A/N: Hello one and all! It's heeeerrreeeeee! Huzzah! I actually... quite like this chapter. So I hope you all do too.

Endless thanks for your endless patience, support, and kind words. We're over 250 reviews and at a mind-boggling amount of views with only thirteen chapters so far; I don't know how common/uncommon this is, but it's well and far beyond what I ever thought I'd have. I can't express how appreciative I am that you guys are sticking with me and continuting to come back and read and review, even as I make you guys suffer through cliffhangers and long waits for updates. If I could, I'd send you all a personal James Potter to take your breath away, but unfortunately, well, I'm sure you know why that's impossible – besides me keeping him for myself. Hopefully this is enough. Now, I'm going to go and start on another of my late chapters before I get weepy and sentimental. And besides, you probably want to get reading anyway. ("THE KISS!" I hear you shout as you keep reading this boring, rambling author's note that I'm now prolonging just to be irritating. "You bloody Writer Woman! GO AWAY!")

Leaving now before I am mauled,
As always,
Mina :)

FOURTEEN: BESAME

When studying Healing, general muggle topics are taught as well as up-to-date wizarding techniques. It's important to know anatomy and physiology, to know how the body functions normally in order to be able to study what effects different types of magic may have. A Healer or a Mediwizard has to be able to think quickly, accessing knowledge of both muggle and wizarding practices at the same time in order to make fast, accurate decisions, oftentimes with little room to second-guess the reaction of the human body to a countercurse or a potion. They have to guess, to react, to have faith. They have to know.

Petrificus totalus, for example, hits all the muscles at once, freezing them into a stone-like state and rendering the victim of the spell immobile. Rictusempra, another spell affecting the muscles, practically vibrates them in place, tickling the victim and causing them to laugh. Locomotor mortis? Locks together the legs, snapping the knees together like attracting magnets. Muffliato? Affects nearby victims' eardrums, almost as if stuffing cotton into the ear canal to block any incoming sound waves.

Kissing James Potter was like getting hit with all four at once.

Everything went quiet as his eyes – brown and green and the most beautiful shade of gold, dark with some kind of emotion in the dim light of the hall – stared into mine, not but an inch away, and his thumb smoothed across my flushed cheekbone. I could feel his heart thrum rapidly against my palm and I felt my own, beat for beat, measure for measure, thumping against my ribcage. Here it is. He hovered hesitantly above my face, wondering, I knew, if this was okay.

To be honest, I wasn't sure myself.

I liked him. It was obvious now, painfully, terribly obvious. I liked him. Quite a lot. And though I'd had trouble coming to terms with that earlier this summer, I knew it now. It was like stating that my hair was red, that there was a freckle on my left earlobe, and that I was an obsessive analyzer; that James had a little dimple when he smiled, that there was a nearly invisible scar on his chin, and that his nose was long and sloping. These things just were.

Somehow, my affection for James Potter had become one of those unquestionable things. And – somehow – I was okay with that.

So I welcomed him with bright eyes as he leaned down to kiss me, his fingers feather light on my face, gripping my waist to pull me closer. It was calm. There were no fireworks or bursts of angelic choir music. His lips brushed against mine for a brief second, then pressed harder as he tilted his head just that miniscule angle, one small adjustment that seemed exactly right. I had to lean back against the apartment door as his lips molded themselves around mine, unexpectedly soft and warm.

James Potter is kissing me.

Of course, this was all a basic human interaction – no spells, no charms, no curses. It was a kiss, plain and simple. A kiss against an apartment door, a kiss in the muted light of a hallway, a kiss with hesitant hearts and reaching grasps. A kiss that tasted like vanilla and espresso and rain and new chances. A kiss that fizzled my apprehensions and melted my bones, but tightened my grip around his wrist and made me all too aware of his heartbeat underneath my palm and his sliding fingers, hot through the thin cotton of my shirt, drifting towards my hip, his other hand steady on my face, holding me to the earth. It was a kiss that took all but ten seconds – plain and simple, chaste and calm.

My poor little neurons weren't up to the task.

Now, neurons – those millions of nerve cells throughout the body – receive and send signals in an almost immeasurable amount of time. Seconds are long, yawning days to the firing of a neuron, and they pass messages seemingly instantaneously to the brain just as a person comes in contact with stimuli. And there were plenty of stimuli to focus on in those short few seconds. The tips of my fingers on his skin, his hand against my face, his knee bumping into my leg, my chest leaning against his, our lips brushing together lightly: it was all far, far too much, far too fast – sensory overload once again – and yet…

And yet.

Ten seconds was all it took – ten thousand, ten million, ten billion neuron signals – for me to figure it all out and lose my mind all at the same time. James Potter is kissing me. I'm kissing James Potter. James and I are kissing in a hallway.

Lily Evans, you have finally gone barmy.

But… finally. I had wondered if I could do it, if he would wait, if it would be worth it. Would it be? Was it? He'd waited for me, hadn't he? And we were here, just like he'd always said we'd be. Here, right here, with soft lips and gentle hands like secret confessions in our own veiled, broken-down cathedral. It was like a worshipping kind of sin, right and wrong at the same time, the perfect kind of heaven, the most deceitful kind of hell.

And yet.

I pulled back an infinitesimal distance, dragging in a small, shaky breath and keeping my face close to his, my lips only just grazing the corner of his mouth, and opened my eyes. Behind his glasses, his were still closed; his hands stayed where they were, frozen and immobile against me.

I squeezed his wrist. Open your eyes, I willed silently. Look at me so I can see myself with you.

My silent request succeeded, or perhaps we were that in tune now – how odd – because he blinked. The fire in his eyes was subdued and tame now, gentled by the little space between us. His heart slowed, taking mine with it, and I raised myself to my toes to rest my forehead against his. Did I want this? His breath and his eyes and his hair, his hands on my waist, his charm, his infuriating jabs, his sarcasm, his ego?

He paused, as if reading my mind, and hesitantly pressed his lips to mine a second time. It was just as soft, just as sweet, and I could still taste the vanilla on his breath before I felt his lips turn up, pulling back with a smile and a question in his eyes.

Yes.

Do I want this? Yes, yes, yes.

"Well that answers several questions," he chuckled, dropping his hands to his sides with noticeable reluctance. The ghost of his laugh tickled my palm – Rictumsempra – as I took my hands back. I watched him as he nodded behind me to the door I was still leaning my dead weight against. "They'll probably be wondering if you had a good time. Which is apparent to me, so: you're welcome."

Marveling at his composure, I warned my knees to solidify before standing up straight and reaching behind me to grasp the doorknob. "You sound pretty confident about that, Potter."

"Like I said," he reminded me, leaning his humored face down to mine. "You just answered several questions, Evans. Have a nice night."

And, with a stolen kiss and a devilish grin, he loped off down the hallway and disappeared into the stairwell.

I stared at the empty space in front of me.

Good Lord.

Had that really just happened? When I woke up this morning, I had never anticipated this. It had only been the first date, and, despite Siobhan's dating rules – which were convoluted and not at all logical – kissing was a no-no. Dorcas had said it was "giving things up too early," whereas Siobhan would argue that it was "giving him a test drive." But it wasn't too early, was it? Six years. It was six years in the making, six years of tests, fights, and trials; six years of waiting for something I hadn't realized that I'd ever have need of.

At least that's what I told myself as I tried to breathe. Feel, don't think. Don't think. Do not think.

Oh, my God, I just kissed James Potter.

I was a bit numb as I turned towards the door, my poor neurons tired out and chugging along, and was wholly unprepared to face Siobhan and Dorcas quite yet. I steeled myself for the imminent barrage, but when I opened the door and peeked my head inside, there was no sign of life save for the Wireless playing its heart out to an empty flat.

"Hello?" I called, kicking off my shoes as I stepped into the tiny foyer. "Dorcas? Shiv? Anybody home?"

Suspicious and wary, I shut the door quietly, spelled the Wireless off, and started tugging out the braid in my hair as I peered into the empty living room and kitchen, then made my way down the hall to check the bathroom and bedrooms. They should've been – Siobhan should've been waiting to ambush me the second I had opened the door. They hadn't said they'd be going anywhere, had they? I thought they'd be lying in wait the second I would walk in, both curious and devious with questions abound.

I twisted my wand up into my hair, securing it in a loose bun and reveling in the cool air against my neck. The quiet was nice, actually. Just me and the tumultuous thoughts and feelings raging through my system, the feeling of his lips on mine, his hands, the brush of his jeans against my shins... I sunk into the couch and closed my eyes, playing it over and over again, until, what felt like a few short minutes later, the door swung open.

"You are ridiculous. That's not what she meant! I'm sure there – "

"She said I had big feet, Dorcas. Size six is not big! I mean, proportionally, maybe it's rather big for a bird my size, but she didn't have to say it."

A key ring hit the countertop and the door slammed shut. "You didn't have to throw the shoe at her."

"Bugger off. You're not being supportive right now and I don't like it. Where's Lily? She has big feet. Lily!"

I sunk farther into the couch, suddenly wanting to drift further into unconsciousness at the mere thought of Siobhan chucking a shoe at some poor woman's head. But I threw up a lazy arm and called out, "Over here."

"Hey, you know that little shoe shop – oh, my God, how'd your date go?" Siobhan exclaimed, her voice growing closer. I heard her boots quickly cross the room and felt her tiny frame shift the couch cushions. Her perpetually cold hands found their way to my bare thigh and I hissed, smacking at her blindly. "Stop flailing about and tell us how it went! I can't bloody believe I almost forgot. Merlin, Dorcas, d'you see you made me do? 'Let's go get shoes!' Great idea. I forgot about Lily's date – "

Dorcas sat down on my other side. I could hear the eye-roll in her voice. "You were the one who burst into my room while I was working on – "

"Are you still talking?" Siobhan said, breezing over Dorcas and putting her hands on my face, turning me towards her. "You. Spill."

"It was nice," I said, unsure of why I felt so hesitant in sharing this with them. They were my best friends – certainly they'd understand how impossibly impossible this all was, how confusing and conflicting. It wasn't a jesting kind of fling; I'd found that out when I kissed him. To him, this was real.

To me?

I shrugged, allowing myself to give them a smile. "We had fun."

"Lily," Siobhan deadpanned. "Come on."

"Shiv, we talked about this," Dorcas said. "Let her talk."

Scowling, Siobhan sat back, her mouth pressed into an irritated line.

"I don't know what you want me to say! It was nice. He wasn't an arse and he held the door open for me and bought my coffee," I hedged, leaving out the parts where he completely charmed me. Which was practically the whole date. "We talked about that fight. We… we, ah, talked about the possibility of maybe dating?"

Dorcas grinned. "That's excellent!"

"That means you are. There's no possibly. So, Lily dearest," Siobhan drawled, smirking. "You're dating James Potter now. How does it feel?"

"So far, it's really… nice," I finished lamely, shrugging again. I knew she wanted a detailed explanation of my feelings, a mapped out diagram of my heart, but there weren't words to describe how his gaze made me feel, how his fingers on my face and his lips on mine just made sense. It was calm. It was right.

"Nice doesn't – "

"Coming from Lily, and speaking of James, nice speaks volumes," Dorcas told Siobhan, trying but not succeeding in hiding the light in her eyes. She grabbed my hand and giggled, and I couldn't help but smile. "We ran into him on the way up."

I blushed. "You didn't."

Siobhan, of course, noticed this immediately. "He was in absolute raptures, you've no idea, Lil; jumping down the stairs and grinning like a fool. He was practically skipping, for Merlin's sake. You must've done something right."

"Thanks ever so much," I said, glowering and shoving her shoulder.

She smiled wickedly. "I knew you'd give in and snog him – "

"I did not," I growled, yanking a throw pillow from behind her and stuffing it into my face. "God, is that what he told you?"

A bigger, warmer hand pulled at the pillow. "He didn't have to," Dorcas said, a bit too humored to be sensitive. "It was written all over his face, and we knew as soon as we walked in the door. Why are you overreacting?"

"I'm not!"

Siobhan smacked my knee. "You are. You are overreacting, and I bet it's because it was everything you thought it would be – everything I thought it would be. And it was, wasn't it? Amazing and brilliant and absolutely perfect. Did you slip him some tongue?"

"God, Shiv – "

"Nope. You don't even have to say anything. It was the most amazing thing that's ever happened to you, to him, to all of us. Now you can finally stop moping around all sexually repressed like you've been for the past year and help me get my shag on. I have a date tonight."

I pulled the pillow from my face, glad for the distraction and the change of subject, and frowned. "Since when?"

Dorcas sighed as Siobhan jumped to her feet and started bouncing on the toes of her thick-soled boots, grinning in a way that disconcertingly reminded me of Sirius. She clapped her hands in front of her and trilled, "Since I met Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome at the records store today! Where, incidentally, I also might have a job!"

"What… what about Mel?" I said, raising a delicate eyebrow as she froze on a pirouette, her lips thinning into a line.

"What about Mel?"

What about Mel? Is she serious? I glanced at Dorcas, trying to convey my confusion to her, the absurdity of this all. Siobhan had gone crazier than normal over Mel last year, had been about to marry him, and she was already moving on? Though I was happy for her for attempting to get over him – Mel was, quite possibly, the biggest arse in the Isles – but this didn't seem healthy: after all, it'd only been a few days.

"I mean, Shiv," I said, trying to phrase this delicately. "You were going to get married to him. That's just over for you? Just like that?"

"What do you want me to do, Lily? He cheated on me with Nella. After he asked me to be his wife. I can't just – I don't…" she trailed off, shaking her head. She crossed her arms over her chest and exhaled. "Besides, this guy is much better. You wait."

And with a nod, as if assuring herself more than Dorcas and I, she escaped into the bathroom. The shower started up soon after, but I knew she was sitting on the edge of the tub, her head in her hands. It was something she often did when she was stressed – a rare occurrence, certainly, but every time something bothered her to the point of her actually getting emotional about it, she would try to hide it away, refusing any kind of comfort or sympathy. For all her energy and warmth, Siobhan was an independent creature at heart, adapted to dealing with her problems by herself and in her own way. She explained it away as the Slytherin in her, but we knew she just didn't want anybody to see her as weak.

I cleared my throat and stayed where I sat, knowing that even if I wanted to help her, she'd shove me away.

"She really is happy for you," Dorcas said quietly as the door opened, watching Siobhan flit between the bathroom door and her bedroom, the soft murmur of her mirror hiding her half-hearted sniffles. Dorcas closed her eyes and rubbed a hand over her temple. "She couldn't stop talking about it all day. I think she was trying to focus on you so that she wouldn't have to think about herself."

I could only stare towards the hall, watching Siobhan pace back and forth, emerging with some new piece of outfit or hairstyle every time she switched rooms. There she was, hurting on the inside, while I was going around on dates and being happy in this new stage of my life. What was wrong with me?

"I kissed him," I whispered, looking down at my hands. I couldn't help the sudden guilt that weighed down my stomach. "It was more than what I thought it would be – so, so much more."

Luckily I'd said it so softly that only Dorcas could catch it, and by the grip she had on my knee, I knew she'd heard. I didn't want to look at her; I could only look at the few glances I could catch of Siobhan's face, closed-off and deceptively strong. I was so insensitive to have ignored how she was doing with Mel, how she was feeling – all I'd been focused on was myself and James, and I had been making her think about her own relationship more than she needed to.

"Don't dwell on that," Dorcas said, pulling my gaze to her. "You deserve this. Siobhan will find her way."

I could never lie to those blue eyes. "I just – I feel bad. I really fancy James – he's a nice bloke, and he's handsome and kind-hearted, polite, generous, all those things we used to talk about when we'd think of the ideal man, and Shiv gets stuck with an arse like Mel," I said, shaking my head. "It's just not right."

"She's okay for now, though. Look."

When I looked up again, Siobhan was standing in the middle of the room completely transformed. She was wearing a nice black dress and new black pumps, her now caramel-colored hair pulled up into an impressive up-do. She had taken her piercings out, something she hadn't done in quite a while – especially not for a date – and even her make-up was subdued. Her smile was oddly tentative as she let us study her, and she did a little twirl, her dress catching the air.

"You look lovely," I said, standing up to get a better look, shocked that this stunning woman was indeed my worn and torn, ripped-jeans-and-flannel Siobhan. When she rolled her eyes and gave me a rude gesture, no doubt watching all this pass across my face, I knew she hadn't been blackmailed into that outfit.

It was a step forward. It seemed like we were all taking a lot of those lately.

"He won't know what hit him," Dorcas said. "Lucky, lucky guy."

"What's his name?" I asked.

Siobhan grinned. "Mikhail. Heis gorgeous."

"If he's making you dress up like this," I said, giving her a slow once-over as I walked to the kitchen to grab a butterbeer, "He'd better be."

"Toss me one," she said, holding open her hands to catch the butterbeer I threw to her. She cracked open the top, took a large swig, and burped loudly. "And he's better looking than Potter, at least. Isn't he, Dork?"

Dorcas only sighed. She grabbed the remote and clicked the television on.

I shook my head, feeling bold by my new status – dating James Potter, dating James bloody Potter – and still a bit light-hearted from our kiss, and gave her an impish smirk. "Doubtful."

Siobhan paused for a moment, staring at me as if I'd just chugged an entire vat of Firewhiskey and offered to strip around London in my knickers, and then burst into a snorting round of laughter. I chuckled as she doubled over, shaking her head and muttering incoherent babble about James and hair and asses and Mikhail through her gasps of air, and I took a seat next to Dorcas on the couch as Siobhan tried to get control of herself.

"Oh, Lily," she sighed, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. "You just… I have to go. I need to prove to myself that Mikhail really is more smoking than James, else I'd be after your boyfriend, Lil, and I don't think you'd win."

She shut the door on our laughter, and I took another sip of butterbeer as Dorcas tuned into the news for a few minutes. I'd always liked the taste of butterbeer – a bit like butterscotch, a bit like over-sweetened syrup – but my taste buds were yearning for something less sickeningly sweet, something like vanilla, a faint trace of coffee, carried on a sigh and a soft caress of gentle lips…

– QS –

I'd gotten my wish: there was a weak hint of coffee in the air when I opened my eyes the next morning. I was disoriented for an alarmed second before I remembered that I was in Siobhan's flat and not my own bedroom, that Dorcas was staying in the room next to mine, that the smell of breakfast in this household wasn't exactly the safest thing to wake up to –

"Dorcas!" I shouted, tripping my way out of bed and stumbling into the hall in my pajamas. Besides Potions and Arithmancy and being mean to people who rightly deserved it, there was one thing Dorcas couldn't do above all others: cook.

But she wasn't in the kitchen or the living room as I stepped out of the hall, swiping at my sleepy eyes. Instead, I found Siobhan standing behind the stove in a black shirt and a pair of obscenely short-shorts in the silver and emerald colors of the traitorous Slytherin. The Wireless was playing a popular, upbeat song and Siobhan was humming along, shaking her hips and flipping pancakes to a beat, her tousled caramel hair spilling down her shoulders.

"Your date must've gone well," I grumbled, yanking open the fridge in a hopeless search for something to drink that wasn't alcohol.

But miracles do happen – there was food in the refrigerator and bread in the breadbasket. Fresh bread. Bread that wasn't green. Or black. Or infested. I could only stare. It was like gold; Midas himself had come to Levy Street and touched flat 4C, gifting me with sustenance. Siobhan was saying something about Mikhail being infinitely more attractive than James, but I could only gape at the full refrigerator. Living with Shiv for the past day or so had really been a detriment on my diet.

I shook my head in wonder. "When did we get food? Did you go to the grocery?"

She laughed, twirling her spatula around in an arc. The pancakes sizzled on the stovetop, beautiful and golden, perfectly round, tempting my nose in the most stomach-rumbling way. "This morning. Dork and I went out, actually; we're planning on keeping you here longer, so I figured food was the right way to go."

"Mmm. Yeah," I mumbled, salivating, grabbing a plate and a fork and stabbing a few pancakes off her ready-to-eat stack. I nearly stumbled onto the barstool and picked up my fork, ready to devour. "Hey, wait. Stay? I'd have to call my parents – "

"Maybe later. Sit. Eat. And have some coffee, you look dead," she commanded. She pointed her spatula at a styrofoam cup sitting next to the telephone and her keys before turning to the fridge, pulling out a package of breakfast sausages and a carton of eggs.

God, breakfast? She must've had a very good date.

I balanced the stool on two legs to reach for the coffee cup, getting some of my hair in my syrupy pancakes and a smudge of it on my pajama shirt. "Thanks," I murmured, taking a deep whiff of my coffee. "Pass the cream."

"It's already made just the way you like it," she said, cracking an egg one-handed over the pan. It briefly crossed my mind to ask her why she was doing this all the muggle way before I remembered how her half-blooded grandmother would make her breakfast over the summers, just like this. So I tried a taste of my coffee as she called, "Dorcas! You want eggs?"

"Yes, please! With cheese," Dorcas shouted from the bathroom. "And ham! Did we get ham?"

"No ham."

"I thought I asked you to grab the ham!"

Siobhan took a deep breath and rolled her neck. "We don't have any ham, Dorcas."

"Okay, okay. Thank you, Siobhan! I love you for being so generously wonderful," she called before the shower started up. We could hear her laughing to herself underneath the supposed protection of the showerhead.

I took a deeper sip, wrapping my hands around my cup and breathing it in while Siobhan shook her irritation out of her shoulders and continued flipping pancakes and eggs simultaneously. I reveled in the strong espresso, the smooth caramel and vanilla, the hint of cinnamon and the light tufts of whipped cream –

"Hey," I said, frowning. I licked some foam from my lips. "This is from Tallulah's…"

"Mmm."

"Did you go to Tallulah's this morning, too? I didn't know you knew how I got my coffee there – "

She looked over her shoulder at me with a naughty grin on her face. "You might've had an early morning visitor while you were sleeping. This visitor also might've brought you coffee and a gift for making his dreams come true. It might be sitting on the coffee table."

James had been by. While I was sleeping. He hadn't been in my room, had he? God, I would never live it down if he had. But… a gift?

My head whipped around so fast that my syrup-drenched strand of hair smacked me in the face and stuck to my cheek. Spluttering, I pulled it away and rushed into the living room, breakfast be damned. There, on the coffee table, was a spellbook-sized box, wrapped in a glittering violet paper. A note was stuck to the top. I reached for it with a nervous hand.

There was no signature Potter seal on the envelope, but I recognized the slanted scrawl of my name immediately. Inside, there were only a few words that, really, explained nothing at all:

'Remember those questions you answered yesterday? This is one of them. I need you to start trusting me, Lily.
- James'

I picked up the box – it was deceivingly light – and ripped the paper off before lifting the lid and peering inside.

"You've got to be kidding me," I mumbled.

"No," Siobhan breathed. "No way."

"Oh, my," I heard Dorcas gasp from behind me. "Is that what he dropped off this morning? I knew he looked keyed up for something…"

I lifted the dress out of the box and turned to face them.

The dressing gown was a deep, deep burgundy – so dark it was almost black, but when the light hit it, it shimmered an elegant, wine-red – and felt like a fabric smoother than silk, so soft as it shifted beneath my fingers. The sleeves were long and looked like they'd billow around my knuckles; the collar was low and elegantly embroidered with a gold thread, matching the trim near the bottom hem near my feet. It looked a bit too narrow around the waist, but maybe if I sucked it in…

No. I was not wearing this. This must've cost a fortune. I shook my head, already telling myself that I'd have to send this back to him, that I would not let him spend so much money on me already – or ever – that I had never agreed to go with him to that stupid gala anyway. It was obvious that that was what this was all about, and I couldn't go. Wouldn't go. Especially not in that.

Even though it was beautiful.

And perfect.

"He sent you a gown," Siobhan said, her face bordering on awe. "I am impressed."

Dorcas, still clad in a towel with her wet hair dripping on the wood floor, reached out and ran a hand down the intricately draped bodice. "Wow."

"Not happening," I said, trying desperately to ignore the way the satin slid against the light. "I am not going. A gala? Seriously, guys? So I can rub elbows with people like Bagman and the Slug? No. I can just barely tolerate him in school as it is. 'Oh, ho, Miss Evans! You're looking quite striking tonight! Care to take a stroll around the room with me while I ogle down your dress?' No, no, no."

"Professor Slughorn has never stared at your chest, Lily. He's a professor," Dorcas scoffed. Despite her dislike for Slughorn, her respect for all of our professors held strong throughout the most obvious of grievances. She cut me off just as I opened my mouth. "And that time in fifth year doesn't count. He was checking your potion."

Biting her thumbnail, Siobhan shook her head and laughed. Her squinted eyes were glued to the dress, though, as I continued to hold it up to my body. "He was completely checking out your boobs. I saw him. Almost knocked himself out when he leaned over your cauldron, though. Bit too anxious to get to the goods, if you know what I mean."

Dorcas looked at her. "You are crude."

She shrugged. "Perhaps. But I am also smart enough to know that Lily's an absolute idiot if she sends that back."

"Guys," I whined. "I can't. This would make it… official."

"Like it isn't already?" Siobhan countered. "You've already snogged his face off. I don't know what else you could do to say, 'Hey, Potter I bloody fancy you.'"

"I did not snog his face off," I hissed, trying to fold the stupid gown back into its original shape. I pressed it into the box, not sparing it another longing look, before turning back to them. "It's not about proving to Potter that I fancy him, because I'm pretty sure we went over that. It's just… I'd have to meet his parents – "

"You've already met Elaine," Dorcas pointed out.

" – and, well, people will be there! People like Heather Toumey – "

Siobhan's face darkened. "Slytherin, remember? She'll be at the Black's."

"I said people like Heather Toumey! People like Heather who like to gossip and spread business that isn't theirs to spread! People who will see us together – "

"You're being a stubborn bint," Siobhan interrupted, chuckling. She grabbed my coffee off the table and handed it to me before pulling the dress back out of the box. "Drink your coffee and pull your knickers out of your ass. You're going to that gala. We all are. And you're going to wear this gown, look completely spectacular, and make Potter want you like he's never wanted you before. Jesus. Aren't you supposed to be trusting and honest and everything now?"

I looked to Dorcas for help, but she simply shrugged, nodding at Siobhan. "She's right."

"Ugh, you guys!" I huffed, throwing myself into the armchair. I crossed my legs and pulled a piece of syrupy hair off of my forehead, glaring as Siobhan twirled around the room, the burgandy fabric of the dress shimmering in the sunlight.

I was being stubborn for no reason. We were dating. We had kissed. He had asked me to trust him. And he had brought me coffee this morning.

"Fine," I grumbled, acquiescing only because there was caffeine trickling through my system and vanilla on my tongue. "But you all owe me. Big."

This better be good, Potter.