The Perks of Being Sixteen

Summary: Alright, so she's a little angry. She's sixteen; she's allowed to be a little emotional. Especially when she has a best friend who won't get off her back about a certain wizard, all the gods who want to put her together with said wizard, the certain wizard who keeps acting strange, and a mum who tosses her a notebook instead of taking the time to listen to what she has to say. She reasons she has every right to be just a tad insane. J/L.

A/N: Hey guys, thanks for the reviews! I'll pass out appreciation e-cookies later :D.

Chapter 2: It Could Be Worse
9:35 AM

It could be worse.

I could be paired with Severus Snape and be sitting across from a stink eyed, foul mouthed, greasy haired pathetic excuse for a wizard calling me mudblood every other sentence.

"Mudblood," he would say, "for this project I desire the least amount of communication between us as possible so I do not contaminate my full-bloodness with your foul, foul muggleborn blood. I will be doing all the work because you are a mudblood and cannot possibly be competent at anything. What can you do? You can sit there and try not to mess things up."

I could be paired with Sirius Black and be sitting across from an arrogant prick that can't seem to get his mind out of the gutter.

"Evans," he would say, "I know you want me, you know you want me—don't even try to deny it now—and I must say, I'll be looking forward to all the time we will be spending together… if you catch my drift. You don't? Well, when we're not passionately shagging, we'd be passionately snogging, and when we're not passionately snogging or shagging—which I must say would be almost never—we'd be 'working' on our 'project'."

Complete with eyebrow waggling and obnoxious air quotes.

No, instead, I'm sitting across from the James Potter—as many of the witches in the younger years call him—silent. For almost a full ten minutes. Silence. Silence.

It is deafening, the silence. (Aside from the fact that the rest of the class was chattering noisily). WHY WON'T HE SAY ANYTHING?

9:37 AM

Peach got partnered with Sirius. I think he's waggling his eyebrows and making obnoxious air quotes.

9:45 AM

He still hasn't said anything. He's just staring out the shodding window. Frick, why won't he say anything?

9:48 AM

He can't still be mad about that incident can he? Because that would just be bloody Nancy of him.

9:52 AM

Ellie keeps looking over here and giving me that look. That smug look. I can just hear her now, in her excited breathy kind of voice. She'd lean forward, tilt her head to the side, her long brown hair would spill down the sides of the desk, and she would say, "Oh Lily…"

Because that's always how she begins her lectures.

"Oh Lily, I know you are not talking to him because you think that if you talk, you'd say something stupid and he'll never speak to you again, but I think he'd fancy you even if you rolled around in dragon dung daily, so you don't have to be afraid! Go talk to him!"

And then she'd thump the desk to make her point more emphatic, lean backwards in her chair, and look smug.

Yeah, it's that look.

It's not going to work. I'm not going to let Ellie get the best of me.

9:55 AM

Frick, I'm just going to say something.

Potions
11:16 AM

It's Monday. I hate Mondays. It's Monday; it's raining, and I am trying to bore a hole through James Potter's head. Ellie told me just a minute ago that if looks could kill, mine would've done it. She's asking what's wrong, but I don't know if I should tell her because it would crush the romantic notions she had between me and James Potter.

I don't know why I even care.

The class went horrible. I don't know why I opened my mouth in the first place. It was obvious he didn't want to speak to me.

The thing about me is that when I am sitting next to someone I know I have to talk to them. I can't not talk to them… it's awkward. I can feel the awkwardness seeping into my skin when I don't—sit next to someone and not talk to them that is—and all my insides are just squirming and I want the other person to just say something. Anything.

But James Potter can't read minds. And James Potter probably wouldn't say anything even if he could, because James Potter hates my insides.

He told me so himself. He took one good look at me, pointed his surprisingly pointy nose in the air, crossed his bony arms over his chest and sneered, "I hate your insides, Lily Evans, bane of my existence. Please get out of my sight. I would move myself but I am too above you in status that it's not worth the effort."

He didn't say it in those exact words, but it was close enough.

"So… how was your summer?" I had asked politely, if I do say so myself. He turned his head from the shodding window, staring at me with his hazel eyes and raised brow with a cool mask on his face.

"Excuse me?"

"Your summer?"

"It was fine."

"Nothing special happened?"

"No."

"How's your mum?" I tried desperately. I had already started talking… I couldn't stop now. "My mum, apparently, lost faith in me over the summer and decided that I had too much rage inside of me so instead of giving me a talk like any good parent decided—"

Potter made a noise in the back of his throat; it sounded like annoyance, "Evans, you can drop the act alright."

"Act?" My voice sounded confused even to my own ears.

"This act. Like you can even stand to talk to me. Like you don't hate me and think I'm a bullying toerag and should stuff myself in the darkest corner I can find so your swotty eyes don't even have to touch me," he said, remarkably calm. "Honestly Evans, I thought you had a better memory than that."

And then he turned right back around and continued staring at the window.

I would be outraged right now, but I'm not supposed to care.

11:30 AM

Ellie just asked how my talk with Potter went.

My talk with James Potter went well—if by well you mean terrible—and I am happy to be working with him—if by working with him you mean snapping his twiggy self in half and feeding it to the wolves—and quite frankly, Ellie, your concern for me is very touching but very unnecessary.

"It was fine."

Sometimes I loathe myself.

History of Magic
2:04 PM

It was in the midst of a crowded hallway. The younger students were hurrying to their next class, afraid of being late, while the older students took a slower pace dreading the coming day. I was feeling particularly self conscious, tucking my hair behind my ears, and clutching my bag tighter. He was coming towards me again, headed in the opposite direction. His warm eyes slid from student to student before resting on me. He smiles. A perfect smile—just enough teeth—even on both sides, a dimple in his right cheek. He smiles at me.

I can feel my breath catch. My surroundings turn into a hazy blur as he nears me. His smile never wavers. His arm brushes mine. Sleeve against sleeve. The smell of night and grass.

An electrifying feeling falls over me; every nerve in my body is tingling with anticipation. My lips quiver. I tuck my hair behind my ear again. I'm waiting… and he passes me. My surroundings come back into focus and my body relaxes.


3:00 PM

Why the Gods Love to Hate Me:

1. They love watching me suffer.

2. They love watching me suffer in the presence of James Potter and therefore they are making me spend every moment of my available time with him by manipulating Professor McGonagall into giving me this horrific project.

3. They have nothing better to do.

4. They couldn't resist picking on a girl whose genetics made her a walking holiday. Red and green—need I further explain?

5. It's not fun unless I'm in emotional turmoil.

6. And they really seem to love watching me suffer.

Gryffindor Common Room
8:00 PM

At precisely 7 o'clock I found myself behind a row of bookcases in the dusty library desperately trying to hold in a sneeze. This was due to the fact that on the other side of this bookcase sat one James Potter and one Sirius Black engaged in a rather private conversation—one that I couldn't resist overhearing—while remaining oblivious to the world around them.

"—animagi? That's a little coincidental you know," Black hissed underneath his breath, and then sneezed. "Bloody dust—explain why you are in here anyway?"

"Evans," Potter put it simply, like it explained all… like I had forced him to come to the library… like we both didn't agree to meet here to work on our project. I resisted the urge to chuck heavy books at him. Sirius made a definite derisive noise.

"Right. Do you think she's on to us?"

"Evans?"

"No, McGonagall, you nitwit," Sirius grubbed. He flipped noisily through a heavy book set on the table. "Look at all these books. Remus would probably have the best wank of his life sitting in here just staring at all the titles."

"I don't know," Potter muttered back, shoving his hand through his hair and making it stand on end again. I hate when he does that, I really do.

"You don't know about Remus and the wanking?"

"I don't know about McGonagall, you twat."

"Right... Blimey! Look! It's Snivellus! What's he doing showing his face in public?" Black chortled, nearly wetting himself in excitement. He stood quickly nearly toppling his chair. Without another word to Potter he bounded away towards Snape's direction. Prat.

I suppose that's when I decided to make my grand entrance.

Or rather, that's when I accidentally knocked over the tower of books on a nearby table and caused everyone's head to whip my way. I had to pretend like I was just walking by a little too forcibly and knocked them off the table that way. Potter still looked at me suspiciously as I sat down.

"You're late," he whinged.

"Brilliant deduction Sherlock," I snapped back, "why don't you give me another?"

He gave me an annoyed look. "Let's just get this over with Evans."

I rolled my eyes. Honestly, he acts like we're mortal enemies now, which is ridiculous. So I insulted him a little; it was only one time and I had just gotten out of the Defense of Dark Arts O.W.L and it was my worst subject and Potter and his cronies and the whole bullying thing and—

Right. Whatever. Potter does not deserve as much time as it is taking to write this down.

"You can be such a giant prick sometimes," I growled. He gave me a lazy smirk. Infuriating little prat.

I slapped the folder McGonagall gave us on the desk, "Let's get started then. Animagi. Animagi. What do you know so far about the topic?"

"Not much," he drawled.

"Oh, I hardly believe that's the truth," I snorted.

He twitched. Like a rabbit. He fully twitched. Now I was intrigued. I hate to admit it but James Potter surpasses me in Transfiguration. Even I know a little about Animagi, so really, he should know more than I know... He really didn't have to act like I damned his mother thrice to hell for heaven's sake. His eyebrows had snapped together, creating a furry little caterpillar above his eyes which have narrowed considerably and turned darker. He leaned in, his expression dark.

"What are you implying?"

I would have found this hysterically funny if he wasn't giving me the most intense stare ever. This was getting a bit ridiculous but I really couldn't help going on the offense. My mother would have chalked it up to built up rage.

"Let it out darling! It's healthy!"

Ellie—she would have said I was suffering from first-year syndrome.

"Hair pulls and name calling... the expressions of love from the immature."

I... Well I maintain that he attacked me first.

"Nothing! I'm not implying anything," I spat. "Why do you insist on attacking me when I've done nothing to you?"

"That's right!" He laughed mockingly, "Little Miss Lily can't have possibly done something wrong, can she? She's perfect! A prefect! Top witch in our year! Why, she thinks she's so good and pure and above everyone else! Oh, let me take points from you for tripping over a rock; it's against my rules you know!"

I could feel my own eyes narrowing and my cheeks getting red. I was hot, flustered, and embarrassed and most importantly I was angry that he was making me hot, flustered and embarrassed.

"That's rich, coming from you. You hex a boy for giving you a bad look or—or even daring to disagree with you on something. I suspect you keep Pettigrew around as your own little cheering section. Oh Potter, you're so fine! You're great! How can anyone even dislike you, you're so amazing? You think you're such an effing prodigy when you just get by on the fact that you're a great big Quidditch star from a rich old magical family."

He clenched his fists furiously and opened his mouth to retort, but then, suddenly, there were three of us. Sirius Black was hovering somewhere above my head and looking down on us in a way only Black can. His scraggly dark hair curled over his ears and square face thrust downwards in our direction, his grey eyes wide, eyebrow cocked, silly grin.

Sometimes he reminded me of a giant dog.

When he saw Potter his grin disappeared. His face slid into a rather grim expression and then into a cool mask. He turned and gave me the same cold fury look, his eyes glittering, turning a storm colour. A giant dog ready to tear me to pieces. I didn't need this. I didn't come to be attacked. I stood quickly, mirroring the haste of Black when he caught sight of his favourite victim. I snatched the folder and my book bag angrily slinging it over my shoulder.

"You know what Potter; I'm not going to take this. I'm leaving—we'll figure this out later."

"Leaving? My, that isn't very responsible of you, now is it?" he sneered.

"It is responsible because if I spend another moment with your arrogant arse-faced, Nancy boy self I don't know what I would be capable of. I hope you enjoy yourself when you look in the mirror, because that's the only sane person who would be willing to put up with your crap. What was it again? Oh yeah. You make me sick."

I strode out of there fury burning through my veins and Madam Prince glaring at me balefully like she can't believe I just insulted James Potter. (Or more likely because we were making a very loud ruckus in her usually tame library).

You know what? It can't get any worse. This is the worst that it can get. I've hit rock bottom of rock bottom.

I think I liked it better when he wasn't speaking to me.