A/N: Well, this was going to be a one-shot, but then I discovered that it was much more fun to turn it into a series of vignettes. Thus, a brief chapter story came into being. But this time I have a guard against never updating: I've already written the whole thing.

So, please enjoy this, and rest assured that there is much more to come.

Disclaimer: Most assuredly not mine.

The Seven Signs Of Love

A Severe Case of Clumsiness

It was early Monday morning, thankfully before the usual rush of students off to breakfast emerged from their dormitories, and I was standing in the middle of the common room, staring down at my third broken vase for the morning. Not only was it a beautiful vase: blue flowers, green vines, yellow background…but it was also a personal record for me.

It wasn't that the vases could not be fixed. That was beside the point. I was a witch, and a very good one at that—of course I could fix them. But still, three vases broke in one morning? Wow.

My mouth quirked down at the side—a halfhearted frown, as I stared at the many shards of porcelain that littered the thick burgundy carpet of the Gryffindor common room. Behind me, I knew, there was a trail of broken pottery.

I would have cried, really I would have—just up and bawl right there for a good, long while, except that I had very little remorse for this vase. Let's face it—this was not my first, and undoubtedly would not be my last. Those vases were just ridiculous. If one petit, seventeen year old girl could knock out three within an hour of waking up, well then suffice to say that there were far too many vases in the interior design of the space.

Laughter from the other side of the room broke my concentration. I knew that laugh—that annoying, pompous, absurdly cheerful chuckle…James Potter. He was a fellow seventh-year, Head Boy, quidditch captain, and an utter prat.

I turned my head, lifted my nose, and said with as much dignity as I could muster, "What?"

James stopped chuckling and looked at me, obviously amused. Ooh, I was going to kill him! He had been sitting in the common room as I came crashing down from my dormitory. He hadn't even bothered to help me clean up—he just stood up, watched me, and started to laugh.

"Nothing," he said. "I'm just wondering what those poor vases ever did to you?"

"They didn't do anything to me, Potter. I just am a little clumsy this morning," I replied.

"This morning?" James scoffed, "What about yesterday when you put your elbow through four consecutive portraits? Or the day before that when not only did you manage to break another vase, but you also tripped on the rug, smashed a chair, and knocked down a suit of armor?"

I sniffed and said loudly, "LIKE I SAID, POTTER, I AM JUST A LITTLE CLUMSY."

I had actually forgotten about that suit of armor. It was just standing there, obviously in my way, as I came out of the library with my friend, Emmeline. James and his three best mates had been standing outside of the large hall with several books each—up to no good, I'm sure. Suddenly, there it was in all of its stupid, gleaming glory—the armor of Sir Isaac of Damaggart.

The crash, it was said later, could be heard from the dungeons of Hogwarts Castle.

Looking at the broken vase, James raised an eyebrow and then replied, "I guess so."

He watched me kneel down and pick up one of the shards of porcelain, and then he ran a hand through his hair, smiled, and said, "Funny how you are always clumsy when I'm around, don't you think?"

I rolled my eyes emphatically and said, "Well, you do bring out the worst in people, Potter."

James just grinned at me and said, "The 'worst', eh?"

He had always had the annoying habit of not getting angry with me. He either had a lot of self-control, or insults simply didn't bother him. Based on past transgressions involving various Slytherins, though, I was betting on the former option. No matter what I would say, James would smile patronizingly, make some odd comment, and then dither off, usually leaving me in whatever mess I had gotten myself into. Prat.

I nodded and he continued, "You know, Lily, I happen to think that I bring out the best in people."

"Really," I drawled, standing up again, "the best in a person. Well, isn't that interesting. Tell me, Potter, how is it good for me to be destroying furniture and the like in your presence? How does that show off the best of me?"

"Because, Lily," James said, turning toward the portrait door and opening it, "you look gorgeous when you're angry with yourself. Your brow furrows, your eyes get all…fiery, and your nostrils flare, which I find oddly endearing. Plus, I think it means that you like me."

My hand flew to my nose. My nostrils did not flare! And by the wa—

Wait a moment…

My face dropped its look of absolute annoyance as I watched his back disappear through the door; instead, I adopted a look of utter disbelief.

What had he just said to me?