Disclaimer: I... uh... don't own recognizable stuffs...
Erm... this is a kinda odd story... but I hope you enjoy!
What the bloody hell was happening? I must be going mad! The day had started off fine, but as the time went by, the more catastrophic it became.
The curtains surrounding the bed blocked out most of the sun, yet a faint red glow shone through. I rubbed my eyes and smiled. Saturday. There was nothing special about Saturdays, easily making it my favorite day of the week. Everyone was mellow; not worried about skiving off the six-foot essay they had been assigned, not anxious about the approaching week of arduous lessons and schoolwork, not afraid to lay in for a while. Everyone was relaxed, peaceful.
Yawning, I stretched and made my way out of the room to the bathroom. As I glanced in the mirror, ignoring the disarray of red locks, I saw something most peculiar. Behind myself, I thought I had seen Potter's retreating figure. When I spun around to check, it was just a simple black hand-cloth. Shaking my head, I went back to my daily duties, brushing my hair to a smooth plait and tying it back into a simple knot.
Emerging from the bathroom, I saw most of my roommates were still asleep. So disturbing, being the only one awake on a Saturday morning. I sighed and walked toward the window. Opening it, I saw a group of boys down below. With a start, I hurried to reanalyze what I had seen. I could have sworn all of the boys had messy black hair, glasses, and were the height of the average seventh-year. Under further evaluation, I depicted them as a knot of fifth-year Hufflepuffs.
Closing my eyes and them opening them again, I turned to see the sun getting higher in the sky. The mountains were blurry; a silver haze covered them, curtaining the forest. Clouds were beginning to form. Galloping goblins. The freaking clouds were shaped like Potter's abnormally large head.
I needed to get out of here.
My favorite book was discarded on the beside table late last night. I picked it up, supposing that reading wouldn't hurt. I heaved a sigh and flung myself upon the bed. The crisp pages invited me in as I flipped to where I had last left off.
Agatha sighed. She couldn't go on like this much longer. It would slowly eat her away, knowing that Lyle Gilbert was unconscious two floors up. Agonized, she threw herself upon the armchair. It was all her fault! If only she hadn't taken that chess piece. She only wanted to give her Aunt Lucie a taste of her own medicine. She had always done this to poor Aggie, manipulating the occasions Aggie held, making her the laughingstock of the entire town. Lyle had always stood by her side. He knew her. He knew what made her tick, and what made her happy. But then James Potter decided to be the hero, saving the annual James Potter Chess Tournament with the James Potter family.
I shook my head vigorously. What? Did it say James Potter? This could not be happening to me. Why was he popping up everywhere? But why, oh, why did his name have to sound so damn appealing? I took a deep breath, hoping my novel would return to normal.
James Potter was flung into an outrageous fight, unaware that James Potter was stronger than he. James Potter fought valiantly, but James Potter won in the end. James Potter was thrown onto the side of a road near the James Potter manor. James Potter lay, bleeding in the street, while James Potter came riding by on his horse James Potter. James Potter, being a kindly soul, helped James Potter up, taking his arm and carried him off to the James Potter Medical Home.
I slammed the book closed.
Few people awoke when I stormed out of the dormitories, leaving a trail of sleepy, confused students behind me. I plopped down on the couch heavily, scaring off some fourth-year (who, of course, had messy black hair). I buried my face in my hands.
But, of course, I could not escape Potter even in the back of my eyelids. Images of him laughing and dimpling were swimming through my mind. Damn, he had a nice smile. And endless tawny eyes. And a perfect nose. Not to mention his gorgeous lips, curling up into the smallest of grins, yet still showing the amount of amusement as a two-year-old at his best.
"Damn!" I roared, repeatedly slamming my fist against the cushion beside myself. I chanced a glance at the pillow, prepared to fix as many split seams it had. The tassels hung down, but because of my spontaneous reaction to the images in my head, they became a wild dishevelment of string. Consequently, it became Potters damned face again. I ceased my furious assault on the pillow. How could I hurt such a beautiful countenance? What the hell was I thinking? I was convincing myself not to pound on a bleeding cushion!
People were starting to walk through the common room, giving me strange looks as they passed. They restrained themselves from laughing at the silly Head Girl who was staring, furious, at a pillow. Perhaps it was time for me to leave.
I got up, fully prepared to go to the Great Hall for breakfast. As I passed more and more people, the more strange looks I received. The worst part of it all was when, after I passed a painting of Godric Gryffindor, everyone I passed by looked like—just guess—James. Freaking. Potter. I changed my course to head toward the Hospital Wing. Maybe Madam Pomfrey could be of help.
The bright room caused me to shield my eyes from the intense change. Madam Pomfrey came bustling around the corner. She was young for the job; her eyes sparkled with youth that wouldn't be found at St. Mungo's. Her silky brown hair was twisted up into a tight bun, but a few rebellious strands fell down to frame her angular face. Thank goodness she hadn't turned into yet another Potter.
"How may I help you, Miss Evans?"
I scratched my head, unsure of how I should put this. "I...erm...think something's wrong with me."
She gave me a questioning glance.
"Well, everywhere I've been today, I've seen this person," my voice crept on with a hysterical edge. "Not just once, but a pillow began haunting me with that face, and as I passed people in the corridors, they became that person! Am I becoming mad?"
Madam Pomfrey frowned. "Why don't you sit down for a while, love, and I'll run a few tests." She steered me toward one of the cots and plopped me down.
I closed my eyes while she waved her wand around, feeling a slight tingle in my head. When she cleared her throat I opened my eyes.
"As I thought," she began, "there is nothing wrong with you. Could it be that this... person... is a major influence on your life? Perhaps a loved one or a friend?"
I thought about it. It was true, he could be a nuisance, but that had pretty much stopped at the beginning of this year. James had been reporting to his Head duties, only news of a prank revealing itself every once and a while. He was nicer, too. He smiled at me in the halls and made civil conversation with me. But could it possibly be that I loved him? Was that why I had a twinge in my stomach when he came through the portrait hole late at night, laughing with his friends? Was that why I felt jealous when another girl began to talk to him?
I gasped at the sudden realization. Madam Pomfrey was still looking at me with an expectant look on her face.
"Thank you," I breathed, hopping out of the cot and running out of the Hospital Wing. I was sprinting down the hall when I had another thought. It completely stopped me in my tracks.
What if he wasn't infatuated with me as he was all those other years? What if he got tired of chasing the adamant Lily Evans? I slumped against the wall, deep in distressed thought.
But... he never really dated this year. I hadn't seen him sneaking off with girls as he had two years ago. Yet, I didn't seen that gleam in his eyes when he saw me anymore. Dear Lord, what have I done?
I folded my arms across my knees and hid my face.
It wasn't until tears started soaking through my jumper that I knew that I was crying. Simple tears, caused by a complex incident.
I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Lily?"
I raised my head, peeking out of the crook of my arms to greet that horribly familiar voice. There he stood, a figure almost beyond description. His hair was, as always, wild, but had a wonderful way about hanging down in his chestnut eyes. I resisted looking into his eyes as to not lose myself into those pools of hazel. He was frowning, a beautiful curvature of the lips, yet you somehow knew that they would look stunning when curved upward.
It took all I had not to put my head down again and break down sobbing. He didn't love me. My eyes stared behind him, at the lonely stone wall. His willowy fingers stretched out, tipping up my chin. The gesture raised my eyes to his.
It was there.
That beautiful, wonderful twinkle was there. The twinkle that appeared only when I was there. Unthinkingly, I threw my arms around him. I buried my face in his neck, curling up to him as if a child. My tears weren't of anguish this time, they were of joy.
My heart jumped unpleasantly when he stiffened, but I didn't let go. He softened in my hold and wrapped his arms around my waist. Gentle hands caressed my hair and soft murmurs of "it's okay"s and "don't worry"s.
Eventually my tears subsided. James noticed the lack of shaking now, and softly pulled me back to look into his eyes.
I couldn't help it. But once I had started, I couldn't stop myself. The taste of his lips was addicting. I simply pressed my lips with his. He pulled me against him and kissed me yet again. I opened my eyes. He was looking at me with a curious expression. Within his eyes, he had a burning passion. It sounds completely cheesy, but it was so true. Love and adoration were imprinted in them.
What he saw in my eyes must have been promising, because he smiled wryly and kissed my forehead.
Ever since that horrid, yet wonderfully eventful day, I saw only one James Potter. No illusions my love-sick mind played. My own James Potter.