AN: Well this only took a year to upload. Thank you for your lovely reviews! And for sticking around for this!

James's POV up next!

Disclaimer: Not that you thought so, but I am not Jo Rowling.

James

James wasn't supposed to be there.

There were a million other places he could be be aside from that coffee shop. He could spend some time visiting Remus and making sure his friend was recovering. He could be in the library, finally acknowledging the not-so-subtle hints from the blonde from his Economics class. He would even prefer to be in his flat, doing his best to pick up the rubbish cluttering the living room while Sirius retold the events of their last match for the fifth time that week.

He could be anywhere with anyone, yet he found himself in that coffee shop, wasting his morning waiting idly for something he knew would not happen.

His only consolement was that the coffee was decent.

He glanced at his wristwatch impatiently for what must have been the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. He's late, he thought bitterly though not at all surprised, as always. The door of the tiny, crowded coffee shop opened and closed incessantly with every person that entered and left. His eyes darted to the door hoping it was finally his father's form that rushed in through the entryway with a half decent apology and not some irritated customer in need of their daily caffeine fix.

After almost an hour of waiting, he learned to stop looking.

The young waitress approached his table again with a deliberate coy grin and pot of coffee. James hadn't missed how she had fluffed up her hair and tugged at her uniform shirt lower behind the counter before sauntering over to him. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes when she breathily asked him if there was anything she could get him. Already in a horrid mood, he dryly told her that there wasn't and returned to his newspaper, tapping his foot impatiently as he waited.

Deciding only minutes later that he had had enough of waiting, he stood from his seat in the corner of the small venue and stormed out the door, receiving an angry glare from the man he almost slammed into.

Angrily, he took out his cell phone from his pocket and punched in a few numbers.

"James," answered the voice of his mother, her tone stern. There was no need for him to explain away the forty five minutes he wasted that morning waiting for his father. Her tone implied that she already knew and that she guessed at her son's foul mood. "He's just running a bit late, dear."

"A bit?"

"There's been some sort of accident on the road and the traffic is disastrous."

"He could have called," he deflected at once.

"If you could just—"

"No, I'm leaving."

"Just fifteen more minutes, darling," she implored, but James had pressed the End button before she was finished. Feeling a backlash of guilt, he lingered in the crowded parking lot, considering how idiotic taking his mother's advice would be.

Perhaps she was right and his father was only running late.

James glanced down at his phone to take in the time. He had a good hour before his next class. He could afford to wait fifteen minutes for his father.

His eyes glanced at the white LED digits displaying the time again, trying to rid from his mind how the conversation would go if his father showed up.

If he showed up. It was never a matter of when anymore.

The clock on his phone switched to the next minute. His eyes fell on his empty inbox, feeling anger course through him like a furious river once more. If there was even the smallest possibility of his father showing up, he would have at least contacted him, begging him to wait.

He felt foolish for ever thinking otherwise.

Infuriated, he climbed into his car, slamming the door with far more force than needed. He knew he would regret any possible damage he may have caused his beloved car, but as his ears buzzed madly, he did not care. He backed out of the parking lot recklessly, startling a few customers who sat by the fountain outside as he accelerated out of the small lot.

He was almost halfway into turning onto the road, however, when his foot slammed harshly and suddenly on the brake pedal, sending him violently forward in less than a second.

"Fuck!" he cried in shock, audible over the loud squeal of his tires.

There was a small stab of pain from where his seatbelt dug into his chest, making the furious beating of his heart that much more painful. His glasses slid down the bridge of his nose, dangling askew from his ears. His hands, pale and trembling struggled to clutch on to the steering wheel. And it was moments after registering that he had heard no impact, that his mind fully processed that he was unscratched.

He was out of the car in seconds, crouching low to examine any possible damage. It wasn't that he was concerned for the car itself, or perhaps he was since he adored it with a conviction that befuddled Remus. Rather, a single scratch on it would bring about a whirlpool of unwanted problems with his father and endless rants about how irresponsible and careless he was. As if he needed any more of those.

Assured that the old, bland, beige car had not made contact with his, he straightened, ready to yell a thing or two at the driver.

But when he whirled around all insults died at his throat.

He found himself staring into a pair of green eyes unlike any he had ever seen. They were not the generic blue-green eyes that most people had— they were emerald green, big, bright, and staring right at his. For the first time in a long time—as long as he could remember, at least— he was rendered completely silent. The redhead averted her eyes from his and reddened, which was comical to him given that her face threatened to be the same color as her hair. He laughed and this inspired a scowl from her.

"Are you all right?" He ran his hand through his hair, a habit that many saw as a sign of confidence when really, it epitomized his anxiousness.

At once, she began to yell at him instead of replying his question. This, of course, only amused him more. There she stood, relatively shorter and smaller than him and unafraid to give him a piece of her mind. Even when James tried to explain that he didn't see her because of those sodding bushes blocking his line of vision, she refused to relent. But of course, her scolding— much like anyone's scolding, really— had no effect on him. Instead of offering any more arguments that she would surely shoot down, he told her his name as casually as if they hadn't been close to crashing.

Those green eyes bore into him incredulously. He found himself close to chuckling. The sound would have left his lips, but it was then that he noticed how, despite her anger, her arms and hands were shaking, both just as pale as her face.

"Are you sure you're alright? You look shaken up." His phone buzzed in his pocket before he could go on. One quick glimpse at it told him it was his father's assistant. The flash of anger and disappointment he felt must have been apparent in his expression, but at that moment, the redhead was paying him no attention, too busy staring at her car and silently considering something. "You look like you need some tea, it can really calm—"

She looked away from her car, her long, red hair cascading over her shoulders as she whirled around to face him. It cost him some effort to tear his eyes away from it. "You're joking, right?" she asked in disbelief.

The sharp edge in her tone took him aback momentarily. Recovering, he attributed it to her shock of avoiding what would have been a nasty crash.

"I'm not," he returned, mindful to adopt a careless, even cheerful tone to distract her mind from what almost occurred. He rambled on about something to do with tea and alcohol. Luckily, he managed to stop himself before his rant became idiotic as they often did.

"I don't want tea," she told him almost idly, her attention already invested in examining their cars, this time in a lot more detail. He watched her as she scanned the surface of his car, his eyes taking in the small cluster of freckles that decorated her nose and cheeks.

When he realized he had not said anything in far too long, he offered her coffee, which she refused with reassurances that she was fine. Her efforts would have been a lot more convincing if she had not hugged her hands to her body to stop them from trembling. Even without that, the lovely pink flush spreading on the surface of her cheeks betrayed her shamelessly.

The feeling slowly returned to his hands like warmth thawing out a block of ice. He realized then that perhaps he had been far more affected by their accident than he was letting on. The redhead, meanwhile, was watching him intently, perhaps realizing the very same thing.

If she was going to comment on it, she never had the opportunity. Right that second, a loud car horn startled them both.

After a few minutes of banter that he enjoyed far too much than was normal, he watched her go, only regretting that he didn't learn her whole name.

It was with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that James endured his lessons that day. The way all thoughts about the mysterious redhead refused to leave his mind was ridiculous and a new occurrence to him, so much so that he refrained from mentioning it to Sirius during practice that morning. Not that it stopped his best mate from correctly guessing that there was something definitely up.

"Blonde from Economics turned you down?" Sirius guessed, catching up to him easily during another drill of running.

"What?" James asked, breaking his focus.

Sirius ventured another guess. "Something's happened to your car?"

"Drop it, Padfoot."

With an effortless than was almost laughable, they passed half of their teammates. Something seemed to have occurred to Sirius before the lap was over. "Chat with Mr. Potter this morning was a disaster?"

James had almost entirely forgotten about his dad until then. He offered no reply and his best mate, as usual, pursued none after that, knowing he had guessed correctly.

He didn't think it possible but his mood plummeted from there.

He needed to get a grip. For all he knew, he would never see her thought made his stomach sink much more than he was comfortable admitting.

He was proven very wrong, just like he had very little times before and just like he would be many times in the future from that day on, when he walked into the food court after his last lesson of the day. Despite wanting nothing more than to go straight to his flat and have a drink, he had agreed to meet Remus there. It was the least he could do for his mate, who had fallen ill more than usual in the past few days and who, though he refused to admit it to the other three, felt lonely more often than not.

Cheered up slightly by the thought of food, James studiously observed the different menus plastered on the wall above the counter, mentally commenting that the cafeteria really ought to serve bigger plates.

That was when he saw her.

In her effort to make her way through the crowd, she bumped slightly into James, muttering an apology without looking back at him, too busy fumbling with her phone as the vast majority of the student population was accustomed to. James turned to look merely as a reflex but the sight of her thick, red hair made him take a second look.

She paused before the sea of tables until she found an empty one. James watched as she sat down, looked at her insisting phone, and turned off the sound before it could continue to bother her. She set it flat on the table before pulling out a large volume from her book bag and beginning to read.

Ignoring the way his pulse picked up at his sheer luck, he swept across the room, grin still in place. Dodging the various students he found in his path, he quietly approached her, leaning down slightly only to catch the title of the volume she was reading. Lily, perhaps too engrossed in her book, did not seem to notice his presence yet.

"The Cambridge Introduction to British Romantic Poetry," he read out loud, inflecting mock disgust. The green eyes that had made such an impression on him that morning tore away from the pages of the book to meet his. A series of emotions flickered in their depths. First curiosity about who had spoken, then recognition, finally settling on surprise. "A bit treacherous of you, don't you think?"

Lily considered him silently. "I like to see what mad interpretations the competition fabricates," she replied at last, putting the book down.

James dropped into the seat across from her, when she didn't stop him, he said, "And what's the verdict so far? Are their literary skills just as piss poor as their football?"

"Yes and I couldn't have put it as eloquently as you just did," she returned.

James laughed, opening his mouth to reply. Before the words could leave him, however, Lily settled back on her seat.

"So, Potter," she casually asked, storing her book away. "Did you follow me?"

It hadn't occurred to him that it might seem as if he had. "I didn't," he told her and noting the hints of disbelief in her slightly narrowed eyes, he added, "Promise. It was all luck."

Lily arched an eyebrow in response, though not unkindly.

James laughed again, repressing the urge to run his hand through his hair. "You may have already made up your mind that I am some reckless stalker who drives poorly," he started, pulling out his wallet from his back pocket, "but I promise I'm only one of those things." Lily opened her mouth immediately, but he was quick to add, "Er… the reckless driver part, I mean. Not the stalker part. I actually go here." Feeling far more idiotic than he should at his senseless ranting, he quickly showed her his identification card that confirmed him a student of the same university.

Lily did not laugh. Instead, she read the small plastic identification card, her expression impassive. Her eyes scanned the plastic several times, always settling on the same spot but making no comment aside from that. When he was convinced she would say nothing, she finally said, "Harrison?"

"What?" he asked, dumbfounded. It seemed ridiculous that someone he had only met mere hours ago was able to rob him entirely of confidence like she did. He felt his face redden when he remembered. "Er, yeah, my middle name," he said, hastily turning the card down against the surface of the table, as if concealing it would erase the information from her mind.

"After the actor?"

"After the Beatle," he replied almost indignantly. He could have sworn he saw the corner of her lip twitch again.

Lily, head tilted slightly against her shoulder, considered him. "It's rather nice," she finally said, the comment almost entirely lost in the bustle of the cafeteria.

"Right," he said, distracted from what he originally wanted to say. "Anyway, I'm glad I ran into you."

"Because now you've got solid proof wishful thinking actually works?" she suggested, her face devoid of the smirk plainly present in her tone. Now that more time had elapsed since their near crashed, she seemed far more relaxed and assertive.

"Not exactly because if it did your wish would have come true and I would have asked you out on that date this morning," he returned without missing a beat.

"I did not—" she began at once, dropping all guarded emotion.

James's laughter interrupted her. "Only joking," he told her when he sobered up. "I really only wanted to say—" The prospect of finishing his sentence was frustrated by the angry humming on her phone, made particularly louder by its contact against the table.

Her eyes fell on it and for some reason, her face paled just like it had done so that morning. Lily hesitated, looking at the phone as it rang with something akin to fright.

"You can answer that if you'd like," James started to say, but Lily had pushed the proper button to ignore the call. He opened his mouth to ask her if she was alright, but Lily flicked a dismissive hand, recovering almost instantly.

"What were you saying?" she prompted, her attention back on him.

"Right," he started uncertainly. "I didn't get a chance to this morning, but I wanted to—"

This time he was interrupted by the approach of a young blonde with wide eyes and a kind face. Her step, once determined and steady, slowed when she saw James.

"Hello, hello," she said to the redhead, bending down to kiss her cheek in greeting. "Sorry, I'm late," she said apologetically. "Professor Slughorn's lecture ran late. You know how chatty he is."

She looked at James once more and then expectantly at her friend.

"Oh, right," the other replied, snapping back to the reality that James was still sitting there. "Dorcas, this is—"

"James Potter," he cut in, already on his feet and shaking Dorcas's hand enthusiastically.

"Dorcas Meadowes," she replied, amused. "Roommate of the infamous Lily Evans here."

Lily shot her friend an unappreciative look at the mention of her surname which earned her a small chuckle from James and a puzzled stare from the blonde. Dorcas looked from James to Lily, and as if finally realizing something, she slowly asked, "Am I interrupting?"

"Not really," James said, deciding he was already pushing his luck with Lily by staying. "I should go."

Dorcas shook her head at once. "Not at all. I'll be out of your hair in a minute, anyway." She turned her attention to Lily who had been looking at James curiously. "Marlene wants to go shopping for more party supplies before my afternoon classes," she said with a sigh. "She also wanted me to tell you to know she changed the restaurant again to the first one she had originally chosen," at this, Lily opened her mouth, but knowing what she was going to say, Dorcas added, "I told her she could have just texted you all of this but you know her," she shook her head.

"Her birthday's not for another four months," Lily said, looking as though she was already tired of discussing the subject.

Dorcas nodded in agreement. "Exactly what I've been telling her every time she drags me around to make preparations."

"Fine," sighed Lily. "I'll just wait until the last minute to buy anything."

"Smart girl," Dorcas replied, already turning to leave the same way she'd come. "Anyway, I should head to class before McGonagall drags my seat out to the hall." Before the blonde could get very far, however, a thought struck her. Turning to Lily, she added, "Oh! And you're allowed to bring a date." Her blue eyes fell on James.

Lily muttered something unintelligible to her with a pointed glare but her friend simply smirked and, with a small wave goodbye, meandered around the crowd of students on her way to the exit.

"So, Evans…" James started slowly, marveling at being able to use her last name. He enjoyed it more than he thought he would.

"Not a word from you," Lily warned at once.

"You don't even know what I'm going to say."

"You want to be my date for Marlene's party," she guessed dryly.

"A little presumptuous, Evans, and flattering, but no," he said rather calmly, enjoying the mortification settling in her features. His voice abandoned all humor before he said, "I only wanted to apologize for this morning."

There was a long pause. Lily's face relaxed visibly, though her green eyes measured his expression for any signs of dishonesty. She must have seen none for her shoulders loosened as well.

"Aside from almost killing you in that crash," he continued. "I came off as a prat."

"I think the term was prick," she corrected quietly.

James nodded, laughing. "It was," he agreed. "I really only wanted to make sure you were all right."

She studied him for a few seconds more before nodding. "I'm fine now," she assured him.

James felt the tension leave his shoulders. "Good."

There was silence, filled only by the conversations that filled the busy cafeteria around them. It was too much for him to bear, especially when she watched him the way she did, as though she was privately making up his mind about him.

"Now," he started, resuming his previous taunting tone. "I'm sure this Marlene bird throws admirable parties, but I really am serious about buying me coffee first before asking me to be your date."

"I'm leaving," she announced, collecting her belongings.

"Wait," James called out in between laughter. She paused, looking at him expectantly. "Am I-" he began, deciding with an inward grimace to rephrase his question. "Do you come here often?"

Lily did not reply right away, considering the question. Her teeth caught her bottom lip as she did so and James found that he had to look away from it before staring too long. At last, she said, "Not really," she allowed. "But I can start."

James simply nodded to that, relieved.

"Then you might run into me again," she added, correctly guessing what his original question was going to be.

James watched her go for the second time that day, trying and failing to hide the idiotic grin she inspired. He was still wearing it when a tired but smiling Remus joined him.

"Did you meet with your dad this morning?" he asked rather cautiously after greeting him.

James, however, did not lose his smile, something that stunned Remus. "Met someone better," he replied simply, offering no further explanation.

AN: Thanks a billion once more!

Love,

Bree

EDIT: I have rewritten time, I mean, this chapter as well. Not too much, though! (Dec. 31, 2014)