It was a cold Sunday morning when he sat on the booth where she was sitting and grumbled.
"Sorry, but you took my seat." He blurted, removing his scarf and setting it beside him.
"No, I didn't."
"Yes, you did. Are you new in the village?" he frowned back, resting his hands on the table.
She wanted to raise alarm over to the manager of the cafe, but Phyllis—it says so on his tag, with a manger's pin also proudly at his chest—was laughing at the sight. Phyllis shook his head and continued to instruct a waitress.
"So, are you new here?" the boy asked her again, interrupting her thoughts.
"Yes." She put her book down and frowned, crossing her arms. "And I was here first."
He laughed. "Well, then you're definitely new here."
"I'd really appreciate it if you move to the next table, sir."
"Sir? So polite for someone so young." He smirked. "And no, I won't. I told you, you took my seat."
She huffed lightly, "I'm sorry, let me get this straight. I was here for a good thirty minutes, drinking my coffee, before you went in. So how does that make you get this seat first?"
"Drinking coffee?" he ignored her last statement and pulled her mug towards him. "Empty though. Wouldn't want that. Phyllis, another round for the lady here, please. My tab."
Phyllis chuckled from behind the counter but nodded, nonetheless. After filling her cup, and bringing the boy his own steaming mug, Phyllis left yet again.
She frowned at him, annoyed. "You really don't have to do that."
"I insist, madam." He winked then sipped from his coffee.
"Is this some sort of a prank?" she raised an eyebrow.
"A prank?"
"Yes." She glared at him.
"Perhaps." He only shrugged, a playful smile on his lips. "Don't let the coffee get too cold though. They have one of the best—if not the best brew in the village." He rested his arms on the table and then grinned at her, like a little boy. Something behind that smirk told her not to trust this man, but he was also so uncannily familiar for some reason… maybe it was the black hair, or the eyeglasses, or those hazel eyes. She might've bumped into him some random day this past week while she got to know the village. Odd.
"So," he started again. "What are you reading?"
She rolled her eyes. So he wouldn't really stop then? "Pride and Prejudice."
"So, are you proud and prejudiced?" he quirked.
"No, I don't think so. I do not just randomly accuse people of stealing their booths just because they're new in town."
"Smart." He laughed, pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "You, miss, are quite impressive."
She shrugged. "I do get that a lot."
He smiled at her after his fit of laughter. "So, where are you from?"
"From a far, far away place." She sighed.
"Interesting."
"What is?"
"You, maybe."
"Me, maybe?"
"Could've just lied and told me London or elsewhere. But you've chosen cryptic words like 'far away'." he explained. "Now you wouldn't be able to get rid of me even if you tried. I will make it my life's mission to know where you're from."
She rolled her eyes again and decided. It was time to leave. "You're becoming very annoying." She picked up her book and her bag, ready to slide from the booth.
"Wait, where are you going?" he hastily inquired.
"Away." Successfully out from the booth, she marched towards the coat hanger. But when she turned, he was still in pursuit of her.
"What do you want, sir?" she finally snapped.
He sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Nothing. Phyllis—" He turned towards the balding manager, "I'll go ahead. I'll drop by again later for reports."
"You own the place then?" she raised an eyebrow.
Shrugging, he said, "Does it matter?"
"No, not really. But seems that you do own the booth then."
"That, I do." he smirked. "So, where to?"
She took a deep breath, realizing that this man couldn't take a hint. "Listen, mister. I really think you're a nice person. And thank you for the free coffee. But," she started to push the door open and into the cold street. He was still behind her, pulling his own coat. "—I don't know who you are. And honestly, you are getting me a bit frightened."
He halted, a bit shocked. "I apologize. It wasn't my intention."
They were now out on the streets, the cold wind of November swiftly brushing around them; the tree beside the shop was bare and dark, and the people wore their winter clothes, their scarves around their necks.
"Thank you then," she finally replied. "But I have to be on my way."
He ran his hand again through his dark locks, making it messier than that it already was. "Alright, I'm so sorry. I just thought... Shit." He shrugged. "Well, you just really looked very familiar. I've been trying to put it together since I walked inside the cafe." He tried to explain. "You really are not from here, then?" he added.
She shook her head. "No."
He nodded, looking quite sheepish and to her relief, finally about to let her go. But there was that little nudge she felt on the pit of her stomach. He did say sorry and might as well…
"I'm from Surrey." She finally huffed.
He looked up and nodded again, a small smile forming on his lips.
"You know," she whispered, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ears. Might as well. "You look kind of familiar too. I was thinking I might have bumped into you around town before."
"Perhaps..."
"Well it was nice bumping into you, I guess." She offered her hand, thinking that it was quite the proper thing to do. "Lily Evans."
He was smiling widely now, taking her hand and shaking it for quite some time before letting go. "James Potter."
"Well, finally. A name for the ridiculous hair."
As if for emphasis, he ran his hand again through his dark hair. "Then a pretty name for a pretty face like yours, then."
She felt herself blush. "I really have to go."
"Yeah," he nodded. "Sure. I'll see you around then?"
"Yes, maybe." She started to walk away from James, admittedly with a smile on her lips. She was about to turn to the next corner when she heard him.
"You know," he called after her. "I know a really great place near here. I mean, a great place aside from my cafe, obviously."
He walked towards her, hands in his coat's pockets. "What do you think?"
"Of what?" she asked.
"I don't know, a date, perhaps? So we could rummage through our brains as to where we might've probably met before?" he explained. "What do you think? Go on. Go on a date with me, Evans."
She stood frozen. Go on a date with me, Evans. There was something in there. Something that just clicked. Something that just nagged at the back of her head.
"…heard that somewhere before." She murmured.
"Probably on a better setting." he chuckled as he neared. "On a cheery afternoon, perhaps we're with your friends. Near a lake, everyone was having a laugh because I was being brilliant, and you were there, fuming, because I was being such a prick. But at the end, of course, you'll still say yes."
Can be. Probably.
She snorted and rolled her eyes. "Or maybe I'd rather go out with the balding man than you, Potter."
"Hm. Heard that somewhere before." James replied, slightly frowning. Recovering, he continued. "You should see Phyllis with his beard. More than a foot long, honestly. Got him to cut it before things get worse for the shop. Poor bloke's been calling himself Dumbledoor, too. Bit charming, that man. Cost me a great deal with women."
"A bit touchy about rejection, then?" she teased.
"From you, for the third time today." After a while he added. "So, is that a 'yes' then? A date?"
"I could think about it."
"Alright, fair enough."
"I'll see you around?" Lily finally said, echoing him.
"You know, maybe it's easier if you give me your address." he proposed.
"Godric's Hollow's a small village, don't you think? I might've actually bumped into you before, remember? Maybe we would bump each other some other time too."
"True, that." He agreed. "But be careful going 'round the house near the pub, though. That one caught fire just a few weeks ago. Still in ruins and might just collapse anytime."
She frowned. "Oh, that house. Thought it could've been charming in its early days."
"Perhaps. Wouldn't know myself." He frowned. "Well, if you think about, I slightly couldn't remember how that looked like before the fire... odd." He paused for a little while, still frowning.
"You okay?" Lily asked.
Shaking his head and closing his eyes, she thought he was daydreaming before snapping back. "Yeah, just... well. Anyway, I heard that the couple's son survived the fire. He's living with some relatives, I think."
Lily nodded. "Well, good for the boy then."
"Hardly." James replied, gazing at her intently, his eyes somewhat crinkling, like he was trying to figure something out. "I sort of have this feeling he should've just stayed."
"Why?" Lily whispered, starting to feel overwhelmed, like her chest was constricting, like she felt she was about to cry. Was it him? Was it because James was again acting so weird, so mysterious, and yet...
He took a step forward, "I don't know. It just felt right. I saw some odd folks carrying him out of the house and into a motorcycle. Looks kind of dangerous."
"And you sir, are dangerously close." Lily stuttered. She took a step backward but he held her arms, stopping her. He gave her a small smile—sad, but still a smile.
"Why do you look so familiar, Miss Evans? Why do I feel... " He paused, a frown forming on his face again. "... like I've known you for a long time?"
She didn't know. But it was so odd. So, so odd. On so many levels, this stranger's attitude should scare her. She should've called the police and alerted them. For some reason, she didn't have the heart to. For some reason, she didn't feel the need to.
"Maybe you know me, maybe before..." She whispered.
"Yeah, maybe I have." He agreed. "Wouldn't know how the hell I've forgotten about it, though… pretty thing like you."
He was dangerously close, Lily thought again. They were just a few breathes away from each other and she, too, felt, what he was trying to say even if he couldn't converse it properly—even if he couldn't explain himself, again for some reasons, she understood.
"James!" a call from the cafe a few feet away interrupted them. "I think it's time to discuss reports, yes?"
Phyllis was standing near the door, a few folder tucked under his arms. James let go of his hold on her and stepped backward, clearing his throat.
"Yes, we must." He shouted back to the old man. Turning back to Lily, he smiled apologetically and ran his hands through his hair again. "Well, I better go then, Lily."
She nodded, slightly recovering too.
"Perhaps, next time. On our date, we could, er, talk more." he added.
Lily managed a small laugh this time, whilst walking away slowly. "Sure."
The momentum had gone, she knew. And perhaps James felt it too. But there was a smirk on his face again as he walked backwards towards the cafe and the still waiting Phyllis—smiling as if he had a plan; smiling as if...
"Don't think though that this will be the last of it, Ms. Evans." he shouted after her. "You did say yes to our date. And I dare say we have a lot of things to talk about then. Like perhaps how you are so very much like the beautiful girl I dreamt of just last night—Red hair, fair skin, smart mouth..."
Lily rolled her eyes. "Well, I look forward to it. This encounter seems very forgettable."
He chuckled—like how he did so before (whenever, wherever that may be). "I really, really, doubt that."
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