I know that I'm supposed to be updating Evans' Naughty Book (and I swear, I'm only a few days away from it!), but this story was calling to me to be finished. It was originally going to be a one-shot, but in the end, it was nearly twenty pages, so I made it into a tri-chaptered story. That's right. It's all completed. I guess how fast I update just depends on how hearty a reply I get…
.o&o.
My life seems to be one immense humiliation right after another. Take my birth, example. Sure, I was a newborn infant and can't remember it, but that's no reason why I can't be properly mortified.
According to my parents (who just love to tell the story at cocktail parties and rummy games), I wasn't due for another two weeks. They had decided to have one last hurrah before certain hell arrived. Well, I apparently didn't like being compared to Beelzebub's child, and so I made my presence known in the form of a large puddle between my mother's legs as she and my father slow danced in the elegant dining room of the famous Richt Mark.
Minutes later, I was struggling to emerge into this cruel world in the kitchen of one of the most chic restaurants in London. I stopped visiting there after my tenth birthday when the chef lovingly told me of how he cut my umbilical cord with barely sanitized kitchen shears.
And that's how I was born, blushing to the roots of my red hair. I suppose it is Fate's cruel decision that I should suffer so, from birth to death, but that doesn't mean I'm going to take it lying down. No, after every major degradation, I devise yet another plan in the futile attempt to rid me of my curse.
That's why I have decided to become a nun.
I know, I was shocked, too. A nun, you exclaim. But you're not even Catholic!
Ah, but you see, I answer brightly, I have red hair, and in Ireland, where roughly ninety-two percent of the Republic's populace is Roman Catholic, I am certain that the convents will welcome me with open arms.
No need to bother on the whole religion situation; I'm sure I can handle a few prayer beads and hymnal books. My primary school music teacher once complimented me on my strong vocal cords, so that practically settles it. Oh, and the fact that I'll have to be celibate.
Not, of course, that I wasn't already abstaining from sexual intercourse. I pride myself in my lifetime of abstinence, so much so that I cannot seem to mar my perfect record. So when Potter (oh, you knew it would come back to him! It always does) asks me to go out with him, I'll have to say no because there's no point in starting a relationship when I'm just going to be shipped off to an abbey anyway, my virgin solitude my only companion.
Now. I am sure you are quite curious about how exactly my celibacy cures my terrible affliction. Let me explain: since coming to Hogwarts, the principle embarrassments almost always occur when the odious Potter is around.
The way I see it, if I become a nun (which promises no sexual gratification whatsoever), Potter will have to stop asking me out in public, humiliating manners, which means Potter will stop coming around, which pretty much ends the Let's-All-Go-And-Watch-Lily-Evans-Die-of-Embarrassment-Again era. It all works out for the best.
The Catholic Church gets me, Potter doesn't, and the world is a better place. Maybe if we all became nuns, the international problem of hunger and poverty would be solved! Forever!
But then…unless babies began to grow on broccoli bushes, the human race would slowly die out, effectively eliminating the poverty, starvation, and life issue all together…
So maybe that's not such a great idea after all.
In any case, my personal oath to join the ranks of the holy sisters will be announced publicly the next time Potter yells out his eternal love (more like damnation) for me. Unbeknownst to him, his humiliating behavior will actually benefit me for once.
I will remain calm and collected as the crowd waits in suspense for my usual burst of bright fury at his stupidity. Instead of an angry retort, I will calmly inform Hogwarts of my decision. For days, the school will be positively buzzing with the astonishing news, and I shall rise triumphant over Potter.
He cannot possibly torment a nun-to-be in good conscience (even though it is so obvious to me that he does not have a conscience to be good about, surely the pompous peacock will not bother me because of immense peer disquiet), so I will finally be set free of my curse. I could feel the excitement that the execution of a fool-proof plan gives you bubbling up inside of me. I had to wait for the perfect moment to reveal my new-found calling. The more public, the better; it will indeed be a fitting end to all my shame.
Two days after the nun epiphany, Potter (who I watching eagerly out of the corner of my eye) looked over at me during supper. He opened his mouth, frowned and paused, and then readied himself again. I nearly burst with the anticipation. He was going to ask, he was to ask, he was--
"Oy, Evans! Will you--"
Yes! Yes, yes, yes! He asked! I quickly leaped up and, before announcing my future, wisely reminded myself to project my voice so that the maximum amount of my fellow students would hear me.
"I'm sorry, Potter," I shouted, the words tumbling out of their own accord, "but I must refuse the offer of your hand, as I am abstaining from sexual intercourse."
Oh, dear. That's not what I planned to say.
"…pass the juice?" Potter finished lamely (a little late, I must say), his eyebrows nearly past his unruly hairline.
A silence so thick and so heavy blanketed itself over the Great Hall that I could barely breathe. Or it could be the fact that every pair of eyes on every head in every House was staring at my now frozen figure.
"I--uh…that's not what I meant to-- not that I have been sexually active, because I have not. I--umm…" I could not force any words past the cotton balls that seemed to be inconveniently stuck in my throat. My tongue was clumsy and would not properly form the sounds and noises I needed to make to stop this oncoming humiliation. I coughed and tried again.
"I am going to become a mum!" I stopped and covered my mouth in horror. What had I done?! As one, the entire body of students erupted in laughter, successfully drowning out my frantic corrections. "No! I meant a nun! Not a mum! I haven't even indulged in sexual intercourse yet! But it's not as if I am Virgin Mary II either! I mean, I have had experience…but not that sort! I--I am not going to be a mum!"
From my vantage point, I swear I saw Peter Pettigrew wet himself, which did nothing to cheer me. A red stain so hot I could have popped popcorn on it sizzled across my cheeks; I felt dizzy and disoriented. I clumsily climbed over the bench that held me prisoner. I was almost out, almost ready to run to safe solitude, when my foot got caught on the edge of the bench. I fell. My knee hit the hard floor and my hands slid across the rough stone, a burning sensation spreading across my palms. The roars of laughter only increased.
I felt tears threatening to burst out, but I stubbornly held them back. That was a step too far in my long road of humiliations, and I was not going to let myself cry in front of these laughing mockers. I pushed myself up from the ground and, trying and failing to ignore the sharp pain in my knee, I limped as fast I could out of the Hell...I mean, Hall.
Once outside the large, wooden doors, I crumpled against the stone wall. I should have learned by now! Why did I even let myself think I could actually make things better when they always ended like this? Hot tears of mortification spilt down my face as I listened, even through the thick walls of Hogwarts, to my laughing classmates.
I pushed myself from the wall as I angrily wiped the tears from my still-red cheeks. There would be no pity party for me, not here and now. Perhaps when I was securely cocooned in the dark warmth of my bed sheets, but I would not embarrass myself further by having an emotional breakdown here.
The great wooden door slid open beside me and a warm streak of light spilling onto the hard, gray stone. I made a mad dash for the stairs, still wanting to make good on the whole will-not-be-shamed-any-further vow before all my dignity was stripped from me.
As it went, people don't seem to fit into that equation.
"Hey, Evans! Wait!"
At the sound of that all-too-familiar voice, I began hobbling even faster. Two more stairs to go, one more stair to go…I made it past the stairs, which always seem to present a great humiliating scene. Just one long hallway and six flights of stairs more…
I heard Potter's quick footsteps as he jogged up the stairs behind me. I increased my pace. If there was anything to learn from what juts happened it was this: never try to avoid the curse by making silly plans and never, ever touch/talk/look at Potter (and not just because he's ugly). It seems that whenever I ignore these newly-adopted rules, something even more terrible than what I was trying to avoid occurs.
Unfortunately, I could only limp so fast with what I suspected was something akin to a busted kneecap, and the insufferably long-legged, uninjured Potter caught up with me. He slowed to a walk, matching me stride by stride. Well, it was more like matching my frantic hobble with his leisure walk.
I loathe tall people.
"Evans, are you alright?"
He looked down at me (from his vantage spot, I'm sure he was a crow's view of Hogwarts) as he strolled and I limped, but I ignored him.
"Come on, Evans…"
Must…follow…rules…
All I had to do was make it to the Gryffindor girl's dorm and I was safe. If Potter kept his troublesome self out of my business, I might make it without incident. Unfortunately, that was as likely as me becoming a Roman Catholic nun.
Which, by the way, isn't.
"Evans."
Now he was standing in front of me.
"Curse you, Potter! Move!" I growled angrily at him. I didn't have much time before the thin shell holding in the torrent of emotions cracked…
Of course, I wasn't the least bit surprised when I tripped over his untied shoelace (honestly! Is a shoelace even substantial enough to trip over!) in my efforts to shuffle around him. And of course, I was even less surprised when I fell on the very same knee that I had already bruised in my last escapade. The unwanted trip down Memory Lane didn't help either…that bloody prickle in my eyes was starting again.
"Evans!"
What was wrong with this boy! Could he not say anything else? Even as I silently raged at this moron for chasing around a cripple who wanted nothing to do with him, I felt his large hands pulling me up like one does with a small child to set me on my feet.
Not really trusting myself to speak, I just nodded my thanks and set off again. If you wanted to be technical, I had already broken my triangle of safety rules. Even if it was Potter who touched me, Lady Chaos didn't usually care, which typically didn't bode well for me.
As I suspected, the consequence for breaking my rules came swiftly. One moment I was limping away from Potter, the next I was falling towards the floor. Burdened under the heavy emotional and physical stress, my knees had finally given out. Sighing wearily as I drew closer to that ever-present stone floor, I had to wonder how many times I was going to be punished for trying to escape the Curse.
But then…I stopped. Either that, or the ground stopped coming closer…I blinked, suddenly realizing that those warm hands that had pulled me up earlier were now holding me close to something else warm…something warm like a chest…
As soon as it registered that James Potter was practically hugging me, I squeezed my eyes shut. This was not happening, this was not happening…I felt my stiff body being gently straightened to a standing position. This was not happening…
"Evans?" His soft voice was filled with concern, but I refused to open my eyes. This was just too rich; I couldn't stand it. Why Potter? Why did Potter have to be so caring? So helpful? So…unPotter-like? His breath tickled my ear as he sighed and (hesitantly, it seemed) let go of me. Even as I felt the loss of his comforting warmth (which I refused to be believe affected me), I kept my eyes firmly shut.
Just…breathe, I whispered to myself. Breathe. Maybe this is just the trick of an overwrought mind. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out.
A discreet cough interrupted my silent chant. I ignored it.
If you can't see him, he's not there. If he's not there, he can't see you.
Another cough, this one not so subtle.
"Uh, Evans? You…all right?" At Potter's surprisingly gentle tone, I squeezed my eyes shut even tighter. He was talking to me like I was some frightened animal that needed to be coaxed out of a paralyzed state! I was Lily Evans, dutifully pretending that nothing was wrong with having a complete physical shutdown after tripping over your nemesis' shoelace.
…
Right. So maybe I was being a bit loony, but that didn't give Potter the right to talk in that maddeningly soft voice! It was so gentle and apprehensive…nothing was making sense. Even Potter was being different! For his benefit (I wasn't about to admit that I was actually becoming completely unhinged), I increased the volume of my ever-changing mantra.
"I can't see him, he is not there. He is not there, I am not embarrassed. I am not embarrassed. I am NOT embarrassed." My voice raised a frightening octave, despite my attempts to stop it. "I am not embarrassed. I am not embarrassed. I am not--"
"Evans!" Now he was touching me, his strong hand grasping my stiff arm. "Stop it! This isn't…you! Please, just open your eyes and it'll be okay." When I made no response, his grip on my arm became painfully tight. "Lily! There's no need to be embarrassed. Everyone trips…"
I started at the sound of my first name, but I didn't open my peepers.
"I am not embarrassed -I-didn't-just-trip-I-called-myself-your-preganant-whore-in-front-of-the-entire-staff-of-Hogwarts- I am not embarrassed." I spoke in a rush, blushing anew at the thought of Professor Dumbledore's shocked features. I took a shaky breath, trying to sort out the buzzing thoughts zooming about. What was wrong with me? I had never, ever been like this before. But at the same time, I couldn't stop. It was as if the reasonable Lily had been booted out from my system, leaving a deranged maniac in place of her.
Apparently Potter was thinking along the same lines; he let out a groan of frustration. Just then, the loud clatter of satisfied students emerging from the Great Hall reached our ears. My chant froze on my lips as the full potential of the situation hit me. If I was seen like this, I was certainly doomed. My future career would be tainted by this; fellow classmates would always remember me as that one crazy girl who lied about being pregnant in front of all the school.
It seemed as if Potter had reached the same conclusion. "Evans, there are people coming this way. If you don't want to be seen like this, I propose that you open your eyes and walk with me. Now."
His words of reason seemed to reach into Crazy-Lily's disorganized mind and pull out the side of me that had been trying desperately to retrieve dominance. I stopped my ridiculous chanting and tried to try to pry my eyes open.
"I can't."
"Come on, Evans! You just open--"
"No, I really can't!"
And I couldn't. I had been desperately attempting since the clamorous noise of the students had reached my burning ears. My eyes were just not obeying. The buzzing in my head was gone and I once again was fully in charge of my mind, but I couldn't open my eyes. I suppose that my little orbs had quite taken to the deep instinct that had previously flooded my senses: freeze and it'll go away. I endeavored to fight it, but I suppose I was more stubborn than I had previously suspected.
"Potter, I can't open my eyes. I really can't. I've tried to, but they just won't…" My voice rose frantically and I took deep breaths.
"Are you-- ok, right. Well. I really don't-- I'm going to have to…" Maybe he should try this great phenomenon called talking. I heard it was all the rage in Paris. "Don't hate me," he ended lamely. And then he scooped me up in his arms, screwed eyeballs and all.
I was so astonished I just gaped blindly at him. His arms were infuriatingly strong and his grip was firm; any other man in any other circumstance, and I would have been deliriously happy. If it wasn't Potter, I think I might have been comfortable. But it was Potter…
I heard a door shut behind us, and my eyes shot open. I suppose that they finally got the message that my brain had been trying to send for the last ten minutes…or maybe that the surprise of being carried though a doorway like a bride over a threshold forced my mind to…no, wait. No. The words 'bride' and 'Potter' should never be written, spoken, or translated in the same sentence. Ever.
In any case, my eyes were open, a reason to celebrate. But in the end, it didn't really matter, as it was completely dark. I couldn't see anything, not even my hand frantically waving in front of my freed eyes. And I could smell the distinct scent of broom wax.
Hmm…dark, broom-scented….
"What-- are we in a broom closet? After screaming out my sexual fantasies about having your children, you brought me to a broom closet? A broom closet! Oh, Merlin…"
.o&o.
While I make inane noises, you review. Ready? Go! Ho-hum. Diddly-doo. Lalalabun. Coodly-coodly-doo. Tree.