"I hate it," Lily confesses to Lysander one day as they lay next to the lake, staring up at the clouds. "I am not a cliché; and I won't be in a romantic comedy anytime soon."
"Oh, I don't know about that," he teases, leaning over and brushing a piece of hair out of her eyes. "You're certainly pretty enough to be in a film."
She slaps his hand away and tells him, "That's not funny, Lysander."
"Oh, I dunno, Lily…" begins Lysander, an adorable grin tugging at his lips. "I think it kind of is."
Lily punches his arm and announces, "I hate you!"
"Do you now?" Lysander raises an eyebrow and with one hand, he reaches out to tickle her and she gives a surprised scream, attempting to whack his hand away but he keeps going.
And then, suddenly, she's managed to straddle his hips and he's stop tickling her and they're both breathing hard. He reaches up to fix a piece of hair but his hand lingers a bit too long and their eyes lock.
It takes barely one second before she leans down to brush her lips against his, closing her eyes. She nearly sighs in relief as he returns the kiss.
And a week later, Lily is proud to admit that a Slytherin dating a Gryffindor makes her a bit of cliché.