Disclaimer: There are many things that I am not. The fantastically brilliant creator of Harry Potter and all things connected with him is one of them.

Sneaky, sneaky, I'm being sneaky…oh so sneaky… I sang in my head as I snuck into Gryffindor tower. I am sneakier than the sneakiest sneaky-bean in the whole history of sneakdom… I continued with aforementioned "sneakage," moving through the common room more stealthily than I would have thought possible for me. I'm just glad I'm alone and the lot of bloody nutters went to bed. Bleeding mad, the lot of them. Would have made a great story, though, I'm sure: "Head Girl caught sneaking in Common Room three and a half hours after curfew three days into term." Now there's a great way to start off your year. I was just about to sneak up the stairway leading to the seventh year girls' dormitories, when my ears suddenly caught the barest hint of a sigh. My foot hesitated on the bottom step.

Whoever was sighing sounded rather pathetic and down. I momentarily warred with myself: bed, meaning sleep, versus my conscience, who was telling me to go see what was wrong. I mentally sighed and cursed at my conscience before sneaking over to the sofa from which the sound had originated. Sitting with his back to me, leaning against the cushions and staring up at the ceiling with closed eyes was Mr. James Potter himself. The bloody prat hadn't even heard me open the portrait hole and sneak in. Yeah. That's right. I was that damn sneaky. I grinned and mentally patted myself on the back before focusing once again on the boy…man…thing…he was technically a man, right? Since he seventeen and all?....before me; he looked rather upset and very tired. I moved to stand directly behind him, so that if he opened his eyes he'd be looking straight into my face. Then I asked softly, "Are you okay?"

The effect was instantaneous and entertaining. Potter's eyes flew open, full of shock. He jumped up and tripped in his haste to get away from me, landing on the floor staring up at me with an open, shocked, confused expression. When he didn't speak, I turned around and fell backwards over the back of the sofa so that I was facing him, with my back on the seat cushions and my legs thrown over the top. "'Cause if you're not, you know, it always helps to get things out in the open and talk it over. Well, usually, anyways…" I trailed off, thinking of that one time with Evangeline and the flobberworms when it had not, in fact, helped at all… "But at least you'll feel better because someone else will know about whatever's bothering you and you'll no longer be wondering if you're mad for constantly arguing with yourself about it." He continued to blink at me in a shocked manner. You know, when he wasn't talking, and he wasn't surrounded by his loud and prank-playing mates, and he wasn't wearing an arrogant, cocky smirk, and I was looking at him upside down, and my vision was nearly blurry with exhaustion, I could almost see why half the female population at Hogwarts went on about him being the most gorgeous creature to walk these halls. Though most of the time he strutted, as opposed to walking. But still.

He finally broke out of his trance, choking out an, "E-Evans?" I grinned cheekily and gave him a little finger wave. "Wh- What are you doing?" he asked cautiously, as though expecting me to attack him. I internally huffed. Honestly, people. I was not that bad. When my answer was civil and did not involve pulling out my wand and hexing him senseless, he appeared to visibly relax. I internally huffed again.

"I'm lying upside down on a sofa talking – well, sort of – to you, Potter. Duh." He blinked owlishly at me.

"Why?" I rolled my eyes.

"Well, odd as it sounds, I've found I always think better with all the blood rushing to my head. It's strangely relaxing. Also, you looked upset."

"…So?"

"So what?"

"So why are you here, talking to me?" I shrugged, which, coincidentally, is a rather difficult feat to accomplish whilst one is lying upside down on a sofa.

"You looked like you needed someone to talk to."

"Okay, who the bloody hell are you and what the bloody hell have you done with Lily Evans?!" he cried accusingly, jumping to his feet.

"Just so you know, I completely resent the implication that I am incapable of compassionate thought and or actions," I grumbled, glaring at him, though I'm sure the effect was somewhat marred due to my being upside down, and only about 5'5".

"I ask again, Who are you?!" I internally huffed yet again.

"I am Lily, Potter!"

"Yeah?" he said doubtfully. "What's your favorite color?"

"Yellow," I replied, rolling my eyes.

"Favorite class?"

"Charms."

"Favorite food?"

"Raspberry tarts."

"Favorite flower?"

"Daffodil."

"Hmm," he said. "I'll have to keep that in mind."

"Prat!" I glared at him, reaching out to smack his knee.

"Aha!" he cried, smiling. "It is you, Evans! I was so worried you were a Slytherin or a Ravenclaw in disguise." He settled himself onto the floor directly in front of me, leaning back on his hands. "So, really. Why are you here talking to me?"

This time I didn't bother to keep my huff internal. "I told you," I grumped. "But excuse me for listening to my stupid conscience instead of going up to my nice, comfy bed like I wanted to." I started to get up, but Potter sat up straight, suddenly a lot closer than I expected, and I froze.

"Wait, you were serious?" he said softly, his eyes wide and surprised behind his glasses. I rolled my own eyes.

"No, actually, Potter, I'm just playing mind games with you in the hopes that you'll go stark raving mad and provide sufficient entertainment throughout the year to take my mind off NEWTS."

"I'd like to think I do that anyway," he grinned. His eyes twinkled, then grew softer. "Thank you," he said.

"For what?"

"For caring.'

"Yes, well," I blushed. "You are Head Boy. I've got to keep you healthy and happy so the prefects are appeased with their sacrifice." He laughed.

"Head Girl planning on surviving the year, then?"

"Damn straight she is," I sniffed, earning a laugh. His eyes twinkled, taking on their mischief-making glow. I decided it was my sleep-deprived mind talking when a little voice in my head said he had very pretty eyes.

"Speaking of the Head Girl, might one ask what she was doing out of the tower nearly…four hours past curfew?" he asked, glancing down at his watch.

"One might," I replied flippantly. "But one should not expect an answer to one's question but rather prepare to be promptly told to bugger off." At that he laughed loudly.

"And why would the Head Girl do such an atrocious, heartless thing?"

"Because the Head Girl enjoys the shock on the Head Boy's face when someone thwarts his attempts to be all-knowing."

"The Head Boy gets it: the Head Girl is merely going to use him to protect herself from the vicious prefects, and not tell him anything, and then mock him, too."

"The Head Girl is glad he understands." I closed my eyes. I opened them moments later when Potter spoke.

"Head Girl does realize she's been referring to herself in third person for the last five minutes, right?"

"Head Girl would like to point out that Head Boy started it." He shook his head and chuckled, looking away to the now-dying embers in the fireplace before snapping his head back to me, his eyes wide with shock.

"Holy shite, Evans! We just had an entirely civil conversation that consisted of more than, 'Can you please pass the marmalade?' 'Certainly.'" I squirmed uncomfortably.

"Yeah, about that…" His eyes narrowed.

"Wait; was it all a mind trick?"

"No," I rolled my eyes. "You're surprisingly easy to be around when you're not being an arse."

"Good to know," he snorted. "Then what…?"

I sighed. My stupid conscience was pricking me again. "You never actually told me what was wrong." He grinned, shaking his head.

"Thanks, but don't worry about it. I'm feeling much better now."

"Glad I could help." I yawned. He snickered.

"Maybe you should get to bed. You look pretty knackered."

"Right-o," I agreed, rolling backwards until my feet made semi-graceful contact with the floor.

"Night."

"Night, Evans," he chuckled. I paused at the foot of the staircase.

"Oh, and Potter?"

"Yeah?" he asked, amused.

"I'm sorry I've been such a stick-up-her-arse bitch for the last six or so years." I saw his eyes widen with surprise before I smiled at him and turned to walk up the staircase and into my soft, warm bed.