- Chapter V -
Right Place, Wrong Time

"Lily!"

Lately, I always seem to find that people are chasing me. I wonder why that is.

"Lily!"

I turn around, and lo and behold, surprise, surprise, it's Potter. It's like a giant hug, seeing his face all the time.

"Are you alright?" He asks, his face furrowed in concern. He makes to put his hand on my shoulder, but catches my eye and his hand is down before it rises.

I'm alright.

Of course I'm alright.

Why, do I not look alright? Why would he think I wasn't alright if I look completely alright?

This must mean I don't look as alright as I thought I did. This might pose a problem. I must look completely alright. I must!

"I'm fine," I mutter, glancing back at him uninterestedly. Looking uninterested when your brain is in full spaz-out is quite the feat, I must point out. "Why?"

"I know we left things a little – and then Sirius, you know – and you left the great hall in a hurry, so I thought – "

Oh.

That little stitch.

He's referring to when Black openly gaped at me, and shouted, for the entire table, and possibly the entire great hall to hear, "HOW'S IT GOING, KISSY KISSY?"

And then proceeded to make obnoxiously loud kissing noises. It was beautiful.

I'm inclined to think that he may have been drunk off his rocker, actually. Perhaps that traitor, whose name I will not mention, is prone to spiking everyone's food and drink with dangerous or mood-altering chemicals.

The kissing noises lasted for quite some time.

I, of course, being the mature person that I am, handled the entire situation with absolute dignity. My mother would have been proud. I was such an adult about it.

I threw my fork at him.

That's right.

I threw my fork. At his face. The way that adults solve their problems. I just aimed and flung.

The delicious strawberry jam that I was carefully spreading on the scone attached to the end of my fork hit him in the eye. My aim was perfect. I was so proud.

He was covered in scone bits and jam.

I then allowed myself to laugh at him for a while.

That's what you get for annoying me.

Jam in the face.

Jam. In the face.

That jam-faced wanker will think twice before shouting at me ever again.

Ha. Ha. I think that makes me victorious. I would do a victorious cackle if I were alone, which I am not.

"Lily?"

I've managed to ignore him again. I'm getting very good at this.

"Yes, yes. I'm alright," I mutter dismissively, waving a hand around.

He sighs, and looks somewhat relieved. "I'm sorry about Padfoot, really. He was – it was inappropriate."

"It's alright," I shrug, cracking a smile. "I handled the situation perfectly fine, I think."

He looks at me, and his lips are twitching as if he's going to burst into laughter. He holds back and smiles proudly at me. Alright it's not a laugh, but merely a loud grin. "Yes, I do agree. Very mature."

"I'm glad you think so."

We've begun walking down the corridor together. He has the uncanny ability of inserting himself into my day-to-day activities without me noticing until much later. It must be a marauder trait, because it is severely annoying.

And not in the least bit charming.

"Anyway," he continues, his hands in his pockets, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. "Listen, about this morning…"

I cringe and close my eyes, expecting the worst.

"I really did not see anything."

My eyes pop open. Oh, please. I neither look stupid, or am stupid. On the other foot, he is both of those things, but I digress.

"Really?" I ask, my voice jumping up a pitch in disbelief and dripping with sarcasm. "Nothing? Isn't that lucky, because I was under the impression that you'd seen everything."

He suddenly seems awkwardly uncomfortable.

"Er…"

I wait as he looks above himself into the ceiling, as if he's thinking through all of his possible options. I let him think, because he rarely does. It's like seeing a flying piglet. I might as well cherish the moment.

…

I'm cherishing.

I'm cherishing.

Alright, it's not been at least a minute of silence. I would say its time to intervene.

"Potter? Would you like to get a sentence out any time soon?"

He looks down and grins. "I was just lost in thought," he says calmly.

"Was it unfamiliar territory for you?" I interject, and he ignores my jab at this air-headedness.

"I was going to say," he mutters, talking over me," That I really did not see a lot of anything."

Bastard.

My mouth stretches into a smile. I think my brain is planning something I am not yet aware of and sees it fit to look evil.

"Is that so? Well, likewise." I shrug, wave my hand around airily, twirl on my heels, and continue marching down the corridor. I do appreciate the coordination between my brain and mouth sometimes. Even if they leave me uninformed.

For a second I'm sure I've won, but his steps echo soon after mine. It's his turn to be skeptical now.

"Oh?" He asks loftily, catching up to me and poking his head into my face. "Because judging from your facial expression," he takes a moment to mimic the fish-like surprise on my face from a couple of nights ago, "I'd say you'd seen quite a bit."

I feel my eyebrows rise on my forehead as I fix him with an unamused expression. "Touché."

"I know." He grins.

For a second, we stand there looking at each other. His smile grows wider and wider every second, as he leans back and inclines himself onto a nearby wall, his hands crossed over his chest, his eyes amused.

"Well," I bite back firmly eventually, breaking free from his intoxicating eye contact and answering against my better judgment, "At least I wasn't the one who looked a hair's breadth from puking all over the carpet."

I take a second to mockingly mimic his very hilarious, "Uuuuuh…"

He rolls his eyes. "Understand that I was – "

" – shocked?"

His tongue flicks over his lips frustratedly, and he smiles again, his teeth flashing, somewhat smugly. "I'd say pleasantly surprised."

I'm feeling my face grow hot. I must be going red right about now. And now I think I'm staring at his lips. They are shiny. And attractive. And so bloody inviting.

Maybe I should stop.

I'm not stopping.

Bugger.

I give myself very good advice, but the trouble is I very seldom follow it. Drawing on my brilliant command of the English language, I say nothing. A closed mouth gathers no foot, my mother always used to say.

Under my gaze, his lips quirk up into a smile. I think his mouth is opening. Oh, no. He's going to speak. Merlin help me.

"I am sorry, though," he says, though I barely hear him, and see him only through clouded eyes, "You should know it was not my intention."

"I should hope not," I manage to choke out.

He pushes himself off the wall with ease, and walks over to me as if it's the most natural thing in the universe.

He's grinning.

Why is he grinning?

Am I going red?

Why is my face so hot?

Why am I asking so many questions? Is he making me paranoid?

Wonderful.

I splutter, struggling to find some form of a comeback. Or something to say. I should say something. If we don't say things, dangerous other things can happen. And I can't have that happen. Those things are so not happening.

"I…I.."

"What's the matter?"

He's still grinning. Close proximity. CLOSE PROXIMITY. ALERT. ALERT. GET OUT OF THE BUILDING. RUN FOR YOUR LIFE.

This would be really funny if it weren't happening to me.

His tongue darts out of his mouth and grazes his lips again, followed by his teeth, and a large, smug, content smile. He's doing this on purpose. He is amused by this. He finds this funny. Funny.

FUNNY.

It triggers something in my brain. Perhaps the come-back center.

"Nothing really," I suddenly blurt out. "It's just that I refuse to have a battle of wits with an unarmed person."

-x-x-x-

I'm losing my grip, I swear.

I'm having one of those laughing fits, the kind where you can't stop, and your eyes water, and you bend over in pain, and you think you're going to laugh out your internal organs, because laughing should not hurt this much.

Yes, I'm having one of those. They're good for the health. Except for the fact that I am having it with the worst person imaginable.

I dare you to guess.

Go on, guess.

That's right.

James Potter.

Congratulations, you win a free toaster.

And I'm still laughing and we're walking up the stairs to the common room. He's basically carrying me up because I'm laughing so much I can't support myself.

He doesn't seem to complain.

Not that I'm complaining either.

I stop laughing for a moment, taking large, shallow breaths that makes me sound like I've been smoking for my entire life, and he takes off his glasses, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye. He chuckles good-humoredly, "Oh, come on! You've got to admit, it was very charming!"

Oh, yes, yes very charming!

Charming enough to give a bloody eleven year old a heart attack!

I hit him, hard, on the shoulder, and he immediately straightens up, but is still shaking with suppressed hysterics. He's biting his lips so hard to stop himself from laughing that I can see them creasing.

I think I focus too much on his lips. Possibly.

"Are you crazy? Do you have any idea how much I screamed when I saw what was in the bag? You could have killed me on my first day here!" I yell, waving my arms around like a lunatic, but suppressing giggles in the process.

What the hell was that sound?

I think a portrait just snorted at me.

A bloody portrait just snorted at me!

"OI! Keep it down, will you!" He's wearing a pink fluffy cardigan, holding a matching dog in his hand, staring at the two of us, and tutting.

TUTTING!

A queer portrait is tutting at us!

James explodes into laughter even louder than before when he sees me glaring daggers at the man in the portrait. He seems to be unable to support himself, and he leans against the wall, causing many other portraits to scream bloody murder, upon which he leaps off the wall and runs into the parallel corridor, the echoes of his laughter chasing him out.

I give the portraits one last, terrorizing look and run after him.

Oh I swear, if it were up to me, I'd burn those bastards.

And then make Mrs. Norris use them as kitty litter.

I follow him, breathless, and he actually rolling around the floor, attracting more complaints from surrounding portraits that he's being too loud.

He is such a bloody child.

I tell him to get up but he droops his shoulders, pouts, and looks at me with his big puppy dog eyes.

I delicately quirk my eyebrow at him.

"It was a spell Lily!" He whines then, jumping up and throwing his arm around my shoulder, suddenly completely in control of the situation. He gives me a tight squeeze and continues the conversation from where we left off until the portraits interrupted.

His arm is surprisingly warm and comforting. It fits well around the base of my neck. Our heights match too. He doesn't have to lean down, and I do not have to tiptoe.

He stops talking for a while, and the hand over my shoulder gives my arm a little squeeze. At the action, I feel my hair stand on end.

He is not giving me goosebumps. I did not just get goosebumps because of Potter.

I was just cold. Is all.

" – it's not like they were real mice!"

Was he still talking? Imagine that.

I look at him, I suppose my face is between laughing, crying, annoyance and anger. He immediately drops his hand, but I see a smile cracking on his face, no doubt due to my retarded expression. I don't answer him, and he looks up at me, smiling hopefully.

"I was a first year! I barely knew anything about magic!" I hit relentlessly on the shoulder again, but clearly I do not get the message across as he bends over for a final time explodes into hysterics."I cannot believe you still find an enchanted bag full of mice funny! As a valentines day gift!"

I don't remember much of that day. It was very traumatic.

I've always thought that my brain was trying to block it out.

I just remember Potter, as the little boy I met on the train, approaching me and handing me a big brown bag wrapped around a note saying Be My Valentine, and immediately running away with young, cute, black-haired boy.

Me, being the innocent and lovely child that I was, thank him and open said present.

I expected chocolates. Or maybe little card. Or something. Something.

What comes out of it? What, oh what, comes out of that godforsaken bag?

Remember now, this is James Potter I am talking about.

Rodents.

Yes. Precisely.

Millions of them.

Thousands of them.

It was like the bloody bag of fucking Mary Poppins!

I, of course, drop the bag, and scream my head off.

Upon which Sirius starts laughing insanely and charming the mice to dance over my head. Which, if memory serves, makes me scream even louder.

Oho. If I had known how to curse then, they'd be missing a chunk of their nose and limping for the rest of their sorry lives.

The present-time Potter, on the floor again, sitting in front of me in the fetal position to avoid slaps from me puts up his hands and wails, "Give me a break, Lils, I was 11! I'd like to think I'm a lot more mature and – "

"Right, because the last gift you gave me was so much more mature!" I challenge flippantly, continuing to hit him, and he gasps, looking aghast.

"HEY! That was a brilliant idea!" He yells and waves his finger at me disapprovingly.

"Of course, if you consider a bag of zonko's products an appropriate gift for a girl!" I shout exasperatedly, and he still is looking at me like I've killed someone.

He squints at me evilly from behind his glasses, crosses his arms and shouts, "That was a great gift!"

I sigh deeply.

"Whose idea was it?" I ask softly, edging my face closer to his.

He looks embarrassed and I can barely hear the next word that comes out of his mouth. "Sirius's…"

"Ah," I heave another deep sigh, wave my hand airly and say, "Black. His knowledge of the female mind is extraordinary, of course. I rest my case."

He looks at me hard for a moment, and I can't help but shrink a little bit. He is quite tall, and when I'm not screaming at him, he seems to be even taller. A sudden smile crosses his face, he smirks annoyingly, and says "Well consider them payback for all the times you've kneed me in the crotch."

What the –?

I have not!

I've done no such thing!

"What does that have to do with anything?" I yell, now annoyed, and getting even more annoyed by the second as he's looking at me and grinning.

How do I always manage to yell at him?

How the hell does he always manage to make me yell at him? Does he try to do this, or is it a God-given quality?

He crosses his arms, and looks up, deep in thought. "Actually, come to think of it," he furrows his brow, and clicks his fingers, "– I think you kneed me as I was giving the zonko products to you."

Cheap shot.

Fine.

I admit.

I did.

But he had it coming, I swear.

He gave me a bag of jokes for crying out loud!

You know, not a necklace, bracelet, an earring, even a new book or something.

A bag.

Of Zonko's.

He deserved it.

He deserved to be kneed in the bits.

He also deserved it when I dunked the whole bag on his head.

And when the spell-check quills wrote "Moron" all over his face.

And when the Pygmy Puff bit his ear.

Although that puff was really cute and orange and was –

He totally deserved it.

I mean, who the hell gives that to a girl?

Obviously, only James Potter.

"Hey that was one time – " I start defensively, completely prepared to back up my argument with the fact that he is such a moron.

"- Right!" He interrupts me, tilting his head to one side and cocking an eyebrow at me.

ARGH!

" – Fine! Two times – "

" – hah!"

I throw my hands up in the air and yell, "FINE! I kneed you in the crotch several times, alright? Are you satisfied?" I put my hands on my hips and stare at him.

He rolls his eyes, and smirks, "Not entirely."

"Well, tough – "

But I can't finish my sentence because I've just run into something that jumped into my path. It was quite concrete. "Lily! I've been looking EVERYWHERE for you! Where the hell have you been?!"

Hello to you too, Tessa. She looks like a mess.

Her shirt is untucked, her hair is ruffled, she has what looks like pillow feathers in her hair, and a burn through her skirt. Is there a battle going on somewhere that I am unaware of?

I turn and look at James who is staring at her with an expression of worry mingled with interest. I point towards him with my thumb to explain myself, but she's looking at me like I'm Jesus. "I was – Tessa why are you looking at me like that?"

She suddenly drops to the floor and grabs my robes, "You have to do something!" she wails dramatically, shaking from head to foot.

"Sorry?" I step away from her and help her up. She's still shaking but doesn't say anything until she catches her breath. I exchange another look with James, who looks utterly terrified now, and backs away from Tessa slowly, looking as though he's scared that she will start foaming at the mouth.

She turns and runs toward the portrait hole, and I realize we are already in front of it. She points to it with a shaking finger and yells, "There's a war going on in there!"

"What?" I ask absentmindedly, my eye suddenly distracted by the image of the Fat Lady idly eating some grapes, nonplussed about the whole scene.

"They are – oh good God, I can't breathe – they're going to kill each other if you don't stop them!"

Suddenly the portrait hole bursts open and I catch a glimpse of a book flying towards the door before the Fat Lady swings to a close. Remus runs at us, his usual tidy robes in a state of chaos, his shirt also un-tucked and his eyes full of panic. He grabs James by the shoulders and screams, "PRONGS! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?"

Potter puts his hands up, a defensive frown on his face, attempting to grab a hold of the situation. "Wait a minute, wait a minute, what the bloody hell is going on here?"

Tessa suddenly jumps back into the scene, and yells from the other side of the room, "LILY! SHES GONE BARMY!"

"WHO'S GONE BARMY?"

This time Remus answers, yelling at Potter, "TAYLOR!"

Potter idly remarks, "Taylor?"

"What's Mina done now?"

"She's going to kill him!" Tessa's anguished scream echoes.

"Mate, DO SOMETHING!"


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johnnydicaprio