Potter to me.

"Yeah. I'd better see what McGonagall wants." My voice sounds hollow even to me.

"But Potter said after breakfast." She protests.

"I'm finished. Best to get a head start." The truth is I want to be as far away from Potter as I can be.

I rush off, not giving her a chance for further protest, congratulating myself on my control. I'm getting better, I truely am. My red hair is always my downfall--I'm not equipped to reign in the passion that comes with it.

"Running away?" asks Potter as he falls into step beside me.

"No." I say coldly, flipping my hair over my shoulder. Read the warning signs, Potter, I silently will him.

He grabs my hand, twining it with his.

"Someone will see!" I hiss, jerking away.

He clasps my arm, spinning me around to face him. "What if I don't care, Lily?"

I stare hopelessly, helplessly his warm hazel eyes--eyes gone nearly gold with emotion.

"I care." I manage.

A group of giggling girls pass us. He sighs and drops my arm, giving me a look that says 'we'll talk about this later' plainer than if he'd spoken the words.

McGonagall is waiting for us, seated at her desk. She tries to appear stern and focused, but she keeps a wary eye on James. I don't blame her in the slightest. In her position, I would too.

"Sit." She commands.

We comply instantly. I sit tentatively, he lounges casually, in chairs more designed for intimidation than comfort. McGonagall adjusts her glasses and sighs.

"Against my better judgement," She begins. "The Head Master wishes to indulge in a bit of Halloween tom-foolery."

"Tom-foolery?" Potter asks with a smile.

She glowers at him. "A ball, Mr.Potter. A Halloween Ball."

I gasp. "But that's only two weeks away!"

Her eyes snap to me. "Yes, Miss Evans, which is why you'll have to keep the festivities simple. Decorations at a minimum."

"So," James drawls, leaning back and crossing his legs at the ankles. "I suppose Evans and I are to plan this thing?"

She sighs. "Yes, Mr. Potter, the arrangements for such events are typically placed in the capable hands of our Heads." She pauses, looking from Potter to me--measuring. "Though given the circumstances, I'm sure Miss Evans would do well to find additional assistance."

James widens his eyes in mock hurt--puppy eyes. "Why Minerva! Anyone would think that you believe me less than capable!"

Her stare should have melted him where he sat. "I'm quite aware of what you're capable of, Mr. Potter. I have an entire file to document it."

He's grinning again. "Then you should know that Evans and I are more than up to it. No one else required." He leaps to his feet, not waiting for a formal dismissal.

McGonagall turns to me. "Try to exercise some level of control over him, Miss Evans."

I stand as well, unable to keep the smile from my lips. "Even I'm not that good, Professor."

My mind is working frantically as I walk, trying out and rejecting various different themes for the Ball. Two weeks is an impossible timeframe, I decide. Dumbledore has gone completely daft...

James is watching me. I feel the distinct warmth of his eyes upon me.

I turn to him. "What?"

His brow shoots upward. "We need to talk."

I bite my lower lip. "No." I pout. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Yes, there is." He replies through clenched teeth.

He grabs my arm and pulls me into a broom cupboard I hadn't even noticed near us. Our broom cupboard. Ah...so that's what he's about. This kind of 'discussion' I can handle.

He locks the door and faces me. His expression is serious, grim. I realize at this point that snogging is not first and foremost on his mind

"You're going to the ball with me." It's a command, not a question.

"James." I warn him. "We've been through this."

"No." He cuts me off. "This isn't a debate, Lily, you're going to the Ball with me."

I sigh and try again to get him to see reason. "James."

He pulls me against him roughly, arms locking possesively about my waist. "I won't let you go with anyone else."

"But--"

"But nothing! This is a perfect opportunity to make our relationship official. We can take it slow, tell people we're going as friends. All you have to do is say yes when I ask you." His tone is desperate, his heart racing.

"No, James." I say quietly. "Just no, ok?"

He tries another approach. "You'll have to dance the first dance with me anyway." He points out. "We'll have to open the Ball."

I decide that I'm not going to win this argument. I take the cowards way out, hating myself for it. I wrap my arms around his neck, crushing my breasts into his chest, tugging him closer until we're nose to nose. My mouth is just in front of his. He gasps in a breath. My actions are unexpected, but I sense that they're not unwelcome. I toy with the hair at the base of his neck, fixing him with a low-lidded come-hither stare.

"Kiss me now." I breathe, my lips brushing across his as I speak. "Talk later."

I lick his bottom lip, slowly, leaving a sheen of moisure behind. His arms tighten about my waist and I realize I have him. He realizes it too, for he doesn't make even a token attempt to continue the conversation. His lips collide with mine, nibbling and sucking. I slant my mouth, deepening the kiss. I press into him, feeling every hollow, every hard ridge of his body. His tongue plunges into my mouth, swirling and searching. I welcome it, the firey taste of him on my own tongue, blistering with desire. He coils a hand into my hair, lingering, luxuriating in the softness. His other hand wanders up the curve of my hips to the slope of my breast. He stops. He pulls back slightly.

"We'll have to talk about this eventually." He's panting.

"Later." I urge, reclaiming his lips.

Much later.

I sit in the Gryffindor Common Room next to Susan, trying to help her with her Potions essay. It's due tomorrow and she's barely started. Susan is hopeless when it comes to Potions, she has no manner of talent for it at all.

"This is all wrong!" I moan over her first paragraph. "You have absolutely nothing here that's remotely useable!"

"I know." She says sheepishly.

"Why in Merlin's name did you--" I stop the thought short, cut off by the entry of a noisy group of boys.

The Marauders.

The worthless essay drops into my lap and my eyes drift to James. Black notices and nudges him, nodding in my direction. I realize that I'm staring and hastily avert my eyes. I can't see his face--I'm too busy staring at the floor--but I sense his grin just the same.

"So Evans," He says, casually sauntering over. I look up against my will, green eyes meeting hazel. He winks, slow and deliberate. "About this Halloween Ball Dumbledore has us planning..."

Color drains from my face as I realize what he's doing, what he's about to do. I should have known I wouldn't be able to distract him for long. Potter has a one-track mind--annoyingly obsessive. He rumples his already messy hair, his grin deepening to reveal his dimples. Dimples I long to kiss.

He's drawing the attention of the entire Common Room. Conversation stops. People lean forward expectantly. James eats this up, he loves playing to an audience. He sinks to one knee, as if proposing marriage.

"Go with me?" His actions might cater to his flair for the dramatic, but his tone is soft and desperate.

The air is suddenly tense as everyone awaits my reply. I want to draw out my wand and hex him for putting me on the spot like this. He knows how much I hate it! But I'm torn. I want to go with him. I really, truely do.

"No." I say quietly.

A few students--girls with ridiculously romantic sensibilities--groan in disapointment. A few others call out reassuring phrases to Potter. James ignores them all, watching me carefully, his expressive eyes pleading with me to just give in.

"You misunderstand me, love." He persists, rising to his feet. "I'd like you to accompany me in the most casual sense. In a friendly sort of way. As colleagues, if you will."

He's trying to make this easy for me, and I appreciate the effort. I'm about to agree when my eyes catch sight of Meg Carmine, Potter's last girlfriend, staring at James dejected and heartbroken. That could be me, I think, and my decision makes itself.

"Forget it, Potter." I reply, my tone conveying a sense of disgust that I don't really feel. "I know what you're about and you can just forget it."

His face falls. He tries to control it, to hide his hurt and disapointment, but I see it just the same. Sadness quickly gives way to annoyance and anger. His features harden, his brow furrows.

"Fine." He shrugs, sounding casual. He turns and spots an athletically built blonde seated near the fire. Andromeda Creevy.

"Andie!" He calls to her. I freeze, my heart ascending into my throat. Surely he's not...

He wouldn't...

He does. "You. Me. The Ball. What do you say?"

"Sure." She shrugs.

"Brilliant." James replies, his eyes flicking to me.

Not brilliant. Not at all. My heart drops to my toes. I can't believe he'd ask someone else! I know what he's about. He's trying to force me to admit that I want to go with him. He's trying to manipulate me. As if I'm one of his pranks. Git. My eyes narrow and I scan the room--searching. My eyes alight on Black and a flash of inspiration strikes me. Two can play this game.

"Black?" I lower my voice to a husky purr, but it carries just the same. The buzz of conversation that restarted following Andie's acceptance, dies down.

"Yes, Evans?" He tosses that oh-so-perfect head of hair, eying me warily, as he might a wild and dangerous animal.

I favor him with my most dazzling smile, fluttering my eyelashes at him. "I seem to be in need of an escort to the Ball. Would you...?"

I can believe I'm doing this. I barely tolerate Black. He's every bit as bad as I ever thought James was. But I'm not exactly thinking clearly.

Black's eyes travel to James. "I...don't think that's such a good idea..." He replies falteringly. "James..."

James shrugs. "Go ahead." His tone is cold, indifferent. "If you want to that is."

Black's eyes widen in amazement, traveling from me to James and back again, before narrowing in suspicion. He raises a brow. James responds with a subtle nod. If I hadn't been watching the exchange obessively, studying every nuance of his reaction, I'd have missed it.

"Ok then." Black grins suddenly. "I'll go with you."

"Brilliant!" I reply, forcing myself to sound delighted. I'm anything but. Black is the last person I want to go with. I'd almost rather take Snape. I struggle back a sigh. I should have asked Snape. Somehow I doubt that James would be sitting there passively if I had.

I turn my attention back to Susan's essay, but my heart isn't in it. All I can think about is James. My James. Sitting next to Andie, his arm drapped across her shoulders. Flirting with her.

James and I aren't talking. We don't talk about not talking, we're just simply...

Not speaking.

It's a mutal conspiracy of silence. An unspoken avoidance agreement. We plan the Ball via notes and schedules. We conduct our day to day Head Business through the prefects. No one notices the difference. No one finds it odd. But I notice. And I miss him. If he'd only asked me again in private, I might have said yes. Possibly. Ok, probably not. But still. This isn't about me. It's about Potter's love of the limelight. His need to show off.