Something Like Magic

For Kristen. You are the literal best.

Chapter 1:

I suppose you could say this started when he caught my hair on fire. Or maybe it was that first day on the train all those years ago. Either way, it started. It's not going to end well, I know that for certain, and I'm going to do my best to preserve my dignity. I refuse to let that...that excuse for a wizard demean—

Why do I smell smoke?

Flames catch in my peripheral vision, and suddenly my neck is burning with heat.

"Again, Potter?" I cry, scrambling for my wand. I flash him a look that I hope petrifies him. If my hair wasn't on fire—again—I'd imagine there'd be smoke spewing out of my ears anyway. How can one insolent person make me so angry? I swear, it's practically magical how quickly that boy enrages me.

I whip my wand out to suffocate the flames, but he has beat me to it. A jet of water kills the fire in my hair and soaks the rest of me in the process.

I have officially surpassed the amount of done I thought I could be.

Potter and his friend—ah what's his name—Black are barely containing their laughter. Black is putting up much less of a fight, giggles escaping from the corner of his mouth.

"What the hell is so funny?" I demand. I don't care if Slughorn hears me. In fact, I hope that he does. Maybe he can invite those boys to scrub the crusted and rotten bottoms of the first years' cauldrons, or have them collect Alihotsy—it makes one go bonkers, you know—from the gardens.

With a sort of once over and a bitten lip, Potter catches my eyes and directs them downward: My blouse is entirely soaked. And entirely transparent.

Excellent.

Really excellent.

I hold my head high and continue to smash seeds and beans that the potion calls for. So what if the entire class can see my bra? I mean, it's not totally unattractive.

Oh, who am I kidding?

I'm mortified.

But they don't get the privilege of knowing that.

Slughorn lumbers by and peers at Potter's potion. Smoke blooms out of it and the frothing pulp smells like an old shoe. The professor shakes his head.

"This simply will not do, Mr. Potter. Do follow the instructions," he chides, and makes notes on a piece of parchment.

"But, professor, if I follow the instructions, I'll learn not nearly as much," Potter remarks.

"That's exactly true, sir," Black chimes in, "you said yourself just last week that we learn more from our failures."

"You have a point," Potter says. "In fact, I'd say that you're a downright genius, Professor Slughorn."

Black nudges his friend in the arm and turns to speak to him. "James, we already knew he was a genius. Although we failed to recognize just how much of a genius he was."

Potter cracks a smile, wide and brilliant. "You see, sir? We failed. Look how much we learned!"

Slughorn's drooping face spreads into a smile. "Boys, you always succeed in surprising me," he says jovially. "Continue your efforts to succeed in my class, though."

His quill scribbles across the parchment again.

Just as he is about to move to my cauldron, he looks up from his writing and glances back at Potter and Black. "And gentlemen, a word of advice: do consider opening your books next time."

Ha.

Professor Slughorn barely glances into my cauldron and grins. The liquid is pale pink and milky. Small bubbles collect around the edges and a ribbon of steam floats up from the center of it. "Nicely done, Miss Evans. Keep up the good work."

He jots notes on the parchment and then dismisses the class. It's lunch time, and so everybody scurries out as quickly as they can.

A thought strikes me as I gather my things into my bag. When he isn't looking, I toss a brown speckled quill right in front of Potter's feet.

"Oh, you've dropped something," I purr, making eye contact.

Slowly, I bend over to grab it. I wrap my fingers around the base of the quill and painstakingly slide back up, my face mere inches from the zipper of his trousers. When I meet his eyes again, I bite my lip and flip my hair over my shoulder. I let a coy smile touch my face.

"Is this yours?" I ask.

It's almost too difficult to keep the mischief out of my voice. I want so badly to laugh, but I know that there will be plenty enough cause to laugh later.

Potter doesn't speak.

Just stares at me with wide brown eyes.

I purposefully flick my gaze down to his lips—slightly chapped, slightly parted—and keep it there as I find his hand and press my quill into it.

"You know what, James?" I whisper, attempting to make my voice seductive. At the use of his name, I see his tongue flash out to wet his lips. I hold my fingers against his palm for an instant more, and then slowly stroke them up his wrist as I retract my hand. "You can keep it."

I turn over my shoulder, letting my hair fly and my hips swing. I walk a few steps before I turn around to look at him.

"You might want to visit the loo, Potter," I say. "Be a dear and don't think of me when you take of your little, um..." I glance at his crotch for emphasis. "Problem."

I saunter out of the potions room, and head for the Great Hall.

. . .

Transfiguration class. Woo hoo. It's not that I don't love Transfiguration, it's just that it fills me with such trembling rage and frustration that I can't even see straight. I tuck myself into a desk at the back corner of the classroom and fling my bag onto the floor.

Almost with grand entry music playing, Potter, Black, and the other two members of their unillustrious entourage parade through the double doors. They walk up to take their usual seats at the front of the classroom—which I may or may not have considered spiking with poisonous thorns. Potter tosses his head back at me, drops a wink, and mouths, "I thought of you."

Oh, that bastard.

Just as my hands begin to shake, the professor quiets everybody down.

"To start off the new quarter," he announces in that shrill little voice, "we will begin a project in which you will invent a new Transfiguration spell. You must follow all of the rules and guidelines put in place by the Ministry about spell reformation and creation. These can all be found in the library or on page 1206 in the appendix of your text books."

Okay. Not an egregiously boring assignment. At least we're not putting ourselves in some delusional world of classic wizard literature. Or analyzing the historical and literary affects on some ancient wizard culture. Because that is utter bullshit.

"One other thing, students. You'll be working with a partner."

My friend Gemma and I make eye contact from across the room.

"Your partners have been predetermined, and you may check the list at the end of the period."

Damn.

At the end of class, I check the list.

Evans, Lily and Potter, James.

Awesome. Just Awesome.