A/N:
Long, long, long chapter to make up for my 2 months of no updates!
Chapter centred around the seven days of exams Lily has to endure with James induced distraction. To complete this I got my boyfriend (god, I love him) to give me seven words. They were:

Married, Heels, Milk, Jump, Sock, Telephone and Bra (he's such a boy).


Defence Against the Dark Arts

Exam period; also known as the most stressful period of Lily Evans' life is upon me; and despite feeling overly stressed and anxious, my emotions currently could only be perfectly described as pretty pissed off.

It's really all James' fault (since when is it never); he has this knack, an indescribable knack for absolutely throwing me off everything I'm supposed to be concentrating on. He has this formula he swears by, which is, in essence, if one does no work, then they will pass all their NEWTS with flying colours. Unfortunately, that only seems to work for one billionth percent of the population; i.e. only him and Sirius Black. But of course that doesn't stop him trying his hardest to distract everyone else dutifully trying to pack as much information into their heads as possible.

Don't get me wrong; it would be foolish of anyone to suggest that Dumbledore is any way, shape or form losing his marbles. But allocating a private common room for Head Boy and Girl was always going to end in disaster if one of them just happened to be an ignorant twat.

Take right now for example: James is currently gallivanting around with a pair of black stiletto heels on. Usually I would find this amusing (albeit a little strange to see your boyfriend getting more enjoyment out of your footwear than you do), but when you're stressed and worried and out of your freaking mind it becomes a little less humorous.

(As well as just a tiny, tiny part of me worries that he's going to break an ankle).

It's only a tiny, tiny bit amusing also because he is James Potter and this is exactly the kind of thing he would do.

'Lily' he calls impatiently.

Now, I know that all he really wants is a spot of attention, but I'm not going to give it to him, because that would mean recognising his distraction and encouraging his stupid, stupid behaviour. So I childishly flick my hair over my shoulder for effect and put all my effort into concentrating on the Defence against the Dark Arts textbook lying in front of me. Of course I'm not taking any words in whatsoever, and I have to read the same paragraph five times to make any sense out of it, but at least it's mildly satisfying to know that I've managed to stay somewhat focused in the face of a very convincing Lady James.

'Lillllllyyyyyyy' he drags out, emphasising the 'y' in the whiniest voice he can muster.

But again I am determined to ignore him, turning the page with such aggravation that it almost rips out cleanly.

Then I feel something hit my head hard and rebound off my skull with a dull thud. I feel the frustration and irritation swell like a tsunami within me as I hear him try to suppress his laughter behind a well placed hand.

Of course he would resort to throwing shoes; what else did I expect?

I lunge.


Care of Magical Creatures

'Lily!' he exclaims, hopping around precariously on the bathroom tiles with nothing but a towel tied around his waist.

This is the second day of constant distraction that I have been subjected to, and it's wearing very, very thin. I never really thought I'd get all that sick of hearing him call me by my first name instead of 'Evans' (which I had only been subjected to for the last six years of my school life), but at the moment I would rather be living with a Blast Ended Skrewt.

At least it wouldn't be able to pronounce 'Lily.'

I sigh dramatically; as if this was supposed to answer his pleas with a straightforward 'please go away James.'

'Lily, help!' he pleads, now balancing against the bathroom door frame with his right hand clutched around his right ankle, as his left hand holds onto the wood for support. He would look almost comical if it weren't for the almost nakedness factor which, disgustingly, almost sends me to a puddle of Lily goo on the floor.

He jumps pathetically on one foot, shifting his position slightly against the door frame in an unsuccessful attempt to reach for the sock that lies pathetically on the ground.

'You're a wizard James,' I mutter in what I hope to be a monotonous tone.

'So?'

'Summon it!'

'Can't; my wand's on the table next to you,' he indicates by nodding his head in the direction of the pathetic piece of wood.

'Just put your foot down James.'

'It's cold!'

'So?'

'I can't!'

'Why?'

'Then I would lose.'

'So?' I say, crinkling up my forehead and throwing my hands up to indicate the fact that no one else was present.

'The cold floor is lava Lily, and cannot be touched without adequate foot protection.'

'Lava's hot stupid.'

'I can't touch it Lily.'

'You can't be serious.'

'Help me Lily!'

'Are you five years old?'

'You're the one going out with me, cradle snatcher,' he smirks infuriatingly.

'You asked me out and I never said that...oh forget it,' I snap, completely exasperated by the situation, dragging my feet over the cold linoleum to reach for the sock.

Bending down to reach the sock, just too far for him to reach from the door frame, I grasp the cotton just as I realise what an idiot I've been.

As I snap upright again, James stands straight to attention from his relaxed position, eyes guilty and face cracking into an incriminating smile. He smirks. He smirks. What kind of respectful boy tricks you into bending over to pick up their belongings so they can check out your –

'Lily you have a very nice -,' he begins, laughter escaping his pursed lips, before I shoot him a Voldemort inspired death glare.

'I was going to say back!' he smirk-giggles.

'You're never getting this sock back,' I spit threateningly, in a threat that will make an absolute fucking world of difference.

'Lily' he grins, putting his foot down onto the lava-cold ground, 'how did you think I got the first one on without touching the floor?'


Potions

'Lily, what's a telephone?'

'A muggle device used to contact someone in another location.'

'Is it like a howler?'

'No.'

'Lily, what does a telephone look like?'

'A plastic stick with holes, on one end you put to your ear, the other you put to your mouth to speak.'

'Like a straw?'

'No James.'

'Then where does the sound come from?'

'Wires in the little box the phone is connected to.'

'Where do the wires go?'

'I don't know.'

'Why?'

'Because I'm not an electrician.'

'What's an electrician?'

'The person that does the wiring.'

'What sound does it make?'

'It rings'

'Like how?'

'Shut up James.'

'But how?'

'Shut up James.'

'Like a bell?'

'Shut up James.'

'Or ambulance siren?'

'Shut up James.'

'Ring Riiiiinnnng'

'Beep, beep, beep.'

'What does that mean?'

'That means I've hung up on you.'

'What does that mean?'

'It means I've put down the phone to do my potions study.'

'But how do the wires know you've stopped talking?'

'Go and do your muggle studies revision somewhere else James.'

'Like where?'

'Somewhere that's not here.'

'Lily?'

'...'

'I don't do muggle studies.'


Transfiguration

If, by some remotely unlikely chance James had not been a complete pest for the last three days and my extreme frustration and irritation had just been a figment of my overactive imagination, today was different. Today James was absolutely feral.

He'd tried to distract me over fifteen times in as many minutes, running around helplessly in the common room like a caged bird with nowhere to land.

Although I'd banished him from the dormitory by changing the password as soon as he'd stepped foot out the door, he'd managed to weasel his way back in. McGonagall explained to me that she absolutely couldn't stand his nonchalant attitude three hours before the transfiguration exam, and had thus banned him from any area of the castle that was not here. She explained that as head girl, I had 'certain responsibilities for keeping said students out of her hair.'

My pleas for my sanity obviously went unheard.

Thus, James was flapping about the common room, lifting furniture, scampering around the bathroom knocking over toothbrushes, hairbrushes, quills, ink and any other messy item he could find.

He'd sung every song he'd probably ever been taught at the top of his lungs, pretended to have a heart aneurism, dressed up in my clothes, thrown toilet paper over the common room, snuck up on me and yelled 'Dementor!' so many times I didn't even flinch and eaten all the cake he had stolen from the kitchens the preceding night.

He still had one hour to go.

Being absolutely rubbish at transfiguration and cursing Merlin for not allowing me to take my beloved textbook into the exam was leaving me with highly strung nerves.

So all I want to do at this current moment was tie a sackful of rocks to myself, get a firm grip on his ankle and jump of the top of the astronomy tower.

That was before he started going to through my underwear drawer.

Two seconds later he's standing outside my dormitory door, staring down the stairs at me with my bra on. My bra. Stuffed with socks.

I can't help it. It's the stress.

I burst into tears.


Charms

No matter what Potter does to me today, nothing can affect me. Charms is my best subject aside from potions, I don't need to cram or practically try to eat the book into my brain, I've got this.

Although despite this he's actually being relatively tolerable today (of all days), probably because he still feels bad about the bra incident (which shall never be mentioned again), in which one of my favourites was completely ruined with mascara stains when he tried to mop up my tears with it.

I'd never even had a bra, much less my bra so close to my face before.

I notice when James gets bored he just eats; and because he's trying so hard (literally I can see the concentration on his face), to be non-irritating, he's practically become a garbage can.

This would normally be completely accessible given his cloak, his affinity for 'marauding' or whatever it is marauders do and his obscenely suspicious knowledge of the ins and outs of Hogwarts' secret and not so secret passageways.

However McGonagall has strictly forbade me to let him out of my sight (given the incident yesterday in which I banished him from the common room and he found his way out to the quidditch pitch twenty minutes before the commencement of the exam). If she thought he wrecked her nerves...

There's little left in the tiny compartment, charmed with a cooling spell in which we can keep milk and dairy due to this habit of overeating (yet retaining about one percent body fat), and all that seems accessible are three one litre cartons of plain milk.

The abundance of milk (or 'the milk issue' as James prefers to name it), is due to the fact that neither of us particularly like milk. It's also due to James being 'impartial to milk' as he calls it or 'lactose intolerant' as I call it. James says he would prefer not to limit himself out of any food group.

Milk is not a food group but we'll leave it at that.

So the three cartons of milk being eyed off by James currently are not only slightly 'impartial' to his stomach, but one is a solid five days past it's use by date.

There's nothing really I can do to stop him drinking all three litres. It's definitely not because I want to teach him a lesson, or see him admit he was wrong for once.

It's only around fifteen minutes later that the milk is seen again. If the way to a boy's heart is through his stomach, I don't think the milk is getting a lot of love at the moment.


Herbology

A bright light is fanning over my eyelids, harsh and bright and utterly wrong.

Part of my rousing brain registers that it is, in fact, far too early for any kind of light to be seen at all, and thus, sleep was the logical answer to the question.

But the light is too bright.

As that thought flickers through my cerebral cortex another jumps in with alarm. There's something on the bed next to me; it's heavy, warm, breathing.

Oh Merlin it's alive.

An arms thuds across my stomach as the thing rolls over and tickles my ear with its warm breath.

Keeping my eyes firmly closed, my subconscious tells me that logically, if I can't see it, if I don't acknowledge it, it clearly cannot see me or does not exist.

But it's still breathing in my ear.

It's right at that moment that the heavy, warm thing decides to plant a wet kiss right on my cheek. It's more of a lick really.

'I hate you James.'

'Oh princess, you're so gorgeous in the morning,' a foreign voice drawls.

I literally jump twenty feet in the air, land awkwardly on my feet, rolling my ankle and squealing in pain.

James collapses against the far wall with laughter. Sirius props himself up, leans into his shoulder and smirks across the bed.

'Your morning breath is atrocious by the way,' he adds.


History of Magic

'I think I'm going to marry you.'

'Sorry?'

'I think I'm going to marry you.'

'I know, I heard you, I just thought you might have wanted to take the opportunity to let that absolutely absurd notion go.'

'Mm no, I'm definitely going to marry you.'

'Who says I want to marry you?'

'Oh you will.'

'No I won't.'

'Yes you will.'

'Will not.'

'Will too.'

'Will n-

'Will too, will too, will too.'

'You're infuriating.'

'You're gorgeous.'

'I might marry you if you shut up for just one second.'

'You'll marry me anyway.'

'I'd rather marry Hagrid.'

'Bet you'd love all the facial hair.'

'Quite appealing actually, a lot more masculine than you who seems to be able to grow just about none.'

'But can you imagine all that facial hair down –'

'I don't think you want to finish that sentence.'

'No worries, I know I'm ruggedly handsome anyway.'

'Just ask you.'

'Mm stroke that – '

'What the hell is wrong with you?'

'I was going to say ego!'

'...'

'I promise!'

'...'

'Anyway after we get married...'

'We're never getting married.'

'...We can have like two kids, no three kids...'

'Never, ever.'

'...and they can all be ruggedly handsome and quidditch heroes and...'

'Not for all the chocolate frogs in the world.'

'...and they'd all be boys of course, there's no way we're having girls...'

'I'd rather marry Dumbledore.'

'...they're to whiney and complain about clothes and...Hey! I always thought you had a thing for younger guys...'

'Mm, no much more into the old ones.'

'But I'm younger than you!'

'Precisely.'

'But I have so much more to offer being young and vibrant and dashing –'

'...as well as naive, hapless and so unsatisfactory. Not to mention the fact that you just get plain annoying after the first ten years when all I want to do is settle down into a nice nursing home and a rocking chair and you're still trying to run marathons.'

'Lily.'

'James.'

'Stop distracting me.'