Lily sat beneath the sprawling beech tree by the edge of the Black Lake, her legs curled to the side and her back pressed against the cool bark. The spring breeze tugged at the ends of her red hair, lifting strands across her face as she flipped a page in Advanced Potion-Making, lips pursed in quiet concentration. She absentmindedly tapped her quill against the margin, ink smudging faintly where she’d scribbled a note about bezoars. The distant chatter of students and the gentle lapping of water against the shore barely registered—her focus held fast, until a snort of laughter from across the lake drew her eye. James 'annoyingly charming' Potter, of course, showing off on his broom again. She sighed, not bothering to hide the small roll of her eyes, then turned resolutely back to her notes.