A/N: Apologies for the very late update. The opera I'm working on completely overtook my life last month, but I promise to be more timely with subsequent chapters. Anyway, to make up for the long wait, enjoy lots and lots of fluff with a touch of angst and a drop of laughs. :)

I actually had my very own Hippogriff team.

They'd all owled back signed forms confirming their memberships, and their respective schedules with times that worked for our practices.

Working out the perfect timetable would be a nightmare and a half, especially since Caradoc was still taking astronomy for some ungodly reason, and that took up most of his evenings.

And Harriet and Abed had very rigid study periods that they'd allocated in such a way as to never be in the same place as their other Housemates.

Gideon and Fabian were fairly flexible, thank goodness, but it hardly mattered.

I was too excited for this to put it into words.

I, Lily Evans, was Captain of a magical sports team!

ME!

I could barely fly on a broom a few weeks ago, and now, here I was, captaining an entire team on my own! Well, sort of.

Jen was my referee and legal counsel, which meant she had studied up on the ins and outs of the game's rules, as well as the school's rules about the league itself.

The Hippogriff pitch that the Heads of Houses had created was one and a half times the size of the Quidditch pitch, as the parameters of the game required. Actual hippogriffs needed much more room to get up and fly and the handoff used to be quite a dangerous affair. More than one medieval witch or wizard would inevitably be pecked away by their teammate's own hippogriff for having lacked the appropriate respect a hippogriff demanded.

For that reason, wizards invented the chant, "Hippogriff, hip, hip!"

Or at least, this is what Caradoc Dearborn wrote in the "Confirmation of Membership Addendums, Annotations, and Additions" letter he'd neatly pinned to my original forms.

Apparently, the chant would alert the awaiting witch or wizard of the incoming teammate, so they would prepare their hippogriff for sudden contact with another hippogriff and witch or wizard.

It's also the reason for the tradition of no contact between opposing players while racing. It could get quite dangerous atop actual hippogriffs. And when wizards switched over to broomsticks, the rule just stuck.

Or something.

It's all very complicated, and as interesting as Caradoc says it all is, I'd

much rather focus on the present way of playing the game instead so I can beat Bellatrix Black and maybe create some sort of inter-House cooperation to snuff out all of this blood supremacist nonsense.

It seemed a little absurd, though after last night's try-outs, I finally understood what Jen had meant.

These teams are all inter-House, which means they've got to work together at a common goal, using their differences as their strengths to create a better whole.

I don't know why this House system was implemented in the first place! I sometimes like to think that maybe if Sev and I had been in the same House, we'd still be friends. He wouldn't have spent so much time with all those bad-apple Housemates, and their blood supremacy ideology wouldn't have influenced him so much.

He wouldn't have called me a Mudblood.

He might have even stood up for me.

His face wouldn't be so unfamiliar.

I sighed loudly into my soup, causing its surface to ripple and splash against the sides of the bowl.

"Alright, Evans?" asked James, who sat a few seats away.

I'd taken to avoiding him the last few days as I was still unsure what—if anything—I felt for him.

Also, he hadn't exactly gone out of his way to be around me, so I wasn't sure he'd noticed I'd been avoiding him, anyway.

My worst fear was that if I admitted I had feelings for him, I'd also have to admit to the fact that he probably didn't feel the same way about me anymore—if he ever did. Which, according to Remus Lupin, he did, but that's not exactly first-hand confirmation of anything.

And it's not like I could just outright ask James Potter if he fancied me, or if he used to fancy me, or if he still fancied me.

I would sooner face a boggart than face that.

So, without looking at his stupidly attractive face, and ignoring the growing balloon in my chest at his sudden attention on my person, I responded, "Still alive."

His chuckle warmed me up from the inside out, and I blushed as he slid down the empty bench and stopped just across from me. "Ah, but at what cost?" he said, his voice light and teasing.

My eyes met his.

I couldn't help myself! I had zero control of myself around him. Even when I thought I did, I didn't.

His hazel eyes laughed at me behind his glasses, as they always seemed to do. His lips were pulled into a half-smirk, a witty reply waiting patiently on their edges.

I was nervous.

He was making me nervous!

Lily Evans, Head Girl, Wronski Warrior, and Hippogriff Captain, defeated by one, James Potter's frigging smirk.

I wanted to roll my eyes, but I couldn't look away from his.

Instead, my mouth, on its own accord, responded for me. "It's Sev."

Oh, bother. I hadn't meant to actually be honest. Why couldn't I flirt like a normal person? He'd probably want to end the conversation as soon as possible.

"Are you still hungry?" he asked, gesturing to my soup.

I shook my head, disappointed that he'd changed the topic altogether.

"Good. I think this subject deserves a less public environment, don't you?" he said, getting up from the table.

James picked up a few corned beef sandwiches and wrapped them in a napkin before stuffing them into his pockets. He made eye contact with the Marauders and nodded over at me. "Duty calls," he explained vaguely.

"Our Head Boy never rests," proclaimed Peter solemnly.

"We'll miss you, Prongs," said Remus.

"But not as much as you'll miss us!" finished Sirius.

James grinned at them. "Shut up, you gits."

"I feel attacked," said Sirius, and James waved him off with another smile.

I pushed my half-eaten bowl of soup away and picked up my things, following James out of the Great Hall.

"Where to?" he asked. "There is many an alcove in the castle, empty classrooms are a dime a dozen, and we shall avoid suspicion in the Heads' office, but—I don't suppose you'd fancy a stroll about the pumpkin patch?"

It sounded a bit like a date, that. A stroll about the pumpkin patch.

But you wouldn't ask someone out on a date that was going to happen a few minutes later, would you?

Either way, my heart was racing and my resolve to run away was fading by the second. That longingness in my chest just wanted to be wherever James was going to be. And if James wanted to stroll about the pumpkin patch, then, my heart concluded, so did I.

"That sounds perfect," I replied.

When he smiled down at me, his whole face lit up, and I was a goner.

He could have asked me to go into the bowels of the sewage pipes, and I'd have agreed.

This was terrible!

He grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the courtyard entrance.

This was bloody fantastic!

My face was practically on fire from the sheer feeling of his warm, callused hands around my cold ones. He'd pulled me in the correct direction, but he was still holding my hand.

James looked down at me, curiously, rubbing my fingers between his thumb and forefinger. "Your hands are so soft," he mused. Then, he grinned. "No wonder you couldn't stay on a broom!"

I scoffed and pushed him away in offense. "You had to go and ruin a nice moment, didn't you?"

James smirked devilishly. "What was so nice about it?"

I blushed freely, unwilling to admit anything aloud.

He laughed lightly to himself, and held open the courtyard doors for me. "Come on, then."

He was such a flirt! And not only that, but he knew it!

Ugh! Remus Lupin was so wrong about him. James Potter didn't fancy me! He was just a flirtatious knob who liked to embarrass people with his stupid smiles and I couldn't believe he'd finally gotten to me!

Mortified, I walked quickly past him without looking him in the eye, trying to push away the feelings of disappointment that were making themselves at home in my heart. It wasn't until I got all the way to the courtyard nearest Hagrid's hut and his legendary pumpkin patch that I stopped thinking of James Potter holding my hand and trapping me with his charms.

My thoughts drifted back to Sev.

He and I had roamed this patch one early October morning, much like this one, when the fog was so thick, we nearly had to use our wands just to see our feet. Instead, we carved intricate designs on the sides of some of the pumpkins, baited the insides with Fairy-Glo, and waited for a few fairies to appear and light them up in splendid colors.

It had taken nearly a whole hour, but soon the pumpkin patch was alight with delicate fairy-lights. We were only third-years and hadn't realized we'd ruined the whole crop of squash with a fairy infestation, but it was quite a beautiful sight while it lasted.

Come to think of it, we were never properly punished for that particular faux pas. It's likely that Hagrid probably enjoyed the happy accident too much to report us.

I smiled sadly at the nearest pumpkin, wiping a stray tear from my cheek.

I couldn't believe I was still upset over the boy who turned on me in front of the whole of fifth year, and then only apologized when he realized I wasn't willing to play a double life with him.

Friends in private, in the thick of the morning fog where no one could see us, in the shelter of a tree across the lake from the Quidditch pitch during matches, in abandoned classrooms to "study away from the noise and pressure of the library."

Severus had been kind and cynical, clever and bloody helpful with Transfiguration, funny and witty, and sometimes outright miserable—but only around me, and only when we were alone.

I thought it was because I was special to him and he could be himself around me.

But the moment his Slytherin peers showed up, he was in agony.

Severus made a show of his struggle between our friendship and the acceptance of his peers.

I used to think it was a struggle for survival in his House.

I never thought it was a struggle between his beliefs and his impossible relationship with someone whom his beliefs deemed unworthy.

When Petunia had turned on me, Severus had been there. He'd called her an idiot for rejecting me.

"You're magical," he'd said. "It's a good thing."

When James finally caught up, he was frowning, his hands pushed nervously into his pockets, his weight shifting slightly from foot to foot. "Are you okay?"

I still couldn't look at him, so I simply shook my head weakly.

He awkwardly reached out an arm and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I pursed my lips.

His arm immediately retreated. "It's okay if you don't want to—"

I cut him off. "I want to." I took in a deep, steadying breath, then looked up at him.

He stared at me worriedly, his expression one of concern and compassion. His eyes didn't laugh at me, but twinkled in a way that said, safe.

"My sister"—James's eyebrows went up, but he didn't say anything—"she doesn't understand magic. It frightens her, I think, and maybe even makes her feel un-extraordinary, because her little sister was born with it and she wasn't." I glanced at him again, asking with my eyes if he understood.

James nodded.

I pressed on. "She and I were really close before I got my letter, and now—we hardly speak." I glanced at the pumpkin patch in the distance. "Severus was the one who always told me she was a moron for not accepting who I was: a witch. And Severus was also the one who helped me accept it for myself. It was the only thing that got me through my quickly declining relationship with my sister. Before Severus, she'd been my best mate. She was my only sister, my role model, my whole world.

"So when he turned on me, it hurt so much more than it should have. I felt as though he'd been lying to me for so long—because he clearly didn't accept me for who I was, either: a Muggle-born."

James was silent for a long moment, but in that time, we began walking towards the pumpkin patch. He inched closer to me with every step, sending my heart racing slightly, but I refused to move away.

"Listen, Lily," he said, finally. "I can't entirely understand what you're going through; I've never belonged to two different worlds. But I know what it's like to lose your best mate, and feel like a part of you is missing, a part of you that you have no control over and no say in. You can only hope that whatever happens, it's for the best—the best for you."

We'd reached the end of the courtyard, and Merlin knows I didn't want to cry, but there I was, wiping silent tears off my face because James Potter had somehow put into words exactly what I was feeling.

James hugged me into his side, his hand rubbing comforting circles into my back. It only made me want to cry more.

Noticing I wouldn't be able to hold up my end of the conversation, he continued, "There was an—incident—last year, and I could hardly speak to Sirius, I was so angry. Everyone else was able to forgive him, but for some reason, I couldn't. I didn't speak to him for two months."

I looked up at him, my eyes wide. I'd had no idea he and Sirius had had such a falling-out. Although, I do remember Transfiguration suddenly being much quieter than usual. And James Potter spending more time in the library. And his duels with Severus and the other Slytherins—they'd nearly disappeared altogether.

He mistook my expression and shrugged sheepishly. "I know it isn't as long as two years, but it was agony. Anytime he tried to apologize, he didn't mean it, and it only made me angrier. I couldn't understand why he'd let this—this incident happen, or how he could be so blasé about it all. Or why he didn't think to—to…"

He trailed off and stopped walking, lost in thought, the memory of his anger distracting. I reached up to cup his face in my hand, to try and shake him out of it. It was all I could do, without speaking. My throat had closed up from trying to keep my crying silent.

His eyes closed and he leaned into my touch. My heart skipped a beat at his reaction. I had to fight the urge to lean forward and kiss him.

"I almost forgot," he nearly whispered, startling me and my gradually ascending lips. "That we were brothers." His eyes opened, and he caught my hand in his. "We were lucky we were able to work through it, because we're closer than ever now. But I can't even begin to imagine what a mess I'd be if we hadn't."

I nodded slowly, and cleared my throat. "And you're okay?"

He squeezed my hand. "He chose me, he chose us, and we worked it out."

I sighed heavily again, dropping his hand and walking toward the pumpkin patch. "Sev didn't choose me. He says he cares about me, but he's selfish. He can't have his beliefs and my friendship, too."

"So you chose you. That's the only choice you have left sometimes, and it's okay. It's painful as hell, but it's okay, or—it will be."

We walked at a steady pace up the moors leading to the pumpkin patch, the fog of the morning thick and damp as it pressed against us.

I looked up at him, in awe of his ability to make everything feel better, even if for a moment. Whatever self-doubt I'd had in my role with Severus Snape, it had vanished the moment James said, "it's okay."

Because it was.

I reached for his hand as we neared the pumpkin patch and didn't let go.

Sruthi accosted me on the second-floor landing in front of the library. "So, I was on my way to check up on our class bowtruckles, when I saw you and James holding hands in the pumpkin patch!"

I immediately shushed her and pulled her into an alcove behind a tapestry of a giant's feast. "Shh! Sruthi, keep it down!"

"So it's true!" she gushed. "Oh, I'm so happy you finally told him how you feel!"

I grimaced. "Er—I actually didn't get around to that."

She looked confused. "But you were holding hands!"

I bit my lip. "We were having a moment. An understanding, of sorts."

Sruthi's head cocked to the side. "While holding hands."

"Er, yes."

"Do you frequently have understandings with people while holding hands?" she questioned.

"Not particularly," I said smartly.

She hummed a confused sort of sound, her brow furrowing over her striking green eyes. "I don't think James has a habit of doing that, either."

I blinked.

"Which can only mean," she continued, "that he's just as scared about his feelings as you are!"

Now I was confused. "What?"

"Neither one of you wants to make a move because you don't want to ruin your friendship with romantic possibilities. So, instead, you're living a platonic hell of mutual misery," she finished, matter-of-factly.

"Sruthi."

She shrugged. "I don't know if they told you, but the price for the future is a secret, and this one just keeps evolving."

"Is that a Freyja thing or a Sruthi thing?" I asked, nonplussed.

She smiled. "It's a Freyja thing. In order to take information, I must give some in return."

"To whom?" I said, bewildered.

"To Freyja."

"Right. Well, tell Freyja to mind her own business. James and I are just friends."

"Who hold hands in pumpkin patches because it's less scary than snogging!"

I pushed her out of the alcove and she burst into laughter.

"Just keep me updated," she said through the biggest grin ever. "You can't tell me you aren't dying to tell someone what's going on between you two!"

I couldn't exactly argue with her, so I just tutted at her and continued on my way to Gryffindor Tower.

I wasn't sure who else had seen us holding hands through the thick fog, but I hoped Sruthi would keep my secret.

"Evans!" called Sirius as I stepped into the common room.

I waved back at him in greeting, but he got up and blocked my path to the girls' dormitories.

"Can I help you?" I questioned, amusedly.

He nodded. "I was just wondering. What sort of Head duties require you and Prongsie to take a few laps around the pumpkin patch?"

"Er—pumpkin inspection," I replied, thinking quickly (and not very cleverly). My whole face heated up and I prayed I wasn't blushing to boot.

Sirius barked with laughter. "Pumpkin inspection? That's a load of balderdash, if I ever heard any!"

I was definitely blushing.

"Alright, you, me, and Boyfriend. Upstairs. Now," he instructed.

Sirius led me up the boys' staircase and into an unfamiliar dormitory. Someone closed the door behind me, and I turned to find Remus Lupin, one eyebrow quirked in amusement as he assessed me.

Before I could ask what in Circe's ghost was going on, Sirius rounded on me and pushed me onto the nearest bed. "Have a seat," he said.

"Sirius, what on Earth?" I protested.

He shook his finger at me. "No time for that now, Lily. We've important matters to discuss. If you're going to start anything with James, you have to be sure—so sure—because that boy is in love with you and has been for a very long time, and I won't stand for you breaking his heart!"

What. Was. Happening.

Remus sighed. "Well, that could have gone better," he muttered. He rolled his eyes at Sirius, who simply shrugged unapologetically in reply. Remus turned to me and sighed again. "What Sirius means to say, Lily, is that he is very protective of his friend, and would simply like you to be considerate if you wish to act on your feelings."

WHAT. WAS. HAPPENING.

I sat there in absolute shock.

First Sruthi, and now these two?

All because James and I had walked around a few giant pumpkins?

While holding hands?

Except, they didn't know that part, so why were they so adamant about feelings and James getting his heart broken?

"We were just talking," I said, finally.

"That's not what the Map—" Sirius started, but Remus cut him off.

"Are you sure that's all it was?" Remus asked. His eyes bore into mine, and I realized that he was all too aware of my tells to believe any of my lies.

I deflated in front of them. "He's just—he's bloody confusing, alright? One minute he's making fun of me and flirting like he flirts with everyone and has done all his life, and the next he's so kind and comforting and bloody sensitive and his hands are warm—but then he insults me—and then he's empathetic and he just gets it—and all the time, I have this bloody balloon in my chest that makes me do and say stupid shit literally all the time—and I can't lie to him at all, which is maddening—and I'd probably follow James Potter to the ends of the Earth because I just want to be where he is because he makes things okay even when they're impossible—and—and ..." I looked up, suddenly realizing where I was, my eyes widening in horror.

As though in slow motion, Sirius Black's face lit up like a thousand suns as the most genuine of smiles graced his aristocratic features. The smug smirk on Remus Lupin's face had me more than a little infuriated, because I hate being so predictable, but the startling shriek that burst out of Sirius's face distracted me to sheer terror.

He pranced forward, wrapped his arms around me, and knocked me backwards into the mattress. "Yes! I didn't think I'd live to see this day!" he shouted into my hair.

Remus must have pulled him off of me, because his overexcited body was suddenly ripped away.

"She clearly needs to process this, Sirius. Why don't you make sure James doesn't come up?" Remus suggested.

Sirius was bouncing on his feet in delight. "Good idea!" he said. He planted a sloppy kiss on Remus's lips, which Remus wiped away on his shoulder in amusement, and bounced out of the room.

"Now that that's sorted," Remus said, approaching my sprawled form on the bed. "I believe you might be on the verge of realizing some very important things."

"I'm in lust with James Potter?" I asked, looking up at him innocently and hoping to Agrippa that that's all this was—just hormones!

Remus chuckled. "I think it goes a bit deeper than that, Lily."

"Where does it go?" I asked, my voice faint and afraid of the answer.

Remus sat down at the other end of the bed. "That's something you'll have to work out on your own."

"You won't tell him, will you?" I asked.

Remus placed his hand over mine briefly and retreated it. "Of course not."

It was different than the way James held my hands, different than the way my fingertips spoke with the angles of his jaw and cheekbones, different than the way his thumb savored and caressed the back of my hand—different because Remus's touch was a momentary comfort, and James's touch held the promise of eternity.

I didn't see James again until Potions with the Slytherins the next day. I'd gotten partnered with Harriet Seabury for the fall, and we'd bonded over our love of terrible takeaway.

"Spag bol's the best, innit?" she said. "Especially when you have it with some buttery garlic bread."

"Harriet, stop! You're making my mouth water!"

We had about ten more minutes to kill until our potion was ready. Sensing our imminent boredom, Slughorn asked me to go and help the pairs that were struggling with their potions.

"Rotten luck," murmured Harriet sympathetically.

I gave her a pathetic wave as I went off in search of frowns in the room.

That led me straight to Marlene and Peter, who were peering over their cauldron with equally furrowed brows.

"Need any help?" I asked them as I approached.

Peter sighed in relief. "Please! Before Slughorn offs us both!"

I took a peek into their cauldron. It was a muddy yellow color, instead of a bright green. "Did you forget to add beetle's eyes?"

Marlene stepped back and scanned her work station in a panic. "Oh, bollocks," she mumbled. "That was my job as well!"

Peter ducked under their desk and returned with a small vial above his head. "Actually, s'my fault," he admitted. "I knocked this over when we were putting all the ingredients together, but I thought you'd already used it, so I didn't bother picking it up."

Marlene boffed him on the back of the head and snatched the vial from his hands, muttering darkly under her breath.

Peter grimaced, patting his head gingerly. "I deserved that."

Marlene added a teaspoon of beetle's eyes to their potion and stirred them in counter-clockwise. After a few moments, their potion began lightening up markedly. It wasn't quite a bright green, but it was as close as they were going to get considering they'd added the beetle's eyes at such a late stage in the process.

"Oi, Head Girl!" called Sirius's voice from across the room. "Having a bit of a catastrophe over here!"

I immediately turned on my heel towards his voice.

He'd been partnered with James. Of course.

Although, as soon as I reached his work station, Sirius had disappeared, and I was left turning in circles looking for him.

"Lose something?" asked James, a hint of a laugh in his voice.

"I don't even know," I answered vaguely, still searching for Sirius. "Where'd that idiot of your best mate go, anyway?"

"With his partner."

This time, I chanced a glance at James. "You're his partner," I said.

"Are you sure?" he said, and he nodded over to the northeast corner of the room, where Sirius was bottling a sample of my potion! And Harriet was helping him!

"What?!" I said loudly, in disbelief. Harriet, my chum, in cahoots with Sirius!

James only chuckled long and hard in response.

I crossed my arms. "I worked hard on that potion!"

"Oh, come on, I'm not that bad," he rejoined, referring to his only-slightly-above-average potions skills.

"You're no Libatius Borage," I mumbled, alluding to the author of Advanced Potion Making.

"And you are?" he said.

If there's anything a Gryffindor can't do, it's back down from a challenge. So in perfect know-it-all fashion, I smirked and peered into his cauldron. His potion was on the verge of turning the correct shade of bright green. I sniffed up at him. "Give it another stir, counter-clockwise."

He did as I instructed, albeit not without a quizzical brow, and the potion brightened up to the correct color. He looked up at me, astounded.

I shrugged, smug. Potions were in my wheelhouse, after all.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he said, poring over the simmering green of his potion.

"Nice of you to notice," I quipped.

James's gaze caught mine, his eyes smoldering in the cauldron fire, and my breath caught in my throat. "I always have."

After that particularly overwhelming Potions lesson, I decided I needed to steer clear of James Potter until I knew what in the world I was feeling.

Which was a lot.

I already knew I was physically attracted to him—Merlin was I attracted to him! I had, on more than one occasion, almost kissed him. Once in the common room, and then again in the pumpkin patch.

The first time I thought I was just reacting to him wanting to kiss me. But in the pumpkin patch, I'd really wanted to kiss him.

In that moment, James wanted me to know that I wasn't alone, that he understood even a little bit of my fall-out with Sev. He didn't once talk about how Sev was a bad person, he didn't invalidate our friendship, he didn't even make it all about himself.

He cared deeply about his friends, and they obviously felt the same way.

He'd helped me learn how to fly and play Hippogriff, and now I was captaining my own team with the skills and leadership I'd learned from him.

He was by my side as we stood our ground against the school governors. He didn't feel the need to save me unless I specifically asked him to; he let me fight my own battles, let me stand up for myself.

These were all things that my outdated and totally wrong idea of James Potter would have never done.

I was definitely emotionally attracted to him.

And then there was the way he could turn anything into a joke, and the way that I could easily follow up with one of my own.

He had this proud and noble air about him; he knew what was important in life and he had no problem defending it. After all, the reason he took me on as a flying student was to help in the battle against Bellatrix Black and her Pureblood supremacism, one that, if enforced, would either enslave or slaughter me.

He was honest and straightforward, and unequivocally brilliant.

I was intellectually attracted to him.

Oh my Merlin, and his hands.

I could write poetry about his hands, sonnets and alexandrines, songs, and whole novels, and they wouldn't even begin to capture how deft and kind and warm they are—or how grounding it is to be wrapped up in his hands, how blissfully at peace I am when they're tracing circles on my back, how absolutely ecstatic I am when they tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.

Blinking, I realized I was still in the middle of a Transfiguration lesson and McGonagall had just asked me a question.

James, who was sitting next to me on my left (even though I was definitely avoiding him), discreetly circled a phrase on his parchment.

"Trask's Theorem," I read aloud.

McGonagall nodded, and continued her lecture.

I reached over and squeezed his hand in thanks, ignoring the pleasant jolt of electricity the contact sent through me. James clearly felt it as well, for just as I was about to let go of his hand, he quickly flipped my hand over and interlaced our fingers.

I practically froze. My heart beat so quickly, and the balloon in my chest filled up so rapidly, and I was sure the blush on my face clashed terribly with my hair, but I was smiling and glowing and I didn't let go. I felt as though a million bolts of white-hot electricity were pulsating through our fingertips.

I didn't let go when class was over and we had to stay back a bit longer to pack up our things one-handed, and I didn't let go when we walked out the door towards the Great Hall for lunch, witnesses be damned.

We couldn't speak a word; nothing was more expressive than the way our thumbs circled each other: sweet, exciting, intimate, chaste, and warm.

Just as we were about to exit the first-floor corridor, he pulled me into a secret passageway and closed the gap between us, his eyes as intense as they had been in Potions class. He was utterly magnetic. His eyes were flames and mine grew wings, fluttering towards him and inviting him in for a kiss.

The moment his lips brushed against mine, the balloon in my chest exploded into a hundred pixies that swept delightfully across every nerve ending in my body. His lips were soft, moving hesitantly against mine, his glasses cool against my cheek.

He was a magnificent kisser; it was all I could do to clasp onto his shoulders, a kaleidoscopic haze of pink obscuring my ability to do anything else. I should have pushed him away, I should have never let things get this far—but Merlin, I could practically hear the disco violins take off in a whirlwind of triumph as we kissed, marking the moment with should and must and is.

As though sensing this himself, James smiled against me, clutching my waist and tangling a hand in my hair, until I kissed him back, the longing in my heart transforming abruptly into unabashed thrill. I was floating and grounded and reeling and steady all at once. It was completely overwhelming.

James pulled away first, breathing heavily, and rested his forehead against mine.

I reached up to press a fingertip to my lips in a daze, in complete disbelief of what had just occurred between us. And how much I liked it.

So much for avoiding him until I'd worked out how I felt.

He reached up and threaded both of our hands together, a warmth and a heady giddiness filling me up as though I were creating sunshine from within. My heart was racing.

"So, Evans," James said, swallowing thickly, his voice low. "Fancy a chat?"