Hellooo again, long wait for an update, I know...i had to switch my chapter three around here, cuz i forgot something kinda important...but it's in there now, so tralala, and hopefully i'll put chapter four up pretty soon. If we're lucky. For anyone who was wondering, Mean Samhraidh (there should be an accent on the 'a' in Mean, but this thing won't let me put it in, and it's pronounced mee-an sam-rade), is the cealtic gaelic word for summer solstice, or the celtic summer solstice festival. See, i figure that this was really the last good time in Lily and James lives, before they were like, joining secret scocieties to fight the forces of darkness and sacrificing their lives to save the world and that sort of thing. And Mean Samhraidh is the longest day of the year, so everythings kinda downhill from there, metaphorically speaking. Soooo... do you see my impressively intellectual reasoning? Of course you do. PS, standard disclaimer in first chapter, if perchance you're interested in learning that hardly any of this belongs to me.

James Potter was an opportunist. That is to say, he was very good at analysing a situation quickly and competently and delving from this information what opportunities it held for him, and how best he could take advantage of them. And then acting upon it.

This skill, generally speaking, made him appear completely in control at all times. He was even less likely to appear flustered than his best friend, and always knew what to say and when to say it to achieve the desired result. Even when he was completely ignorant on the topic at hand (which was seldom) he somehow managed to appear otherwise, simply by listening carefully, processing the data, then making small contributions to the conversation that somehow contrived to sound incredibly insightful. He had mastered this skill very early on in life, and so even at eleven he seemed terribly clever to his peers. Coupled with a good amount of talent on the Quidditch pitch (made a chaser on the house team in his second year, he had scored ten goals in his first ever match) and a highly advanced academic ability, most of the student population had come to admire him greatly. This all combined in his third year to make for a rather conceited thirteen-year old boy.

Over the next two and a half years, most of Hogwarts' young witches and wizards had quickly learned to treat James Potter and his friends with a certain caution (those who didn't learn as quickly had a tendency towards bizarre accidents and occasional paralysis). While the four boys were respected and revered by nearly everyone, students and teachers alike, it was common knowledge that it never paid to bother them when they didn't want to be bothered, or to ask them annoying, trivial questions such as, "So where do you four get off to every full moon?" James and Sirius Black probably held the all time highest detention record in the school's history, with the last member of their gang, Peter Pettigrew, coming in at a close second. (Remus Lupin, however, wasn't even in the top ten. No one was ever certain if this was because he never got up to as much mischief as the other three, or simply because he was much better at not getting caught.) Even so, it was speculated that they would have had twice the amount if it weren't for an innate ability to talk their way out of sticky situations. The four had been called many things, often true, in which phrases like 'bullying, conceited bastards' often figured, but 'stupid' was certainly not among these. Both James and Sirius were obviously brilliant, and they knew it. They thought themselves a cut above the rest because in many cases they did indeed appear to be. They were overconfident to a fault from their successes over the years. And everyone wanted to be just like them.

Then, around February of their sixth year, something changed. Of the students, only the four boys and a certain hook-nosed Slytherin knew what had really happened that night; many of the teachers also remained oblivious. But whatever it was, it caused a rift between the four for nearly a month, unheard of before then, so closely were those friendships tied. Until mid-March James and Remus avoided Sirius' gaze, while Peter flitted between the two groups, looking awkward. All the while, Severus Snape glared down his vulture- like nose at them. Whatever had happened (and this was the subject of many hours of debate throughout the school), it had wrought a change in all them, most notably the Potter boy, who seemed to grow up overnight.

The unknown event coincided directly with the worst yet mass killings in the name of the rising Dark Lord, so James was not the only one to go from boy to man in a very short amount of time.

By his seventeenth birthday, James Potter had all but abandoned his childhood faults of conceit and cruelty. It was generally acknowledged nowadays that you might accidentally bump into him in the corridor without getting a facefull of boils. Whatever trouble he and friends made, it was only in fun (though admittedly a certain caretaker didn't quite see it in that light), and never at the expense of others. Foolish boys had become fine young men, and the old Headmaster smiled up in his office, his blue eyes twinkling as he watched this unfold.

So, when the Head Boy badge had arrived with his letter, James was not surprised. His mother was in a state of shock, his father nearly had a heart attack and his friends had teased him about it for weeks, but deep inside he had known it would be him. James could remember the person he'd been just a few short months ago, and he didn't like that boy very much at all. But the fact that he could recognise this made him all the more aware of who he was now, and the person he was now deserved that badge.

Finally, after nearly three years of hearing it, he had become the sort of person Lily Evans had been telling him he ought to be. She was always so vivid in her descriptions of his failings, James would have thought she might notice that many of them had finally been discarded, but she seemed incapable of viewing him in this new light. It was a cruel irony; to be given a second chance by everyone but the one he was taking the chance for in the first place.

He tried to tell himself to forget her; that if she was too stubbornly blind to see him for who he was then she wasn't worth the effort, but this had long proved to be impossible. He had only to hear her voice, to watch her laugh, to catch her eye, in order to remind himself of the fascination she had held for him since he was fourteen.

Coming into his seventh year with a completely different perspective on life, James no longer had a clue what to do to try and make her see him – all his previous ploys now seemed childish. The only thing that seemed to be left was to hope for a miracle that would open her eyes.

Lily remained in the Hogwarts hospital wing with a bad case of heat-stroke and a mild concussion for the first full week of classes. This meant that, for the first full week of classes, James' friends had to endure his endless dithering over her health and equally endless plots to sneak into the hospital wing to visit her. Because Madame Pomfrey had flatly refused to let him set foot inside the wing, other than on the first evening when he and Remus had brought her in from the train. The very next day, James had intended to go and see how she was, under the pretext of needing to discuss important Head business.

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter, but Miss Evans is not at all well just now," the Hogwarts matron had informed him. "I should think you'd have realised that, seeing as you were the one who brought her up last night. Besides," she added, eyeing him suspiciously, "Lily has specifically requested that I should under no circumstances allow the Head Boy to visit her."

And, oblivious to his splutterings of protest, she had closed the door in his face.

Being James Potter, he had not of course given up, but on Wednesday, after hearing his fifty-third hairbrainded idea in a row, his friends had had enough. Both Sirius and Peter punched him, none too gently, and Remus exclaimed exasperatedly, "Look James, judging by the way she knocked your arms away while she was losing consciousness, I think we can safely assume that she wants nothing to do with you! Generally, when a girl would choose a concussion over you, it's a sign that she's not interested! GET OVER IT!"

He then stormed off, leaving the other three blinking in astonishment at this uncharacteristic outburst.

Sirius gave James another smack around the head for good measure, then slapped him companionably on the back. "Don't mind him, Prongs," he advised, "he's just in a bad mood…it's nearly full moon. Although you do go on a bit," he added. "You might try talking about something else for a while. She's just a girl."

That was the problem, of course, that was the part that none of them seemed to understand – because for James, she wasn't just a girl. Connie Edgecombe, Sirius' latest ex, for all that she was one of the most gorgeous females in the school, was just a girl. Margery Prewett, whom he had dated for the better half of sixth year (at his friend's urging), was just a girl. All the gigglers in the hallways, with their shiny hair, streamlined bodies, pink lips, he had never classified Lily amongst them; she seemed to exist in a class entirely her own. Never just a girl, she was always Lily.

She was very pretty, of course, although perhaps not in the conventional way of, say, the Brown twins. But his attraction to her went far beyond anything purely physical. (Which was unfortunate, as he would have long been over her if it were physical). But she was smart, she was funny, she was kind almost to a fault. She had innumerable friends in various years and houses throughout the school, and her "enemies" (if you could call a few of the more conservative Slytherins that) were few and far between. She was one of the few people who ever caused James to lose that perpetual cool, confident aura that radiated from him. In fact he had lost quite a few things to her over the years; his temper, his dignity, his heart…

He'd found that his brain seemed to lose control over what his mouth was saying within moments of being in her presence. He'd gotten into the habit of planning possible greetings and conversations with her beforehand, then rehearsing them over and over in his head in the hopes that he might be able to say something intelligent (or at least English) when he did run into to her. This seldom worked, however, and so, predictably, his first encounter with her after she left the hospital wing was not one on which he could look back without wanting to change schools, or possibly countries.

He had just been to kitchens and was now roaming the halls with some knicked pastries wrapped in a large napkin, thinking and not really paying attention to where he was going, when he rounded a dark corner and collided with someone walking in the opposite direction. There was a sharp cry, and a female voice yelped in pain. "That was my toe!"

"Sorry," he began, "I - " but he recognised the mellow, lilting tones of her voice a second too late. Generally, he could keep his wits about him for a little longer if he avoided direct eye contact, but he suddenly found himself looking straight down into those fathomless green eyes, glittering like emeralds in the dim light, and he was lost.

While his attraction to her was indeed much more than merely physical, he could still never help but be amazed each time he saw her. The torchlight fell on those auburn locks, giving them a golden sheen, lighting up her small, heart-shaped face. She looked paler than usual (Madam Pomfrey had obviously been able to treat the sunburn) but the long walk from the hospital wing had brought a slight flush to her cheeks. He tried desperately to remember what he'd been saying, trying to grasp at something, anything, that would be an appropriate comment for the situation. His brain was veering dangerously towards the poetic, and that was never a good sign.

She glared up at him, rubbing her injured toe against the back of her other leg. "You might want to watch your jaw," she said, "It's scraping the ground."

This jolted him halfway back to sanity. "Er…uh, sorry, sorry," he muttered. "Did I turt you hoe?" he added, too quickly.

A smirk now played at the corners of her perfect mouth. He wished that for once she could be laughing with him, rather than at him.

"My hoe will be fine," she said sardonically, brushing past him, "Now if you'll excuse me…"

She turned and continued on her way, judging by her direction, to Gryffindor Tower.

He hurried after her. "Uh, yeah, I was just heading back to the common room too," he lied quickly.

Lily rolled her eyes. "James, you were going in the opposite direction."

"Well, yes," he began, "because, er…I, um, I know a short cut."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? Perhaps you could share it with me?"

"Uh…well, I would… but er, but I, uh, I just remembered that it's Saturday and the, uh, shortcut only works on um, weekdays."

"Ah. Of course."

She proceeded along the corridor and up a flight of stairs in stony silence, walking quickly, refusing to look at him. Even with his much longer legs, he had to hurry to keep up.

He tried once more.

"Mince pie?" he said, offering her one from amongst the various pastries wrapped in the linen napkin.

She didn't even turn. "I'm vegetarian," she said coldly. And that was it. Clearly, she had never heard of the newfangled inovation of civilised conversation. Why was it so bloody hard to talk to that girl?

Later, sitting in the common room with Peter and Remus (it was anyone's guess where Sirius had gotten to, but this was a fairly regular occurrence and no one was troubling much about it), he couldn't help but continue to stare surreptitiously at the back of her head as she chatted with Steven Bones. He must not have been being as discreet about as he thought though, because after about ten minutes Marlene McKinnon made a rude and unmistakable gesture at him over Lily's shoulder.

He slumped back in his seat with a groan, and resolved to his friends for the umpteenth time that he wasn't ever going to have anything to do with Lily Evans ever again, and furthermore, hadn't they always found Steven Bones to be a bit of a berk?

Remus chucked his copy of Advanced Transfiguration at James's head.

James awoke just after sunrise the following morning to sound of Sirius' snoring. He lobbed a pillow at his best friend and rolled over, trying to get back to sleep. It was useless; his mind was still full of her, her wide eyes and angry silence. He cringed at the memory of last night; a sort of sick burning sensation stirred in the pit of his stomach at the thought of it. Turt your hoe? he thought in disgust. Real smooth James. What girl wouldn't go for a dyslexic man?

He tossed and turned for another half-hour before giving up and rolling out of bed. He snatched up his glasses from the night table and dressed quickly, then grabbed his Nimbus one thousand and one on the way out of the dormitory. Sirius was snoring again. James resisted the urge to give him a hard poke in the side of the head, and closed the door quietly behind him.

He stopped briefly at the kitchens to grab some breakfast (those house elves never seemed to sleep) then made his way out to the quidditch pitch. The morning was only a little cool; there were still a few warm days left before the autumn chill set in. Birds were singing somewhere in the trees overhead, a gentle breeze brushed the hair from his eyes and he took a deep breath of the fresh air. Gradually the knot in his stomach began to loosen.

He had expected the grounds to be deserted at this hour, and so he was surprised to see the small figure sitting cross-legged beneath a young oak just outside the pitch. He moved closer, and groaned mentally as he registered the colour of her hair. She hadn't noticed him yet; she seemed engrossed in the book she was reading. He could just walk past her. He could. He would –

At that point the sensible part of his brain lost control over the lower half of his body, namely his legs, and he was walking towards her. I'm just a sucker for punishment, he thought resignedly, as he neared the little tree. She was humming something to herself. He recognized the tune. You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…

Lily looked up as he moved towards her, disgust quite plain on her face. "What do you want?" she demanded.

That was an excellent question. James tried to think of a reasonable answer. Unfortunately, his mind kept straying to unhelpful things, like the fact that he hadn't combed his hair since yesterday morning. Say something! he thought desperately.

"I…uh, you're up early," he said. Well, at least none of his consonants were reversed.

"So are you," she retorted.

"Uh… couldn't sleep?" he ventured, and then when she didn't respond, "want some toast?"

She hesitated, and James rallied slightly. "Or do you not eat grain either?"

What might have almost been a smile dwelled very briefly on those gorgeous lips before she re-schooled her face in annoyance. James' heart leaped.

Lily glared and got to her feet, though the move wasn't a terribly impressive one, as she was still only barely as high as his shoulder. She glanced at his broom. "Flying?" she said coldly. "Sure you can manage to get off the ground without a cheering crowd to inflate your ego?"

His stomach clenched as though she had just punched him. Apparently that half smile had been a terrible lapse in her better judgement; now she had to be extra cruel to him to compensate. He looked down, his lips pressed into a thin line.

"Well, aren't you just a treat this morning?" he managed, finally. "It's not everyone who can be so bright and cheery this early in the day." The prospect of flying no longer appealed to him, and his brief feeling of well being had completely evaporated. What the hell was it about her that could do this to him, that could take him from the highest plains of elation to the depths of despair in a matter of seconds?

He noted that she did look slightly ashamed at her harsh words, but her tone was still icy as she said, "I was just leaving."

"Don't let me keep you."

He brushed past her and made his way once more towards the pitch. He heard a slight intake of breath behind him, as though she had been about to say something else but thought better of it. He didn't turn back, but mounted his Nimbus and kicked off, hard.

It was colder up in the air, and the wind now whipped the hair back from his face. He was gripping the broomstick so hard his knuckles were white, but he couldn't loosen his grip, couldn't let go, couldn't get rid of the angry, frustrated feeling that was churning deep in his insides. He wanted to scream, but he could still see her, the bright beacon of her hair moving across the grounds below. At least look back, he found himself wishing, to what end he didn't know. Come on, look back –

She stopped. Her face turned back towards him, for a half a second, if that, and then she was running very quickly back up lawn, back into the castle. But it was enough; James turned the broom and went into a dive, then rose quickly again, now resisting the urge to whoop exultantly. His heart was soaring even higher than his Nimbus as he zoomed through the crisp morning air.

So! Voila! If you like it, please review! I'm much more motivated to update if i get reviews, so really, if you like my wrighting, it's in your best interests to review. Thank you, come again.