Hello there. Well, I've decided to try my hand at writing in first person, and a James and Lily story. I'm a huge fan of this couple, they're so dysfunctional, but fit beautifully together. It's delicious. I've recently gone back to the earlier chapters and have edited things that annoy me - but nothing's changed much, really.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Reviews are wonderful, flames are inevitable, constructive criticism is much appreciated. Must warn you, though - this story is what it is - quite melodramatic, quite exaggerated, lots of teenage thoughts and overly dramatic prose. It's incredibly fun to write, hope its as much fun to read.

I'll shut up now.



- Chapter I -
I Plead Innocent

Oh, poo.

Pardon my French, but this situation calls for it.

Bloody, sodding, poo.

I cannot believe I just did that. I cannot believe I just did –


You keep walking, Lily. You just keep walking. Walking is easy. Just do it.


Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.


He'll eventually give up on chasing you down the hall. He'll eventually bugger off.




Right. Bugger off now.

"LILY?! Stop for a second!"

I have half a mind to, but my feet are completely ignoring my brain.

Stop, feet! STOP!


Alright, now it's getting frightening. I refuse to lose control over my body parts.




I feel a hand grab my arm and wince in pain as my skin twists. Ow. Really, ow.


His chest is heaving up and down, his hands are on his knees, and his glasses are lopsided. "Lily…" he looks up momentarily at my face.

What is that?

Oh, no.

James Potter, is looking at me…with…pity?

ARGH, NO! I refuse to be pitied by the likes of him!

"What do you want?" I ask, in my best faked…nonchalantness. Nonchalantness…I wonder if that's even a word…

He doubles over and clutches the stitch in his side. Between breaths he manages to spit out, " – why did you do that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." I say slowly, faking a small frown and looking everywhere but at his face. I note idly that we are on the seventh floor because I've been running blindly as far away from the common room as I could go without breaking any school rules. It's alarming my brain recalls rules even when I am completely consumed with panic.

Wow…he's been chasing me for almost the whole landing. Chasing, suggesting that he was unable to catch me. Hah. I can't believe I can outrun him, all that Quidditch is doing nothing for his fitness, I suppose.

Ha. This proves my point that Quidditch is an utter waste of time, space, and testosterone. So this is what it feels like to be right.

Potter, the arrogant toerag that he is and his bloody Quidditch can be chucked into the next century for all I care. They are both of absolutely no use to me, or anyone else for that matter. And Quidditch is definately of no use to him; a bloody girl can outrun him for God sakes.

Liar, liar, liar. You know what Quidditch has done for his physique. Stop lying. Liar.

Shut up, brain. I'm in denial.

Liar, liar, liar.

That did not happen.

I did not, I repeat, for good measure, did not walk in on James Potter changing.

Liar, liar, liar.

I did not lose my wand, decide to go and ask him if he'd seen it or not, forget to knock and walk into his room.

Liar, liar, liar.

I did not see him shirtless, struggling out of his robes.

Liar, liar, liar.

And I absolutely did not almost have a cardiac arrest when I saw what Quidditch did to his chest.

Liar, liar, liar.

I. did. Not.

Oh, and I also did not find said wand in my pocket a mere three minutes later.

You hear me? I didn't!

I'm not one of those girls who get blinded by abs and biceps and triceps and other kids of ceps. I know better.

I did not imagine what it must be like to touch those magnificent...AHEM. As I was saying, I know better. I have more depth. More character. More integrity and dignity. Right.

Oh, and this did not happen because we are Head Boy, and Girl, and are sharing a dormitory.

Also, I absolutely did not stand gaping in the doorway like a fish until he asked pleasantly, "Can I help you?" upon which I stopped staring, and closed the door.

And resumed trying to breathe like a normal person.

I did not.

This did not happen.

I do not fancy James Potter, or any part of his physical being.

I do not, never have, and never will fancy him. Or any part of him.


If I ever suggest that he is anything more than the egoistical, selfish, stuck-up berk that he is, I will request that Mina shoot me. Actually, if I ever happen to feel that way, I think I will off myself before anyone will have the chance.

And for the record, I am not amazed by his body.

I am not and never will be amazed by the way his abs were so perfectly toned underneath his robes and how his biceps rolled down his arms as he pulled… - not in the super-human kind though, I mean the regular old, completely mundane muscles that all men definitely have.




From birth.

Completely not out of the ordinary.

I bet even Dumbledore has them.

Alright, I went too far.

All things aside, I definitely do not fancy him.

Yes. I definitely do not fancy him.

Also, I can outrun him. Not my type of man.

End of story.

"Are you listening to me?" he asks, his voice a little higher than it should be as it pierces into my thoughts.

I really should stop arguing inside my head. I forget to listen to other people…and I really should be sent to St. Mugo's. I think I have a split personality or something.

"I should be getting to bed now, Potter, so I would appreciate it if you got out of my way." I can't believe I just got a coherent sentence out. I'm feeling quite proud of myself, actually. My brain surprises me at the strangest times.

He splutters, and stares at me, his mouth half open.

"You aren't even going to talk about – "

I want to say there is nothing to talk about, but all that comes out is "Mfphgghh." Wonderfully, eloquent now, is it not?

He looks at me, a muscle jumping in his square jaw. Not breaking eye contact for a full minute, he just looks at me.

I'm beginning to feel uncomfortable.

I'm not comfortable with eye contact.

Have I mentioned I'm not comfortable with eye contact?

Have I?

I have?

Oh, god.


No, I won't let him win.

I'll make him break it first!

That bastard.

I'm just going to stare right back. That's right.

Into those…brown eyes of yours…actually they aren't completely brown, they have a smallest tinge of green in them, around the pupil, it almost makes it hazel…they aren't hazel…they're quite attractive, actually…

Good, god. He is staring at me.

I am having a staring match with James Potter. I'm surprised my eyes aren't melting.

Okay. I've been staring at Potter's face for a good three minutes.

Time to run.

Run, Lily. RUN!

Come on. Feet, please.


While my feet completely betray me, Potter continues to gape at me as if I'm some foreign life form from outer space.

And all I did was kiss him.

It was just a kiss.

I wasn't thinking straight. I promise. I was….my mind was…my thinking…was compromised. By excessive amounts of chocolate.

Stupid Remus.

Completely his fault.

That's right.

You know I would never kiss James Potter.

As far as I'm concerned it never happened. My brain was kidnapped. There was a momentary lapse in my sanity.

I wasn't in my right mind.


It doesn't count.

It's like an insanity plea. When you commit a crime, you can get away with it if you're crazy.

I was under the influence of chocolate. Hence, the kiss is negated. Cannot be used as evidence in court!

I am not guilty!

"Lily," he says softly. He still hasn't broken eye contact. I'm getting increasingly uncomfortable.

He moves closer.


Lily, step back, step BACK!


I swear, if you don't move, I'LL CHOP YOU OFF!

He walks straight at me.

I step back. I'm stepping back!


I hit the wall of the corridor. Oh bugger, I hadn't thought of that.

Oh, bugger. Oh, double bugger. Oh triple –

"Please." He says slowly. Please, what?!

Please can mean a lot of things! For example, please don't hit me, don't shag me, don't kiss me, don't kill me, or please pounce on me and take me here right - STOP THINKING NOW, EVANS!

Yeah, I'm completely trapped. Juuust perfect. Trapped between stupid Potter and this stupid wall.

He is in my face. I can feel his breath. Our lips are nearly touching.



"Mr. Potter!"

Oh, my god, is that McGonagall? I can't see anything but James. His eyes, his face, his nose, his lips…get out of my way you gorgeous human being!

He doesn't step back, gives no response, or reaction. It's like he hasn't heard her.

I'm squished between him and the wall. Much too close proximity, may I add. I'm feeling certain things that are better when they are kept in one's personal space.


This boy has no respect for personal bubbles.


I swear, he just jumped straight out of his skin. He steps back, stumbles, and nearly falls flat on his face. I feel my face flush. I see his flush.

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Evans?" McGonagall moves closer, her lips pursed. "May I ask what is going on here?"

Oh, no. Her hands are on her hips.

We're doomed.