Why don't I ever look where I'm going? Lily Evans wondered when, in her seventh year at Hogwarts, she found herself trapped under enchanted mistletoe with James Potter yet again.

She closed her eyes and tilted her face upward, bracing herself for the familiar impact of the hormonally charged kiss that she was now obligated to permit James, as she had been every year since her third, when James had pushed Lily, and himself, underneath the mistletoe-adorned doorway of The Three Broomsticks one Hogsmeade weekend. Lily's thirteen-year-old counterpart had resisted submitting to the kiss for as long as she could, employing both magic and physical violence to put as much distance between herself and James Potter as the circumstances would allow, until at last she realized that she would be late returning to the castle unless she accepted the inevitability of the kiss. Suddenly, being kissed by (not "kissing," naturally, as Lily was a passive rather than an active participant in the act) James Potter seemed like a lesser punishment than getting detention for missing curfew. So, mentally promising to more carefully avoid doorways the following year around the holidays, Lily endured three minutes of torture at James Potter's…lips – for the first, but not the last, time.

This year, however, Lily need not have steeled herself to exchange the annual seasonal kiss with her stalker in the Gryffindor common room. When finally she felt James Potter's lips, it was not on her mouth, but on her cheek.

"Sorry to have put you in an awkward position again, Evans," he whispered, for once without a hint of insincerity. "Happy Christmas."

No cheeky grin. No "personal" debate, loudly broadcasted for the benefit of all potential onlookers in Gryffindor Tower, over whether it would be right or wrong to proceed with the kiss, which had clearly been orchestrated by fate, despite Lily's animosity toward James. No cocky assurances that the kiss would overpower Lily and infect her with a love so strong that she would be begging him for a date. Not even an "accidental" slap on the bum as he swung his arms about nervously. Nothing but an apology and a holiday greeting. In fact, before Lily could react to James Potter's new level of maturity – were congratulations not in order? – he had already ducked out from under the mistletoe and joined his friends for a game of Wizard's Chess near the fireplace.

Most surprising to Lily, though, was not James Potter's response to being stuck under the mistletoe with her, but her own. For some reason, his utter dismissal of her troubled and infuriated her more than the sexual harassment of previous years. Had James Potter, everyone's favorite arrogant, obnoxious, prank-playing imbecile – who lately had behaved less arrogantly and less obnoxiously, and played fewer pranks than most of the other imbeciles at Hogwarts, including his friends (but that was beside the point) –finally given up on Lily Evans, his long-tortured, long-time crush?

For the next week, Lily tried, in vain, to forget about James Potter's sudden lack of romantic interest in her. Relieved as she was that she had avoided kissing James, Lily couldn't help wondering why. Why had James wasted the opportunity to kiss her, when in previous years he had gone through such trouble to create similar opportunities? Was he no longer attracted to her? No longer under the delusion that she would one day return his lust? Exhausted with pretending to feel more than lust in the slight, waning hope of gratifying that lust? Feeling guilty? (Nah, Lily thought immediately, James Potter couldn't suddenly have developed a conscience.) Bored with tormenting her? (More likely. He was a fickle sort.) Was she no longer even worth tormenting?

Lily knew that James had changed since being appointed Head Boy, and for the better, but she never anticipated that he would change toward her.

"What's your game, Potter?" Lily was surprised to find herself actually shouting at James Potter as he ambled toward the castle with his broomstick. Initially, she had returned to the Common Room to relax after completing her last exam, only to decide that a walk about the grounds would suit her better. Yes, Lily had ventured outside because it was a lovely, sunny December day, though chilly, and because she had restless energy to expend; it had nothing to do with the golden snitches she had doodled on her exam sheet or with the shouts, which Lily had heard from the window of Gryffindor Tower, that signaled the end of Quidditch practice. Her running into James after his practice was merely an unfortunate coincidence.

James, broomstick slung over his shoulder and cheeks red and raw from flying through the biting winter air, turned with a quizzical expression on his face. "Quidditch?"

"Why didn't you kiss me?" Lily demanded. "The other day. Under the mistletoe."

"I did," James said, squinting at Lily in confusion.

"You kissed me on the cheek."

"Right," James agreed, still not seeming to grasp the source of Lily's confusion. "A kiss on the cheek is still a kiss, isn't it? We wouldn't have been able to get out from under the mistletoe otherwise."

Lily forced herself to speak calmly. Slowly. Rationally. If she radiated nonchalance, then James would never know how much his indifference had affected her - how it had occupied her mind while she studied, while she slept, while she - "But you didn't…erm…try to take it any further than that."

"Why would I?"

"Why wouldn't you?" Lily countered. After all, he normally did. That was her issue, wasn't it, that James had behaved anomalously?

"You usually complain when I do."

True enough, but - "And? Since when has my complaining had any effect on you?"

James picked at a twig on his broom. "Aren't you glad that it finally has?" he asked, raising a hand to his hair, then, as if recollecting something, dropping it to his side.

"Of course I am," Lily said immediately, but still not quickly or convincingly enough, in her opinion. "That's not the point, Potter," she added, emphasizing his surname to remind him, and herself, of the voluntary social distance that had resulted from her aversion to him. They had never been, and never would be, friends. He was the embodiment of every negative quality a person could possess.

"Then what is the point, Lily?" James asked, crossing his arms, but still not losing his composure to the extent that Lily had, either internally or externally.

Lily sighed in frustration, whipping her hair back. So much for radiating nonchalance. "This whole thing – it isn't right. It doesn't make any sense. You're – bloody hell! – you just missed a perfect opportunity to indulge your little adolescent fantasies. I don't get it. You're James Potter; I'm Lily Evans. You are always supposed to want to kiss me, even if - no, especially if - it means taking advantage of me."

James chuckled. "And you call me arrogant?"

Lily blinked. The way she had just explained it, it sounded as though she felt entitled to James' affections - no, even worse: as though she was the only one who could possibly be entitled to them, because she alone could fulfill his fantasies. Not a soul alive or dead at Hogwarts could surpass James in arrogance, but Lily had definitely equaled him.

She blushed, feeling like a vain, unsexy, and unlovable hypocrite. "Just - never mind. I don't know why this is bothering me so much. I should be - I am - happy that you didn't kiss me. So you've finally come to your senses and moved on. Good for you. Happy Christmas again."

As Lily slumped away, depending on her red hair to conceal her warm red cheeks, James' calm and confusion finally melted. "'Ey, Lily!" he called, catching up to her in two strides.

"I already wished you a happy Christmas, James," Lily said without meeting James' eyes. Just keep walking, she commanded herself. If only she could make it to the castle, she could lose James in the crowd of merrymakers stationed in the Great Hall and run up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, where, once in her room, she could curl into a ball and yell and cry until her emotions had settled. "In case you didn't catch it, that was your cue not to follow and continue to grin condescendingly at me."

"Oh, Lily," James practically sang, disregarding Lily's sour tone.

"What, James? What?" Lily stared at the snow beneath her so intently that the glare from the sun stung her eyes. She wished the sun would retreat behind the clouds (as she longed to retreat under her covers) instead of spotlighting her shame from its clear, open position in the sky.

"You didn't mean what you said - about being happy that I didn't kiss you."

Maybe James hadn't changed, after all. He was still the same old arrogant arsehole. The knowledge that James was as undeserving of Lily's tears as ever somehow made it easier for her to suppress them. "'Course I did. It was the best Christmas gift I've ever received."

"You want to know what I think?"

Lily wanted to slap that smirk off his face - and she might have, if her hands hadn't been stuffed in her pockets. "Not particularly, no. I'd much rather go back to my dormitory and pack for the holidays."

James ignored Lily's statement, proceeding as if invited. "I think you wanted me to kiss you. That you were -, " and here he gasped, " - disappointed when I didn't."

He stood in front of her, throwing his arms out to prevent her from moving around him on either side. She looked up at him, displaying her cheeks proudly now, as their color reflected anger more than hurt and humiliation.

"Well, I think you're wrong. Move. Now. P-Potter? J-James? What are you - ? Stop looking at me like that. You're scaring me."

James continued to smirk. "Don't worry. I'm not gonna do anything."

"Potter, I'm warning you. If you do not move out of the way, you will be risking bodily harm."

James shrugged. "I think I can take it."

"I'll – I'll hex you!" Lily threatened childishly.

"Now, Evans. I thought we all agreed that hexing people was wrong."

"Not if it's in self-defense."

"I already told you I wasn't going to do anything," James said, rolling his eyes.

"And I'm supposed to believe that?" Lily asked, recalling all of the times that James "hadn't" done anything to her.

"All right, I wouldn't do anything you didn't want me to do, then," James clarified.

Lily raised her eyebrows, again recalling instances in which James "hadn't" done anything to her regardless of what Lily wanted. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"Was it funny?"

"No."

"Then no. I'm being serious, Evans. I'm not going to kiss you again - unless and until I have your permission."

He couldn't be serious. And if he was serious, Lily couldn't possibly...care. "Ever?"

"Ever," James confirmed.

"But don't you…want to kiss me anymore?" Lily wondered. She was at once embarrassed by how pathetic and childish her question sounded and desperate to hear the answer to it, in spite of the fact that she knew she shouldn't still need to hear it.

James' eyes brightened. Lily loved and hated (but mostly hated) the satisfaction her question gave him. "Ah, but I think the more important question is: Don't you want to kiss me?"

"That's not even a question," Lily scoffed, with somewhat less conviction than before. "Of course I don't. I thought I'd made that clear." But had she, really? In fact, if examined objectively, her actions proved exactly the opposite. James was - for the first and only time in their too-long acquaintance - right: Lily should have been glad that James had refrained from kissing her, particularly if it meant that he no longer wanted to, but she wasn't, which must mean that she -

"Then why does it bother you so much that I might not want to kiss you?" James interrupted without realizing.

"I don't know." Lily tore off her mittens and flung them at him. The horrible truth her mind had nearly arrived at had made her uncomfortably warm and unbearably agitated. "And I don't want to know what you think, either, so don't waste your breath," she snapped, anticipating James' smug, albeit correct, assumption.

"Just admit it, Lily."

"There's nothing to admit," Lily insisted, for his as well as her own benefit.

"All right, then." James shrugged exaggeratedly. "Guess I'll go…I don't know…charm all the wreaths in the Great Hall to shout profanities at the first years. See you."

Well, she couldn't let him do that. After all, she was Head Girl, and it was her duty to keep her fellow Hogwarts students - including, apparently, the Head Boy - from doing one another any mischief.

"Wait!" In a moment Lily had run after him, her footprints merging with his in the snow. They were so close now that they might as well have been stuck under the mistletoe together, except that Lily, not James, had contrived it this time.

"Yes?" James turned immediately, and Lily suspected that he'd had no intention of charming the wreaths in the Great Hall, or of going inside.

She confessed the horrible, horrible truth before she could censor it:"Iwantyoutokissme."

"What was that?"

"I said..." She'd said it, but could she say it again? More importantly, would she allow it to remain said without recanting it? Could she be that brave, and that foolish?

"Hmm?" Clearly, Lily's assumption that James had grown bored with torturing her had been premature.

"I said – oh, you bloody well know!" Lily screamed, putting her hands on her hips.

"I – "

"And I refuse to inflate your ego further by saying it again."

"But – "

"Just get on with it, will you?" Please? she added silently. Lily had no doubt that James would understand her dishonorable intentions toward him. After all, he'd had the same intentions toward her for years. The question was whether he still harbored these intentions despite his earlier restraint, and for the first time ever, Lily wasn't sure that he did. And that worried her, both because her feelings for James might be unrequited and because, Merlin, she had feelings for James Potter, which, requited or not, were worrisome enough on their own.

He smiled, and for once Lily didn't detect any condescension in the act. "Huh. S'much as I hate to refuse a demand like that, mostly because you scare me, sorry, can't do it."

Why in Merlin's name did he have to make this more difficult for her than it already was? Couldn't he just be content with having correctly guessed that she, despite her ardent claims to the contrary, had come to expect and, okay, maybe to look forward to, or maybe even to crave, his kisses? You were right, James; damn you, you were right, okay? "And why the hell not?"

"No mistletoe."

Very funny. "So?"

James covered his mouth with his hand, feigning shock again. "So? What do you mean, 'So?' I'm surprised at you, Lils. Really. Where's your sense of romance?"

Lily grinned, forgetting her feelings of uncertainty and humiliation for the moment. "Hmm. I think it disappeared somewhere around the thousandth time you tried to use mistletoe as an excuse to force yourself on me. But, of course, the topic is still open for debate."

"Pfft, that makes me feel loved."

She wrinkled her nose at him, imagining how disgusted her thirteen-year-old self would be at the image of her current self flirting with James-toerag-Potter. Oh, Merlin, Lily. "Good."

"Now you're really not getting what you want." James laughed, moving in the direction of the castle again.

"But, James!"

"But, Lily! I am no longer in a snogging sort of mood. You hurt my feelings just now," James said, but Lily recognized the smile in his voice.

Still, she played along, in the hope that he'd at last relinquish what she still hated to admit she was craving. "Ugh! I always say things like that, and you choose now to take offense? You are insufferable, James Potter."

"Not helping, you know."

"Sorry – wait. What am I apologizing for? You're the one who – just – oh!"

In an instant, Lily had closed the remaining gap between them, pressing her lips against James' in the ultimate act of both admission and submission. It was the first of their numerous kisses that Lily had initiated and the first that she had really desired. Kissing James felt warmer than it had in previous years - warmer, sweeter, better. He tasted like snow and Christmas and mistletoe and romance and love. He tasted like butter beer, but infinitely better, because he was James, and although no version of Lily could quite believe it, she wanted to kiss James Potter more than she'd ever wanted a mug of butter beer.

"Still not in a snogging sort of mood?" Lily whispered between kisses.

He grinned against her lips, letting his broom fall so that he could pull her closer.

"That's what I thought."

As they snogged against the lake-side wall of the castle, Lily's last thought before she surrendered herself to the joyous oblivion of kissing the (former) object of her hatred was, "Say goodbye to your dignity, Evans."