Hazel had never been a color Lily Evans was fond of. It reminded her of nuts, which she hated; it reminded her of toffee, which she hated; and it reminded her of James Potter.
But she wasn't so sure what she felt about him now. Ever since the infamous Marauders had become the playboys of Hogwarts (excluding Peter Pettigrew, of course), James had been the last person on Earth Lily wanted to associate with. He was devious and arrogant and cocky and gorgeous and sweet and -
She was at a loss, really. I mean, how many times had Marlene told her, "He really loves you, Lils." It was getting quiet tiresome. Someone can only take so much.
Quidditch was his favorite thing in the world. It had been good to him, too, Lily noticed, the night he walked around the Common Room shirtless. Very good. His round glasses were forever sliding down his nose, and sometimes she had the urge to push them back up for him. She never did.
And that hair! It was the bane of her existence, truly. Lily'd complained and whined and yelled about him running his hands through that unruly, raven hair - to make it look as though he'd just gotten off a broomstick. (Secretly, she wanted to run her hands through it, too.)
When people asked Lily Evans what her least favorite color was, she always easily replied, "Hazel." But as she started thinking about those framed eyes, it was getting harder and harder to say