There she was, sitting with her book in her lap. She was beautiful. No, she was beyond beautiful. She was perfect, faultless. He was watching her from a distance, but it didn't matter. He could feel her radiance pulsating over him. She inspired him to be better than he ever thought he could be. She was the reason for his first breath in the morning.
Lily wasn't interested in what she was reading, he could tell. The way her eyes darted up from the pages every time she heard a noise, he could read her so easily. He knew she was getting annoyed because she couldn't take in the text. She would read it again later, when she was alone in bed, or maybe in her common room, if she could get away from Potter. He understood her pain. He wanted to take the misery that Potter gave her away. He had nothing to prove to his friends, because he didn't have any friends. The love he felt for Lily was pure and real. He wanted to hold her, bury his face in the thick fiery mane that framed her porcelain face, tell her that she wouldn't want for anything ever again.
She had shifted position, pushing her legs in front of her, and her hands behind her, arching her back into the sunshine. She held her face upwards, rotating it in the sunshine. He wanted to be next to her, to appreciate the sun like she did. To feel the warmth and bask in it, even against his deathly pale skin.
If he told her soon, rekindled their friendship soon, he could avoid all this pain he felt now. He just needed to pick his feet up, and swallow his pride. Walk over with head held high, and tell her that he would never do anything to make her feel anything less than happy. She would not take it at first, her pride wouldn't let her. She would push him away; remind him how hurt she was when he used that word. He would listen, really show her that he was listening, and then he would hold his hand out. In his hand would be a doe, a tiny silver doe: the same doe that he had finished making this morning. She would look at him, and she wouldn't understand, but he knew what he would say. He had known for days.
"This is my heart that I am holding out to you. Even if you do not take it, I am leaving it here. It does not belong to anybody else; it does not belong to me anymore. It is yours. If you don't want it, neither do I. It is worthless to me."
It sounded awfully fluffy in his head. She wouldn't understand that he meant every word; she might laugh without even knowing why. And it would be because she loved him. Finally, she had realised this. They would embrace, as friends. The seed would be planted for something more.
But as quickly as he knew what he had to do, the vision was gone. Potter had strutted out into the grounds with as much bravado as it was possible to have. That boy was so big headed; he was surprised Potters neck hadn't broken. His gut tightened as he saw what Potter was walking towards. Lily. He saw Potter sit down in the spot he had dreamed of sitting down in. Everything in his body ached, every atom that made his being hurt from what he was seeing.
He would give anything to take Potter away, away from what was his. He wasn't as tall as his nemesis, or as muscular, or as brainy; but he had something that Potter didn't have. He loved Lily with every fibre of his being. It was innate to him; he didn't have to think about it, it was there always.
She was even in his dreams. She was dancing, always dancing. Swirling, twirling, and posing. Her hair whipped round her face, almost covering the ecstasy that was plain to see. Her eyes smiled, and her laugh was ever present. She was clad in an Indian green dress, which rippled round her as far as he could see.
And she had gestured to him. She wanted him to dance with her. But he couldn't, he knew he would spoil it. He wanted to watch her, to eat up the image, and store it forever. Her hand stayed outstretched as she continued to move her feet, and he reluctantly said no. He could hear her pleading with him, "Come dance with me, please." She stopped dancing. She held her arms out. She started to cry, and he never wanted that to happen. He tried to comfort her, but her contorted face turned away from him. Before he could do anything, she was gone, and he was awake.
He was never apart from her, she was part of him. He had helped her before they had come to Hogwarts, and now she was flying without him. He almost wanted to clip her wings, and bring her back down to him. He loved her without her beauty, and her popularity. He was married to her personality, to her kindness and her compassion. When his mother had hit him, beat him black and blue, she had been there to dress his wounds, and offer him words of comfort. She had held him when he was broken, and she had been the glue that had kept him together. And now she wasn't there anymore. She didn't need him. She had Potter, and that mousy haired girl she was accustomed to spending time with. But he still needed her.
He couldn't remember how long he'd been sitting there. It felt like minutes, but it might have been hours. She was now in animated conversation with him. He knew his chance had gone today, he knew he'd have to wait, but that was okay. He always waited. He knew waiting was his best chance, his only chance. And time was his friend, and time was going to heal him. He knew Lily Evans was his soul mate, and he'd love her always. But for now, he put the silver doe back in his pocket, stretched out his legs and stood up. 'Tomorrow I'll try again,' he thought. 'Just wait one more day for me, Lily.'