The first time Lily Evans (never to be Potter) met (and was humiliated beyond belief by) James Potter, she had been lying on the Hogwarts Express floor, red hair fanned out beneath her (rather small—minuscule, really—compared to the gigantic one hovering right above hers) head, bum aching like a mad bugger and bright green eyes wide with unveiled horror (and contempt. Lots of it, apparently, and directed solely at him as he'd later come to learn—but mostly, horror). Not a particularly opportune position, if the sound of loud laughter (guffaws, really) was anything to go by, but as of now, Lily Evans reckoned it could've been worse. A lot worse, actually.
Case in point: her current position. Which, in the name of full disclosure, consisted (most unfortunately) of the likes of... er, sitting in someone's lap. And hands in hair. Laps and hands and hair. And er, lips. Okay, so tongues too, even if just a bit. Full disclosure, you know. Err.
But yeah, you see the predicament. It really could've been a lot worse.
Though, admittedly, James Potter's lap made for a rather fab floor substitute, even if it was probably just her (very instable) hormones talking. And, not that it mattered or anything, it was rather nice to not have him laughing at her clumsiness for a change—even if it was at the expense of having his lips on top of her, but Lily had always been all for breaking the monotony, you know. And also, not that she was comparing or anything—oh puh-lease, her mental capacities can only focus on so much as one thing at a time, especially a time like... like, er, the present. Yes, the present. Err, the very painful present.—this was a vaguely better experience. You know, in terms of dreadful taps of physical pain throbbing through her rear side and such.
After all, a girl can only take so many throbbing bums before she ends up muddling her priorities. All in the name of pain avoidance, of course; what else could persuade one to subject themselves to such atrocities, after all?
Because that's exactly what James Potter's lips were: atrocities. Mind-numbing, cruel atrocities that left her utterly and completely incapable of even trying to grasp at an inkling of sense and get herself out of this whole dilemma. Torture, they were. Really. He might as well just Crucio her while he was at it. In fact, Crucio would probably seem like a walk in the park next to the electrifying tringggggggs he was sending through her body, starting from the tips of her hair right down to her toes. Oh, and the heart-flops. The heart-flops were terrifying—exhilaratingly terrifying, but terrifying nonetheless. She would shudder in horror and pain, but she was too busy clinging to the last of her sanity—and his person, actually. His painfully heavenly person. Full disclosure, see.—that she stowed them up for later.
So, Lily reckoned, it really could've been a lot worse.