Disclaimer: All rights belong to J.K. Rowling.

Author's Note: Have some James Potter birthday silliness. I may or may not have a part two planned for this.

James Potter was having a strange eighteenth birthday.

When he woke up on the morning of 27th March, 1978, he had expected to see an enormous pile of presents on the foot of his bed.

Alas, there was none.

In fact, his entire dorm room was empty. Strange, because usually he rises earliest out of all his roommates, but they were all gone.

Ever the optimist, however, James thought that maybe his friends had simply already woken up and gone down early, and had planned to give him his gifts in person.

So when he went downstairs to the Gryffindor common room, he had expected to be welcomed with a warm round of applause and a cacophony of birthday greetings from his housemates.

Alas, it was empty (save for the few third years trying to cram their homework).

Again, however, James thought that maybe everyone, sans the aforementioned third years, had gone to the Great Hall for an early breakfast.

So when he went outside to the Great Hall, he had expected for people passing in the hallways to greet him a happy birthday. After all, he was quite popular among the students of Hogwarts, and he'd bet that at least 80% of its population, including the snotty Slytherins, knew that it was his birthday.

Alas, none of the passersby even spared him a glance.

James' optimism began to waver. It was his birthday, his eighteenth one, god damn it, yet none of these people tried to acknowledge it.

With a glum sigh, James made his way to the Great Hall, expecting to be greeted by at least one person among the hundreds of people eating breakfast in the enormous dining hall.

Alas, the only words said to him as he sat down on the long table filled with people whom he had thought were his friends was, "Pass the butter dish, please," from a little ginger first year.

James then thought that maybe he got the date wrong, and it wasn't really his birthday yet? Maybe it's still March the 26th, he thought. That was the only possible explanation for this appalling lack of birthday greetings. So he went on to class as usual, but when he went to his first class-Potions-he saw that the date written on the board was indeed March the 27th.

Internally cursing the universe and especially his friends, who seemed to be uncharacteristically paying rapt attention to Professor Slughorn, he made his way dejectedly through Potions class, and the rest of the classes of the day.

As soon as his final period ended, he went back up to his dorm room to prepare for Quidditch practise that afternoon. On his bed, he found a black box with a golden ribbon on top and a red card that wrote his name in print. He opened the box, not knowing what to expect from an anonymous birthday gift, and saw that it was a set of underwear.

Women's underwear.

And it wasn't the typical pair of cotton bra and knickers, however. It was lingerie, the lacy and silky kind adorned with intricate embroidery. There was a golden bustier with a heart-shaped neckline, plain sheer stockings with lace trimmings and suspenders, and, James' favourite part of the entire get-up: plain black knickers with a tiny red ribbon on the top front. It seemed simple in the front, but at the back, the part that's supposed to cover the bum, sewn in golden letters were the words:

Property of James Potter

He had to find out who the gift was from. In his mind, he thought of only one person (think red hair) he would like to see wear the ensemble, however, he highly doubted that she would give him this kind of daring present. So his next best bet would be his three idiot best mates who were the type to think up of heinous ways to mess with him. He'd ask them, but he was still sour with them for not evem greeting him, so he decided against it, put the skimpy clothes neatly back into the box and under his bed, and went to Quidditch practise instead.

James made practise intentionally rough that afternoon, in an attempt to make his teammates budge and greet him, but they didn't. They had to suffer James' absurd training tactics and his long and redundant lectures as a result. When practise ended, James showered up and headed to his scheduled detention with Filch, who had caught him the night before sneaking out to the kitchens after curfew.

Not even the creepy Hogwarts caretaker acknowledged the fact that it was the eightteenth anniversary of the day he was brought into existence.

Knackered from the exhausting day he'd had, James was glad to be returning to the comfort of his bedroom, though of course he was still bummed by the fact that no one, except for the person who had sent the lingerie, remembered that it was his birthday.

When he opened the portrait hole, he was bombarded with a rousing greeting of "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JAMES!" from a large crowd inside the Gryffindor. He'd later say that he was half-expecting a surprise birthday party, but he was honestly, and blissfully, surprised. A loud and raucous party ensued, courtesy of Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, and Padfoot, and Prongs found himself immensely enjoying his birthday celebration. Lots of greetings were said, gifts were given, alcohol and cake were consumed, and fun was had.

In the middle of the party, James pulled his best mates aside and laughingly thanked them for the lingerie, to which Remus replied, "We didn't give you any lingerie."

That confused James, because they were only the possible people who could have thought of giving him that kind of present. Unless…

Peter then asked, "So what did it look like?" When James described the underwear, he was blushing.

"Well, now we gotta find out who gave you that lingerie," Sirius said with a smirk. "Speaking of, have you seen Evans around?" He hadn't. For the entire day, as he'd come to realise, which was odd, because Evans was reputed for having impeccable punctuality.

However, they went back on to the party when they saw three gorgeous semi-naked seventh years dancing without a care on one of the coffee tables, and they never found out who gave James that present, nor had they seen Lily Evans.

Hours of rambunctious and reckless partying later, James felt happily sated and ready to go to bed. He went back up to his room and put his numerous presents on a haphazard pile beside his trunk. He looked for the box with the lingerie which he remembered placing under his bed so he could add it to the pile, but it wasn't there. He searched everywhere for it, and finally found it when he pulled the curtains of his four-poster bed. But it wasn't in the black box anymore.

It was being worn by a woman laying down on his bed. The lingerie fit her body perfectly, as James had been imaging since he saw the garments, and she had even worn black high heels to match the whole ensemble. Her lithe body was draped across his bed, with her legs slightly bent and her head propped up on one arm, facing him. On her face was a beguiling, come-hither look, with her green eyes inviting and her red lips irresistible.

In other words, she looked utterly ravishing.

James audibly gulped.

Who was the woman wearing it?

Alas, none other than Lily Evans.

"So, Mr. Potter, I heard it was your birthday today."