Jily one shots

logic doesnt make love

a Siriusly Klutzy story.

How is it even possible that after six years of telling myself that I hate him, it turns out that I love him? Is there something wrong in the universe? Did the earth start spinning backwards? Or are the planets just aligning? Because those are the only explanations I can come up with for the impossible to become the truth.

Really though. Six. Years. After six years you'd think I'd know myself enough to know that I was lying to myself. Or at least enough to not lie to myself. It was completely unintentional. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I must have known. I must have. Because you don't just wake up one day and realize that you're over the moon for someone.

Unless you're completely mad, like Alice when she woke up six months ago, owled me, and told me that she thought she fancied Frank- surprise, surprise, next week is their five month anniversary.

But I'm not Alice, I swear to you, I'm not. I'm not- completely, anyway- mad like she is. I don't wake up and decide I fancy someone, particularly someone I previously believed I hated.

But I guess I do. Now.

And, okay, maybe it took more than one morning. But you don't wake up morning after morning with that someone on your mind. You just don't. When you're supposed to hate someone, your mornings should be filled with thoughts of blueberry muffins, and if there's enough pumpkin juice left at breakfast, and whether or not Marlene stole your scarf today.

Not James bloody Potter.

Personally, I blame the dreams.

Yes. Dreams.

I dreamt of James Potter.

Something is seriously wrong with me, isn't it?

You don't go from "hating" someone, to dreaming about them, to fancying them. Maybe I should have informed Alice to check me into Saint Mungos once the holidays start. Then I wouldn't even have to deal with Tuney going ballistic about me turning her knickers into handkerchiefs. (Not that anyone would use them, of course, because, erm, ew, but it certainly was fun to see her face afterwards.)

Huh. Benefits.

The first dream wasn't the worst. It was relatively normal. I was sitting in front of the fireplace, soaking my hands in butterbeer, and trying to convince Alice that Frank didn't steal her broom and put it under Hagrid's hut because otherwise she was going to get a dementor to come suck his soul (and, for the record, Alice doesn't even own a broom). That was relatively normal. I sit in front of the fireplace. I drink butterbeer- not necessarily soak my hands in it, though. And I have stupid arguments with Alice.

Nothing strange there.

But then James came and told Alice that he had found her broom and it was in his trunk because Sirius had put it there so that Frank would tango with the giant squid.

I don't know. It's Sirius. He makes even less sense in dreams.

Anyway, then James came over to me, put his hands in my butterbeer, and decided to soak them with me, like we were best mates or something! But the weirder part was I was just all, "Oh, hello James. I thought you'd like some butterbeer." And I nodded towards the couch for him to sit next to me.

What the hell is wrong with me, offering to share my butterbeer hand treatment with James like that?

In the second dream, Sirius, Frank, and Alice were all dancing around the Common Room wearing my school uniform- yes, even the blokes were in my skirt, but I was furious because their legs looked nicer in it than mine did- and singing the Chudley Cannons fight song. Or, my dream version of it. Whatever. That's what they were doing.