For Vivian.

James Potter needs to stop making me laugh.

Okay, it's not as though I hate him with every fibre of my being like I used to. I had a good reason for every time I scolded him or taking off points whenever I caught him out of his dormitory at night. He used to be a bully – the kind that took advantage of his position of authority that was created by fear. He acted like he ruled the school.

I didn't know what did it, but one day he was acting as cocky as ever with that insufferable smirk and taunting eyes and the next, he was practically invisible. He didn't demand attention anymore.

I think it was the first day I found a break in his group of friends.

James Potter. Sirius Black. Remus Lupin. Peter Pettigrew. They called themselves The Marauders, and in those couple of weeks, I thought the almighty group had split apart for good. I had no idea what had happened. I still haven't a clue.

And it was bloody sad, to be honest. If they were not bullies, they were respected as The Entertainment of Hogwarts. James and Sirius were the dynamic duo of mischief, and in those couple of weeks in sixth year, they didn't speak.

They made up eventually, of course. I'm sure they couldn't stay roommates and be angry forever. They were like brothers, now that I think about it. But they kept quiet about their arguments and their compromise or whatever had happened, and after the whole affair, something had changed.

He had changed.

James stopped bullying people. That was the biggest change for me. I no longer had to demand for him to stop hexing people for fun. He and Sirius were still The Entertainment of Hogwarts, of course, but they weren't being downright cruel. It was though he was a brightly shining star that had burned out and deflated in size.

This was about the time he became Head Boy.

I had been working for the Prefect and Head Girl positions for as long as I could remember. Maybe since James first picked on Severus Snape, my former best friend. It gives me a pang to think about it, given how said best friend had gone over to the dark side, but I had wanted the position because the current authority at the time would do nothing about the bullying.

Because they hadn't seen it.

It made me so angry. It was prejudice against Slytherins, which was just as bad as prejudice against muggle-borns. I wanted to be in that authority to enforce that people would be treated equally, and I have done so.

People who have the guts to act so pretentious and above others make me want to scream, cry and throw emotional girly fits. Not that it would help or anything, but I like to imagine it makes me feel better. I don't understand why it exists. My sister thinks she's better than me. You-Know-Who thinks himself above muggle-borns. James thought he was a god.

Or at least, he used to.

Everyone noticed his change, and I thought that maybe I ought to give him a chance. A fair chance. I was to work with him all year, and as I stated before, there would be no sense in throwing a fit. He'd obviously earned the grades and the respect of the teachers. I could give him a chance.

At first, he was infuriating with his teasing. The bloody, bloody teasing.

"Hello, Lily Evans!" James greeted in a loud, cheery voice as he plopped down on the opposite end of my table in the library. I, among several others, immediately shushed him before taking a glance at the librarian. She was shaking her head.

"Oh, don't fret," he interjected in my worries. I glared at him, but he only laughed and messed up his hair. "A little noise never hurt anybody."

"We're in a library," I hissed.

"And the sky is blue." He propped his bag up on the bench beside him.

"Stop it, you know the rules."

"Your hair is a shade of fiery red." He opened his bag and pulled out the Heads papers.

"Stop naming obvious things."

"You've got a temper to match it."

I tried not to show it bothered me. This always happened: he would name a flaw of mine, and I would pretend that I didn't care what he thought. But that was another flaw, caring what people thought.

I was working on my temper – I knew it was a flaw of mine, and I wanted desperately to fix it. He always got under my nerves with his tone of voice, because whatever he said just sounded as though he was insulting someone. It was as though his pompousness crept under my skin and tested my confidence.

Like it didn't matter what I did, but I would always be the same in everyone's eyes.

"Shut up," I said quietly, letting my head drop.

"Why, did that bother you?"

"What's it to you?"

"No – Lily Evans – wait." His hand was on my arm. Get it away, get it away, get it away. I raised my eyes to meet his. "Does it bother you?"

"Potter –"

"I'm not teasing you," he interrupted quickly. His hazel eyes confirmed it. "Seriously, does it bother you?"

I was a bloody awful liar.

I sighed in resignation. "Yes, Potter. Teasing bothers me. It bothers lots of people."

His expression was blank. "It does?"

"Did you think it didn't?"

"I thought…" He swallowed, eyes widening. "I thought it was fun. My friends never say anything. People are bothered by it?"

I nodded. I didn't really know what to say. "So, all this time… you never meant it?"

"Bloody hell, of course not." He reached over and bounced a curl. "Your hair is very nice. And you're always nice to everyone. You know that. Why do you care what I say?"

"Don't you think it's important how other people see you?"

"No – yes?" He corrected, seeing the incredulous look on my face. He thought for a moment before changing his answer again. "Wait, no. I don't care. And you shouldn't, either."

"Excuse me?"

"LILY EVANS SHOULDN'T CARE WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, jumping up so suddenly that he made me drop my quill.

I tried to restrain myself from maiming him. "Potter, stop before we get kicked out."

"Oh, please." He rolled his eyes and sat down again, giving me a smile. A real one. "Madame Pince knows me. Accepts that there's really no point in trying to change my ways."

I tried not to smile back.

I think this was the first time I realized how oblivious James Potter was to the bullying he had done. He wasn't consciously a bully – at least, not in our seventh year. He teased people in a good manner because he thought they wouldn't take it seriously. He didn't give a damn.

And dear Merlin, he was loyal to his friends.

To him, anyone who wasn't his friend did not deserve to be called by their first name. He gave his best friends and best enemies nicknames. He called his Quidditch teammates by their first names. He called me by my first and last name, simply because I was his "special friend".

Yes. He called me his special friend. I kid you not.

"How am I special?" I had asked him one of those late nights in the library. Books and homework and Heads papers were stacked everywhere around us. Like we were the only ones there.

(Except we weren't).

"Special friend," he corrected insistently.

"Fine, special friend. How."

"Because you're my friend, and you're special."

I wasn't aware when exactly in the three months we'd been working together that I had become his friend, but it made sense. We spent a lot of time together, in and out of class. We did our homework together because we both found being around our other friends was distracting.

"We're friends, then," I repeated, mostly to myself. That brought a smile on his face.

"We are?"

"You said it first," I teased. I'd gained that habit from James. For fun.

"And you agreed!" he declared.

"I'm glad this makes you so happy."

"It does indeed."

It made me happy, too. "So how I am I so special of a friend?"

For the first time I'd known him, he hesitated, then stood. I watched as he nervously (wow, he's never nervous) made his way to my side of the table, slipping onto the bench beside me. I suddenly noticed that he was much closer.

Way to go, Lily. State the obvious, won't you?

James seemed to be struggling for words. I didn't know why. "You're a special person."

"Gee, thanks."

"Not like that," he said, laughing. I grinned. "I was thinking about it when we started working together. We were enemies before, weren't we?"

I frowned. "No."

James started, distracted, but shrugged. "Oh. Anyway, I figured I ought to call you by your first name, but it didn't fit. We weren't friends. We're Heads. Working together. Tolerating each other."

I felt something inside me protest. I didn't just tolerate him. I genuinely enjoyed spending time with him and his jokes and carefree attitude and sharp mind – but before I could say anything, he kept going.

"So I called you by your first and last name. Lily Evans."

"Do you have an urge to define everything?"

"Absolutely." He smiled again, and my knees became wobbly even though I was sitting. "But here's the problem. Even though we're friends, Lily doesn't fit you in my mind. Even Lily Evans doesn't quite fit. You don't quite fit in my categories. You're not my best friend, acquaintance, teacher or enemy."

"I'm your special friend."

"Uh huh."

I rolled my eyes in amusement. "Oh, how I wish I could find my way into one of James Potter's famous brain catalogue of people, in a category that isn't entirely my own. I long for it. I'm desperate. Really."

He burst out laughing. "See, Lily? You don't fit. You're special."

"A little sarcasm and wit doesn't make you special."

"You're right, it's more than that." He turned his body towards me, and I had unconsciously imitated him. I suddenly felt his shaking hand brushing my knee. He swallowed. "You're really nice. To everyone. Even to those who don't deserve it. You respect people and give them chances. I bet you'd help old people cross the street."

I dropped my gaze to his hand on my knee. "I'm not a saint."

"I didn't say you were." He brought his other hand to my chin to lift it. "I think those are the things that make you special. Because you're real. The most I've ever seen in someone."

"Other people are real."

"Not like you." He dropped his hand, searching my eyes. "I still don't know where to put you."

"You're not a Sorting Hat, James," I told him, entirely serious.

And then we were laughing, tears pouring from our eyes, clutching each other, stomachs aching. It wasn't the first time I'd laughed with him, but it was the first time I had become exceedingly aware of it.

Aware that I was most definitely falling for him.

Despite that, I was glad I was his special friend, because James was a good guy after all. One who was growing up to understand his part in the world, and how it didn't revolve around him.

I was right. It was as though he was a gleaming star that had burned out. He wasn't the cruel person he'd been – or pretending to had been. But there was still something about him that kept him shining in my eyes… like his spirit. It was strong, undying and filled in his laughter.

In the months I had become his special friend, I had realized he had become my special friend as well. That one that I could go to when my friends and roommates were driving me crazy. Who I could go to when it was that time of month and drag him to the kitchens for chocolate, and he'd listen to whatever was bothering me. I was that one he'd come to when he wanted to babble on about Quidditch plays to deaf ears, or when he was feeling like shit and just wanted someone to sit with. And probably eat chocolate, as well.

But I couldn't – and wouldn't – call him my best friend.

He was right. People fit in categories for me, too. There were my best friends, Mary MacDonald and Hestia Jones, my roommates, my not-so-close friends, my acquaintances, my teachers, my enemies and people who I still cared about even those I hadn't a reason to.

James didn't fit anywhere. He was that boy I worked with that I told most of my secrets to and trusted with my life. He was that boy I used to hate because of how he acted. He was that boy who made me laugh.

And he had to stop doing that.

"James, stop making me laugh!" I exclaim, clutching my stomach. We're in the empty Great Hall. Change of scenery. There was never anyone in the Great Hall after dinner, so we decided to do our homework and Heads duties here tonight. The library was always too loud.

But it might've been just because of James.

"Why?" he chokes, trying to breathe. "Why are we even laughing?"

"I don't remember!"

"Bloody hell, we've gone mental!"

I take a deep breath and straighten my face. James follows suit. But as soon as we look at each other again, I burst out laughing.

"This – this is hopeless," he gasps.

"This is all your fault, that's what."

"It is not, Lily Evans!"

My smile suddenly droops – well, more like completely falls off my face, because I've just realized that laughing is that one thing that draws people closer. Too close. And I've been laughing a lot in his presence lately.

And it didn't matter that he used to ask me out so much, because that had been a prank. It didn't matter that I'm his special friend, because when it came down to it, that's all I am to him: a friend.

He doesn't categorize me like I had categorized him. He doesn't feel the same way.

"Lily Evans?" he asks, noticing I've stopped laughing. "You all right?"

"You have to stop."

"What?"

"You have to stop," I declare after heaving another huge breath. "Stop calling me your special friend. And making me smile. And being unable to categorize me. And giving me sweets when I'm upset. And writing for me when my hand gets tired."

James had frozen to the spot. "What?"

"And making me laugh," I continue, ignoring him. "That one. Especially."

"Lily Evans –"

"Just Evans," I interrupt. I stand and begin to gather my books. "I'm done being put in a box, James. I'm not your special friend. There's nothing special about me. Not to you."

Not the way you are to me.

He only watches as I heave my bag over my shoulders. I fight tears. "I've never been anything to you, okay? Not even one of your best friends. So just –" I break off and run away. I never do that; I usually face things head on. But now I am.

I don't even know where I'm running. I ducked through crowds of students, and when I hear James calling me – "Lily Evans!" – I run faster. I have a head start. I'm determined to get to my dormitory and cry.

All because James Potter makes me laugh, and that's how I fell for him.

And then I manage to slam against the floor because my bag is too heavy and I don't know how I managed to run so far anyway. I don't hit my head. I don't faint. I just fall with gravity, my bag breaking my fall. Students either gather or make their way around me, some offering hands. Until, of course, James pushes through the crowd and let their offers go to waste.

"Are you okay, Li – are you okay?" he asks. Great. Now he can't even say my name.

"I'm fine," I mumble, and he pulls me forward and crouches in front of me.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" I wince at his voice. People are staring. "What was that? Everything was fine, and then you just explode at me for no bloody reason!"

"But –"

"And stop being friends? Why?"

"I don't want to be your friend!" I burst through angrily. He stops.

"Really?" he asks, faltering.

I swallow. "No." Students begin tittering around us. They had to have noticed our budding friendship over the months.

James seems too in shock to notice. "What did I do?"

"You want to know?" I push myself to my feet. James follows suit. I look at him in the eyes. "It's the fact that you touch me whenever you see me. My arm, leg, face, whatever. Then you tease me and make me laugh –"

"What's wrong with making you laugh?" he demands.

"Why do you think?" I cross my arms, my face burning with humiliation. I don't even know why I'm yelling. I guess I'm just mad he doesn't like me back. "Don't you see what you're doing?"

"No, I don't!"

"You make me not want to be just your friend!"

He pauses, staring at me for a moment.

"Good, because I don't want to be your friend, either."

My heart sinks.

"Fine!" I shout back, feeling sick.

"Fine!"

And then he leans forwards and kisses me and I can't think anymore.

When we break apart, I don't even notice that there are so many people around. James grabs my hand and leads me somewhere. I just follow him, in a daze.

He just kissed me.

James Potter just kissed me.

And it was freaking amazing.

We walk through the castle, up the stairs, around the corner, up more stairs, away from the other students to so that our footsteps are slapping and clanking against the floor. I had no idea where we are. Some quiet corridor, where the lights are off and moonlight is streaming through the window.

I look at James as we stop. He's biting the inside of his cheek and his hand is sweaty and looks so nervous and adorable that I can't help it. Barely a second goes by before I find myself kissing him again.

Snogging James is so unlike snogging other guys. The ones I have kissed tended to be sloppy or forceful or just plain awkward. Granted, I don't have that much experience, so it's not as though I'm any better.

But James kisses me so softly and his lips are warm and it sends tingles down my spine. That's not normal, I'm pretty sure. His hand grips my body close to his, another hand threading into my red curls. I grip the back of his neck, and the kiss deepens.

It feels so damn right.

I can't stop smiling.

Sometime later, when we've shoved ourselves in a window sill, switching between cuddling and kissing, James nuzzles my neck. "Do you remember when I asked you out every day?"

"Yeah."

"That wasn't a prank."

"Oh." Then it hits me. "Oh." I lean my head back on his chest so I can see his face. "I'm sorry, James."

"It's okay, I was a prat."

"You were," I joke, kissing his neck. "But I wasn't much better."

He holds me closer. "You never told me why you wanted me to stop making you laugh. I thought you liked laughing. You know, like a normal person."

"I am normal!"

"Doesn't seem like it."

"Oh, shut it," I grumble, and he turns me around to kiss my nose. "You mean you don't know?"

"What?"

"It's a well known fact," I state in my Lily-is-teaching voice. "People grow closer when they laugh together. Or make each other laugh. It was just getting too much." I fidgeted with my hands, which were in his. "You had to stop making me laugh, because I was falling for you, and I thought you didn't feel the same."

James shakes his head, smiling. "I called you my special friend, and you didn't get it?"

"I thought you were just weird."

"No one is that weird."

"You categorize your friends!" I exclaim, poking him in the chest. Damn, shouldn't have done that. Must. Repress. Girly. Sighs. "You think about what to call them depending what your relationship is with them. That's not weird at all, to you?"

He shrugs, grinning widely. "I have a name for you, by the way. For my special friend, also known as my girlfriend."

"What's that?"

He leans in to kiss me again. "Love."