A/N: Okay, I just wanted to say, that I've heavily edited this chapter, because I've sort of changed this story – I decided that the only-by-letters-and-notes thing wasn't going to work, because it's just not enough to tell their story – so I've added a little bit of narrative to this chapter and the whole story, now, will incorporate a large amount of narrative, although I am still going to use letters and notes to a large degree. What I'm trying to establish through this story is the development of their relationship, and I feel that narrative is fundamental to that end, and really, just sort of makes everything a bit easier to understand and more simply set out. But I hope you still enjoy it and support the story despite the changes! Feel free to review and tell me what you think of them and anything you liked or didn't like about the new version.

If you're new I guess that doesn't apply to you, so in that case, hello, and please enjoy the story, and then please review!

Also, for the minute amount of people waiting on an update for this story, I am so, so sorry for the long wait, but I've had final exams, apparently the most important ones of my academic career. So I'm so, so sorry, I'd hate me too! But I can tell you that a second chapter is in the works and should be up within the next week, and after that I'll attempt to update every week, okay?

Again, I'm sorry! But enough waffling, read on!

…

"There are many things that I

Would like to say to you

But I don't know how…

Because after all

You're my wonderwall."

…

Dear Lily,

.

..

…

Well, okay, that failed. Hang on. Let me channel my inner romantic-love-note-writer.

Be right back.

James.

James crumpled the piece of parchment in his hand, branding it a failure – which it certainly was, considering that it was supposed to be a love letter and yet it consisted mostly of dots. Dots were not words. There was so much he had to say, even though he would never send the letter. He just needed to let it out – yet he couldn't seem to find the words. He tried again.

Lily.

I love you. Marry me. Love me. Have my babies.

Or, you know, just you stopping hating me would be nice, too.

James.

Better – words, at least! An overly succinct synopsis of his feelings for Lily and indeed rather understated – but words, nonetheless. Another attempt, perhaps.

Dearest Lily,

You might be wondering why, exactly, I'm choosing to write you a letter expressing everything I feel for you when I will in fact never in my life deliver it or send even anonymously – well, what if you were to somehow manage to connect the dots from the prat who asks you out every day to the incredibly romantic mystery guy who writes you love letters? Unlikely, I know, but it's an entirely too real possibility. So, sorry. You'll never receive these. But whatever, it's not like I'm your boyfriend or anything so I'm not really supposed to be writing you love notes anyway, so does it matter that you'll never get them? No. No, I don't think it does.

Well, if you can read minds and are wondering that very question, I'm writing them for reasons that are three-full:

Number 1: I love you because you're perfect and you don't even know it and that makes you even more perfect and I can't exactly talk to you because you are currently pissed off over I'm-not-entirely-sure-what-I-did-this-time but I know you well enough to know that you're fierier than that curly, tousled hair of yours when I've pissed you off. Just me, though. You always seem eternally more brassed off at me than at anyone or anything else, which I guess gives me some satisfaction since even for an entirely different reason than the one I'd like, I at least hold some spot different to the rest in your heart. Okay, head. Back recesses of which. But I'll take that. Speaking of your head of fiery hair, that's exactly what I'm getting to stare at right now, because its charms and you sit in front of me and you've got so much of that glorious, glossy tumble of tight curls that it's literally all I can see. Even the back of my eyelids are glowing red. Anyway, my point is, you sort of hold a bit of a discontentment with me, and I'd rather not risk having my head bitten off by saying anything even alluding to this in person. Like, out loud. That would be silly. And reckless. Both of which yes, I'll admit, I can be from time to time, but I really must try not to be. For your sake, seeing as I think you'd rather they weren't some of my redeeming qualities.

Number 2: I have nothing else to do. Charms is boring. Sorry, Tiger Lily, but it's true. I know how much you adore it and all, and in practical terms it can be quite fun occasionally – but this is a lecture. A lecture on bloody bubble-head charms, too. Who knew there could be so much to say about bubble-head charms? You say a spell – or not, as the case is with you, since you are apparently very good at doing spells silently, a fact of which I am very impressed, by the way. I only learned how to do that so that Sirius, Remus, Peter and I could pull off pranks without being heard as well as not being seen. Thought we might as well have the whole package, you know, since we have the Cloak and the Map and all – and you do little swirly sort of thing with your wand, a bubble forms around your mate's head, you have yourself a chuckle, refuse to lift it for a while and move on your merry way. Flitwick's far too passionate about these things and far too unwilling to see the funny side in making your thinks-he's-this-suave-ladies'-man-and-is-the-best -looking-bloke-at-Hogwarts-including-that-Muggle-S tudies-professor-all-you-girls-seem-to-swoon-over- and-yours-truly best mate a knock off his bloody self-built pedestal by making him go the whole day with a giant bubble surrounding his head.

And lastly, Number 3: Born-and-raised Gryffindor or not, I will never have the courage to say these things to you in person, even if I thought you felt the same and weren't pissed off at me right now. Besides, maybe getting it all out will help. My mates are always telling me to find some other way of venting out all I feel about you than to them. Maybe this is it. Although, if they'd met the girl they could envision having babies with and she was sort of discontented with them, I'm sure they'd have no qualms venting to me.

So, Darling Lily, here's the thing.

You might hate me (although I know you don't. Deep down. Not really), but I…

Well, I… Bugger.

I think I'm in love with you.

And no, I don't mean that in a silly-17-year-old-infatuation way, I mean it seriously. I can't imagine myself with anyone else, and there have been plentiful opportunities. Seriously, I'm not just being all big-headed. Girls have flirted, Sirius has attempted to fix me up with many a mate of his little shag-dolls, but I'm just not interested. I've only been kissed once, and that was only because it was at that stupid Christmas do of my mother's and there was unsuspected mistletoe and I felt bad for the bird. But that's the only time. Sirius says I just need a few good shags and I'll be right as rain, as horny and perverted and sex-addicted and not-hung-up-on-one-girl as the next 17 year old bloke. But I know that's not it. Even if I did embark upon a few one-night-stands or friends-with-benefits relationships or just meaningless shagging with your average slut, I honestly don't think there'd be any difference made to my feelings apart from an added feeling of guilt for using the chicks. Because no matter how hard I try, it's you I can't get out of my head. There's something between us Lily – something I can't really put into words, but I'll try anyway.

It's like, when I see you, there's this little butterfly that starts floating around in my stomach and a metaphorical burst of wind that propels me towards you, even though I know as soon as I start talking to you my foot will find its way – however much discouragement from my brain – into my mouth and I'll end up saying something pig-headed and spark up that temper of yours. You know as well as I do how often that happens.

And it's like when you're standing in the Entrance Hall when it's as crowded as its possible for it to be, like on the first and last days of term, you literally stand out from them. Like, the colour of your skin is brighter, your eyes more sparkling and hair more rich even than normal in colour. Someone else with red hair and green eyes and pale skin and a smattering of freckles on the bridge of their nose and over their shoulders could be standing right next to you, but you'd shine brighter.

And it's like, whenever you swivel your head towards me, I get this whole cloud of butterflies batting their wings about in my stomach and I can't help myself from smiling at the fact you even acknowledged me, because why would you? I don't have amazing emerald eyes that glitter more than the stones themselves – and I would know, my mum's got a big, ornate pair my dad bought her however many thousand years ago they got together, and they don't glitter nearly half as much as those beautiful eyes of yours. I don't have the kindest heart Hogwarts will ever know, while still managing to be bloody terrifying when I stand my ground. I don't get the best grades in the year coming from no magical background at all. Not that it matters, it just means that your magical blood is stronger than all of Hogwarts so-called "pure-bloods" is. I'm just this lowly, troublesome Quidditch Captain who isn't really worth your time, but wishes he was anyway.

I can't even begin to describe how much I wish I was good enough for you – what the bloody hell was that?

James, who had finally been in his writing flow, broke off as something hit his glasses. Upon inspection, he realised that it had been a piece of parchment, balled up and, evidently, flung at him. A piece of parchment bearing a note signed with Lily's initials.

Potter, what are you doing? That bloody quill scratching is doing my head in, and don't tell me you're taking notes because a) that's not like you at all because you never take notes in any subject, not even Defense. You just muck around with your mates and b) Flitwick already said at the beginning of the lesson that we'd find all of this in its basic form in Standard Charming: Volume Six. – LE

Merlin, good aim, Evans. Nice to know you're noticing. And even taking an interest in my activities! I feel as though we're progressing, Evans. – JP

I know. I'm not interested. What I'm interested in is you shutting the hell up, Potter. You're giving me earache.

Me shutting up? I haven't spoken almost all lesson!

And as happy as I am about that fact, the dampener is you've been scratching with that quill so furiously I'm sure you'd have been quieter just having this clearly long conversation with your mates via your pathetically un-quiet whispering.

It's nothing to do with my mates.

Really? Then what is it? Sounds like a bloody essay. If it is and it's due next period, which is likely with you, why are you bothering? Since when have you cared about detention? You could just not do it, go to detention like you normally do, and my ears would be fine. Win-win situation.

It's not an essay either, and I have better things to with my time than detention, you know!

Like what, coming up with the stupid pranks that land you in it so often? Well if it's not an essay and it's not for your mates, it surely can't be anything else all too important, so can you just ssh?

Our pranks are not stupid, they're comical genius. Well, for you, I suppose I could.

I think the stupidity of that comment just broke the stupid scale, Potter. How chivalrous of you.

Good to know. Do I get a medal? Or a cookie? Born and raised a true Gryffindor, you know.

You get nothing. Yeah, true Gryffindor, I'm sure. Now do something else chivalrous and leave me alone, preferably without going back to that incessant quill-scratching.

I will if you go out with me.

You can't go a day without asking me, can you?

Nope. I'll get you to agree one day, Lily.

Unfortunately, Potter, I have plans with the Giant Squid this weekend. You know what makes him the better choice? His ability to shut up.

Cold, Evans. Aren't the suckers a turn off?

Actually, I'd describe that as brilliantly biting sarcasm. And no, not when the other option is going out with you. GOODBYE, Potter.

Just one question, Lily – if you can't stand me so much, why did you keep sending me notes?

James observed Lily opening his last note and staring at it for longer than necessary, an unreadable expression on her face. Then she slowly stuffed the parchment in her bag and determinedly trained her eyes on the Professor, pointedly not sending a return note. James sighed and returned to his letter; although he had the sneaking suspicion he'd gotten under her skin with that last note.

So, despite your clear displeasure with not only me, but now with the letter too, I will continue where I left off. Although, you know what neat spell that will stop that is? As unfortunate as it is that Snivellus created it, everyone loves a good Muffliato. How do I know about Snivellus's spells, you ask? Well, I got partnered with him in potions a month or so back, and his advanced potions book has scribbles everywhere and I just so happened to come across that little gem – a little blackened by Snivellus's unfortunate connection to it, but still – while concocting the exceptionally difficult (ta, Sluggy) Theodore Solution. I know, I know, Theodore has its uses. You know, since it's the second best thing to a bezoar to cure poisons. But whatever. It's still not something to be teaching a 6th year potions class, even if we are almost 7th years. More like 3rd year of Healer training.

My point is though, do you see what I mean about putting my foot in my mouth when it comes to you? I know I was writing, but honestly. "Aren't the suckers a turn off"? Really? Am I that stupid? Where is the charm? Where is the suaveness? Where is the eloquence? Good job, brain, good job.

Geez, what a knob.

Well, since that little Muffliato buzzing in your ear seems to have ticked you off just as much as my quill-scratching probably would have, judging by the incessant tapping of your foot which normally means you're about to attempt to kill me, I'm going to stop writing now and lift it.

Then I'm going to go wallow that I can't even write without you getting annoyed at me.

Wah.

Until next non-existent time, my love.

Forever your adoring inferior,

James.

Sighing exasperatedly to himself, James folded up the parchment carefully, along with Lily's notes, and tidied them into his bag with the rest of his belongings. He headed out of the classroom with his friends, not really paying attention to the other Marauders' debate over who was to be entrusted with the Map over the summer, mostly because it was pointless as they'd see each other almost every day anyway. He was thinking about how in a week's time, the school would break up for the summer and that after the holiday, he'd have just a year to win Lily over.

He was determined that he would – he would not finish his last year at Hogwarts and never see Lily again. It was not an option.

Little did James know, that with the arrival of his last note to her, Lily had had an epiphany – she did not hate James.