Disclaimer: If I owned James Potter, I would not be writing about him. Trust me.

Author's Note: I have no idea how long this is going to be. It is just a random thought that popped up that I figured would make for a good story. I wrote it in a different style than I've written anything else, though most of the books I read are written this way. I can't imagine why I never tried it before. Anyway. Tell me if you like it written this way. If you do, then I'll be sure to write like this again. If you don't then I won't. Thanks so much. Enjoy :D

He bends down, his lips brushing against my own in a chaste kiss. My eyes are closed, anticipating the soft feel of his lips upon mine. Hands wrapped tightly around his neck, tangled in locks of hair, I bring him closer. I want to feel him, all of him.

"Lily." He murmurs against the hollow beneath my jaw. His warm breath sends pleasant shivers down my already shuddering form. I don't ever want him to leave. I feel like I need him, like I won't be able to breathe without him.

"James..."

I sit up quickly, the turn my dream had taken frightening me thoroughly. The sweat that coats my forehead and neck leave me chilly in the cool air. With that one last word, that one last name, my dream was no longer pleasing

There is no way that I could possibly have had a dream about James. James sodding Potter.

No. Absolutely not.

Especially not one that good.

I press my hand against my chest. I can feel my heart beating far too fast; it feels about ready to jump out of my ribcage.

"Calm down, Lily." I chide. "It was just a dream. Just a bloody dream. There is absolutely no reason why you should be reacting this way." After all, that warm wanted feeling that had spread through me as he kissed me means nothing at all. The way I had moaned his name does not mean that I had enjoyed it. Not one bit.

I have to tell myself to breathe.

I have to remind myself to lie.

It wasn't the close proximity of James in my dream that has me reacting so dramatically. It isn't my hormones. It is the surprise of it all. I decide that I don't like surprises anymore.

I slip out of my four poster bed, attempting to be as quiet as possible. I don't want James, sleeping in the next room, to wake up. My heart is still beating loud enough to wake the dead. Wincing, I touch my bare feet to the cold wooden floor. It is freezing and I can tell that winter is only a few weeks away. As much as I love winter, the icicles, the snow, I hate the cold. So every year as spring, then summer, and finally fall fade away, I dread winter. I dread it now.

I survey the circular chamber, my eyes falling on the gilded mirror across the room. I look cold and scared, like I don't know what to do, and I don't. I turn away. I am not satisfied with the vulnerable girl I see staring back at me.

Stumbling blindly in the pitch black of the Heads dormitory, I manage to find my way into the Common Room. Idly, I mutter a spell that bathes the Common Room in a soft glow as a fire bursts to life in the grate. I always think better in front of a fire. I find fires comforting. I need comfort now.

I curl up in front of the hearth on the over-stuffed crimson couch, bundling up in a thick blanket. I massage my temples, trying to make the memory of the dream drift away while trying to analyze it at the same time.

My eyes flutter shut of their own accord as I think back to the manner in which he had kissed me and the feelings it had ignited. I think of the way he held my head and the phantom feeling of his lips on mine. Regardless of the more than pleasant feelings that had flowed through me and continue to flow through me at the thought, I realise that it was James Potter that had made me feel it… that keeps making me feel it.

"Merlin, Lily. Get a bloody hold of yourself." I whisper. The frustration in my tone is evident.

I sit on that couch for hours, only drifting into a restless sleep an hour before dawn.

How is it that one lousy dream about James Potter could affect me so?

"You don't look so good, Lily." The deep voice behind me is husky and only a mere centimetre from my ear.

"Oh, bugger off, Potter." I wasn't usually in the mood for his antics and I am most certainly not in the mood for it when I am working on less than three hours of sleep, especially since he was the one starring in my dream.

"Are you alright? You usually give me about two minutes before you make to rip off my head."

I glare at him. My emerald eyes are shooting figurative sparks.

I am not in the mood for this.

I didn't get enough sleep to be in the mood for this.

He, thankfully, seems to get the message. "Right, I'll just talk to you later then." He throws me one last charming grin and saunters off, presumably to meet up with Sirius.

I think I loathe him. I have never loathed anyone before.

It doesn't feel good.

"I daresay, Lily, you were a bit rude." Alice accuses, coming up behind me.

"Piss off." I say, rubbing my eyes tiredly. It is barely ten in the morning and I can not even civilly converse with my best friend.

"You were at breakfast early." She raises one eyebrow, amusement dancing in her eyes. Breakfast was hours ago. I can't remember hours ago. All I can remember is that ridiculous dream. The ridiculous dream that will not let me alone. "We used to have to force you out of bed before noon. What's going on?"

"Couldn't sleep." I don't mean to be short with her, but I am afraid that if I say anything more than a sentence, something might slip out.

"Why not?" She looks concerned and I regret not lying. I should have said that I had had some unfinished homework to do.

"I really don't want to talk about it."

Divulging in my dreams, secret dreams with secret people, is not one of the things I am ever going to do anytime soon.