o.O.o

Transfiguration ends with a bang- again- from Lily's table, as the fudge she's supposed to be transfiguring into a necktie stubbornly refuses to transfigure, and instead explodes in a somewhat macabre mish-mash of chocolate and scraps of cloth. Frustrated more than she would care to admit, she bends down and starts cleaning up, smearing chocolate all over the floor in the process.

"Need a little help, Evans?" He's there, of course, standing above her, smirking and twirling his wand about his fingers.

"No, thank you, I'm fine –" she snaps. His grin widens as he flicks his wand lazily and the mess disappears. A scourgio charm, why didn't she think of that?

"No need to thank me," The everlasting insufferable smirk is firmly in place as he offers her his hand. She huffs and swats it away, gathering her feet under her and pushing herself up. He's gathered her things and put them into her bag already, the prat. He shoulders both bags and starts walking to the door. She allows herself a small sigh of exasperation, then runs after him.

"Potter!" She holds her hand out for her bag. He looks at it for a moment, then at her. Raises his brows.

"Yes, Evans?" A small quirk of his mouth and a tilt of his head, both signs that he's in a playful mood. This won't be ending anytime soon, nor with anything resembling peace or dignity, then. She steels herself for the inevitable battle of wits, wondering off-handedly what gods she offended to deserve her own personal plague in human form.

"My things, Potter." She's still holding out her hand, and refuses to retreat as he steps closer to her.

"Well, Miss Evans," he adjusts his glasses, eyes lit in mischievous glee, "let's consider the facts, shall we? One: Your bag is extremely heavy."

"Not that heavy, Potter."

"What? Come on! Look at this!" He opens the bag. There are, admittedly, a lot of books in there. "It's breaking my back!"

"Really, Potter? Didn't think you were that weak. Apparently Quidditch does nothing to bulk up the muscles of scrawny little pricks like you."

He steps closer. "Never heard a complaint about my muscles before."

He's close, much too close, and she knows it, can feel it, the warmth of his breath as it ghosts down her upturned face, the almost-feel of his not-unmuscled chest centimeters from her hand- she stops her thoughts there. Hell if she's going to back down, though, so she stands her ground and keeps her hand out for her bag. "I have nothing to say about your muscles or lack thereof, Potter. Now give me back my bag, since apparently you can't handle it."

He chuckles. "I can handle anything you throw at me, Evans." His tone is warm and undeniably laced with innuendo she doesn't care to explore at the moment. She cocks a brow at him.

"My bag, Potter?"

He tilts his head to the side, appearing to consider the question, then glances at her waiting hand and grins.

"What are you plan- POTTER!" is all she gets out as she finds herself hurtling through the halls, hand clasped firmly in the hand of James Potter. She tries to tug away, out of his grasp and stumbles over the cobblestones in the corridor. He looks back and winks at her.

"Come on, Evans! Can't be late for class, yeah?"

"James – Potter! You – let go – this – instant!"

"Nah." He flashes a grin at her as he keeps running, the berk. "More fun this way."

She fumbles through her robes for her wand with her free hand, almost tripping in the process. Her goal acquired, she mutters a few words and swishes her wand over-enthusiastically. James suddenly lets go of her, screeching as if he's been burned – which is not exactly far from the truth. "My hand!" She smiles as he gapes at his hand, then at her. "You – you wicked woman, what have you done to my hand?"

"Wicked woman?" She raises her brows. "All out of insults, are we?"

He stalks toward her, then shoves his hand in her face. "My. Hand."

He's panting now, and she wonders if she hasn't accidentally overdone it – heat of the moment and all. She swishes her wand discreetly behind her, lifting the spell. He takes back his hand, makes sure all five digits are in working order, then shoves it back in her face again.

"Kiss it better." His tone is demanding, and she sighs.

"I lifted the charm, it's better. Now get that thing"- she shoves his hand away; it returns to the same position- "out of my face, Potter!"

"But I want to make sure, Evans," he whines, puppy-dog eyes and all. "That hurt."

"Good!" Lily seriously debates whether she really needs her bag for her next class, decides the drama isn't worth it right now, turns and walks away.

"Evans!" He runs up behind her. "I didn't really make you mad, did I?" He furrows his brows and does his best to look pathetic, which, she reflects, isn't really all that hard for James Potter, seeing as how he kind of is, anyways. She grabs the handle to the door of her class. It loudly creaks open, interrupting the professor mid-sentence. So much for a stealthy entrance, she thinks to herself, and moves to sit in the last row of seats, next to Remus, Sirius, and – shit. She glances to her left as Potter slides in beside her, grinning like the idiot she knows without a doubt he is.

"One move, Potter, one move-" she hisses through gritted teeth. His eyes widen slightly, and he holds out her bag as part-shield from her anger, part-peace offering. Her eyes narrow in suspicion, and one hand darts out to retrieve her bag. She holds in a string of expletives as she hits her bag instead of grasping it, sending ink, parchment, and books all over the row in front of her. She leans back against the wall, puts her hands over her eyes and sighs. Today is not her day.

A hand timidly taps her on her left shoulder, and she peeks through gaps in her fingers. Potter places her bag with her collected things beside her, then hands her her copy of A History of Magic, along with a bit of parchment. She opens the textbook to the correct page, then glances down at the parchment. Sorry, the barely-legible scrawl reads. She smiles a little and marks the date on the parchment, then jumps about a foot as more words appear on the page. So I'm guessing asking you out would be a very bad idea right now, Evans? She turns her head and narrows her eyes at Potter, who smiles innocently while rumpling his hair. Only if you want to live, Potter, she writes, and settles down to taking notes. Potter, however, is his insufferable self, and cannot let things be. But I don't want to live without you, Evans! His scrawl appears again, below a detailed description of the Norwegian Ogre Massacre of 1224. It's too cruel a world. She blatantly ignores him, and he continues, this time appearing in the middle of her sentence. Life is short, and you are hot. Please? Cherry-on-top please? She scribbles violently through his lines, and continues on with her notes, unaware of the interested stares and craning necks of Sirius and Remus on her other side. Lily! Don't ignore me, my heart couldn't take it! The words mock her attempts to scribble them out, jumping all over the page. She glances sideways. Potter appears focused on the lecture, scribbling furiously. A small but persistent smirk at the corner of his mouth is the only thing that gives him away. She glares at him. Lilyyyyyyyyyy… The evil, annoying, distinctly Potter-ish words that do not belong in her notes, or anywhere else, splay out across her paper. Like what you see? She whips her head towards him, outraged. He's facing her now, lounging in his seat, smirking openly at her. He flicks his wand, and the scrawl appears again. That better, darling? Beyond words, she does the first thing that comes to mind – which, unfortunately, happens to be stabbing his leg with her quill. James yells, and Sirius and Remus bust into laughter. The entire class turns at the disruption to find James holding his wounded leg and shouting something about redheads and not being able to take jokes. Lily lays her head down on her desk. Today, she thinks again, listening to the class erupt into general confusion around her, is definitely not her day.

o.O.o