Nothing new to say here except it that it was another total re-write. Although, I can see the writing slowly getting better in the original story and I am hopeful that better grammar and a reduced amount of plot holes are on the horizon.
In your view, there should be some sort of commemorative ceremony in March. It's the longest stretch in Hogwarts history that passes without Lily Evans and James Potter yelling at each other, pestering each other, or (in James' case, specifically) asking the other on a date.
The Sunday night reading ritual, which is strictly adhered to, has morphed into a range of other activities. You're becoming quite partial to the illicitly obtained pastry from the school kitchens and the two of you sit around, books spread out on the floor munching on the golden crusts. Potter is only pretending to work, you know that, but he doesn't disturb you as you scrawl out potions essays and practice incantations. You even let Potter show you one of the secret tunnels out of the school and don't tell him off for it. In fact, it feels quite thrilling to break a school rule.
The closer you get to James Potter, however, the more two things become readily apparent.
The first is that you're unequivocally attracted to him and it pains you to admit it. You constantly remind yourself to resist any kind of teenage-hormone fuelled desire to fling yourself into his arms and ravage him. To his credit, Potter has also been uncharacteristically respectful of your personal space. He lets you make all of the decisions surrounding how closely you sit on the couch and whose-leg-goes-where.
This is nice, because you no longer feel the need to pretend that you don't enjoy his company. In other ways, it's completely infuriating because you're not sure that your pride will ever allow you make any sort of definitive first move. The mere idea of it haunts you when you're lounging on the couch on a Sunday night and, despite your best efforts to concentrate on the book in front of you, you can't help but think it would be just too easy to crawl across his legs and kiss him stupid.
Admittedly, you miss him horribly over the winter holidays when he and Sirius go back to Godric's Hollow over Christmas. James even asks you casually if you want to come with them, but Sirius' face darkens slightly and he quips that you never do anything James asks and so he really shouldn't bother (which is true, even if it is a little hurtful). You don't feel like you can say yes after that, so you tell Potter you love to, but you've committed yourself to studying over the winter break.
Sirius snorts and looks vindicated. Potter doesn't look too crestfallen. He just raises an eyebrow and says something about needing to take a break.
Over the next two weeks you pick up and put down a quill four thousand times, itching to write to him to tell him how you miss his company and that the dormitory feels so empty and lifeless without him. Unfortunately, you realise that a letter like that would go far beyond the realm of friendly and would also seem a bit pathetic. You envisage Sirius' prying eyes reading those words and immediately abandon the idea.
The second thing you recognise is that Potter keeps some things to himself. He rarely bothers to hide his nighttime adventures to the kitchens from you anymore, but there are some other suspicious goings-on that he doesn't seem eager to disclose.
He covers it all by saying that he and Sirius are just having a laugh, but once every four weeks or so you wake at an obscenely early hour, hearing him stumble through the portrait hole and fall into bed. Quite often, he does this fully clothed because he comes out the next morning looking extraordinarily tired and dressed in dirty robes that are occasionally ripped in places. If this is the life of a marauder, it doesn't look very glamorous in your opinion.
He spends the following days being uncharacteristically irritable and moody. Sirius, on the other hand, always looks like his normal self. However, you begin to notice that Sirius' demeanour has a slightly tortured quality to it and so a night of sleep deprivation probably doesn't change much. Sirius, with his devil-may-care attitude, always has a mischievous smirk plastered on his face. But you notice that quite often the expression doesn't reach his eyes, which look vacant or bored. You wonder whether your over-exposure to James Potter is starting to make you feel some kind of way about Sirius Black by association and you dearly hope you're not getting soft on rule-breakers.
It's on a Saturday in spring, a week before the Hufflepuff vs. Gryffindor match, by the time the first real altercation of 1978 happens. An unseasonably warm day for the second week of March, you drag a sickly-looking Remus Lupin out into the sunshine for a walk near the Black Lake. After twenty minutes, it's evident that he needs to sit down for a bit, so you sprawl out on the flat lawn next to him and absentmindedly watch the Gryffindor Quidditch team wrap up their training in the brilliant sunshine.
Remus manages to fall asleep at some point. You hope he doesn't get sunburnt but you're desperately thirsty so you leave him to bask in the sun and make the short trip to the drinking fountain at the back of the broom sheds. In hindsight, you should have just taken a sip out of the Black Lake instead.
The height of the drinking fountain is so absolutely awkward and wrong, you think as you allow the water to satisfy your thirst. It's so short that you have to bend over uncomfortably, engaging your painfully underworked leg muscles, and your hair falls all over your face into the stream of liquid.
All of a sudden, you become aware of someone in front of you, tapping their foot impatiently and coughing.
Standing up, you see James Potter, black hair legitimately windswept and looking slightly frazzled.
You bend back down to drink again, just to make him wait the extra second. He sighs, impatiently.
"Evans, hurry up," he says and mutters something to the effect of Lily Evans not being a hot and sweaty Quidditch player under his breath.
You straighten up again and raise an eyebrow at him. "It seems to me that the brooms do all the exercise, Potter. Do you actually have to do much more than hang on?"
He scowls, hazel eyes narrowing. Clearly, you've hit a sore point and James is in the middle of one of his monthly sleep deprived phases. He pulls his lips to the side and crinkles his nose.
"What would you know, Evans?" he says irritably as he shifts his weight and folds himself in half to use the water fountain, "there's no physical exertion required to read books."
Really, the thing is designed for a five year old. Or a house elf.
"Oh so you actually require skill to throw brightly coloured objects at each other?" you smirk, egging him on. It feels natural to have this sort of to-and-fro friction with James and it has been conspicuously absent this year.
James narrows his eyes even further, bending upwards from the drinking fountain to face you. "Well you need coordination for a start," he says wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "You could do with a bit of that."
It's your turn to prickle with irritation. The stair incident. How dare he.
He bends back over to continue drinking.
"What about reckless idiocy?" you ask in an innocent tone which completely contradicts the glare of a thousand knives that you direct at his bent over form. "You seem to exude it."
He pauses his drinking again to respond and pretends to consider your response. "True," he says, missing your glare, "but that's not strictly necessary. It's for the adoring fans - like yourself."
Temper flaring, your neck feels like little fire ants are running along it and you have an urge to scratch it, viciously. A muscle in your jaw clenches uncomfortably. You're vaguely cognisant of the fact that you're about to do something rash, and there's not much you can do to stop it.
Potter smirks at you, which is stupid because you're toying with the idea of whipping your wand out and giving him antlers. You learnt the Anteoculatia hex a few weeks ago from a book you were reading and you wouldn't mind giving it a try.
"Your ego is out of control, Potter," you manage to say, albeit in a very shrill voice. "I'm surprised you can fit your fat head through the castle doors."
He snorts derisively as he says, "Not your best insult, Evans." Then leaning back down to drink from the tap again he mutters, "Must have hit a nerve."
It's too much. You don't know where the particularly childish idea comes from, but before you've even resolved to do it, your body acts of its own accord. Your arm whips forward and pushes your thumb over half of the fountain spout under his lips, so for half a second the water comes out in all directions, spurting all over his face.
Then you run.
You're not really an athletic person either, so the way you bolt back toward Remus is likely much slower than it feels. Remus has woken up, probably from your shrill yell at James, and is wearing a bemused expression on his face. An expression which can only be explained by the sight of you, panting in agony from your burning quadriceps and Potter, who is quickly advancing on you. To your great disappointment, Remus doesn't look poised to assist.
"Help me!" you shriek, flinging yourself toward Remus who steps to the side, very unhelpfully.
"If you help her Moony-" Potter yells from right behind you.
You don't have a chance to question who or what a Moony is because Potter catches you around the waist the very next second. His deceptively strong arms hold you warm against his chest which, for the briefest of moments, feels very nice. The problem is, Potter is keen on administering payback that you probably deserve and manages to swing you over his shoulder like a sack of red haired, angry, squealing potatoes. He kicks your wand, which has fallen to the ground, towards Remus.
"Don't be stupid, James," Remus says in a warning tone, but you can see his lips are slightly curved at the edges. What a dirty traitor, you think.
Ignoring Remus, James marches forwards, ignoring your demands to return you to the ground and avoids your limbs flailing helplessly in mid-air. You dearly hope no one is witnessing the exchange, although it's the first nice day you've had since winter so you expect practically the whole school outside.
"Tell me Lily," James says, stumbling forward as you wriggle as much as is humanly possible, "do you like water, too?"
Your eyes widen. No way, James Potter.
You have a vague memory of saying that you would rather date the Giant Squid than James Potter, but at this moment, you're not so sure.
Before you can open your mouth, he flips you over and deposits you into the Black Lake. In that split second, your arms reach out to try and scramble for any sort of hold that will prevent you from falling in and find purchase in a scrap of James' Quidditch robes. Without thinking, you pull as hard as possible and with a yell he's dragged into the black water which submerges you both.
Spluttering, he resurfaces next to you and for a moment, you stare at each other treading water, confused as to how this whole sorry chain of events unfolded. Thank Christ you can both swim.
Then, without warning, he bursts into hysterics. His uncontrollable laughter impacts his ability to make the short swim back to the embankment. For a moment, you think he probably deserves to drown (just a little bit), but you push him roughly onto the side of the lake as you scramble with the weeds and tree roots and manage to lift yourself out.
You collapse with him on the grass, shivering, but unable to resist the incredulity of it all and start to laugh along with him. You sit there looking bedraggled and quite frankly manic until Remus gives James a good natured kick in the shoulder and tells him that if McGonagall sees you both in this state she'll probably take his broom away for good.
He shakes his waterlogged hair and pulls himself to his feet. Remus has to help you up because you're so cold you've begun to shake like a leaf and, when you try to wring the black water out of your long hair, you find that your fingertips have completely lost feeling.
You turn to look at James, his lips as ghostly white as yours despite the midday sun glimmering overhead.
He's soaked to the bone and his dark hair is more haphazard than you have possibly ever seen it. But for some reason, you feel like you're seeing James Potter for the first time. Not the obnoxious, arrogant, troublemaker mask he puts on. Not even the careful, guarded facade he occasionally wears, probably for your benefit.
It's the brilliant, fun-loving and slightly hot-headed James Potter that shines through. Rash and reckless as he may be, he also emanates a warm, easy-going personality that washes over you in a very intoxicating way.
You suppose your brain must be frozen, because you can't seem to fill your mind with anything except James Potter and how utterly beautiful he is. Despite the cold and the wet and the weird stares everyone is giving you, you can't look away.
Until Remus steps on your half-frozen foot, that is.
"Hurry up you lovesick berks," he says, slapping your wand back in your hand as you realise James has been staring at you just as intensely. Remus prods you both in the back towards the castle. You hear him mutter something that sounds like "honestly," under his breath.
James turns to face you and grins as you trudge across the lawn towards the castle and something in your stomach flutters in response. A more emotionally adept person would realise that this is the moment that you fall in love with James Potter.
But because you're not that sort of person, that realisation comes later.