Standard disclaimer applies.

I could feel him staring. Eyes boring into the back of my head. Fight the urge, Lily. I told myself. Don't turn around. It was too hard. I whipped around, hair flying, and prepared for the worst. Perhaps he had made his face appear purple, like he had that one time in fourth year, just to make me rush over and try to save him. Perhaps he was doing his favorite thing to tease me-- tipping his chair back to a dangerous level, my worst pet peeve. But he wasn't.

He was smiling. And smirking. How can I describe it? His lips were twisted upwards, and his eyes were playfully mocking, not laughing happily, but teasing. In his way.

I couldn't help it. I smiled back. And his expression remained the same, except his grin widened a little.

Now he leaned back in his chair, just a little bit, his dark hair falling over the top of his glasses. I narrowed my eyes. He laughed out loud, and stopped his tipping. I blushed, and turned forward.

Sixth year.

"Flirting with Potter, eh?" Marlene whispered to me. She had been making eyes at Andrew McKinnon, so she was one to talk. I told her so, and she laughed.

"I never knew boys could get so much more gorgeous in one summer, did you?" she was referring to Potter's physique, and I knew it, but feigned ignorance.

"Shut up, Lily. I caught you staring at him on the train. Well, more like staring at his ass on the train but--"

"Ms. Vance!"

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?"

"Would you like to share what you're saying with the whole class?"

"No, I'd rather not."

"Talk to me after class, Ms. Vance."

"Sure thing, Professor."

After class, he is waiting for me. I stayed behind, attempting to wait for Marlene, but McGonagall had shooed me out of the room. He is leaning casually against the door, his lips pursed. I have never looked at his lips before. And I almost wish that I hadn't.

"You were looking at me." his voice is deep.

"You were staring at me. How could I not be expected to turn around?"

"You still looked at me."

Now that we're walking, and he's no longer slouching against the wall, I realize how tall he is. At least a head taller than me, if not more. I look up at him, not answering his answer, just taking in... him.

"You're doing it again." now laughing, his voice sounds even deeper.

I blush. "Sorry, what?"

"Staring at me."

For some reason, this angers me. He's already pointed that out once, and I supplied him with a perfectly good answer! What the hell?

"Shut up, James! As I just said, you were staring at me first! I don't understand why this information won't just go through your thick skull!"

He doesn't reply. He just half-smiles, half-smirks at me, like he did before. It makes me want to grab him by his neck and... I don't know what. Bash his head against the wall, maybe, but somehow, the smile makes him seem to innocent to deserve that.

"You infuriate me, James Potter."

"You want me, Lily Evans."

I freeze. The Great Hall and lunch can wait. I look at him, just to make sure I heard what he said right. Here I go, thinking that he's all innocent now, smiling pretty and pursing his lips. Then he goes and says that and-- is he blushing?

"Er, sorry about that. Bye, Lily."

And then he sprints.

That night, I fall into bed, listening to Marlene rant to Emmeline about how McGonagall thinks she needs an "attitude adjustment" and how all teachers need to take a course in basic teenage psychology, and I can't help but wonder if he realizes what those words meant to me.

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