Jily one shots

Where the air is Rarefied

Be good to people for no reason

Disclaimer: this isn't my story I did not write this. It is owned by @thirty2flavours on FanFiction.Net go check them out! They are amazing anyways carry on, and enjoy xx

A/N I am putting a little quote at the start of every chapter. Don't skip over it just think about it.

Lily Evans knew she'd made a mistake as soon as the words were out of her mouth.

It wasn't her fault, really; it was the prefects, or rather the surprisingly complex yet monotonous task of micromanaging them as Head Girl. She and her unlikely counterpart James Potter were sitting in an empty classroom, parchment spread between them, trying to balance sixteen different timetables, Quidditch practices and personalities in the most harmonious way possible. It was a frustrating and thankless task, Lily had learned quickly, which was probably why it was one the professors delegated to other students.

She slumped over the proposed schedule, fighting back both a yawn and the desire to set the parchment on fire. James was slouched back in his chair, arms behind his head, feet propped up on the desk dangerously close to his inkwell. On more than one occasion she'd found herself unexpectedly grateful that her partner in drudgery was someone with a preternatural ability to find fun (and trouble) just about anywhere. Today, though, even he seemed to be coming up short.

"No," she said, rubbing at her eyes with one hand, "we can't put Spinnet with Underwood again, they can't stand each other."

James snorted. "No one can stand Underwood, he's a bastard."

Lily would have chastised him, had it not been so true. "Well, we can't leave him with Spinnet, they're going to hex each other into oblivion."

"Why, Evans, I'm sure upstanding citizens like our prefects would never dream of such a thing," said James, in a tone suggesting the exact opposite.

"If we move him to Thursdays-"

James shook his head. "Can't. Slytherin's Quidditch team practices on Thursdays. Put him with Miller."

"The Hufflepuff?" she frowned. "He'll walk all over her."

"Nah, Miller can hold her own, trust me - I've played Quidditch against her for the better part of five years." He grinned. "He gets out of line, she'll lob a bludger at him when Hufflepuff play Slytherin next month."

He mimed swinging a bat, and Lily cupped her chin in the palm of her hand, raising an eyebrow. In the seven years she'd been watching Quidditch, she was sure she'd seen James be the target of more bludgers than was statistically likely. "Speaking from experience, are we?"

"I don't know what you mean," he replied, lifting his hands in an innocent gesture that, if anything, made him look more guilty. "I'm just saying, Miller's got great aim as a Beater."

"Vigilantism on the Quidditch pitch." She couldn't keep the amusement from her voice or the wry smile from her lips. "That your idea of conflict resolution, Potter?"

"Don't knock it 'til you've tried it."

And that was when it happened. If pressed, later, she'd say it was exhaustion that caused her to forget who she was talking to, and it was that same exhaustion which prevented her from foreseeing the inevitable fall-out of telling James Potter, "Ugh, no thanks, I hate flying."

"What?" He sat up straight so fast the inkwell on the table wobbled precariously. "Since when?"

"Since always," she said briskly. She tapped the stack of papers with her quill to try and draw his attention back to safer matters. "Anyway-"