A/N/: Amica was sorted into Gryffindor over the holidays by Professor Dumbledore. Thank you for the reviews. xxx

Amica P.O.V:

After a (very quick) breakfast, I sprint down to Transfiguration and settle down into my seat, only to find the seat next to me empty. Undeterred, Professor McGonagall starts the lesson. We are just learning the incantation to turn birds into brooches when Sirius saunters in with an arrogant smile on his face.

"Ahhh. Everyone, Sirius Black has finally decided to grace us with his presence this fine morning." "Awww I knew you'd miss me Minnie." He replies cheekily, winking at her.

"Black!" "White!" "Detention!" "But Miss, I am merely an innocent do-gooder, only wanting to amuse my fellow students after a hard day's work."

"It's first period."

"Yeah well….." he says, withering slightly under her stern gaze. "Definite detention?" "Keep pushing it and I'll make it two."

He sighs and pushes his bag onto the floor. "So what are we doing Ames?" he whispers, his breath hot on my ear. I shiver involuntarily and mentally shake myself. "Ummmm… we are t-turning birds into b-brooches."What is wrong with me? I never stammer. I am a symbol of courage, an embodiment of feminism and I certainly DO NOT like Sirius Black!

"Ok, so we better do it." Replied Sirius grinning wildly. "WHAT?!" "Quiet please, Miss Potter." I smack Sirius on the arm and grab my wand. Help!

Start planning my funeral! I sit next to Sirius Black in EVERY CLASS except Ancient Runes! Are the teachers seriously trying to send me to an early grave by obnoxious comments and dirty misunderstandings? I swear Sirius is secretly the headmaster and Dumbledore is just a cover.

Lucky for Black I have already mastered the Imitandum charm or he would have extra homework.

"I don't get it!" he grumbles. "I am usually great at Charms!" "Modest, aren't we?" I tease, pointing my wand at my throat. "I thought you were…imitanas… Sirius Canis Black, pranking Marauder and irresistible ladies' man." I finish with a wink, my voice low and gravelly.

"You wound me Amica Decorous Potter, you wound me." He cries dramatically, clutching his heart.

"Yeah, and you've never insulted me before."

"Little Miss Sarcasm!"

"By the way, haven't you heard? Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery."

"Princess."

"Yep, and you love it!" I call teasingly.

"Yeah, I do." He says seriously, looking me in the eye. Butterflies seem to be having a party in my stomach. Forget butterflies, they are helicopters! A faint blush stains his neck and cheeks as I blush too and we both look away.

We spend the rest of the lesson in silence.