Disclaimed: JK Rowling is a better writer. Duh.

Fourth year was the year beginning my so-called "Potter Problems", as Dorcas nicknamed them. Marlene was a bit harsher, saying she didn't think it was a problem, Potter was just developing a creepy stalking habit resulting from too much time with Black and too many generations of inbred wackos, resulting in him becoming slightly psychotic, normal for loonies his age. To which Alice, my best friend out of all of them and the sweetest girl alive, would reply, "Oh, but he just has a big crush on Lily! Be nice, Marlene!" Emmeline, naturally, just looked at us calmly and shook her head, while I characteristically remarked flippantly, "Oh no, I'm not getting stalked, he's just decided he wants to spend more time with me! Because, really, seeing me all day in classes and meals and in the common room isn't enough! We hardly even get to glance at each other all day…" And we all laughed.

My Potter Problems began gradually as fourth year went on. The fellow fourth year boys, Potter included, had been friendly acquaintances, but they were all close friends and so were we, so no unnecessary mingling or extra time together took place. But noooo. Sometime fourth year, Potter came to the tremendously shocking realization that he's a bloke and therefore is morally obligated to go around chasing after girls, and has the horrendous and health-threatening judgment to pick yours truly. At first, admittedly I thought it was pretty adorable. He would be all shy and red and tongue-tied, like on the train when we saw him looking in. But my friends and I weren't really sure it was a crush until October of the school year, when we had one highly memorable potions class. Now, being an aspiring cook before Hogwarts had its perks, for I knew how to stir, measure, and mostly importantly create shortcuts, substitutes, and improvise to perfection. It was quite a relief in this magical school, a completely new world for me at first, to go to a class where I could mix and stir and experiment like I did at home with my Mum and Dad (who in my opinion were the greatest chefs and parents anyone could ask for). This practice at home paid off, for while I was probably more magically talented at Charms, I was interested in Potions and always looked forward to it— and consequently became one of the best students Slughorn, the potions professor, had ever seen. As a result, he loved me to death, made me a member of his exclusive Slug club from first year on (with Potter, Black, Marlene, and Alice— Potter for Quidditch, Black for being talented and dashing, and Marlene and Alice for their family connections to the Ministry.) He always like me because I was sharp (bloody brilliant if I do say so myself), witty, and temperamental, and as one of his all-time most gifted favorites, he often used to tell me I should have been in Slytherin. Now, Slughorn's a bloke with what's fair always in mind, treating all students equally, never overindulges, and always lives a life of strict abstinence from excesses, and if you believe that, I have a broomstick to sell you that can outrun the speed of sound. Of course, none of that is true, but he has been a grandfatherly figure to me, always sweet and kind. So I try not to be too sharp when he suggests that I should have been in Slytherin, even though I think it's an insult of the greatest kind, to have to be likened to people like that awful Narcissa Black.

Today's particular sarcastic response was, "Oh, no, I couldn't possibly. Red and green go so horribly together on a daily basis. You wouldn't really let me to commit to such a travesty in fashion such as looking like Christmas on a daily basis, all to be in a silly house with a bunch of wimps, sir. Horrors!" Slughorn chuckled, like usual, and my friends snickered, because they know I loathe it when he says that. Me- a muggleborn? In the rising pureblood mania with Voldemort, in Slytherin? Not a chance. Plus, I love wearing green. However, today after I finished my response I noticed James Potter staring at me, a goofy grin on his face and a strange look in his eyes. He then proceeded to burst into laughter. Quite loudly. I was confused, amused, and curious simultaneously, and glanced over at him oddly. He was still laughing, but staring at me like he had just realized I existed. And in a way, I guess, he had.

Afterward, we were walking out of Potions and Dorcas remarked, "Potter laughed at you today. Really hard."

"Excellent job, my dear genius. Shocking, riveting information. Not obvious at all- I never could have possibly deduced that without your valuable insight."

Alice laughed at this remark. "Seriously, though, Lily. Dorcas is right. What is going on there?"

Dorcas raised an eyebrow. "Maybe he fancies you."

Marlene and I snorted simultaneously. "Right," I voiced my opinion, "He does. Or he will, once he figures out I actually exist."
Marlene turned on me then, bloody loser. "Apparently he does, as he obviously recognized the fact you spoke this morning." Emmeline, who had be following the conversation silently, pulled us all behind a suit of armor and signaled to be silent. We heard the voice of Potter and Black, arguing.

"Really, what is this, we've got enough to focus on right now without you getting hung up—"

"I'm not hung up!" James, vociferously.

"—On some girl."

Alice said frantically, "Oh no, we shouldn't be listening! Let's go, now." Marlene promptly kicked her, coming dangerously close to the suit of armor we were inadequately crammed behind, and she remained quiet.

"I just said she was funny!"

"Oh, yes," Sirius retorted. "She was funny. And gorgeous. And had a pretty laugh. And is sooo smart, especially in Charms, and is sooo graceful, especially when she holds her silverware…"
James sounded indignant, "I did not say that about the silverware!"
"But in a few days, you will!" Sirius shot back. He turned to the two boys standing silently behind him. "Remus or Peter, back up here, mates."

"He does have a point, James," Remus said reluctantly.

"So what if she's graceful?" James retorted.

"Just tell us if you actually like her, and we'll support you," Remus finally said, looking at Sirius sternly, who begrudgingly nodded.

"We won't care, James," Sirius reluctantly added.

"—Hypocrite" I heard Remus snort.

"I didn't even know her name a few days ago until you wouldn't stop staring at her!" James just shook his head frantically.

"Be truthful, James," Remus cajoled. "You like Evans?" Dorcas gasped, Marlene kicked her.

"I, I—"

"Just say it James," Sirius sounded resigned, "Spit it out!"

"All right, fine!" James shouted. "I, I- I fancy her, alright? So bugger off!" Five jaws have never simultaneously dropped so far in mankind's history.

Fancying, in our highly sophisticated fourth-year's knowledge, was not just a crush. Fancying was a strong like, and I got multitudes of advice from my darling friends on how to handle it. Marlene's was her usual snorting. "Don't do anything about it, alright? He'll be a bloody sorry excuse for a boyfriend, Lily."

Dorcas, who usually agreed with Marlene, conversely shrieked, "Oh no! Don't do that! Go up to him and tell him you like him! Or even better, just go up and snog him!" My sole kissing experience was last year with fifth-year Fabian Prewett in a painfully shy peck on the lips after a painfully awkward Hogsmeade date. Not even my usually banter could keep the tension out of it- and funnily enough, from what I've since heard, Prewett's normally outgoing, fierce, brave, and highly intelligent. He was quite dishy too, but probably felt a bit awkward fancying a third year. We were worlds apart, and no matter how much we liked each other, accordingly realized it. I demurred on Dorcas.

Alice smiled, seizing her chance, "Wait for him to tell you how much he likes you. It will be so romantic!" I went with Emmeline's question; when she talked, although not frequent, something about her was stately and commanded attention. She got silence.

"Do you like him, Lily?"

It was the million-galleon question, but oddly enough, Marlene, Dorcas, and Alice looked dumbstruck at this somewhat obvious point. "Frankly, I have no idea. I just became aware of the bloke's existence, and now am somewhat hesitant to be forced to realize we actually live on the same planet. You know?"

Marlene looked at me, "Of course you have no idea."

Alice exclaimed mournfully, "Oh, but poor James will be so hurt if she doesn't!" I quite thoroughly told them to save it, bloody idiots, and let me decide. Most of the time I let them prattle on and just do what I choose to do, but when it comes to real decisions like this, I like to be boss and let others know it. Most of the time I hold my temper, but when I snap- I really snap, and you're not likely to forget it anytime soon. So that was the end of that.

The next several weeks, however, I was on Cloud Nine- fairly enough, probably closer to Cloud Twelve. Someone, a cute, smart, very athletic someone (or so I realized during that time) fancied me! I just waited for him to walk over, turn a most endearing shade of red, and stutter out that he'd like to speak to me in private, pulling me out under the stars and asking me to go out with him, and when I said yes, kiss me gently, take me by the hand and never let go, returning at once to his funny, intelligent, charismatic self once he knew he was safe and dating me. While I was waiting with bated breath for the moment to happen, though, things changed rapidly. James seemed to begin to notice all the attention people gave him more during that year. In September, he was a normal fourth-year boy, in December, after few months of people's (girls') admiration about his looks and his quidditch (oh yes, James Potter, quidditch genius, that's what he called himself) and his pranking and hexing people (living with Petunia all my life, I didn't like seeing other people picked on either, I knew how it felt.) He seemed to think that he was some type of bloody God or something, the stupid arse, but by then I was more than convinced he was just a rather large wanker.

A second quidditch match (Gryffindor v. Hufflepuff) proved that beyond reasonable doubt. Potter scored fourteen goals himself before the seekers found the Snitch. As we were all rushing down towards the field, I mad my way down to say congratulations to James- a bit of me hoped that he wasn't really such a prat as he had appeared to be lately. Still, I made my way over to say congratulations, but stopped short. Potter was kissing some Gryffindor fifth year quite enthusiastically. That was enough for me- Official status of Potter was now first class wanker and extremely vile warthog with no sensitivity whatsoever- a diagnosis that took three years to change. I turned quickly and prepared to flee, but Potter must've somehow caught sight of me, probably while opening his eyes to aim a little better (snogging someone's nose is most likely not very much fun), because I heard him shout behind me, "Hey! Evans!" I stopped still, back to him. The crowd around me stopped still. Everything went quiet- not good. I slowly turned to face him, the girl miraculously able to get the glue sticking her to his face off and now by his side in a huff.

"Yes?" I was very proud of that yes; it was quite crisp and conveyed quite clearly that he better make it quick. But everyone's attention was captured now- not good, Lily, not good. I prayed silently for a quick and painless release, but it was no use.

"You wanna go next Hogsmeade with me?" Very literate. Clearly the boy came to Hogwarts because he failed primary school. The crowd began to buzz and chatter at this. I just felt sick— here, in front of all these people? After snogging that girl? Potter was going to be lucky if he lived through my hexing. Everyone was getting quiet, waiting and looking at me for my answer. My temper flared to red alerts levels, but I just said coolly, "No, thanks. Why don't you ask the girl you just snogged instead?"

He winced— the first sign of vulnerability I had seen on him in many months, but I turned and fled, ignoring the mutterings and stares from the entire school around me, and ignoring the steady cries of, "Evans! Hey, Evans!" that reached my ears. My subsequent rant to my friends still reaches an all-time record. Who the bloody hell did Potter think he was, anyway?

But I wasn't the only one- all of my friends were furious. "I told you, Lily, I told you!" Marlene shouted, and then proceeded to make elaborate plans of death and decapitation and write threatening notes to him should he ever bother me again.

Alice turned pale, cried, "Oh, he didn't!" heart wrenchingly, and then actually proceeded to show some signs of temper- amazing, Alice with a temper!- and plot with Marlene. Dorcas wisely intoned, "Leave him alone, Lily, but spit on him if ever tries to come near you again- bloody, puffed-up wanker." (Turns out that if I had listened to her, I would've run out of saliva by the end of fifth year). Emmeline, though, had by far my favourite reaction— she said not a word, just walked down to the party in the Common Room, marched up to Potter, stared him in the eye until he got uncomfortable and she had the attention of the entire room, said, "Courtesy of Lily," and slapped the bogeys out of him, gliding back up the stairs as he was clutching his face in pain.

Even then, he only got worse. Something possessed him to constantly show off around me whether it was hexing a first year or Severus Snape (who was my friend until an incident if fifth year when he called me a very nasty word when I tried to defend him against Potter.) So two more years continued like that, every few months Potter, convinced he had made some "progress" with me (self-delusional bugger), saying these few magic word to disgust me just enough that I would refuse the pleas he had managed to work up the courage for Bribes, Blackmail, singing filet mignon, you name it— I guess I gave the prat credit for creativity, but at that time I was more angry, mortified, or irritated that he had done those things.

Some things did change- I grew up, had boyfriends (at which he'd sulk for weeks and inevitably "accidentally miss" and hit said boyfriend, or once when he was really irritated because Fabian Prewett kissed me in public, punced his face in.) Remus became my friend fifth year, when we were prefects, despite the fact that Potter would glare and not talk to Remus after he talked to me. I learned about his lycanthropy, tried to support him whenever I could, and learned to enjoy his serious talks and conversation— we had some kind of mental bond that allowed us to know what the other was thinking. We never discussed Potter. Sirius became my friend sixth year, when he had grown up just a bit I appreciated the wit he showed, and had intense, serious conversations about the threat of Voldemort, and was surprised by the level of vehemence and desire to help against the prejudices shown by his family. We had laughs about the mind games we played with our families (although the "family" in mine was just bloody Petunia), and we both knew what it was like not to feel accepted. Sirius paid dearly for his new friendship with me at first. The night after our first conversation (though it was mostly random bursts of laughter) about Sirius's potential to become some kind of magical Casanova the way girls stared at him ("Really? I never notice, why d'you suppose they do it?") Sirius came down to the Common Room with two black eyes, gratis from James ("If I mess with you, I'm well aware I'm going to get it- it was worth it, though, my dear Evans, to learn all about it"). Occasionally, Sirius made half-hearted attempts, via very hard "prompting" from James, to convince me James was not a bad guy.

"He really likes you, you know. If you could only hear what he says about you in the dorm room…"

"I'd rather skip the mental shag, thanks. I know he likes me; I've known since fourth year, but he acts like such a fool and a bully, and I just can't see myself tolerating someone like that for long."

"Yes, occasionally he does," (Hark who's talking, Sirius, but I understood why), "but mostly around you! He doesn't know what to do or say to impress you, so he does what he thinks will, which, Merlin knows, is entertaining, but makes him look like a stupid tosser!"

"Then how am I to date him if he constantly acts stupid around me? He had to learn how to change his behavior, Sirius, or I swear I'll go insane! Plus, I don't fancy him back!"

And so on. James eventually became used to the hugs I gave Sirius and Remus, the easy friendship we had, but it wasn't without some dark looks.

What did my girl friends think of all of this? Marlene advised castration for Potter, made banners with the viewpoint and placed them in the dorm room, and provided the spare knives; Alice cried, "oh, but he likes you so much! Don't be mean, you'll hurt his feelings!" Sodding bleeding heart, Alice is.

Emmeline recommended, "Time."

And Dorcas said, "One date, Lily, and then you'll be done and he can't ask you again." Ha! This was Potter we were discussing. "One date, Lily, just go for it. It can't be too terrible- he's pretty dishy." And me? I went through those three years in a whirlwind of emotion, never knowing when to laugh, cry, or feel angry. I dodged Potter mostly by wit, insults, and hexes if he irritated me enough, and steadfastedly refused his appeals for dates or to be his girlfriends, trying with all my might to just stay out and away. I was relentlessly chased, though; Potter was always underfoot and followed me like a duck in heat (which I suppose he was). Really, the only way to sum up those years is "Hide and Go Seek", an enormous, three-year long marathon game that I always somehow seemed to lose.

The end of sixth year came, however, and brought some major changes. One night I went out late for a walk and found Potter slumped by the lake, head in hands, sobbing his hear out. Being the sucker for feeling bad for people in need, I sat down next to him, put my hand on his shoulder and gently asked, "James? What's the matter?" He whipped his head around and stared at me for a long time, heedless of the tears steadily coursing down his somber cheeks. I slowly wiped them away, and he grabbed my hand and said abruptly and hoarsely, "Sirius sent Snape after Remus in the Whomping Willow tonight."

I gasped and said in shock, "…Sirius? Why!"

The words tumbled out of his mouth, unstoppable and grim. "Snape made comments about Sirius and his family— the kind that get Sirius riled up the worst— and Sirius lost his temper and senses and told him how to get in the willow and that he would 'meet a Marauder's secret'. I didn't find out until sunset, when he came in chuckling about it. I went in and pulled Snape back, but it was too late; he saw Remus. Dumbledore made him swear not to tell, but I don't know how we can survive this, Sirius, Remus, and I. We…" And overcome and unable to continue, he turned away. Sucker that I am, I stroked his hair comfortingly. He seemed to tense up and his breathing became fast and sharp, but he looked back at me.

"Your friendship will recover. You're all too closely bonded together to ever leave each other— even in death, I think, you would be together. It will take some healing, I'm sure, but don't all friendships occasionally?" I paused, thinking. "What you did tonight was very noble James. There's no reason for you to be ashamed," I finished in a whisper, very conscious of his had, which was now stroking mine, caressing gently. An owl hooted, slow, melancholy above us, and the wind blew softly, making ripples in the lake and gently lifting the hair off our faces.

"I have a lot to be ashamed for," he said at last. I took my time replying.

"But there is good in you, James. There is nobility, loyalty, inclination to the light side. Despite what I sometimes say," wryly here, "you know how to be a good person, when it comes down to it. I think, in time, you'll understand. You don't have what it takes— Snape's life or no— to be a dark wizard. There's not enough hate in you. In time, you'll be able to see the good in yourself as you see it in your friends." I kissed him on the cheek and walked off, leaving him with his thoughts and not looking back. I never told my friends about that night. I did not see James, Sirius, or Remus for the rest of the year, but I knew something had changed that night. Between them, between me and James… Cat and mouse was over, and the new way was beginning. I spent the summer waiting.

The times grew darker, now; the fight against Voldemort grew ever weaker as he grew stronger, and we prepared ourselves for our last year with trepidation and excitement combined. I was walking quickly, head down, in Diagon Alley getting my school supplies for seventh year when I bumped into someone, a very hard something that caused me to fall over flat on my back ("Tim-berrr," I remember thinking sarcastically.) A hand was immediately extended for me to grab. I felt a jolt as I looked into my brick wall's eyes. James Potter.

"Terribly sorry Lily, my fault, scourgify! There, much better, and here are your books. Well, I'd best be off." It was all said in a friendly manner, but brisk and quite unfamiliar. And without further ado, the human whirlwind himself walked quickly off as I stood there dumbfounded— only to turn around abruptly. "What are you doing here alone, Lily?"

I pointed out, "You're here alone too, James."

"I'm meeting Sirius. Were you with anyone?"

"No. I had no one who could come today and I have to do things for my sister's wedding, which is August 31st." Sodding Petunia, ruining the end of my summer vacation. I've tried to see the good in that whale she's married, but I have extreme difficulties.

"And you're heading to the Leaky Cauldron?" I nodded. "I'll walk you there." It was not an offer, but an order. I went. He was silent for all of the walk, and nodded me off seriously as I walked through the brick archway, extremely confused. This was not the James Potter I had known for the last three years. Well, what with James, being Head Girl, Voldemort, Petunia and all, I thought as I walked back into the muggle world, it was sure to be a tumultuous year. The enchanted and all-knowing forces that put time to work were coming into play; they would change all of us, giving us the astonishing highs and lows that come in a time as dark as ours.