This was written in honour of my darling friend Emily because she is the biggest Lily/James fan I have ever known. I love you, Finney. I love you tons.

Potterella

James Potter had been living and breathing for seventeen years, seven months, two days, and an indeterminate amount of hours, minutes and seconds, when, due to a particularly stupid idea that had sprung from his mind and into fruition earlier that same say, he suddenly found himself suffering through the acutest form of embarrassment that he had ever encountered.

This was in his own estimation, of course. There was no telling what the classmates and teachers of James Potter considered to be some of his lesser moments in the brainstorming department. Certainly, some of his more sensible peers were of the belief that the boy embarrassed himself on a regular basis, and would not have seen eye to eye with James if they were to sit down and discuss the matter with him, although the boy himself would have been rather shocked to discover this. He had been blessed, or cursed, at birth, with a strange lack of awareness of just how silly he truly was, and this, coupled with an talent for arguing away even the most ridiculous of matters with a logical excuse, provided James Potter with the ability to live in blissful ignorance of his own lack of common sense. Unless, of course, unless he had taken it into his head to attend a costume party dressed as a luminous yellow banana, in which case, he really couldn't make any excuses for himself.

Unfortunately, in that instance, this was exactly what he had done.

It was a stormy Saturday night in October, two days before Halloween and on the eve of a Quidditch match in which James had participated in as captain of the Gryffindor house team and lead his gang to a rather thrilling victory. This was indeed a delight, and a delight made all the more sweet by the fact that Gryffindor's opponents in that match had been the much despised Slytherin team, their biggest rivals. The twenty-ninth of October also happened to be Mary MacDonald's eighteenth birthday, and it was for this reason that James Potter's post-victory glow was being tarnished by the bitter sting of embarrassment.

James had many things and many people to blame for his humiliation, and in his own opinion, he was certainly not one of them. The main culprit, he supposed, would be Halloween, for being so very popular amongst Muggles and forcing him into this situation. Then, there was Sirius Black, his supposed best friend, who had supported his dreadful costume idea; Remus Lupin, for not wrestling him to the floor and forcing him out of it; Severus Snape, just for existing, and Mary MacDonald herself, seeing as how she was the one who had decided that it was high time she threw herself a birthday party in the Gryffindor common room and make everybody come in Muggle costumes in honour of the upcoming holiday. It was all Mary's fault - Mary's parents' fault, even. James had idly considered getting drunk and writing them a sternly worded letter, only Mary would be sure to kill him.

If James had been drunk, he probably would have been feeling fine and dandy, but he was sadly stone cold sober. Stone cold sober and dressed as a banana, which, as Remus had reminded him only seconds before the party began, shouldn't have been classified as a purely Muggle costume to begin with. As he had pointed out, wizards also ate bananas, but James had not listened, just like he never listened. It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

Discovering that he couldn't sit down in the costume had been a little irritating, as the match that day had been long and he was desperate to rest his weary body, but that hadn't been enough to ruin his evening. The realisation that he was unable to walk around the common room without hitting somebody else and spilling that person's drink all over the place had merely been amusing, in spite of how it had irritated his classmates. Catching sight of his ensemble in a mirror and deducing that he did, in fact, look like a gigantic geek with a neck injury, had put him in the mind to find some Firewhiskey and perk up his mood a little. These events had all paled in comparison to the what had come later.

Half an hour after making his grand entrance into the common room, James had been unfortunate enough to bear witness to the sight of Lily Evans, object of his deepest affections, highly esteemed Head Girl, proud redhead, and all around fittest bird at Hogwarts, receiving a kiss on the cheek – uncomfortably close to the lips – from a horror of a bloke named Robert Harding. Harding was a tall, handsome, broad-shouldered sixth year prefect who looked manlier than James had ever felt in his life, and furthermore, it was widely known that he harboured a little crush on the pretty, green-eyed Head Girl. If that wasn't gutting enough, Harding had come to the party dressed as James Bond, who was only the greatest hero to ever have existed in Muggle fiction – at least, that was what Peter had told him. Watching Harding approach Lily with such irrepressible confidence, seeing the smile that had spread across her face upon seeing him, and hearing him tell her to 'call me James' – that stung. It stung enough to ruin James Potter's entire night, and he was determined to feel sad about it.

Despite repeated pleas from Sirius, Peter and Remus, who had come as Zorro, Adolf Hitler, and quite ironically, a werewolf, respectively, to stop sulking and join them in enjoying the party, James had spent the better part of the last hour standing silently in a darkened corner, nursing the same revolting drink that Sirius had slipping something mysterious into earlier, and feeling quite sorry for himself in spite of the fact that he was far too old for such childishness. James was handsome, intelligent, wealthy, talented and popular by anyone's admission, he had no reason to stand in corners at parties with a puss on, and he certainly did not have any sort of claim over Lily Evans that would have made such sulking acceptable, but none of it mattered to James. If he was going to be miserable, he was going to be miserable with all his might and main.

Lily Evans was to James, in reality, nothing more than a chum, a pal, maybe even bordering on a friend. They had spent six insensible years butting heads and two sensible months working together as Head students, which was what had elevated their relationship to such a cordial status. Aside from the recommended amount of time they spent together fulfilling their assigned duties, they occasionally ate lunch together, and sat next to one another in Charms three times a week, as ordered by Professor Flitwick, who refused to allow James, Peter, Remus and Sirius to sit together under any circumstances. Lily and James agreed on very many subjects, disagreed on very many subjects, never ran out of things to talk about and made each other laugh. That was the long and short of it, aside from the very small fact that James was in love with the girl, and that the girl most certainly did not love him in return.

"Stupid ugly wanker," James muttered to himself, glowering darkly at Robert Harding, who probably would have been shocked to know that his violent death was being planned by the bespectacled banana in the corner. He looked down at his drink, a murky brown liquid that he was only sipping for want of something to do. "Why is she just standing there, hanging on to his every stupid sodding word? The bloke is a tosser, an ugly, wanking tosser."

James' animosity towards Robert Harding was, of course, due more to jealously than anything else. Certainly, the boy was not remotely ugly, nor was he the horrible fiend that James would believe him to be from that moment on. The problem with Harding was that there was no problem at all. He had never had a long-standing rivalry with Lily Evans. He had never tormented and teased her day in and day out until she had been forced to throw a book at his head and accidentally broken his glasses (Robert Harding didn't need glasses – he had excellent vision). He had never hung her ex-best friend upside down by his ankles for sport. Lily Evans had never hated Robert Harding at one time because he had been a lousy, stinking idiot when he was younger. Robert Harding wouldn't know how to be an idiot because he was perfect, and perfect people weren't idiots. Harding had probably been born perfect. Maybe he hadn't even been born; perhaps he had somersaulted out of the womb and landed with precision that would have made an Olympic judging panel wet their collective pants with glee. Maybe he had been created by the departed sprit of Godric Gryffindor himself and had simply burst into being some time sixteen years ago, amidst a haze of golden glitter and unearthly flames and a backing chorus of wing-backed angels. Maybe-

"Are you a soul in need, James Potter?"

James had been so busy casting dark looks at his drink and mentally murdering Harding that he had ceased to pay attention to what had been going on around him, which meant that when he was startled out of his thoughts by a sudden voice from out of nowhere, he jumped like a pansy and dropped the glass he was holding.

"I meant to do that," he said lightly, looking down at the shattered glass as the whiskey that had been inside seeped into the carpet and left a stain that his mother would have killed him for. "I know you like to think you're scary."

A stain in the carpet was an awfully boring thing to look at, but James would rather pretend it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen than meet Lily Evans' eyes and choke to death on animalistic lust, or something, which was always a worry when he was in her presence. She certainly made it difficult to concentrate at the best of times, and more than one had he found himself endeavouring to cover his crotch whilst in her presence, although that, thanks to the poxy banana, would not be a problem that evening.

"Heh," was Lily's unique and brilliant reply. "I happen to be the exact opposite of scary tonight. Perhaps if you stopped mentally undressing the floor, I could tell you why."

For the sake of saving Lily from back pain, he mumbled his compliance and looked up at her, hoping to Merlin that his face didn't betray how badly Harding's earlier behaviour had affected him. He wasn't feeling up to being nagged at for sulking. "Nice costume."

James didn't exactly know a lot about Muggle culture, save his in-depth knowledge of superheroes and spies, to decipher exactly what her costume was meant to be. Were he to take a guess, he'd say that she had come garbed as some sort of goddess.

She wore a dress of a silky white material that looked silver in some lights and pale blue in others, with a skirt that puffed out by way of some clever Muggle invention and came very close to being indecently short. Attached to the back were a pair of huge, fluffy white wings, and on her feet she wore pretty little ballet shoes. Her wand had been charmed a silvery white to match and had a large, glittering paper star stuck to the top. Her hair was long and flowing beneath a sparkly little tiara and looked more vibrant than ever against her light ensemble, while her eyes were emphasised by some dark, smoky looking colours that served to make her appear far more vampish than usual. The general effect of the ensemble was quite something, and so far above and beyond what constituted 'nice', James felt as if he was guilty of an outright lie.

"Cheers! I'm a fairy," Lily announced proudly, giving him a little twirl and sending a dazzling shower of glitter into the air.

"I've never seen a fairy who looked like that, midget," he pointed out, with a raised eyebrow, thinking momentarily of the tiny little stick figures that inhabited the Forbidden Forest. Lily, however, rolled her eyes at him.

"This is a Muggle themed party, Potter, and I'm obviously a Muggle's interpretation of a fairy," she explained, and shook her wings defiantly, sending yet more glitter hurtling into the atmosphere. One of the surrounding students was going to fall victim to an asthma attack if Lily wasn't careful. "A Fairy Godmother, to be absolutely exact; that's why I came over here. I have duties to fulfil as part of my job description."

"Your job description," James repeated, not without some scepticism. He was wholly confused by the much-adored phenomenon that fairies seemed to be in Muggle culture. "To choke us all to death with glitter?"

"Don't try to be cutting when you're dressed the way you are, it falls flat." Point to Evans. "Fairy Godmothers look for people who need their help and assist them by using their magical powers. Basically, they grant wishes."

"Genies are supposed to grant wishes, not fairies," James pointed out. He knew enough about Muggles to know that, at least.

"You try finding a lamp that's big enough to fit me," she said, sending him a glare. "Anyway, I need somebody to play Fairy Godmother to and you're not doing anything besides standing here with a hump on about something, so you'll do, I suppose."

"I'm flattered you thought of me," he said dryly. "What about the twenty other people you picked first, were they all busy?"

"Nobody else around here looked pathetic enough to need a little cheering up," Lily replied, with a big smile. "Now, are you going to play or not?"

"You do know that I'm a wizard, right?" he said, looking at her with feigned concern. "Wizards are perfectly capable of using magic to grant their o-"

"Firstly, this is playing pretend," said Lily sharply, interrupting him before he could finish. "Secondly, stop being such a bloody killjoy, and thirdly, there are plenty of things that magic can't give you, James Potter, as you very well know."

"Like what?" James challenged her with a short, humourless laugh, in spite of the fact that he was undeniably dressed like a banana and therefore in no position to challenge, insult, or poke fun at anyone. "Unless I'm woefully uneducated and you know something I don't, magic can do anything and everything you need it to."

"I know many things you don't," said Lily calmly. "There are things that can't be gotten with magic, like love, for one thing."

"Love potion," James shot back promptly.

"No, no good," she argued, shaking her head. "You could always use a love potion but it's not the same thing because affection isn't genuine if it's not given freely. You can't make money materialize out of thin air using magic, you can't get people to do your bidding without breaking the law, you can't materialise food, and you can't-"

"Yeah, yeah," James held up his hands to shut her up, lest he be forced to listen to her babble on with a never-ending list of things that magic just couldn't buy. "You haven't heard the next part of my question, Evans. What am I supposed to wish for from you that I can't get for myself? Last time I checked, we were on the same level where magical ability is concerned."

James could think of very many things that Lily Evans could do for him that he couldn't do for himself. Allowing him to tie her up and take her away to an exotic island where clothes were entirely prohibited was the first thing that came to mind, but he was fairly certain that Lily's desire to play at fairies wasn't a sexual proposition, and even more sure that he'd get a slap if he dared hint at it.

"That's for you to decide, isn't it?" said Lily, with a wry smile, one hand on her hip and the other twirling her wand around like a baton. "So are you playing or not?"

"What about your date?" said James, and tried not to sound as if he wanted to be sick. He failed, however, because he had never been particularly good at internalizing his thoughts concerning other idiot blokes who fancied his woman. "Won't he want you back in his slimy clutches in a minute or two?"

"My…" Lily's brow furrowed in confusion. "My date?"

James turned his head and looked in the direction of Harding, who was now sitting and chatting to a group of infatuated looking girls, his own personal fan club, and when he turned back to face Lily, she was wearing an expression of upmost revulsion.

"Robert Harding?" she said, and punched his stomach lightly, although his banana peel exterior bore most of the brunt. "RobertHarding? Robert Harding? Christ, James, it's nice to know that you set such low standards for me, I feel so loved and appreciated."

The dull, gloomy feeling that had settled in his stomach earlier in the evening dissipated all of a sudden and the room seemed a whole lot brighter. He grinned, having momentarily forgotten that Lily wasn't supposed to know that the idea of her and Harding together made him want to stab himself with the sharp end of a quill.

"I take it you're not fond of him, then?"

"Christ, No! He's so… blonde." Lily's words were laced with disgust, as if being blonde was a crime for which no man should go unpunished. "And Merlin alive, spare me from another fascinating monologue detailing his life and many accomplishments. Has he ever told you about the time he went travelling to deepest Ghana with his parents and had the ultimate spiritual awakening in the face of dire poverty?"

"Um." James considered the Quidditch World Cup to be a spiritual awakening. "No?"

"Yeah? Well he bloody well told me," she spat bitterly, like this was all James' fault. Lily tended to blame a lot of pointless things on James, even now that they were mates. "Again and again and again and again. He spent two days curled up on a dirty bathroom floor with runny diarrhoea after eating some dodgy rice, and as a result he now believes himself to be understanding of the plight of the world's most needy, because diarrhoea is clearly just about level with poverty, starvation and death."

"I thought you said he was wildly fascinating a few weeks ago, or some other such nonsense?"

"Sarcasm, Potter. For the last time, are you going to play or not?"

"That depends, doesn't it?" Knowing that Lily wasn't as impressed by Robert Harding as he had believed her to be had flung him so far forward into the land of happiness that he was perfectly willing to go along with whatever ridiculous notion the stupid girl had taken into her head. Lily wasn't exactly known for her ridiculous notions, but James was rather partial to them when she did – they tended to be far more ridiculous than the ones that came frequently from some of the sillier people he knew. "How many wishes do I get?"

"Three," she provided promptly. "You have to use them all by midnight."

"It's nearly ten, though. I'll need time if I'm going to think of three really banging wishes. Can't you extend the deadline?"

"It's against Fairy Godmother regulations," said Lily, shaking her head. "You can take it out with the union officials, but they're very busy this time of year."

"No loopholes you can think of?"

"Well, you could wish now for me to grant you a wish after midnight, but that'd still be a waste of a wish, all things considered."

"Bugger." He lifted a hand to run through his hair, realised that he was wearing a banana costume, and dropped it by his side again. "What if I were to wish for several more wishes after mid-"

"Just make a wish, Potter," Lily snapped, as if she were about to sit him down and tell him off for being naughty. "I'm growing a beard waiting for you to make up your mind."

"Hang on a second," He protested. "You just sprung this on me, and I'm expected to think of a wish in the space of a second?"

"I'll give you a minute or two to consider it, I suppose," Lily consented, folding her arms across her chest and leaning against the wall. "I'll admire the general splendour of drunken Gryffindors while I'm waiting," she added, with a nod in the direction of some of her friends.

James snorted quietly at Lily's last comment, and looked around the warm, noisy room at the many other students who were milling about; the Muggle-borns and Half-bloods like Evans who knew what they were doing when it came to Muggle costumes, the small amount of Pure-bloods who had made fairly decent attempts, and all of the other ones who had, he noted, gotten it horrendously wrong.

Mary MacDonald had put a record on what once had been a Muggle record player until Sirius had gotten his hands on it several months ago, and a singer James didn't know was asking an unknown girl not to leave him, to a background of soft, romantic music. Some couples had paired off to stand swaying to the music while they kissed without restraint or knowledge of the many others around them. A fourth year girl was sobbing uncontrollably in the corner, surrounded by a gaggle of concerned friends. Some others were staggering about in varying degrees of drunkenness. Sirius was chatting to a group of girls with half of his Zorro costume missing, but otherwise completely sober, Peter was passed out by the fire, and Remus, in his full blown exaggerated werewolf getup, was playing a quiet game of wizard's chess by the window with Hestia Jones, who had come dressed as Pocahontas. Everybody else was too busy living their own lives to pay attention to the two Head students who were standing away by themselves in a corner.

"Are you going to think of a wish, Potter, or are you going to stand there all night looking gormless?" Lily suddenly barked, put out at being ignored. James transferred his attentions back to her, and grinned.

"Keep your hair on, woman. I've thought of one."

"I'm dying with anticipation," she remarked, tossing her hair and dislodging her tiara in the process. James laughed, and moved to fix it properly atop her pretty red head.

"I wish…" he said, resisting the urge to push her hair behind her ears and touch her face. "I wish I was wearing a better costume than this stupid banana."

Silence. Lily blinked at him. Then she blinked again, several times. A look he recognised well crossed her pretty face, one that he did not welcome. She was irritated. He had somehow managed to piss her off. This was not a strange occurrence, but he had been hoping her gracious mood might have prevented such an incident. He racked his brains in an effort to think of what his words could have done to upset her, but even as he did, she interrupted him.

"Are you serious, Potter?" she hissed, through gritted teeth, eyebrows raised, eyes flashing. Utterly bewildered as to her sudden change of mood, and unable to settle on whether Lily was hormonal, unimpressed by his wish, or if she really, really liked bananas, James could do nothing but shrug.

Lily sighed heavily, and smacked his nose with her wand.

"Granted," she announced, though the joviality sounded a trifle forced. She turned on her heel and stomped off in the direction of the staircases, glitter flying everywhere. "Come on, idiot."

James followed her dumbly, noticing all of a sudden that if she went up those staircases to the girls' dormitory, there was no way he would be able to follow without seriously injuring himself, not to mention the embarrassment a banana would suffer falling down the stairs and landing at the feet of several drunken students, some of which were in possession of cameras.

"Hang on," he called after her, unable to walk as fast as he would like, given his banana constraints. He caught up with her as she paused to allow a sickly looking fifth year to run past her up the stairs, presumably so the poor girl could find a place to vomit quicker, and laid a hand on her arm. "Where on earth do you think you're going?"

"Don't be so clueless, Potter," she said, shaking off his hand and beginning the ascent of, not her own staircase, but his. "We're going to your dormitory."