I talked to Adelaide the next day, when she had recovered from goodness knew what. Her gray eyes observed me, assessing me. We had a long talk. I told her all that had happened that night at the Astronomy Tower, and as she hunched her shoulders pensively, I thought over the happenings once more.

"You like it here, don't you?"

"I have to go,"

At that moment, I hated myself. I could sense the hurt in his eyes - the pain, the longing, and the despair. I truly hated myself for making James taste bitter, salty misery. But why? I didn't exactly delight in the sadistic pleasure of making him feel upset, but I never truly cared about what he felt when he was turned down by me in the past.

How ironic it was.

All her thoughts formed a sort of knot in her forehead. "Why did you leave?" she demanded.

Why did I leave? I bit my lip hesitatingly, "I didn't feel comfortable with him. You know how it is with him and me, I don't like him, and he was having his arm around me and all…It was utterly awkward."

"You didn't even resist when he drew you close to him…" she pointed out, "You didn't even scream at him!"

"It was totally unexpected! I just got…carried away. It's like, you know, how you sub-consciously allow yourself to do something because you can't be bothered to do otherwise?"

Adelaide smirked. "Things are changing around here, Lily. Do try to adapt to them," she commented lightly.

And she was gone.

"Alright, class!" Professor Flitwick announced, "The Charms test is about to commence! All pieces of parchment and books off the table, and get your quills and ink ready. Separate your tables, please! Those who cheat will be sent to the Headmaster's office immediately!"

Amelia shot me a look of utter scorn as the test papers were being given out, brushing back her perfectly groomed brown tresses. I furrowed my brow. Since when had we, or at least she, been stooping to public displays of scorn? Professor Flitwick nodded knowingly at me, before announcing, "You may now start!"

The paper was harder than I had expected.

I clenched my teeth in silent torment as I struggled – yes, struggled – to answer the questions, crossing and uncrossing my legs while in the process managing to kick a table leg. I stole a glance at Amelia, who seemed completely unruffled by the difficult paper as she wrote down answers almost immediately after reading the question. I glanced at some others, who seemed as perturbed as I was.

When had I become so bad in Charms?

Sweat was trickling down my forehead when I completed the paper, and just at that moment, Professor Flitwick called out,

"Put your quills away, please!"

A flick of his wand was followed by numerous parchments flying into his outstretched arms, nearly toppling him over. He always did this after every exam or test, and it'd always end up with him falling down or nearly falling down. He never did learn his lesson.

I gathered my quills and ink bottle, preparing to leave the stuffy classroom. My blue satchel looked worn; its seams were practically bursting, I noticed despairingly. I made a note to buy a new one during the next trip to Hogsmeade.

And then Amelia came sauntering over, together with her giggling cronies and menacing bodyguards. I noticed that her hair wasn't really brown, but more like a dirty blond. She, I could tell, was trying to intimidate me by tiptoeing slightly such that she towered over me, but to no avail. It seemed rather comical. After all, I was the taller one.

A split second of realization allowed apprehension to dawn on her, causing her to notice that her "intimidation" wasn't working, so one of her "bodyguards" did the job instead. She crossed her arms, smirking smugly as she did.

"Had some trouble with the test, Head Girl?" she taunted.

I froze in mid-step, and furrowed my brow.

She leaned over to hiss, "The Ravenclaw wins, Evans. You Gryffindors were never meant to be smart!"

And then the group strode out of the classroom, blending into the menagerie of students, leaving me dumbfounded as they went. But I had no right to complain. She was right – she had won. I was a Gryffindor, never meant to possess intelligence of any sort.

I slung my satchel over my back hesitantly, then left the classroom.

But I did not notice the black haired, lanky figure that stepped out tentatively from behind a pillar beside the teacher's desk as I left.

"Please, James, you can't-"

A door slammed forcefully, it's aged and rusty hinges producing a distinct creak and the rattling doorknob quivering.

If you'd happened to be passing by the supposedly empty Transfiguration classroom that evening, you would have seen a disheveled Amelia and a livid James.