You had never been alone in your entire life. You were constantly surrounded by friends and family, constantly aroudn him. You weren't always a bad girl, in fact you aren't. It's simply the mask you've worn since he broke your heart. You're 18 and away, far away from home. Happy to be back in your sweaters and skirts and penny loafers, glad to be rid of the too tight pants, crop tops, and razor sharp heels. You were back to being you in the beautiful ciry of Paris. Your prep school style and unlimited vault account helping you blend in. Having a famous dad was a plus sometimes.
The Muggle world wasn't so bad you conclueded. Everything was so much simpler and yet complicated at the same time. You loved the clothes, everything was different. But most of all, you loved that no one knew who you were. They had come looking for you after your ran but they never found you. You wre too smart for that. You did everythin the Muggle way to make sure you couldn't be traced. You died your hair brown, although your natural red still shone through just a bit. No one in you fmaily was seaching for a girl with chestnut hair and green eyes. No one was looking for Lily Evans. No one was looking for a ghost. Your family opted to send you owls, begging you to return home. You never did.
And you sit in a Parisian cafe, sadder than anyone should be. You were certain he would have found you by now. Sure he would have saved you from the loneliness. But it's been a year and you're 19 now, and he has yet to appear. So you try to move on and you get engaged two months later to a viscount. And you like him and he's handsome, but he's missing that blue hair.
Now here you are all bedecked in jewels, standing in your palace looking down at a ball. Your smile, beautiful and radiant as you descend down the stairs. It's a different kind of magic, one only money can buy. But the champange warms you and you laugh all through the night. You stumble to your room, the almost-lady-of-the-house alone one more, but then you see him through the balcony door. You stagger forwards and open it and the floor spins even more. You shake your head, he's not there but now he's kissing you and your know you were wrong. He fingers your hair and chuckles. He says he likes chocolate, but fire is so much better and in an instant, your long fiery tresses are back.
And you two run, the almost viscountess and the boy with blue hair. You laugh, this is the most fun you've had in forever. For months you've been stuck going to balls and being gawked at. François was darling, but too stiff, no humor. Sarcasm was lost on him, something you thought should be a crime. But he's perfect for you. His wild blue hair and mischievous smile. His witty remarks and bright laughter. He was the onely one who could be as sarcastic as you. You loved him, it was true. 'I missed you,' he tells you. 'I love you,' you reply. And he's radient, like the sun shining on a warm summer day. He's the ice to your fire. And though the two elements don't mix, you couldn't care less. He loves you, you with your messy mane and crazy tendencies, your sarcasm and all the rest of your stupid, messed up life. And for the first time, it's alright, everything will be alright, as long as he's by your side.