Disclaimer: (Insert disclaimer that you've all read a million times over.)
AN: Something that bubbled up out of frustration that I never write anything decent. Hope you like it!
Very Nearly Certain
There is a clock, somewhere in the depths of the school, chiming three. But you don't hear. All that you know is the cigarette in your hand, and the sound of your feet on the stone as you climb the steps of the astronomy tower. All you can think about is her.
You try so hard to be what she wants. You try so hard to change, and before you know it, it's coming naturally. You've grown up. Everyone knows.
And yet she still won't give you the time of day.
Tonight was no exception. The common room was a blur of people and noises, but she was there in the corner, finishing an assignment on Gobbledegook for an obscure class that you'd never dream of taking. From across the room, you see her stretch in her chair, working out the kinks in her neck. You watch as her favorite quill flutters to the floor, and lands by the leg of the chair. As she reaches down to retrieve it, a group of second years, obviously up to no good, reach over and snatch the essay from her table.
And before you can register what you're seeing, you've rushed across the room and plucked the parchment from the one boy's hand, before placing it back on the table, where she was watching now watching.
You don't ask for anything. You just hand her the essay, and smile. But before you can turn away, she looks down, and mutters, "I don't need your help."
To any outsider, those words are not the worst she's done. This small confrontation can't compare to when you and Sirius snuck into the girls' dormitory and put the beetles in Marlene McKinnon's dress. The yells coming from the common room had roused even Professor McGonagall from her lair, but not before you'd been slapped straight across the face.
No, this was over in a second, and only she and you knew it had even taken place. But the words were unnecessary, and although you'll never admit it, those words cut you more than she can know. They slashed through your soul and deflated your hope like a balloon hitting a hot lamp. And you feel about the same way; hot and stretched. And completely fed up.
You've reached the top of the staircase by now, and you're standing out before the stars. The night is breathtaking and horrible, if only because you've seen the war. And with a bitter smile, you realize that you're love for her isn't the only thing that can be beautiful and terrifying at the same exact time.
But that's the problem. You still love her. You've bent over backwards, gone to the end of the world and back, just to see her smile. And she won't even look you in the eye.
The situation is so baffling, so incredibly pathetic, that you begin to laugh.
"What have I done? Why do you still hate me so much? Why do I still love you so much?" The silence and emptiness of the night echoes back to you, and you know that if you stood here long enough you would begin to believe that you were the only soul remaining in the cold, black night. You take a final pull on the cigarette before throwing it down in disgust. Exhale. The smoke beckons out, a cold hand reaching and grasping, but finding nothing.
"I can't get you out of my mind! It's driving me insane! I exhaust myself trying to do everything right, and then kick myself when it goes wrong. But I don't mind! I don't care, because something about you fixates me. And there's nothing I can do."
You aren't laughing anymore. The thoughts you've contained inside your mind for so long are bursting forth, and you're shouting them aloud. Anyone could hear them, if they listened. But you're very nearly certain that no one is.
"There's nothing I can do anymore! I love you! Why can't you see it?" You slide down to the floor, your back pressed against cold stone.
You should know better than anyone that 'very nearly certain' is nine parts 'yes,' one part 'no.' And it's the one part 'no' that takes you by surprise, and suddenly steps out of the shadows in the form of one very beautiful Lily Evans.
She doesn't have a word to say, and you've spoken all of yours. All it takes is one look at her face to know that she's heard it all, but you're beyond caring. Because she's looking at you, square in the face. And you're drinking in her eyes like you've been wandering in a desert for an eon of time. And, really, you have. You breathe in the cold, dark air, but already it seems a bit less empty. Already it seems a bit less alone.
And neither of you speak. But she does kneel before you, and take your face in her hands.
And she does kiss you. The most passionate, adoring, perfect kiss that either of you will ever know. If someone would have told you that this long trek through the dark, cold night could have ended in your highest wish, you would have scoffed in their face, before turning away to see if they were telling the truth.
The pain that she has caused over the last years means nothing, just as you knew it would, if it would only end in this. The arguments and injuries that you have endured fall away, leaving only her. All there ever was, all there ever will be.
Perhaps the most important thing is this; she's still there the next bright, full morning, and she's ready to grasp your hand as the same clock in the same school strikes eight.
The same. Yet it's all different. And maybe there's a shift, or a bump in the surface of time, somewhere far away, as you begin the chapter of your life known as 'JamesAndLily.' But you don't see it here. You only see her.
AN: Thanks for reading, everyone! I stumbled through this piece, but feel that it's pretty coherent. Oh, and yes, I know that I didn't mention that it was actually James until that last part. Sort of worked out that way. Review to let me know what you think!
-WWFF
