Chapter 1: Not Again?!
You asked for it, you got it:D I decided that I would indeed make a sequel to my original Dinner Guests story, and I would highly suggest reading that before you read this one. Thanks for all your kind reviews on the other one! I do appreciate it! Anyway, this one is in Lily's POV again, and takes place a few weeks after the first story. Other than that though, you don't really need to know much else. But remember: everything belongs to the talented J. K. Rowling, and I am just a really bored teenager who has far too much free time on her hands. :) Enjoy the story!
From past experience, I know that when someone tells you to call them back to organize another dinner, they usually don't mean it. If you call, they'll tell you that they're insanely busy, and they wouldn't be able to have you over. If you don't call, you will never hear from them again. I've seen it happen countless times with my mother's "friends" that she meets everywhere, and I thought that the Potters would be the same way as all the others. However, it turned out that I was quite wrong.
As is her custom, Mum called the Potters and asked if they would like to visit again. She called about a week after the fateful dinner she had thrown against my wishes; that was enough time after the visit to make it look like we had a life, but not so much that it looked like we didn't care at all about them. Mrs. Potter said that she would be delighted, but insisted that we come to their home this time. I had been eavesdropping on the other telephone, and I nearly dropped it; this had never happened before!
My mother, as surprised as I was, agreed at once; we were to go to the Potter's house tonight at eight. I actually burst into tears when I was informed of this; I did not want to go to the place where James Potter lived! Not after what had happened; there was no telling what would happen while I was there. What would I wear? What would I do when I got there? Things would be quite awkward, seeing as I had kissed James before he had left, and had been caught nearly kissing him by both of our parents. James probably believed that I loved him now, which, of course, I didn't.
But wait; did I love James now? Kissing a boy usually meant that you loved him, at least a little bit. I don't think I love him. Our kiss had been innocent; I had made sure of that. When I had woken up the next morning, I had been sure it was a dream. Right after he had kissed me, I hadn't even registered how I felt about it, but that morning, I did know. It had felt wonderful; everything I thought it would be, and more. It was warm, sweet, safe…absolutely perfect. That being said, I was highly astonished that such a feeling had been given to me by James, of all people. After much wrestling with these thoughts, I had come to a conclusion; I did not love him, like I had known before, and I had just been caught up in the moment. Yes, that sounded about right. It wasn't love; just something…else.
I had obviously been displeased with the arrangement, but my reaction was fairly tame compared to that of Petunia. When she was told that we were going to the Potter's, she threw an enormous fit; she began to shout about how she had already spent time with them, and had hated it. I took the liberty of reminding her that I had spent time with them, and she had stayed in her room all night. She was pretty pissed at me, but I had every right to tell her that; I had been the one to suffer, yet here she was, throwing a first-rate tantrum. Sisters were truly put on this planet to annoy the life out of the people around them, and my sister is no exception.
"Mum, I am not going to see the Potters!" Petunia hollered for the millionth time that morning while we were eating breakfast. "I won't!"
"That's rather unfortunate then, considering that you're coming alone anyway," Mum answered, taking another bite of her cereal.
"This is not fair!" she whined. "I don't want to go. What if their house is disgusting? What if they have a cat? You know I'm allergic to cats."
"James doesn't have any pets," I said. "He told me once."
"See, there you go," Mum said, beaming. "Problem solved; no cats there, Petunia."
"But-but-but Lily doesn't even like James!" Petunia tried again. "How could she know if he has a pet or not? She doesn't talk to him!"
"He likes telling the whole world these sorts of things, and I happen to be part of the 'whole world,' so to speak," I explained. "James doesn't lead a very private life. Everyone knows what he likes, what he doesn't, and just about everything having to do with his home life. According to a few of his former girlfriends, he has an enormous house that is brilliantly furnished, so you won't have to worry about that either."
Watching Petunia get agitated was indeed one of my much beloved forms of entertainment, so I watched interestedly over my own cereal as Petunia began to go into hysterics about the twelve hundred different reasons why she should not go with us to the Potters. My mother felt the same way; she and I exchanged glances every so often as we continued to eat and observe Petunia throw a fit. After a while, however, I got rather bored; I put my bowl in the dishwasher and went back upstairs. As I went, the echoes of Petunia's outbursts were still going on below me, and I laughed once I was in the safety of my own room; even though I would probably be doing the same thing she was, it was much funnier when she did it.
Once alone, I found myself thinking about James again. Something about his memory made my stomach tighten up and flip over, and there was an odd flutter in my chest. What was that all about? There wasn't anything between us. I had experienced similar feelings before when he was around, but by now, I was too used to them to care. They had never been that strong before though; that was a little worrying.
I found my pictures from the last day of my fifth year in my drawer of odds-and-ends, and I took them to my bed to look at them. I hadn't really given them much thought since the school year ended, but now, I wanted to see them again. I wasn't quite sure why.
There were all sorts of silly photographs in my pile; there were several of me and my friends making stupid faces, a few of me with my teachers, and even one of me pretending to model my Hogwarts robes on the train. I laughed aloud when I saw that one; my friends had told me that I looked like a model, and I had disagreed with them. To prove their point, the girls had taken a photo of me pretending to model my robes, and I had kept the evidence. Looking back on it, I actually didn't look as horrible as I could have on the film. Wow.
Through my surfing of the pictures, I knew that there was only one I really wanted to see. When we had been about to board the train, James and his friends Remus, Sirius, and Peter had insisted that they have a picture on my camera. I had taken one look at James and refused point-blank, but Remus managed to talk me into it. I had then taken my only photograph of the boys together, and for some reason, I had kept that one too. I gazed at it now; despite the fact that they were acting extremely childish, I liked it. It was natural, and if anyone else had tried to do it without their admittedly aggravating streak of pride and confidence, it wouldn't have worked. James looked kind of good-looking, his hair falling over his eyes, laughing the way he was. I found myself smiling a little to see him that way; waving aside his utter stupidity, the boy had a certain charm.
No. I could not be thinking this way. This was the second time on the same day that I found myself questioning whether I loved James Potter or not. The answer was no. I had told James that, and I had told myself that. No. No, I did not love him at all, and this was just something else. Something without a definition, more like. Our kiss had been nothing. One kiss shouldn't mean anything. I've kissed boys before (in secret, so that idiots like James would not be able to tell my mother about it) and it had never received as much as thought on my part as this one did. Why was this happening to me?
I put the photographs away, not wanting to look at them anymore. But, when I had tucked the boys safely away where I would hopefully never see them again, I felt strange. With a resigned sigh, I took the picture of James and his friends out again and posted it in the middle of my picture wall. I had needed a picture to go there, and I had chosen theirs. I lay back on my bed and stared at the picture, smiling; nobody could really help but to smile when they saw something like that.
I picked my book up from the table beside me and opened it, even though my mind was still far away. I didn't love James Potter, I told myself as I attempted to get lost in the world of the story. I didn't love James Potter. I didn't love James Potter. I didn't love James Potter.
But, at the same time, did I love James Potter anyway?