A/N: Lookee here! It's another chapter! And so soon... You'll all be pleased to hear that I officially know where this story is going! I wrote the plotline of Potter "incidents," as I call them, and there are about 10, and then there are a few chapters, and then the 'last' chapter-ish is going to be in three parts of one huge monstrosity chapter. If I get some more reviews (oh my ga-ha-hawd, we're already at 10 YIPPEE!!)

So enjoy this chapter, the next chapter should be up tomorrow, and REVIEW! I could be persuaded to give you a teaser about the last chapter, mm, maybe? And a HUGE thanks to my reviewers: padfootloose, Confoundment, and e.jameson. YOU MAKE MY LIFE! Enough of my blabbering:

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Unfortunately

Which is why it's such a problem that I can't get him out of my head.

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It was, I eventually came to the decision, entirely his fault. He apologized like that on purpose—he had a secret agenda. He knew that if he did something so completely abnormal and out of character, that he would be on my mind.

He also knew (smart guy,) that if he apologized, he was overstepping every boundary, breaking every carefully erected barrier between us that I had labored long and hard to ensure the building of. He knew all of this, damn him, when he apologized.

Unfortunately, the last thing he knew, I'm sure, is that once he had broken this 'system,' that we used to interact, I would have no idea how to deal with him, with his presence, with the influx of emotions that accompanies every though of him. I was so used to playing by the rules, following the exact strictures of the game…for it was an elaborate game, a competition.

While I'm not dumb, I am also not what people may call "socially adept," or "quick." I have a quick wit, sharp tongue, and hot anger. Unfortunately, about the only thing I'm good at sensing in social situations is awkwardness—you could say I have a sixth sense for it. However, because I experience this sensation so often, I feel like even my perception of awkwardness is diminishing, and just becoming the norm, what I can expect when I join a conversation.

But games all have an end, an eventual climax, the final ultimatum. While his apology wasn't yet the final "end of it all," I knew, even with my crippled social skills, that something large was approaching.

So, I began to stop playing with James Potter, and began just plain losing my temper. But, apparently, unfortunately for me, when I broke the rules, he thought he could too. After my admittedly embarrassing shout out in Transfiguration, using the words "shut up," and "asshole," in reference to one James Potter, he went ahead and apologized.

I still can't get over that. Why, why in the world would he admit he was wrong? So I have come to the conclusion—despite, let me add, the annoying buzzing of every single person I know that is "he likes you, he just doesn't know how to show it so he acts like a five year old," because it's just blatantly untrue—that he must have apologized on purpose, to throw me off balance.

Well, fine. It worked. I am confused, tormented, seeing him a million more times than usual, everywhere I like to go, and all of my sarcasm seems to flee in his presence, leaving me gasping like a fish out of water. And so it was that I made an absolute fool out of myself in Herbology.

I had arrived early, as usual, to put on my goggles and gloves, and get ready for an intense day of digging in the dirt. I wasn't particularly excellent at Herbology, and some of the more deathly plants scared me, so I made sure to always arrive early and act extra prepared. It didn't hurt to be a little bit of the teacher's pet when dealing with dangerous magical plants that could ensure you were in the Hospital Wing for the next ten years of your life.

So there I was, the first one there, snapping on my gloves, when of course, unfortunately, in walks James Potter, flanked by his cronies. Professor Avery had just entered, and James was talking with one of his friends in Ravenclaw—Bennett, I think his name was—who also played Quidditch.

Avery, unfortunately, was not exactly "in the know," with the whole Quidditch thing. So as James and Bennet conversed loudly, laughing and jesting about who was going to win the upcoming game, the professor cut in.

"Oh," he said pleasantly, looking at James. "You and Ben play?"

"Yeah," he said hurriedly, eager to turn back to his earlier conversation. "Me and Bennet both play Quidditch." And then, unfortunately, before I could stop myself, before I could even think about it, really, it had slipped out.

"Bennet and I," I corrected, not loudly, but the room was empty enough that he could hear clearly. After all, I had been raised, I had parents! Grammar, and correcting incorrect grammar, especially mistakes like "me and Bennett," was just so normal. Of course, I forgot that I really shouldn't talk to him, seeing as we couldn't really fight anymore, and so we had no idea how to interact. So I was, admittedly, a little surprised, and just a little bit scared by his response.

"What?" He said, quietly, dangerously, turning slowly to face me. His eyes—hazel, I noted absentmindedly—were darkening, with anger, pain, rage? I couldn't read his face. He stared me down, and I knew I was steadily turning red.

"I-I just, well," I stammered, and stuttered, at a complete loss for words. Why!? My brain screamed. WHY did you do this to yourself!? "I mean…" I tried again, but my throat felt clogged, it was as if my brain had jammed, and everything was moving more slowly than normal.

"Did you just correct my grammar?" He asked in the same quiet, dangerous tone, but this time I heard the underlying lacings of shock, arrogance, and insecurity. But for some reason, even with the obvious arrogance in his tone—his presumption that he should never be corrected—I still couldn't bring myself to snap out a witty, sardonic response. Instead, quite the opposite.

"Sorry…" I whispered, feeling completely humiliated. Even Professor Avery was staring at me with something close to incredulity, for how presumptuous had I been acting in correcting his grammar? I realized with a shock that within that action, I had been just as arrogant as James Potter will ever be. I wanted to die.

"Just-Just don't do it again," he muttered angrily, brushing past me. I let him, not even saying a word when I had to step backwards to avoid falling over from his rude almost-shove.

I couldn't believe I had been so crass and completely self-centered. I was so embarrassed, I wanted to skip the rest of class and never see him again.

Unfortunately, skipping the rest of class wasn't an option. And, of course, I ran straight in to one particular nemesis on my way out of the classroom. It was almost like a magnetic attraction, it was such a direct, head-to-head bump. He must have purposely gotten in my way. It wasn't my fault I had been making a beeline for the door. It had obviously been a complete accident.

"Watch it," he growled grumpily, but when recognition overcame his face, his expression immediately changed. Was it more guarded, arrogant, happy? I couldn't tell. "Evans," he said, his voice a mockery of pleasantry, even as he stepped away from me and brushed down his cloak. "What a pleasant surprise."

"Potter," I spoke through gritted teeth, and tried to just turn away and run, somewhere, anywhere away from him. Unfortunately, he wasn't through toying with me like a cat with a mouse. Ah, that's why his expression was so inexplicable. It was that which the hunter bestows upon its prey. I valiantly resisted the urge to cower, and squared my shoulders.

"Really," he was saying. "A simple declaration of your undying love would suffice." I sputtered angrily, but he continued, oblivious. "We could just bypass all the tedious accidentally-on-purpose bumping, and your bad excuses of grammar correction to talk to me…" He flicked imaginary lint of his sleeve, and yawned idly, the perfect picture of bored. I was sure everyone else knew he was faking it, certainly it was obvious to me. Why even bother to put on the act?

"Go boil your head off," I said obnoxiously, resorting to crude insults. "Maybe then it will deflate to normal size." Unfortunately, my insult didn't seem to strike quite the chord I was aiming for, as his cronies and him just laughed.

"That was the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he gasped. Sirius wiped a fake tear from his eye, and they all dissolved into more laughter.

"You're the stupidest thing I've ever layed eyes upon!" I shouted childishly. But he refused to respond to any of my advances, wouldn't fall back in to the easy routine of fighting we had previously overused. In my head I could see him snapping to attention, responding with his traditional "controlling psycho know-it-all barb." Instead, the real James Potter just continued laughing.

"Oooh, that hurt right here," he said, laying a hand on his heart.

"Good," I snapped, realizing a lost cause when I saw one. I quickly barreled out of the door, making sure to give him an almost-shove equal to the one he had given me earlier.

But unlike me, James Potter wasn't one to take something quietly. He shoved me right back, (a lot harder than I had shoved him, too,) and I tumbled out of the classroom, tripping over my shoelace, their obnoxious laughter ringing in my ears. I had such an unfortunate, awkward existence. Everything happened to me wrong, at the wrong place and the wrong time.

And I really needed to learn to control my big mouth. It was only going to get me in more trouble than I was already in.