"I could have done much worse," James began, attempting to defend himself.

I stared at him incredulously. "Is that supposed to make any of this better?"

"No," he admitted quietly, shuffling the toe of his shoe sheepishly across the flagstones. "I've really bungled this, haven't I?"

"I had to take House points, James."

"I know."

I wrung my hands, pacing across the seventh-floor corridor anxiously. "I had to assign you—Head Boy!—detention!"

James shrugged, and looked as though he were trying to hide a smirk. "Not my first one, though, is it?"

"Ugh!" I shrieked, irritated at his blasé attitude. He only seemed apologetic for stressing me out, and not for actually trapping Frank Longbottom's head inside a pumpkin. "It will be your first detention as Head Boy! You're supposed to be setting an example!"

"Yeah, Minnie sort of covered that in her forty-minute long lecture, in case you missed it," he grumbled, his voice rough and annoyed.

We had just briefed our Head of House on the situation that resulted in our beloved Head Boy jinxing a fellow student, unprovoked. She'd been more than unimpressed, to say the least.

"James," I pleaded. "You can't jinx students, no matter how much they annoy you."

"You annoy me," he retorted. "But I'm not jinxing you. I didn't jinx Frank because he annoyed me, Lily, as though he were whistling too loudly or something ridiculous like that!"

"No, you jinxed him because you thought you had some duty to defend my honor, just moments after you apologized for behaving that way with McCloud!"

"That was completely different!" he bellowed. "I didn't jinx McCloud, either; I just had a chat with him. McCloud was annoying, but Longbottom. He's a spineless coward with no sense of integrity at all! How are you not seeing this, Lily? Didn't you read his article?"

"That's irrelevant, James," I said sharply. "Regardless of his offenses against me, you have no excuse to be so reckless!"

"What do you want from me?" he asked, his eyes ablaze and sparkling behind his glasses. "You want me not to care and not do anything when some dipshit with a quill attacks the people I love?" His eyes widened slightly as he realized what he'd just said, but he refused to back down, refused to take it back, refused to contradict it.

I am a people he loves?

LOVES?

He loves me?

We'd hardly been dating for more than a fortnight and he loves me?

My heart was pounding as I stared at him, his lips pressed into a firm, determined line, his fists clenched tightly by his sides, his hair sticky-uppy in all sorts of places, lending James an air of beauty and madness all at once.

I fell back against the wall behind me, my palms pressed against the hard, cool walls of stone.

My boyfriend just said he loved me.

While we were arguing.

Not the best of times to let it slip, certainly. Not to mention, love was a really big word. I mean, it hadn't been an outright confession—perhaps I was making a dragon out of a diricawl and he'd just meant the general sort of love one feels for all the people in one's life. Like Sirius, Remus, and Peter, and the way he went to war for all of them. But I felt myself push back against that concession because on some level—some tiny, hopeful, mad level—I wanted James Potter to love me.

I didn't know what I was feeling, except this strange sense of ease and happiness and confusion—and, maybe—definitely, I heard my inner voice say—someday I could love this maddening boy with the mad hair, too. And I really, really wanted that.

I was dizzy with the implications of his speech, and took in a steadying breath before answering. "It's not about what I want, James. It's about you believing this sort of reaction is appropriate. It's not. I appreciate that you feel you have to come to my defense, but as Head Boy—"

"Shit, Lily, I'm your boyfriend, alright? Forgive me if I think that's a much more important title than being bloody Head Boy. So yes, maybe as Head Boy, I fucked up. I can admit that. I was furious for you and the only thing I could do in that moment was react." He walked towards me slowly, until he was just a few inches away. "But as your boyfriend," he qualified, wrapping his arms around my waist, "I feel I was well within my rights to put Longbottom's head inside a pumpkin."

James was smirking a little, his eyes smoldering, and I had to resist returning a smile.

"Well, as my boyfriend, you should know that if I need your help, I'll ask."

James pressed his forehead against mine. "Yes, and as my girlfriend, you should know that I'm impulsive and impatient, and sometimes a little stubborn."

This time, I did return his smile. "Sometimes?"

His glasses were cool against my cheek as he pressed his lips against mine in an apologetic kiss. "Mhm," he hummed in reply.

I pulled away, trying really hard not to smile because Merlin was he a damned good kisser, and it was really hard to keep arguing with him over something as harmless as a Melifors Jinx.

"You know, you can't win every argument we have by saying you love me," I murmured.

James pulled back, attempting to appear confused. "Did I say that?"

I rolled my eyes, and fixed him with an incredulous look.

"You must have been hearing things," he continued, trying to pretend as though he hadn't accidentally declared his love for me. The flush of his cheeks, however, told a different story.

I reached up to cup his cheek. "Don't do that. You can be honest."

"Well, honestly, Lily," he started, and he drew in a large breath, pausing for a long moment, "Frank Longbottom is a pillock and he can eat pumpkins through his nose for the rest of his life, as far as I'm concerned."

I laughed. "You're incorrigible."

"You love me anyway," he said cockily, and I realized it was his roundabout way of asking me if I was okay with what he refused to talk about, so I humored him.

I surveyed him coquettishly. "Maybe," was all I said, before bursting into peals of laughter at his stunned expression. I grabbed his hand—I could do that now! I could hold his hand whenever I wanted!—and he immediately interlaced our fingers. "C'mon, Potter. We'll be late for lessons."

"Wouldn't want to set a bad example," he muttered, but he was blushing pleasantly, and he let me pull him along the corridor.

In Potions, Abed and Harriet raised concerns over the article published in The Hogwarts Post that morning while we all waited for our Anti-Paralysis Potions to simmer down.

"I didn't want to believe it, Cap. It sounded like rubbish to me," Harriet said.

Abed nodded along, his large, beautiful eyes sweeping over his housemates on the other side of the room. "I even heard Black say it was a load of crock."

"And she doesn't even like you," Harriet added.

I grinned. "Worked that much out for myself, thanks."

I tried my best not to think about it, but the offending article had been a speculative profile on my captainship, how I might spy on other teams during practice because I was Head Girl, or even restrict their practices, and how I would use my influence to get ahead in the league. It painted me as some sort of cocky, conniving, and cutthroat player who had implied Hannibal McCloud and Goleuddydd Hughes would fail in the league before the quarter final.

And the direct quote that was crammed into the damnable thing was taken completely out of context.

"'Half of us will be eliminated in eight weeks' time,' the Wronksi Warrior threatened. She urged this reporter to interview Hannibal McCloud before his team got cut from the league."

I mean, honestly.

Lily Evans, Mean Girl? Pah!

I was glad that my teammates, at the very least, were able to see the article for what it was: inflammatory sensationalism. Rubbish. A load of crock.

"Oh, bugger!" cried Marlene, and just as she threw in a handful of dried hibiscus petals into her cauldron, it blew up in her face in a fiery green cloud of smoke, singeing her fringe and eyebrows.

She stood there blinking, her fringe smoking, for several moments before Professor Slughorn declared, "Alright! Off to the Hospital Wing with you, Ms. McKinnon! And a point from your house for swearing!"

Marlene got her eyebrows back, only Madame Pomfrey spelled them pink to match her hair, and now she looked a bit like she'd gotten rouge on her forehead.

"If Donna Summer married a clown, I reckon their baby would look just like you, Mar," quipped Sirius, leaning over the long table of the Charms classroom. "Absolutely shocking."

She raised one perfectly pink eyebrow and merely whirled her wand in his direction. She'd spelled his hair to turn a shade of electric violet.

Nonplussed, Sirius ran a hand through his head and said, "Blimey, I think I got even sexier!"

Remus, amused at his boyfriend's confidence, put a wand to his head and spelled his own head of hair a demurer hue of baby blue. Sirius took one look at Remus and attacked him with a fierce kiss. They continued to snog when Professor Flitwick climbed atop the stack of books at the front of the room and called the class to attention, forcing James to separate them, which earned him a fully silver coiffure.

This should have made James appear old and unattractive, but he was just so much more appealing and magical looking. His hand went up to ruffle his newly silvered hair; its brightness provided such a stark contrast against his bronze skin that he looked as though he might have stepped out of some sort of myth or legend.

I couldn't keep my eyes off of his newly silvered sticky-uppy hair or pay attention to Flitwick, and felt the sudden urge to attack him in much the same manner Sirius had attacked Remus. Instead, I settled for the inconvenient yet inconspicuous hand-holding under the table that hindered my ability to take notes, but allowed me to freely convey how I was feeling about my boyfriend's immortal, god-like locks.

James didn't seem to mind it so much, glancing sideways at me with a bemused expression pulling at the corners of his lips.

Our exam that day was in two parts. Flitwick was testing us on our general knowledge of our Charms repertoire. He went around the room, calling on each student one at a time with the name of a random spell. First, we had to give a brief summary of the magical theory and function of the Charm, mention any significant details about its influence on wizarding society, its historical context, the process of its invention, et cetera, et cetera. Then, we had to actually perform the blasted Charm in front of our peers.

And of course, because Flitwick was erudite and straightforward, he gave us our marks out loud for all to hear.

It could be quite the anxiety-inducing situation. Mary was shifting so much in her seat that when Flitwick called her name, she sprouted up out of her chair too quickly and tripped back into her seat.

"Ms. Macdonald, if you please," Flitwick said, his large ears flattening back against his head in disapproval. "Perhaps a Cushioning Charm would be of particular advantage."

Mary rose solemnly from her seat and cast a quick glance in my direction. I attempted to appear encouraging. We had just gone over this charm the night before. She knew this. I knew she knew this.

"The Cushioning Charm, Sir," she began, her voice trembling, "softens its target when cast, unseen. It is invisible for aesthetic reasons, though some historians suggest concealment was necessary to preserve the precedent laws and regulations that eventually led to the International Statute of Secrecy. Today, Cushioning Charms are most notably used on broomsticks, providing both comfort and function to wizarding transportation and recreation."

Professor Flitwick nodded in approval, tottering a bit atop a stack of books at the front of the room. "Certainly different broom distributors have unique variations on the standard Cushion Charm."

Oh no! It was a trick question. My eyes widened slightly, and I hoped Mary would be able to respond correctly.

Mary clasped her hands and fidgeted nervously. "Industrial Cushion Charms are not in any way unique from each other, but are complemented with a Target-Detection Charm so that at whatever location a rider chooses to sit on the broom, the Cushion Charm detects the rider and moves with them during flight."

"Excellent, Ms. Macdonald," Professor Flitwick remarked, his large ears flapping pleasantly. "Proceed with a demonstration, if you please."

Mary pulled her wand out of her robes' pocket slowly, then scratched her nose. "Sorry, Professor—would you like a Standard or Industrial Cushion Charm?"

Professor Flitwick's ears flapped wondrously against his head. "Well, good heavens, Ms. Macdonald! If you can cast an Industrial Cushion Charm, then by all means!"

Mary swallowed thickly.

We'd gone over both, if a little brusquely, and I wondered why she had even offered to cast the Industrial Charm at all, considering this exam was worth 15% of our final marks. And. It was worth my abilities as Head Girl and Charms tutor. So, no pressure, right?

Focus, I willed her telepathically. Focus. You can do this!

I held my breath as I watched Mary's wand pattern with a hyper-critical eye. I felt James's fingers wriggle in mine, and I quickly let go, realizing I had been squeezing his hand in a vice grip. I vaguely registered James patting my arm in support as my focus went back to Mary while she cast an Industrial Cushion Charm ahead of her.

I furrowed my brows, wondering about what she'd chosen as her target, when suddenly, Professor Flitwick bounced atop his stack of books, his ears flapping about wildly.

"Oh ho!" he exclaimed excitedly. He quickly climbed down from his makeshift podium and turned over the top book in the stack, and patted it at a distance of a few inches from the surface. His short, wrinkly fingers appeared to sink into something soft with some give, and his ears flapped in delight. "You've done it, Ms. Macdonald! Well done! Full marks!" He shot me a particularly pointy-toothed smile and added, "Ten points to Gryffindor!"

I was beaming. Mary only looked relieved, raking her still trembling hands through her blonde, feathered hair, and returning to her seat to recover.

"Thank Merlin," I muttered.

Professor Flitwick continued to go around the room, with fairly positive results all around. Marlene, ironically, had to cast a Color Changing Charm, choosing to spell Jen's hair a peach color, which looked quite good against her tawny skin.

Mysteriously, every single student in Professor Flitwick's N.E.W.T.-level Charms class had their hair charmed into a different color by the end of the lesson. When Peter met us in the Entrance Hall before our excursion to the lake for a break, he gave us all a flat look before silently putting his wand to his head and charming his hair a canary yellow.

"Spare me the details," he muttered, and Sirius cracked up, calling after him about how he was such a pal. Peter merely walked even faster toward the entrance doors, and flashed Sirius a rude hand gesture behind his back, earning a collective laugh from the lot of us as we followed him out.

The autumn air was crisp and cool against our faces. I pulled my scarf around my nose and mouth to keep from catching cold. I was particularly sensitive to colds. James and I lingered behind our friends, who had bounded away to the lakeshore in a gallop of laughter.

One look at me, however, and James burst out laughing as well. "Are you a witch or not?" he asked, wordlessly casting a Warming Charm over my person. "Er—only joking," he quickly amended, apparently catching the darker implications of his joke too late.

Wrapped in a sudden cozy warmth, I pulled the scarf away from my face and stuck my tongue out at him. "Your girlfriend is a Muggle-born, James, but she is in fact, a witch."

He pulled me into his side, leeching me for warmth. "Ah, well that's sorted."

He'd said it with a laugh in his voice, and I knew it was now or never. If I didn't bring it up now at the beginning of our relationship, it would become a point of weakness later on. It was important he understood.

I pulled him behind a looming henge, away from the path to the lake, and out of the sight of our friends.

"Lily?" asked James, searching my eyes nervously.

I took in a deep breath and took his hands in mine. "James, look. If we're going to make this work, we have to get one thing straight, alright? You're a wizard and I'm a Muggle-born. You can pretend it doesn't mean anything to you, but it's a very real fact, a very real difference between my frame of reference and yours, and it matters."

"Okay," he said, staring at me intently, brows furrowed. He gently played with my hands, rubbing circles into my palms and driving me slightly mad. "I get it. I guess I just want you to know that despite the differences in our backgrounds, I still care about you. Or—actually, not 'despite' our differences, but in light of them…" James trailed off and ran his free hand through his hair anxiously. "Oh, bugger. Have I bungled this up as well?"

He looked so genuinely concerned about finding the right words, that I couldn't help but try to reassure him. I squeezed his hand. "I believe that you care about me, James. But you don't have to pretend or erase from your mind that I'm a Muggle-born just because you think bringing it up makes me uneasy. It doesn't. It's who I am.

"Of course, some people really have a problem with that—and I know you're not one of them, but pretending it doesn't matter hurts just as much as pretending it matters enough to want to turn me and others like me into obscurials. It's—it's a complicated politics. And I know you care, I just… I'm sorry—I may have overreacted."

I felt suddenly silly. I didn't know why I'd been so hard on him. It just felt important that I try to explain.

But James shook his head. "No, you've got a point, Lily. We needed to discuss this. If we're going to survive the shitstorm that's brewing around us, you and I have got to be on the same page. My heart is, obviously, but there's a lot about the Muggle-born experience I don't know. Please tell me when I say or do anything particularly insensitive. I don't want to be careless and hurt you because I don't know."

The ferocity and earnestness in his eyes were magnetic, and his slightly parted lips as he finished his speech had never been so alluring. I stood up on my tiptoes and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling his head slightly forward, my fingers curling into the sexy, silvery locks at the nape of his neck.

James, ever impatient, crashed our lips together, his hands trailing up my sides and settling around my waist, and his fingers pressing into the small of my back. My eyes fluttered closed as I lost myself in the feel of him, the taste of him, the grassy, soapy smell of him. His tongue ran along my lips, and I opened them, a sound of contented delight escaping me as he deepened the kiss.

Fire seemed to run through my blood as I tugged on his hair, twisting the soft, curling strands between my fingers, and James hummed pleasantly, the vibrations against my lips feeling like absolute bliss. We pressed ourselves as close to each other as possible, what with our school robes forming an unfair barrier between us.

The wind picked up, swirling my hair in all directions, but James only pulled away long enough to grasp the dark red tendrils into one fist before brushing his lips against mine again. I reached up to pull my scarf away from my neck; our snogging session was warming me up rather successfully, even as James's Warming Charm began to wane against the elements.

Wrapped in the warmth of kissing James, I vaguely registered someone clearing their throat from some place far away, but I ignored it. My fingers were travelling along James's jawline, feeling the stubble beneath my fingertips, and pulling his mouth closer to mine, the feeling electric and insatiable.

Then someone coughed rather loudly, and I began to shift my focus, my attention rearranging itself so that it wasn't all James's lips, James's tongue, James's hands, James's cologne, James, James, James.

"Pardon me," said a woman's voice. "Your friends over there told me to come find you. Head Boy and Head Girl, yes?"

I whined meekly into James's mouth before pulling away and stepping back from my very sexy, very kissable boyfriend to entertain some intruder with absolutely no consideration for that fact. Also, these friends of ours—they were dead just for suggesting she interrupt us.

"Yes," answered James, swallowing thickly. He scrambled to put his glasses back on, apparently having pocketed them at some point.

A young woman of about twenty-five stood before us, dressed in official Ministry of Magic robes, the emblem embroidered over her heart in purple thread. She had dark hair cropped close to her head and the most wicked winged eyeliner over a pair of shining black eyes that I'd ever seen. She had an air of dignity about her that I instantly admired, and I tried very hard not to feel embarrassed about the indignity in which she'd found us.

"Sorry about that," I offered pathetically.

"That's alright," she said, smirking a bit as she gave James an appreciative once over.

Well, that was new. I guess I wasn't the only one who found his silver hair acutely appealing. I inched closer to James, feeling strangely territorial. "Can we help you?" I asked, with a little more steel to my voice than before.

She nodded, all at once professional. "Yes. I'm here representing the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Please take me to the Headmaster."

"Of course, Ma'am," James acquiesced. "If you'll follow me." Immediately, he stalked towards the castle doors, and held them open for her as she wandered inside.

He grinned easily at her, and I narrowed my eyes at her retreating back.

I was feeling irrationally jealous. I mean, James had practically admitted he had very strong feelings for me, we'd just had a very good snog, and here I was, wanting to pull him away from Doing His Job as Head Boy like I'd wanted him to do just because some Ministry official had liked what she'd seen.

Lily Evans, Pathetically Possessive Toddler.

James sent me an imploring look, and I trudged up the stairs to catch up. "Well, that was embarrassing," he muttered, squeezing my hand in his.

The Ministry official turned back to us, and for completely innocent reasons, I felt compelled to reach up and plant a kiss on the hollow of James's cheek. "We'll just have to finish up later," I whispered, my hand lingering on his chest as I walked over to our guest. "This way," I addressed her, and directed her to the Headmaster's Tower.

We walked in silence for a few moments, climbing up stairs and rounding a corner or two on our way to see Professor Dumbledore. Eventually, the silence must have gotten to her because she inquired, "What do you know of the new Hippogriff league?"

I heard James chuckle. "Enough," he said. "I can't be a part of it because I captain one of the Quidditch teams, and the school bylaws prohibit it."

The dark-haired woman's voice piqued with interest. "You're the captain of a Quidditch team?"

"Yeah," James said, and I could hear him blush under her attention.

"Is this your first year as captain?"

"Ah, no, I've been captain three years now," he answered.

"Really?" she replied, more wondrous than ever. She turned and appraised him once more. "You must be quite good, then."

My hand twitched towards my wand; I wanted to hex her.

I looked over at James just in time to watch his cheeks pink with color. "I'm alright. Dependable, I s'pose," he said modestly.

MODESTLY.

MODESTLY!?

Since WHEN was JAMES POTTER ever MODEST?!

My jaw dropped open at him and he cleared his throat at my expression.

James gestured towards me. "Actually, Lily's captain of a Hippogriff team."

The woman blinked owlishly at me. "You're Lily Evans?" she asked, astonishment laced through her voice.

I gathered my jaw off the floor and nodded curtly. "Yes, that's me."

"So this is all your fault," she accused, her tone flat and matter-of-fact. "The reason I've been pulled off the premiere leagues to watch over a bunch of children race around and make sure they don't crash into each other mid-flight, as though you're all desperate to off yourselves."

I raised an eyebrow. "I don't think I can reasonably take credit for all that," I answered primly.

She rolled her eyes.

I led us down another corridor.

"No, probably not," she amended. "It's this Wronski Warrior person's fault for everything. If it wasn't for their compulsive need to settle some stupid argument with a game of Hippogriff, I'd still have my lovely Quidditch box access badge." She sighed whimsically.

"Well, then it's definitely Lily's fault," James said, snickering. He grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me towards our guest. "Meet Hogwarts' very own Winged Wronski Warrior. In the flesh!"

I scowled at him over my shoulder and turned back to the cropped-hair woman standing gobsmacked in front of us.

She gaped for several long seconds, finally saying, "So you're telling me, that on top of being Head Girl, captain of a newly-formed Hippogriff team, and founder of said Hippogriff league, you're also the bleedin' Winged Wronski Warrior?"

Grimacing, I nodded in the affirmative.

Good Godric. I mean, when she put it like that—if I'd been in her situation, I'd probably hate me, too.

But, to my surprise—

"Merlin's beard," she gasped. Then, she stuck out her hand at me. "Bertha Jorkins. Pleasure to meet you!"

My eyes nearly popped out of my sockets.

"You're Bertha Jorkins?!" I exclaimed, shaking her hand. "I've been searching everywhere for you!"

"You have?" she asked, her black eyes shining with curiosity.

I grinned. "It's a long story, but your name basically features in a prophecy about my Hippogriff team."

Bertha cocked her head to the side. "Interesting."

I probably should have kept that 'interesting' fact to myself.

James coughed, and said, "The Headmaster's office is just this way." He led Bertha around another corner and down a long corridor until we were met with a stone gargoyle.

It immediately sprang to life, asking Bertha to state the purpose of her visit. After it had, presumably, relayed this information up to the Headmaster, it jumped aside, revealing a spiraling staircase that led up to his office.

"Well, good luck," I said.

"Yeah, thanks," she answered. "And hey, sorry for complaining before. I didn't really mean any of it—I was just frustrated, you know? You think you're on your way up in your career, and then they send you back to Hogwarts. It just felt like a step backwards. But I think I'll enjoy it—being the referee." Bertha smiled, and it looked as though she really meant it. "Anyway, I look forward to working with you. And hearing more about that prophecy."

I returned her smile, feeling the sheets of ice that had grown between us melt away. "Likewise. See you later!"

She turned to James and waved goodbye at him before climbing up the stairs to see Dumbledore. The gargoyle slid noisily back into place, guarding the staircase and blocking anyone from reaching it without the proper procedure or password.

James leaned against the stone wall and let out a low whistle. "Well, that was random. How are you feeling, love?"

"How in the world could Sruthi have predicted that?" I avoided his question.

He frowned. "What are you talking about?"

OH RIGHT. He didn't know about Sruthi and Freyja and her weird not-exactly-prophesizing talents.

I waved my hand in casual dismissal. "Nothing, don't worry about it." Then, possessed by a mad idea, I grinned wickedly up at him. "What do you say we sneak up on our technicolored friends and sic the Giant Squid on them?"

James looked surprised, but equally as devilish. "I knew you were the right girl for me, Lily Evans," he quipped.

I laughed, and he pulled me into a sweet hug. I breathed in his James smell and sighed, smiling contentedly against his chest. Then, I grinned sweetly up at him, declared, "Race you!" and took off down the corridor.

"Oi!" I heard him call after me. "You're setting a bad example for the students! No running in the castle!"

I laughed so hard that he easily overtook me, and we spent the next twenty minutes giggling like mad and trying to beat each other out the doors.

Professor McGonagall had caught us running across the Entrance Hall, and in addition to a very long-winded and burr-filled lecture, we'd lost Gryffindor ten points.

Each.

To which James complained, of course, and the glare she'd given him was so withering, he'd shut up immediately. No use in tempting our Head of House with more ammunition for punishment.

By the time she'd completed her lecture, however, our friends were already bounding back inside. Professor McGonagall shot them a stern look, and they quieted dramatically.

"Evening, Minnie," greeted Sirius in a jibing tone.

She raised a perfectly black eyebrow at him in response and turned on her heel as though deciding that she'd had enough of the Seventh Year Gryffindors for one afternoon. We all burst into sniggers as soon as she walked through the doors that led to the staircases.

"D'you know what, Lily? You have such mad ginger hair that I don't think any one of us realized you hadn't had your hair Color Changed," observed Remus innocently, but there was a definite twinkle of mischief in his amber eyes.

"Love, you're absolutely right! I hadn't noticed it myself," chimed in Sirius.

"Well, you mustn't be left out," added Peter.

"Definitely not," agreed James.

The Marauders closed in on me as my useless friends looked on and laughed.

"I bet lavender would do nicely," offered Jen.

"Traitor!" I mock-yelled at her.

She only grinned in response, twirling a lock of her short, peach-colored hair between her fingers.

I backed away slowly as the Marauders closed the distance between us.

"Don't fight it, Lily!" ordered Marlene.

"Yeah, be a pal!" said Mary.

And even though I was secretly delighted at being forced to be included in my friends' mad plot, I had committed to fighting it off.

"You're all dead to me!" I called over at them.

The Marauders laughed, wearing identical grins of total trouble.

"What do you think, Prongs?" asked Sirius, weaving his wand artfully between his long fingers. "Magenta, mauve, chartreuse, greige—"

"What the Bloody Barron is 'greige'?" asked Peter.

No one answered him. (I suspected this was because no one had an answer.)

Remus tapped his wand against his forehead solemnly, as though in deep thought. "Jen's suggestion wasn't bad, but I have a feeling James already has a different idea."

They all looked at James, who was staring at me with a look I couldn't quite place, his gaze filled with some unknowable emotion. "That I do, Moony, that I do…"

James lifted his wand and expertly Charmed my hair into a different color, earning a gasp from our group of friends, and leaving a satisfied, content smile on his face.

"Oh, wow," breathed Jen.

Sirius clapped James on the back in wonder. "Merlin, Prongs. I had no idea you could make something so—"

"Pretty," finished Mary.

I grabbed the ends of my long hair and pulled them up to my face to try and see what everyone was oohing and ahhing about.

My ends were a deep, rich turquoise with strands of emerald green, lavender, and silver mixed in. The colors seemed to dance and glimmer iridescently as the strands of hair shifted between my fingers. Curious, I looked up at James in silent question.

"It's the aurora borealis," he explained. "In your hair. You're welcome." I could tell he was trying to sound confident and self-assured, but his Adam's apple wavered slightly, as though he were nervous I wouldn't approve of his choice. Merlin, he was so attractive.

I jumped him.

I didn't care that our friends were all there. There was just something about James Potter that made me want to jump his bones at all times, and when he did something as enchanting as charm my hair with some complex magic so that it looked like the frigging Northern Lights, I couldn't help but lose my self-restraint.

Our kiss was shorter than I wanted, but heated. I didn't want to make our friends too uncomfortable. They'd all catcalled and wolf-whistled long enough, anyway.

"Erm," I started, catching my breath and staring deeply into James's eyes. "I reckon it's time we go—do that—thing, James."

James, having zero idea what I was talking about, but feeling similarly heated, simply nodded and said in a low voice, "Right. The Thing."

"Catch you all later," I said, never once breaking eye contact with James.

"Oh, right," called Sirius after us as we made our way towards our Heads Office. "Just let Evans put up the Silencing Charm, Prongs. She's way better at it than you!"

James put up two fingers in his best mate's general direction, but there was a smirk on his face as he laced our fingers together and stole another kiss from me.

Yeah, I could definitely see myself falling in love with this mad, maddening boy.

A/N: McGonagall is having nobody's shit on this day, and she really expected better of Lily Evans, but she supposes it was only a matter of time before that brilliant but boisterous Potter corrupted her model student into breaking some rules. Still, at least nobody else's head ended up inside a pumpkin, and she silently thanks Merlin that Potter is an only child.