I hate him.
My name is Lily Evans and I hate James Potter.
Currently, I am standing in the Heads' Common Room; giving him an icy glare and James, well, he's being James.
"Come on, Evans," he sneers, "Go out with me! You know you want to."
I sigh an aggravated sigh and roll my eyes. When will this boy learn?
Now, usually, I would reply with something like, "Never in a million years, Potter," or "I'd rather go out with the giant squid!" But today, I have a transfiguration essay to complete, and that's my absolutely worst subject. I settle for a simple, "Fudge off, Potter."
A slow grin makes its way on his face, and I know he's planning something. It would probably be a good idea to leave now, before I sprout wings from my nose or something. I turn to do just that, but I am stopped when I feel a hand on my elbow. I turn back to him, but not without the infamous Lily Evans eye roll.
"What's wrong, Evans? Can't swear, can you?" he sneers, with that bloody smirk plastered on his face. Oh, how I long to slap it off him.
"Potter," I find myself saying, "I simply have no need to swear. Unlike you, I don't need to put on an act to be accepted."
That wiped the smirk off of his face. But only for a second. Still, I didn't miss it.
"I think prissy Miss Head Girl's afraid to swear," he drawled.
"I'm not prissy!" I shout.
"Then prove it, he states calmly, that bloody smirk still plastered on his bloody face.
I can't think. I have to something, anything to prove to James Potter that I am not a prude. I refuse to lose to James bloody Potter! I do the first thing that comes to my demented mind. I stick the tip of my thumb in my mouth and bite down.
James raises an eyebrow. "Sucking your thumb, Evans?"
Oh, jellybeans, he is so dense.
"No, Potter," I state matter-of-factly, my thumb still in my mouth, "I'm biting my thumb at you."
I laugh internally at his confused look. Even I have to admit, he is pretty cute. Especially with his brow furrowed and his head tilted slightly to the side.
"It's the Shakespearean middle-finger, James," I explain, removing my thumb.
Oh, snicker doodles. Did I just call him James?
"Did you just call me James?"
Great. I probably just boosted his ego by about ten points.
"No," I say, "You were imagining things."
Ha. Take that, Potter's ego!
"No, I'm pretty sure you just called me James."
Argh! That bloody smirk again!
He looks at me with that confused look again and I feel myself start to melt. No, Lily, get a grip, girl! I'm busy chiding myself when I hear his voice. Then I realize I wasn't listening.
"Sorry," I state embarrassedly, "Come again?"
"I said, what does Shakespearean mean?"
I simply gape at him. I know he's a pureblood, but still! How do you not know who Shakespeare is? He's only the greatest play writer of all time! I tell him as much.
I go into a rant about his plays and how wonderful they are. About halfway through, I realize he's staring at me with a dreamy expression on his face.
"Potter, are you listening to a word I say?"
He started. I'll take that as a no.
"You know, Evans," he stated, "You're really cute when you're ranting."
I open to mouth to emit a clever retort when I suddenly feel his lips on mine. A feeling of warmth washes over me and I begin to kiss back.
What are you doing, Lily?! This is Potter you're kissing here!
This thought finally makes it's way to my brain and I push him off.
"You're a hideous rump-fed pantaloon, Potter," I say without much malice.
I then walk to up the stairs to my room and pass out as soon as my head hits the pillow, leaving James Potter to stare at the spot I was just standing, a slow grin making it's way onto his face.