A/N: Hey, y'all! Point of view has switched to James, so keep that in mind! I hope I got his voice down alright, haha. Thanks for being patient, and Happy 2009!

As always,
Mina :)

The burning in my chest is not from the Firewhiskey traveling down my throat or the heat of Isla's hand on my thigh but from the intense anger that I'm trying to radiate toward the bar right now.

Because how dare she? Really. How dare she. She knows what she's doing, and if there's one thing I hate more than anything else in the world it's when people lie. It's when bitter harpies like her spend time making people miserable, dodging the truth like she's been doing for years now, lying and lying and fucking lying some more because she can't handle being the one in the wrong. And it's not even being in the wrong, it's just telling the truth for once - for once! - about how she feels. Even to herself. What could be so wrong about her and I together that makes her so… so…

I drain the rest of the alcohol from my mug. Merlin help me, I am going to be so ridiculously smashed by the end of the night.

Garrett looks appropriately wary. "You alright, James?"

Nod. Nod, James, so that you don't run up to the bar and pull her away and punch that blonde bastard in the throat. Nodding… good. Nod. Smile.

It's a grimace, but Garrett sees it as a smile, at least, and that's what he gets for trying. A grimace. Sometimes I don't know why he hangs around us - us four gallant, marauding men, that is - but he's the only other guy in the dorm and it'd be awkward not to include him. Plus, he's been eying Isla for the past, oh, six years or so, which turns out to be awkward when we include him, seeing as she's my girlfriend, but what can you do?

So I grimace and Garrett's satisfied and beautiful Isla, smart, witty, gorgeous Isla, is talking to Sirius about Quidditch or something, because she's amazing like that, and I'm watching Evans.

Watching Evans. Even with a girl like Isla sitting next to me, I have to Watch Evans.

When McGoogles calls me into her office and asks me what I want to do with my life, I'll have to say, Why, I want to watch Lily Evans for the rest of her bloody lying life, because what else am I good at? I have years of experience in Watching Evans. I don't have to look at her to be able to Watch Evans. Sometimes I don't even have to be in the same room and I can Watch Evans; through walls, as she's several floors away from me, when she purposely takes the seat behind me in class.

And she knows it. She's always known it.

So I'm Watching Evans and she's Taunting Potter, as always, and it's infuriating me, the way she's leaning over the bar and flirting with Cal Alexander, an old Beater and Ravenclaw graduate with a stunning right hook (what? I also Know People). All I can think is a constant cycle of sheknowssheknowssheknows as she tilts her head to the side and gives him that slow smirk: target locked.

It's just… You know when people say they see red? I don't see red. I don't know how you see red, really, unless your eyes are bleeding, and blood's not that transparent, is it, for somebody to be able to see through it - but anyway, I am almost seeing red, my blood pressure is that high, just about to burst through my eye sockets.

"James?" Isla nudges me in the ribs. "Hey. Over here."

"Sorry," I say, shaking my head free of Evans' pull. Isla's eyes are guarded - she sees, I know, what is going on, but the most wonderful thing about her is that she always understands. She doesn't like what's between Evans and I - nobody does, to be honest - but she gets it.

I kiss her on the forehead. "Sorry," I say again, more sincerely. "Anyway, I agree with Isla."

"You weren't even listening!" Sirius shouts, throwing his hands in the air. "You were - ugh. Prongs, mate, what - "

I shrug. "Isla's smarter than you."

At that moment, her smile is much more brilliant than Evans'. Looking at her almost calms me down. They're not exactly opposite in looks, the two of them, but they're not too similar, either. Isla's skin is pale, her face round, and her lips full, all like Evans', but Isla's eyes are a deep, deep chocolate color and her hair just a few shades lighter. Her features are softer than Evans', and she's a bit shorter, too, and -

I cut myself off. Isla is not Evans. This is a good thing.

"What did I agree with you about?" I ask, slipping on a smirk to cover my distraction.

Isla and Garrett laugh, and Sirius rolls his eyes. He nods towards the bar. "Never mind that. Fancy taking a bet?"

I hold his gaze. This is pretty dangerous territory and he knows it, and he knows that Isla knows it, and Isla knows that I know it, and everybody's in the know but Garrett, who almost chokes in his enthusiasm. "I am so up for a bet, mate. What are we betting on? Who's got what? I only got a Galleon on me, though, so…"

Sirius' sigh goes by unnoticed by all but me. He squints at the bar, watching as Cal and Lily continue chattering on, checks to make sure Dorcas and Crazy Delaney aren't paying attention, and then leans in. "Three Galleons says that Evans goes with him tonight."

My first instinct is to balk, because of course Evans wouldn't leave with a bloke she just met, but then I have to remind myself that I don't know her as well as I trick myself into thinking I do. I mean, she wouldn't, would she? She's smarter than that. He's got a pretty-boy face, sure, and he's a nice guy, but…

She's smarter than that.

Right?

Isla and I glance at one another - good idea, James; let her see everything you're thinking - and then she shrugs and sighs and stands to dig some coins out of her pocket.

"Three Galleons says she doesn't."

And I am surprised.

She shrugs at me again as she sits. "Let's call it women's intuition."

Garrett throws his Galleon on the stack forming in the middle of the table. "I think… well, it's Evans, right, and she's kind of… not to say anything, James, but she's - and I like you, Isla, but Evans is - "

"Your bet, Yates," Sirius says, trying hard not to laugh. "Will she or won't she?"

Garrett rubs his knuckles together. He looks at me, at Cal, back at me - not sure what that's about, but whatever - and says, "A Galleon says she does."

They then look at me. I'm tempted to back out of it, I need to back out of it - what the hell do they expect me to say? That I think she might take it too far, especially if she drinks too much, just to prove her point? That I think Cal might have a few wicked ideas hiding behind those innocent blue eyes of his? That I want her to leave with me, even though the odds of that are slim and I'll really ought to be leaving with Isla? And what does all this "leaving" business entail, anyway?

It's a bad thought to think, the one that finally comes to me, but it's out there, and once my eyes glide across to the slope of Evans' back as she perches upon the bar stool, the curve of her thigh as she crosses one leg over another, I can't pull it back to where it came from.

I don't let myself debate my way out of it. Dad says Potter men have a mind like a one-way train, and once we set off, there is nothing that can come between us and what we want. I suppose it's true, because I toss my three Galleons on the table and mutter a low, "She won't, I'll be right back" before sliding Isla's hand off my thigh and pushing my chair back. My anger is gone, replaced by the thrill of a challenge.

Garrett's gone from my mind, and Sirius is gone, and Isla is gone, because I'll be damned if I lose three Galleons on this.

James Potter does not lose.

Evans pretends not to notice as I sidle up next to her at the bar. I can feel the heat of several pairs of eyes on my back; it makes me feel confident. Invincible. Especially when Alexander turns to me with that unsuspecting smile, unaware of what I'm about to take right from under his nose. Poor Beater, with his awfully slow reflexes...

"Alexander," I greet, nodding at him.

He frowns. "Do I…?"

My grin comes easy. "Oh, I'm sorry! We went to Hogwarts together. Ravenclaw, right? You graduated in my - our, sorry, Evans - fourth year. By the way, Evans, don't you have a big exam tomorrow?"

"Go die, Potter," she growls.

Her voice isn't low enough to keep it from Alexander, who raises an eyebrow. I wave him off. "She hates me. At least she thinks she does. It's all just a repressed - "

Evans grips my thigh - or claws, I don't know, but it hurts like hell - underneath the bar. Panic that somebody is seeing this is only a slight blip in the back of my brain. She turns to me slowly, her eyes on fire, and bites out, "Can I speak to you? Outside?"

"Of course you can, Evans!"

I tap the bar, thanking Alexander, and follow her angry stride to the door. Garrett looks impressed as I pass, Sirius amused, but I have to look at Isla. Eyes guarded yet again, she blinks at Evans, swings her eyes to me, and turns her lips upwards.

Trusting.

"Be right back," I repeat. I wink at Isla; her eyes brighten, more sure.

I almost hate myself for it, because I'm a dirty hypocrite, lying to myself like I don't know what's about to happen, lying to Isla, because she knows what might happen, but by then Evans has me pushed against the exterior of the Three Broomsticks and her face is so close that I can't ignore the burn, burn, burn of something much different than anger flowing from her eyes.