It was seventh year. Lily was a frigid bitch.
She couldn’t believe the rumours were true. Was she going to have to be head girl with that asshat, Potter?
She hated him.
The moment of truth came when he swept into the prefect’s compartment. His shirt was gone. Obviously, an adoring fan girl had ripped it off away, not that Lily could blame her, or them, as she noted his quidditchy muscles, six pack abs and huge biceps, all nicely tanned even though he was from England. With those muscles, he could push her against the wall and-
Fucking hell, where did those thoughts come from? She hated Potter just-hold on, let me check-four sentences ago. And now she wanted him? What. The. Hell.
But she looked at him and swooned anyway, against her better judgment and even though it didn’t make any sense.
His eyebrows arched as he ignored her completely. Why was ignoring her just when she wanted him?
Oh yes, she wanted him.
His eyes were flecked with gold and green and brown and it was a swirling mess that made
my something stir in Lily’s stomach. Or lower. Definitely lower.
Speaking of lower, Potter-James, she really should call him James-certainly had grown over the summer, in more ways than one, as she thanked merlin for tight muggle jeans that wouldn’t come into fashion for another thirty years.
And those trainers, they screamed sex.
He arms were waving in the air-in victory, no doubt, that he had been made head boy. His hand was full of-women’s panties? Sexy panties even though it was a British boarding school? Must have been those damn fan girls. Idiot fourth years.
Her train of thought was distracted by his gorgeous hair. That messy, sexy, unkempt hair that used to drive her mad with fury now drove her insane with lust. He had transfigured his Head Boy badge into a crown that said “better than you” but, as it was true and a demonstration of remarkable magic, Lily said nothing. He really was better than everyone. It was so obvious. Why hadn’t she seen it before?
She was in
lust love with James Potter.