Disclaimer: All rights go to JK Rowling. Anything you don't recognize is mine.

Just a fluff piece because I love James Potter and didn't feel like working on any of my main stories. Enjoy!

Match

"And in a stunning play by Gryffindor Seeker Schaffer, Gryffindor wins the match to Ravenclaw, final score three-forty to one-eighty…"

Kim Holliday's boots hit the frozen grass with a crunch as she touched down and dismounted her broom. A wave of scarlet and gold swept over the pitch and devoured the seven Gryffindor players on the field, cheering and screaming bloody victory. She tried hard to be a good sport, but the Gryffindor victory left a sour taste in her mouth. Especially since Ravenclaw had been undefeated until this match.

"Better luck next time, eh?" said Ricky Davies, touching down beside her.

She grunted and tossed a scornful look to her Captain and fellow Chaser. "You don't have to fake for my sake. I know you're just as pissed off as I am."

"Positively seething with rage," he said cheerfully. In the distance, the Gryffindor supporters had hoisted their players into the air and were now carrying them back to the castle, the wave gone just as quickly as it had come. Most of the Ravenclaws had wandered away from the pitch—probably to drown their sorrows in the secret stash of butterbeers the older students kept hidden in their dormitories. A few well-wishers mingled on the pitch, offering condolences and encouragement to their teammates. "I could kill James Potter."

Kim frowned. "He's not Seeker. It's not like he won them the match."

"True," Davies said, "but he's Captain, and I know he taught Schaffer that feint."

"James Potter's always been too bloody brilliant for his own good," she said, making a face. "It's the main reason why he's so insufferable."

Davies nudged her with his elbow. "Not insufferable to look at, though, right?" At Kim's horrified look, he chuckled and ran a hand through his dark hair. "C'mon, Holliday; you've been obsessed with the bloke since Third Year. It's always James bloody Potter this and James bloody Potter that—"

"I am not obsessed," she retorted, outraged. "He's an idiot, for starters; and not to mention our rival—"

"I'm not blind," he said. "I see you two when you work together in Potions; all close and conspiratorial and the like."

She lugged her broom over her shoulder and glared at him. "You know he's been my assigned partner since Fifth—Slughorn banned him from working with any of his mates after they filled the dungeons with tar that one lesson. And it's quite obvious that I'm sadly lacking in the Potions department. I need all the help I can get."

Davies held up his hands in a show of peace. "All right, Holliday, I get it. You're in denial. That's totally fine. We all go through it sometimes—"

"So help me Rowena, if you don't stop nagging—"

"Rick, Kim!" Sam Chang called. He waved to them, his broom held aloft in his other hand. "Party in the Gryffindor Common Room! Whole team's invited, Pettigrew said, as long as we're not spoilsports."

Davies punched her shoulder lightly. "Better clean up then, Holliday. You've got a Potter to chase."

She rolled her eyes. "Just shut up, Davies."

Kim sat on a plush crimson couch in the Gryffindor Common Room an hour later, butterbeer in hand and sulking, for lack of a better word.

She took an angry swig from her bottle and glared at the lion banners strung up around the wide tower room—cozy, but lacking the charm and elegance of Ravenclaw Tower. And all the red. So distasteful. And harsh on the eyes.

Davies had dragged her to the celebration and promptly left her to play drinking games and flirt with a pretty Hufflepuff in the year below them. She could see them from where she'd been sat on the couch for the last half-hour, all talking and giggling and roaming hands.

She took another drink and plucked at the hem of her shirt, music thumping in her chest from the wireless. The Gryffindors had been smart, for once; they'd cast Silencing Charms around the tower to keep any prying professors away from the party that was steadily growing wilder with each passing minute. Peter Pettigrew had already crowd-surfed twice, and Sirius Black—James Potter's notorious best mate—led the victory chants (and the drinking games) with gusto, riling the crowd up further and taking all their money at the same time.

Kim hadn't seen a sign of James Potter since arriving. As much as she tried to deny it, and as much as Davies' teasing had nettled her, she knew she was far too interested in the Gryffindor Captain and Head Boy. Even though he'd been a right berk in their earlier years, there'd always been a certain charm to him that she'd been drawn by. And Potions had taught her that he wasn't a complete duffer; he was rather brilliant, and patient with her when she couldn't keep up. It didn't help that he was attractive, either; with his untidy, jet-black hair, hazel eyes, and those toned arms from Quidditch…

She downed another gulp of butterbeer and fiddled with the dark ends of her hair. It was still damp from the showers, hanging past her shoulders in subtle black waves. She hadn't put much thought into her appearance, throwing on whatever shirt and trousers were at the bottom of her Quidditch bag, but perhaps she ought to have.

Rowena, she was getting worked up. And for what? Potter wasn't even here. Maybe he was too tired to party. Or maybe he'd already snuck off with some other girl. He'd always been rather smitten with Lily Evans…

"Wotcher, Kim."

A body plopped down beside her on the couch, bouncing her slightly in her seat. She lowered the butterbeer bottle from her lips, prepared to tell Davies to sod off, until she realized James Potter had sat next to her. She blinked.

"Er, hi, James," she said. Where had he come from? It was like her thoughts had Summoned him. Oh, Merlin, what if they had? What if he was some secret Legilimens? "Nice party."

"Do you really think so?" he said. He raised an eyebrow at her, his lips quirking into a half-smile that she'd always found adorable. His hazel eyes glinted mischievously behind his spectacles as he propped an unopened bottle of butterbeer on his knee. "See, you say that, but you've been sitting here ever since you showed up."

She drank more to avoid his stupidly cute grin and the flutter in her stomach. He'd noticed her?

"What can I say?" she said. "Perhaps I'm just too bitter to be in a partying mood."

"Ah," he said. "Sore from our match earlier, eh?"

"Understatement of the year," she retorted. "I recognized Schaffer's feint, you know; it's the same one we talked about last month before the Hufflepuff-Slytherin match."

"Well, I'm glad you remembered." He used the hem of his T-shirt to open the bottle, and she pretended not to stare at the sliver of tanned skin just above his belt. She drank more to calm the rising heat in her face and belly. "It was quite a play, if I do say so myself. I didn't think the lad could pull it off."

"His left hand wobbled on the broom," she said. "Could've been better executed."

He grinned, a dimple appearing in his left cheek. "Agreed. I'd like to see you try it, though. I bet you'd get it right on the first try." He took a sip, thoughtful. "Y'know, if you'd ever want to practice with me sometime."

Her eyebrows rose. "Is that a challenge or an offer, Potter?"

"Both. Neither." He shrugged before looking back to her with a half-serious gaze. "It could be something like a date."

Her stomach fluttered again. "'Something like?'"

He grinned. "Yeah. Something like."

She smiled back like a giddy fool. "Well, here's to something like a date, then."

She raised her bottle and he clinked his own against it. "Cheers."

And when she drank, she couldn't tell what was sweeter: the butterbeer, or James Potter's smile.

Let me know what y'all thought!

xx