Lily never left homework until the last minute. Never. Not once. She was certainly not going to make an exception for this essay, which was why she was sitting in the Library all alone, on a Friday night. The night of her seventeenth birthday to be exact.

She was well aware that, in her determination to finish her homework as quickly as possible, her hand was almost flailing across the page in a mad rush. Ink was smudging and she kept shaking her wrist. Fortunately, she didn't much care about what she looked like. The Library was mostly empty on a Friday and she was almost certain that on that particular Friday, it was completely deserted apart from her and Madam Pince.

That was, until she heard a cough. A cough that was so low in pitch it could not have come from the school's tiny, female librarian. At first she decided that she must have imagined the noise, but then it happened again. A cough rang out. A man's cough, closer this time.

She allowed her eyes to glance up quickly, before darting down almost straight away. That one glance was enough. There was no mistaking that smug smile; it couldn't have belonged to anyone else.

"What do you want, Potter?" she said as calmly as possible, allowing her quill to move across the parchment once more.

From across the table, James raised an eyebrow at the scrawling ginger. "Well I did want to wish you a Happy Birthday, but by the looks of things I've caught you at a bad time."

Realising that she would get little work done with him there, she set aside her work and looked up at him. He was still smiling very smugly. So smugly, in fact, that it unnerved her a little.

"You have caught me at a bad time actually," she said. "I'm trying to finish this." She gestured towards the mess of an essay.

He nodded. "Well yes, but that's not what I meant."

"What did you mean then?"

"I was talking about your face."

"My face?" she asked, dumbstruck. "What about my face?"

Chuckling softly, he made his around the table until he was right next to her. She had no idea what proximity had to do with her face but, mostly out of curiosity and overwhelming confusion, she didn't question his actions. Not just yet anyway.

James leaned back on the table, obscuring Lily's writing space with his... sitting space. Then, very slowly, he leaned forwards. As the top half of his body inched closer, she felt her breathing increase to an uncomfortable rate. Not to mention the fact that her palms had suddenly become inexplicably sweatier than they had been a few moments beforehand. He was now so close to her face that she was blinded a little by the candlelight shining off of his glasses.

"Potter," she said, trying to sound as calm as possible, "May I ask you what on earth you're doing?"

Without replying, he moved his hand to her cheek. She could have sworn that the feeling of his skin on hers made her heart stop completely. What was he doing? Was he going to kiss her? She was almost certain of it.

But then, he moved away very quickly, grinning and dangling a very black finger in front of her eyes.

"Ink?" she asked.

He grinned wider still. "Probably."

"And is it..."

"All over your face?" he finished for her. "Pretty much."

Lily did not know what the logical course of action would have been. It was certainly not to start laughing hysterically, which was what she ended up doing. It didn't take long for James to join her in her laughter and soon they were both being shushed from a very disgruntled librarian.

"Sorry, Madam Pince," Lily choked out, clutching her sides.

"I'm surprised she didn't comment on your mess of a face damaging her beautiful books."

"Some people are polite, Potter," she snapped. She wasn't sure why her anger towards him had returned but she decided to roll with it.

His face fell, evidently hurt but her sudden iciness, and he slid off the table to both stand and put distance between them. "I'm not polite?"

"Polite people don't go around hexing first years."

"Oh, shut your mouth, Evans."

She jumped a little, startled.

"Why do you always do that?" his voice was steady but full of contempt. "Whenever we're getting along you get all frowny and judgemental."

"I do not!"

"Then why are you frowning?"

Pointedly, she relaxed her face. "Alright you've had your fun now leave me alone to finish my work."

"I don't think so, Evans. I haven't given you your present yet."

She narrowed her eyes, almost certain that he had not brought her a present of any kind. Her doubts were proven wrong, however, when James reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a bobbly, brown parcel. It was a pathetic looking thing made to look even more so by the feeble ribbon tied clumsily around it.

It was endearing really. Especially the proud smile on his face and the triumphant way he held it out to her saying, "Here you go."

"Oh," she breathed, not quite sure what else to say.

"Some polite people say thank you."

"Are you trying to make a point?"

"No I'm trying to give you a present."

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Leave it on the table."

Then she pulled her work back towards her and focused all her attention on picking up her lost train of thought. She worked in quiet silence for a few moments before James could take it no longer.

"Oi, Evans! I'm trying to give you a present here."

"I know," she said, acknowledging it with a slight smile. "Thanks."

"Aren't you gonna open it?"

All of a sudden her cheeks went very pink.

"Not right now," she mumbled.

"Mind if I ask why not?"

Lily screwed up her nose in apparent embarrassment. "Well," she said. "To be honest I'm a little worried that it's gonna explode or something."

"You're absolutely insane, you know that," he said.

She sighed and reached for the bobbly, brown parcel that was her present from James. "It's not a bomb then?" she asked, hesitating before picking it up.

"No."

"A potato then?" she guessed upon closer examination.

"No. "

As she held the parcel up to her face for inspection, he couldn't help but stare.

After a few moments he said, "Why would I give you a potato?"

"I don't know," she shrugged. "Why would you give me a present at all? We're not exactly friends."

He blinked. "We're friendly aren't we?"

She didn't reply but he knew what her silence meant.

"Whatever, Evans. Happy Birthday. I hope you like orange."

James then slunk sadly out of the room, leaving Lily feeling very guilty. Her guilt might have plagued her all night had he not felt the need to call back over his shoulder, "By the way, you look sexy in ink."

Allowing herself a small giggle, she stashed the present in her schoolbag, planning to open in later.

It was only in the safety of her dormitory that she pulled James' present out again. Slumping back onto her bed, she twirled the package in her hands. Then, without thinking, she ripped off the brown wrappings. Out of the parcel fell something woolly. Wait. Two things woolly.

"Socks," she breathed.

James Potter had given her socks. Not just socks, she noted. Orange socks. Very orange socks.

Smiling to herself, she rummaged through the wrappings and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment. It looked like James' attempt at a birthday card.

Dear Evans

I've noticed that you don't own anything orange and I don't really understand why this is. Not only is it my third favourite colour, but I think it would go very well with your hair. Also socks are good.

Happy Birthday

James

Orange most certainly not go with her vibrant ginger hair and she definitely didn't want to wear anything that James had given her. Nevertheless, she pulled the socks.

They were much too long for her but she compensated by pulling them up very high. So high that they pinned the majority of her pyjama bottoms to her leg.

When Mary Macdonald came up to bed a while later she couldn't help but notice the socks. "Are those new?" she asked.

Lily smiled, looking down at them. "Yeah, they were a birthday present."

"From who?"

And she replied, still smiling, "A friend of mine."

I hope you enjoyed my silly little birthday tribute to Lily Evans.

Review if you have the time.