- Chapter II -
Mind Over Pervert

"Here, have some chocolate, Lily."

That's what that slimy git said as he handed me a bar of honeydukes chocolate. He knows I have a soft spot for sweets. That diabolical mastermind. Remind me to beat him to death with his books later for getting me in this mess.

It's all because of his stupid chocolate that I'm in Mcgonagall's room right now listening to a lecture about PDA, or Public Displays of Affection.

Public Displays of Affection.

Affection. With Potter. I never thought I'd be mentioned in the same sentence with that word without a 'severe absence of' or sold 'zero' present. Usually affection is replaced with violence and display with parade when it comes to Potter and I. Merlin help me.

I took the chocolate, of course, expecting nothing to come of it, as Remus used to be one of the sanest and nicest people I knew. I say I knew because he will no longer be mentioned in the present tense if I, and when I get out of this.

I steal a glance at James. He is not looking at McGonagall, but at the floor. I can see him smirking slightly as she goes on about "decorum, manners and empathy."

She's making it sound as if we were making babies in the middle of the corridor.

I've just noticed. I'm calling him James now. This is horrible.

Next thing I know we're going to be married, living behind a white picket fence, with three kids, and me touching his perfectly toned chest every –

NO! BRAIN, I FORBID YOU TO HAVE SEXUAL FANTASIES ABOUT POTTER!

…

…

…

…And kissing his soft lips, and running my hands through his hair as he –

Hey, hey hey! You listen to me, you big mulch of perversion, or I'll make you listen to professor Binns for the rest of eternity until you turn into an unintelligible puddle of brain matter!

…

…

Hah.

That seemed to have worked. Leave it to Binns to scare my brain out of fantasizing about Potter.

My face is flushing. Imagine that. Is it hot in here?

Anyway, I took the chocolate that Remus handed me a little violently, and stuck it into my mouth, looking for refuge from the annoying feeling boiling up inside me as I watched Potter chatting up a girl across the room.

The feeling bubbled over and I grabbed the whole bar out of Remus's hands, and bit off another large piece, imagining that I was biting off his head.

I mean, really, where was he coming off talking to other girls, anyway? Who does he think he is, Casanova? He's supposed to be talking to me, annoying me, bugging me, groping me inappropriately occasionally until he got hexed in the face.

It's all his bloody fault that I went batshit bonkers. Entirely, completely, and one hundred percent his fault.

Completely his fault that I ate the whole bar of chocolate.

Completely his fault that I became increasingly angry by the second.

Completely his fault that I gave into my homicidal tendencies, and desperately imagined ripping that 6th year girl into pieces, and taking that strand of hair she was twirling around her finger and sticking it up her nose.

Completely his fault.

His fault, alone, I tell you.

Completely his fault that I didn't notice Remus's chocolate was spiked with Ruthlessness Potion.

Also his fault that I didn't notice Black sniggering loudly into his fist behind me.

Ergo, also completely his fault that I ran across the room, grabbed his stupid face, pulled him away from that tramp and snogged him in broad daylight as if my life depended on it.

Come to think of it…that may have been my bad.

May have been.

His lips were wonderfully textured.

Not the kind of soft where the boy has softer lips than you and you feel like he's carrying a mirror in his pocket, but the perfect kind of soft where –

AAAAGH STOP THINKING ABOUT POTTER!

I must say that I actually did not remotely register the gravity of the situation until I heard people wolf-whistling, until I heard faint sounds of clapping and shouting, and Black's hefty groan of "Finally!" I actually think I felt a couple of sickles thrown at my back as if we were some sort of travelling circus.

Potter made a small "Mppfhhg" sound when I forced myself on him, but stopped soon enough and wrapped his arms around my waist, his hands making their way up my thighs. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the tramp give a dignified "Hmph," and a small snort as she rose and left the scene.

I would venture and say that this was the moment I truly began understanding what was going on. And that what was going on was in fact, very wrong. Terribly wrong.

His travelling hands slipped around my back at this point and he attempted clumsily to pull me onto his lap. I think it's safe to say that I did not let him.

Come on now, have some faith in me.

My mind caught up with my wondering lips. I may or may not have screamed at this point. I recall him pulling away.

I also recall being horrified out of my mind.

Everyone was looking at us.

I mean everyone.

Even the sodding first years were pointing, whispering, and laughing, I imagine.

I struggled not to faint right there and then. If the earth had opened up and swallowed me whole, I think I would have been okay with that.

Alas, as the earth does not just randomly open up and swallow people, I ran.

I ran like I've never run before.

That was the only option I could think of that sounded remotely logical to my not-so-very-logical brain.

If you were wondering about the options available, the options were:

1) Run.

2) Deal with it.

3) Keep kissing him.

4) Die.

So I ran.

And you know the rest.

And that's why I'm in this bloody office.

Fucking chocolate.

I'll never eat you again!

…

…

…..

THAT WAS A LIE! A DIRTY LIE! I'M A LIAR! I TAKE IT BACK, I'M SORRY! HEAVENLY COCOA PLANTS, DO FORGIVE ME!

"I hope you understand what I am trying to say here, Mr. Potter. You too, Ms. Evans."

Oh dear lord, has she stopped talking?

Listening to McGonagall talking about PDA is insanely uncomfortable.

On top of the extreme amounts of humiliation, she gets all hot and bothered, and flushes too. McGonagall, blushing.

Intensely uncomfortable.

It's like your grandmother talking about sex.

Alright, technically my knowledge of human biology dictates that I have know they have slept together, but do I have to hear about their wedding night? I mean, really, is it really necessary that I know that grandpa was gentle?

I shiver just thinking about it. Eurgh.

Now I've got many disturbing images in my head thanks to her spot-on descriptions.

Thanks grandma. Thanks a lot.

Anyway, we nod in unison. Potter turns his head and looks at me. He is wearing the same expression he was wearing in the hall.

I know what that look means, regretfully.

You aren't out of this yet.

I take a small, shallow breath that hitches in my throat.

McGonagall looks at him, then at me, and at him again.

"Alright." She's either convinced, or is sick of hearing herself speak about PDA. I'm not really bothered which, I'm just glad she's stopped.

She stands up and walks brusquely around her desk. "Then, I think I can trust you to go back to your Head Towers. Quietly?" Her spectacles hitch lower on her nose, and she peers over them at me. I nod vehemently.

"Appropriately?"

She raises an eyebrow at James. He nods. She gives a small head curt at me, and points to the door. I move faster than I have ever in my life and vacate my seat so hurriedly that I am out the door before Potter has the chance to follow her finger and find out where she's actually pointing.

HA! Let's see if that Quidditch boy can catch me!

Alright, alright, right here, left here, through the tapestry…still no sign of Potter, right, left, watch out for the….kids.

I have just nearly trampled over some 2nd years. But that's fine. I was distraught.

Finally. In the security of the Head Tower.

I can go to bed and forget about this whole day completely.

Actually, I bet I'll wake up, and find that I'm dreaming! I'll just be in my bed and I'll roll around until I –

…

Oh, you've got to be kidding me.

This cannot be happening.

I swear, I am the unluckiest person in the world.

I'm even unluckier than that man who died in a crash on his first trip on a plane.

Unluckier than the woman who got killed by a tire.

Unluckier than the man who got killed by bees.

Unluckier than Frank Longbottom.

That's really saying something.

He is here.

Potter.

Not Frank…obviously. I can't decide whether that would be more or less worrying seeing as Frank isn't Head Boy.

Sitting on the couch.

He looks up. "Lily…" He has that tone of voice that reminds me of a parent scolding a child.

Except that his voice makes my vocal chords knot. I'm struggling not to choke to death.

I wish I were killed by bloody bees. I bet it's quick, and painless, and completely comfortable in contrast to the awkward festival I feel like I'm taking part in right now.

What the hell was I thinking?

That's right, I wasn't thinking. It wasn't me. It was the cocoa and the potion.

And I'll tell him just that.

"Hi." I say gently. My voice is high and so unlike my own. It sounds as if I've inhaled huge amounts of helium. I sound ridiculous. Like those stupid muggle cartoons with characters that have really high pitched voices.

Like Mickey Mouse.

Or Pluto.

Wait, did Pluto talk?

I can't remember.

And that's really irrelevant considering the fact that he hasn't stopped staring at me.

Bugger me.