Like how every great journey starts with a single step, every great romance starts with a single conversation.
Our first conversation - the one between James Potter and I, I mean - happened at the end of our first year at Hogwarts. Of course, we'd spoken before - we had every class together, and we lived in the same tower, for goodness sakes - but this conversation was the first real, legitimate discussion that was just between the two of us, and that lasted more than a few minutes.
I suppose it all began with Professor Slughorn, that crazy old wanker. Oh, if only he knew that he was the starting point, the catalyst, the sole beginning of my relationship with James. Professor Slughorn doesn't need that information though - he's already too full of himself as it is, the narcissist.
ANYWAY.
I was not exactly excited when Professor Slughorn assigned James and I together for the potions project that blustery March afternoon. In fact, I was quite furious about it.
"Can I work by myself, Professor?" I'd asked Slughorn shortly after the assignment had been given. Slughorn raised his eyebrows knowingly, then proceeded to crush all my hopes and dreams.
"No," he answered in a booming voice. "I think it's high time you start learning to cooperate with your classmates, Miss Evans! No more hiding alone in the back of the classroom for you!"
Harsh. A simple "no" would have done.
"Come on Evans, let's go," James Potter had said from behind me, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the nearest empty desk, where his cauldron was already set up. Begrudgingly, I sat with him.
We worked in complete silence at first, only speaking to say things like "pass the dragon horn" and "have you crushed the fairy wings, yet?" I knew absolutely nothing about James Potter other than the fact that he was extremely loud. It was my least favorite thing about him - his normal speaking voice sounded like a foghorn. I had to wear earplugs just to sit in the same general vicinity as him.
Thirty minutes into the class, James finally decided to make an attempt at speaking to me.
"So, Muggleborn, eh? What's that like?"
Wow. What a stunning conversation starter. Muggleborn, eh? What an astute observation, James Potter! (Okay, okay - I know he was only twelve. But still, you'd think someone as charming and popular as James Potter could think of something more interesting to say to a girl).
"Wouldn't you like to know?" I answered coolly, focusing on mincing my Mandrake root.
"But I would like to know," he said matter-of-factly. I was very aware of his eyes watching me. It made me feel very uncomfortable.
"I know how people like you are," I said to him, still not looking up to meet his eyes. "I've read all about it. You think you're better than me because your family is all wizards, and my family is all Muggles. I've heard you talk about that mansion you live in, and all your house-elves, and personally, I think it is extremely uncalled for that you, of all people, would have the audacity to ask me what it's like being a Muggleborn. You should be lucky I don't hex you."
Although I still was not looking at him, I knew his eyes were popping out of his head. "Wh- what?" he sputtered, dropping his hippogriff feathers. "Lily, you can't honestly believe that we all think that way-"
"Evans," I corrected him. "Lily is what my friends call me. And I would hardly call us friends."
James' face suddenly hardened. "Wow, Evans, I didn't realize all Muggleborns were so rude and stuck-up. Or is that just you? Either way, thanks for enlightening a poor bloke!"
I was shocked. Appalled. Positively ASTOUNDED. So, I proceeded to slam my hands down onto the table, as one often does when they are shocked, appalled, and positively astounded.
"You think you're so funny, don't you?"
"A bit."
I squinted my eyes at him. "Honestly, Potter, who do you think you are, asking a random girl you barely know about her blood status? It's so presumptuous. Are all Purebloods this egotistical?"
Truthfully, I did not know why I was so angry about the situation. He'd only asked a simple question, after all. But something about him - his stupid hair, his stupid face, his stupid shirt that was too stupidly small - just made me want to keep arguing.
"You know what?" he finally said. I braced myself, waiting for another insult, but surprisingly, it did not come. "Let's just- let's just do the project, okay? We don't have to talk. If you don't want to."
I blinked at him, shocked at the sudden display of maturity that had overtaken the child. Then, I slowly nodded.
"Thank you," I said.
And that was that.
From that day forward, I was absolutely confident that I did not want to talk to James Potter again, at least not in the very near future.
Little did I know, James Potter was confident that he wanted to talk to me as much as possible.
And thus, our story began.