Disclaimer: I don't own anything, J.K. does (of course).
"I like you."
The first time he said it was in third year.
He was a Chaser and the Quidditch star of third year; talented, funny, and the epitome of handsome. A party had been thrown to celebrate the Gryffindor's victory against Hufflepuff in the first game of the season, where they had won 180 to 0.
Slightly drunk off of newfound fame and smuggled in Firewhiskey, James Potter tottered over to where Lily Evans was reading a book.
"I like you," he told her, hiccupping slightly.
She looked up, startled, her cheeks slightly pink. Her eyes focused on his and studied him as he swayed, conflicting with emotions that didn't register in his vacant mind.
"You've been drinking," she finally said, and went back to her novel.
The first time he meant it was in fifth year.
He strutted over to her in the Common Room, sending her his patented smirk that never failed to get him whatever he wanted.
She glared at his confidence, hating the way he walked like he owned the place, and despising the way he acted like it too.
"Let me take you to Hogsmeade," he purred, reclining next to her on the couch and slipping an arm over her shoulder.
She stood up immediately, looking down at him in disdain.
"I just lost my best friend because of you," she began, her voice dangerously calm, "and you think you can just take me to Hogsmeade?"
He nodded. "Well yeah. Snivellus isn't in our way anymore, so—"
"He wasn't in our way to begin with, Potter! There is no us!" she exploded, her voice shrill. "You don't even care that you ruined everything, do you?"
"I didn't—you heard what he called you, that was not my fault!" he retorted loudly, standing up to face her, his brows furrowed and cool demeanor lost.
"Yes it was! If you would have just left him alone—"
"He would have called you that anyways!"
"No he wouldn't have!"
"It wasn't my fault, Evans!"
"Just take responsibility for once in your life, you insufferable Toerag!" she screamed, shoving him backwards and spinning on her heel, her eyes filled with furious tears. James caught her arm and she turned around, reproachfully, shouting out new accusations. "You probably planned it all out too, didn't you? You thought if you could torture him into hurting me, that you could just swoop down and—"
"I would never intentionally cause you pain!" James shouted, breathing heavily. "I like you, Evans! Just come to Hogsmeade—"
"Oh, fuck off, James!"
And she ripped her arm away and fled up to her dormitory to cry into her pillow where Potter wouldn't be around to make things worse.
The first time she said it was in seventh year.
And that is where this story begins.