A/N: I don't own Harry Potter. Only Dela. This idea has been stuck in the back of my mind and I thought I'd like to air it out. Five reviews would be nice :)

Mid-October 1975

Ever since his first year, James Potter spent a lot of his time in Charms wadding up little pieces of parchment and throwing them at people. Not everyone, mind you; some people were complete wastes of parchment.

No; this was his hobby.

Fold, tear, crumple, target, throw, repeat.

Fold, tear, crumple, target, throw, repeat

Its rhythm was ridiculously therapeutic.

Fold, tear, crumple, target, throw, repeat.

Fold, tear, crumple, target, throw, repeat.

What made it perfect was that it always got a rise out of Evans.

She sat a few rows in front of him, diagonal to his left, so she could always turn to her right and glare at him over her shoulder. James only smiled winningly and continued to throw his parchments balls.

The next target was going to be terrific.

He had chosen Dela Bautista, a fellow fifth year in his House. Short like her temper, Dela was a Prefect that actually did her job. A bit of a killjoy, really, but someone had to do it; Remus wasn't planning on being responsible any time soon.

James didn't really consider Bautista a friend, per se, but somewhere between that and a Housemate. Different from someone in his House, like Dora Stewart or Frederick Bitters.

James could count on one hand how many conversations he'd had with the both of them combined.

Dela was a touch different.

He'd consistently had a History of Magic with her for the past four (and now going on five) years, and..maybe Transfiguration? He couldn't remember. She'd pop into his Defense class every so often to run errands for other teachers, too. She was odd. James wasn't sure if she was a Muggleborn or not, but he knew Dela worked so damn hard to…he didn't know, prove herself, or something. Whatever it was, she made these amazing study guides that somehow found their way into James's possession before exams. So he knew Dela wasn't a complete idiot.

She was cute, too. In an oddly wild way that was hard to ignore. Short, messy dark hair. Large, expressive brown eyes. And it kind of sounded weird, but she had a mouth that could only be described as pretty (even though Remus often told him the words that came out of it were anything).

James chose Dela because he'd had no idea how she'd react.

She wasn't really quiet, but just seemed to lack emotion.

She always looked...bored.

In fact, James had seen Dela smile exactly seven times (he didn't remember if this was all year or just the past four years he'd known her). They were all closed mouth smiles.

Once, though, as if in a dream, James had seen Dela angry.

It happened last year and it had obviously been Sirius's fault. It killed him that he couldn't remember the exact incident that triggered Dela's outburst, but there'd been a whole shebang. Dela had gone off and tried to hex Sirius into oblivion, using spells James hadn't ever heard before.

What was better was that the whole thing had all happened in the Great Hall. Deliciously public.

James could understand why birds loved gossip.

Unfortunately, McGonagall had broken up the two and called them to her office to sort it out. James figured the Thing must've been extremely personal, for It only caused a net loss of one hundred Gryffindor House points (fifty each, he assumed) and Dela didn't get a Howler because McGonagall believed her reaction was justified.

That, or James's theory that Dela was a Muggleborn was true and her parents had no idea what a Howler was.

But James did know one thing: whatever happened was going to be fantastic.

He could barely contain his excitement, so pleased with his own plan of havoc.

Fold. He wanted to make clean tears in his parchment.

Tear. Rectangular, rather than square, pieces worked best.

Crumple. James made sure this part was extra quiet.

Target. He focused on Dela's dark-haired head, directly in front of and below him in the stacked seats of the Charms classroom. He was ready.

Throw.

The throw was so perfect the ball of parchment had a spin to it.

A spin!

James Potter sat literally on the edge of his seat, anticipating the moment the parchment made contact with Dela's head. Lily, despite all of James's efforts to be discreet, had turned at the sound of him tearing the parchment. She'd watched James complete his entire ritual.

What a prat, she'd thought. A smug little toerag. Who does he think he is, honestly? Quidditch superstar. More like Quidditch fool. I wonder what poor idiot's his new target today.

Snake-eyed, Lily continued to stare judgmentally. She didn't understand his fascination with parchment waste. Parchment was hard to come by in the Muggle world. And real paper wasn't the same, compared to it.

But when Lily realized who James intended to hit his parchment ball with, her eyes widened rapidly. Her mouth slightly ajar, they watched the parchment ball soar through the air—

—and land neatly, right in front Dela.

Damn it, James thought. Why didn't it hit her head, or at least her shoulder?

She'd been taking notes. Her quill paused, and both James and Lily waited on abated breath. They saw her open the crumpled ball. But she did not turn to see who had thrown it. Instead, she picked up her quill again.

She began to write a little note.

When James turned around, he saw Lily was glaring at him. He marveled at how she could be so pretty when she was angry.

And then Lily's gaze shifted to something fast approaching. James followed her line of sight and saw that a little beige hummingbird was zooming about the room.

It was a genuine wonder that no one else noticed it. That, or everyone was sleeping. James caught its eye and the hummingbird made a beeline for him. It flew quite fast, not even stopping when it—

bounced off James's forehead.

It surprised Lily so much the redhead had laughed rather loudly before she could control herself. James tried to look indignant, but inside he was glowing.

He returned his attention to the parchment hummingbird. Dela had written something on it. A note, perhaps. Whatever it was, James knew he had to read it. It was a bit odd, though. It was like unwrapping a dead bird.

The neat little creases and folds were numerous. James was impressed with Dela's Charm work; it was meticulous, and well done.

Finally, in flourishing, feminine print: Why are you like this?

The words surprised him.

What was that supposed to mean? Was she asking why he was like a hummingbird? James didn't think he was like a hummingbird at all. A kestrel, maybe, or a falcon, but not a hummingbird. Or was Dela just questioning his personality in general? Did she mean to imply he was small and flighty? James looked up indignantly, clearly distressed. But Dela still hadn't turned around.

If she had, James would have seen her smile for the eighth time.

Binns had excused himself to search for a map he'd somehow misplaced in the previous class period. As soon as he'd floated through the wall to begin his search, the class had erupted into moderately loud chatter.

And she was sitting. Right. There.

It wouldn't take much to ask her. A polite tap, or a whisper. Most girls responded well to either. To him, anyway.

"Hey."

No response.

Dela continued to stare straight ahead. She used to take notes, but figured out sometime in first year that she had a knack for History and only half-listened.

Later, though, she would do her thing and The Study Guide would appear: thorough and neat, duplicated if you asked her. And you had to ask her. If you tried to duplicate it yourself, you'd end up with a roll of parchment with only a moving cartoon of an elegant hand flipping up its middle finger repeatedly.

At least she had a sense of humor.

"Hey. Hey, Bautista."

Finally, she turned around. Dela did not smile. The only marker of emotion James got out of her was one raised, dark brow. For some reason, James was briefly reminded of Sirius.

He opened his mouth and then realized…that he actually hadn't expected to get this far. James was, for once in his life, at a loss for words. Not wanting to look the complete fool in front of her, James reverted to a greeting before he could stare at Dela too long with his mouth open.

"Hi."

The right corner of Dela's mouth twitched, as if she wanted to smirk or smile, but was stilled just as quickly as it had moved.

"Hello," she said uncertainly.

"Listen, Bautista, we don't talk much—"

"You're right, we don't," she agreed. "Which is why I thought it was a bit rude that you'd thrown a ball of parchment at me in Charms."

Her tone was even, calm. There might've been a hint of playfulness in it, if James had listened hard enough, but he took it for face value and instead believed an apology was being asked for.

"Oh, sorry about that, Bautista," he said, smiling sheepishly. "It was totally on purpose, but you're a good sport about it, yeah?"

James had been told, many times by his mother, that he had a very naughty smile. She said that it was so warm that it sometimes made her forget that she was be mad at him, because why on Earth would she ever be upset with such a sweet face?

James knew his mother was a very wise woman, and hoped to Merlin and Morgana that she was right.

Dela cocked her head at an angle and blinked. But, just as James had hoped, the smallest of smiles crept upon her mouth.

"'Course," she said.

James silently thanked Merlin, his mother, his father, and Morgana for his good looks.

"So, about Charms—what'd you mean by your note?"

"My note?"

"Yeah, the parchment that I threw at you and you turned into a little hummingbird—pretty cool, by the way."

"Oh, thank you." Dela's smile widened enough to show the top row of her teeth, which were straight, square, and white. Despite her tan complexion, James saw rosé bloom across her cheeks; in that moment, he was struck by how pretty she was, and wondered how he hadn't noticed before.

Well, maybe because he'd never seen her more emotional than a close-mouthed smile prior to this conversation. And people were always more attractive when they smiled.

"Yeah, it was a little weird," James laughed. "It flew straight at me and hit me in the forehead—I deserved it—but what did you mean by what you wrote? Why are you like this?"

"Feelings hurt, Potter?"

Dela's smile was widening even more, and James had to keep himself from looking around wildly. There was no way he was the only one noticing this right now.

"Of course," he scoffed, putting a hand to his chest. "Whatever did you mean by that? Were you comparing me to a hummingbird?"

"Not at all. I just questioned your parchment wasting habits—Lily hates that, you know."

James felt himself pale considerably. He had not known that. In fact, he began to analyze—and then overanalyze—his favorite hobby. How much parchment had he wasted, exactly? It only felt like one or two pieces in Charms, but what if it'd been more?

Who cleaned up his mess afterwards? Did Flitwick?

Did Lily?

He was absolutely mortified.

Dela must have noticed his physical reaction to that realization, for she giggled and punched James in the shoulder lightly. "Oi. I'm pulling your wand, Potter. She does hate the waste, but everything you do annoys her." She paused, wrinkling her nose. "That doesn't sound any better, does it?"

Slightly over his shock, James shook his head with a rueful smile.

"Ah, bugger," she teased. "Oh—my name's Dela, by the way. Since we seem to be on a strictly last name basis."

"I knew your first name, don't worry," James winked.

For all the stress she caused him in the very short period of time they'd been conversing, James hoped that his wink made her heart flutter a little bit. Not because he fancied Dela; Lily Marie Evans was still his number one priority. Because he thought Dela was cool, but he didn't know how to hang on to female friends other than to flirt with them.