Summary: I'm absolutely, positively, undeniably, uncontrollably incorrigible. Or at least, that's what she told me. One-shot L/J
This isn't very good at all, but it has this vague sort of appeal for me. I like it. Constructive criticism requested!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of the related places and characters.
I'm absolutely, positively, undeniably, uncontrollably incorrigible.
Or at least, that's what she told me. She told me that when I smile at her, wave at her, talk to her. She told me that when I breath around her. Honestly, she did. I'd sigh loudly in the Common Room, often when I was hastily doing an essay that should've been completed days before, and she'd glare at me from half-way across the room, and say, "Honestly, Potter, you're incorrigible."
I asked her once if she knew what the word incorrigible really meant, because she would say it no matter what I did: win a Quidditch game, I'm incorrigible, ruffle my hair, I'm incorrigible, make a good grade, I'm incorrigible, laugh with my mates, I'm incorrigible.
She glared at me as only a red-headed girl with bright green eyes, as many freckles as she had skin cells, and the name Lily Evans could. "Of course I know what incorrigible means, Potter. Do you?"
Insulted, I quickly chattered out the definition, finishing with a smug smile and a rumple of my hair. She had 'humph'ed loudly and said, "Honestly Potter, you're incorrigible."
It was like it was our word. Most couples have a song. But no, my dearest Lily and I have a word. We're unique.
And plus, we're not a couple.
But that's not due to any lack of effort on my part. I've tried, honestly I have! I've asked her to dinner, I've asked her to breakfast, I've asked her to brunch, and I've asked her to Hogsmeade. I even once asked her for a quick romp in the sack one time, when my best mate Sirius Black dared me to.
And almost every time, give or take a couple dozen colorful, witty words, she's told me angrily, "Merlin, Potter, you're incorrigible!"
And honestly, I love her. It's a scary thing to wake up one day and realize that you want to marry and have children with the one girl in all the world who thinks you're the most vile, loathsome little cockroach to ever crawl across her path.
But I do. Love her, I mean. On a scale of one-to-ten love, this is at least a forty-two.
And so, for quite a long time, I asked her to be mine everyday. Every bleeding day, for at least two years. And at least four times a week, she would tell me, "You're incorrigible."
It can break a bloke's heart after a while. To hear the one you love speak to you with such shortness, such incredible venom, can really bring a man down. Like, deep-inside-the-Earth's-mantle down.
But I never stopped. I cut down on my incorrigibleness quite a bit, limiting my pleading to about twice a month, stopping my incessant flirting, instigating, mocking, prodding, and all other '-ing' words with her. I got better. I became quite the decent little fellow, if I may say so myself.
And yet, things stayed the same. I still went to Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I still hated Severus Snape, I still failed dismally at Potions, my friends still liked to call themselves the Marauders, Lily's hair remained red, my name remained James Potter, and my mum still liked to call me her ickle Baby Jamesie when it was just the two of us. And I remained, in Lily's eyes anyways, ineffably incorrigible.
It was horrible. And so, finally, on the last day of sixth year, I went up to her, smiled my smile, ruffled my hair, and said, "So, Evans? I was wondering if you'd-"
She's glared at me, her green eyes widening, her nostrils flaring, her hands waving around dangerously. "For the love of God, Potter, no! I will not date you, snog you, be your bloody friend! I want nothing to do with you! I can't believe you haven't gotten it yet! You're, you're-" She had paused, lacking the correct word.
"Incorrigible?" I had asked, my voice soft and low and hurt.
She had nodded. "Yes, Potter. You're incorrigible." And she had stomped away, surely to gab with her friends about how absolutely detestable I was.
Sirius told me later that day on the train home that I looked as if my inner child had died. Gods, I was so miserable! What was I to do?
I was to move on, my friends told me. To hell with the wench, they said, ignoring my defensive protests.
And so I tried. Honestly I did. But I concentrated so hard on not thinking about her that all I did was think about her, then think of how I shouldn't have been thinking about her. I withdrew within myself, resolutely preparing myself for the life of a virgin monk after I had graduated.
Only once I saw her again, boarding the Hogwarts Express, my resolutions melted into a grayish puddle onto the ground and I was bound and determined to make her mine.
I worked hard in class, raising my grades up to quite an ego-boosting level. I studied, and I stopped pranking, and practically took a vow of celibacy, the way I didn't even glance at any other girl.
The first seven weeks of seventh year passed this way, until one day, Lily and I ended up sitting side-by-side in Advanced Transfiguration, by some blessed twist of fate.
After a few minutes of scribbling notes, she had glanced curiously over at me. "You've been acting odd, Potter," she said in a low voice. "Is something wrong?"
"Odd?" I had asked. "I've been acting odd?"
She nodded. "Yes, Potter, odd. Strange, cooky, out of the norm. Not like your usual obnoxious self."
I shrugged. "Really? That's-well, that's odd, isn't it."
Her face scrunched up in this annoyed, amused sort of way. "I'd say so, Potter, yes."
We sat in silence for a few more seconds, before I said, "Say, Evans, would you-"
"Aha!" she exclaimed loudly, drawing the attention of everyone in the entire classroom. "I knew it! You're about to ask me out, aren't you, Potter? I knew it! You were just biding your time, weren't you?"
I had smiled pleasantly at her. "Actually, Evans, I wanted to know if I could use a bit of your ink. Mine's running low."
The class giggled, and McGonagall had raised a questioning eyebrow at me. Lily turned a bright shade of fuchsia that clashed horribly with her freckles, and said, "Oh." She slid her ink bottle towards me, and ducked her head quickly.
I loved this new sense of power I had over her. "Thanks, Evans," I said. "You're a doll."
There was an pregnant pause between us, before I seized my opportunity, feeling quite nervous.
She looked up, her face still tinged pink. "What, Potter?" she hissed, her voice considerably lower. "Is your quill broken now?"
I grinned and blushed a little. "Actually, this time I really was going to ask you to Hogsmeade."
Her mouth formed an 'O' of surprise, and the pink rushed back full-force. She went back to taking notes, but she looked quite pleased.
I was completely satisfied.
…for the moment.
An hour and a half later, the class ended, and everyone began to exit the room. As Lily picked up her bag and began to walk towards the door, I called, "Evans?"
She halted, turning around to face me. "Yes, Potter?"
"Want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend?"
She rolled her eyes. "It's not a Hogsmeade weekend, Potter."
I nodded. "Yes, I know."
She smiled a tiny smile, only noticeable from the way the corners of her mouth flicked up almost involuntarily.
"You're incorrigible," she told me softly, before grinning at me and walking away.
I could definitely live with that.