He even loved the scratchy sounds her quill made when she wrote. He loved the way her shoulders stayed straight when she hunched over the History of Magic desks, and how he could almost tell the time of day by the sunlight on her hair. It was bright, bright red in the mornings, and matched with her eyes she reminded him of something he'd put on a Christmas tree. He'd told her so, but she took it the wrong way. In the afternoon sun, it had flecks of gold- she'd once told him that when they were young, both she and her sister had been blonde. He often wondered if her sister was like her, but it seemed to be a sensitive subject. In the evening, it's colour changed with every lantern she passed under. It seemed to James as if Lily attracted light. He loved that she wrinkled her nose when she was trying not to laugh, and how she always sounded like a child when she said "hello."
She'd probably never know all that, he mused to himself, watching her scribble lines. I will not practice my hexes in Professor Binn's class, over and over in her slanted script. According to her hair, it was getting late- the candle he was playing with turned it a different shade of red with every movement. Slim frame shaking slightly, she continued her incessant instruction-following.
"Hi, Lily!" She jumped slightly, shocked that someone was snapping her out of her reverie.
"Hello, Potter." It was moments like this, when he caught her by surprise, that James got to hear her speak as if she didn't loathe him.
"How are the lines going, Lily?"
"Excellent," she said, and her indignant tone returned.
"I'm sorry for getting us in trouble, Lily. I really was just being friendly. You're very prettily coloured, you know. I was simply commenting on-"
"It's okay, get back to writing your lines." Twisted slightly on her seat in front of his, she paused to shake her cramped wrist. She then surprised him in turn, speaking without being spoken to.
"I think Christmas colours are gaudy," she said lightly, almost polite.
Not one to miss an opportunity, the messy-haired teen had to flash a grin to the back of her head and remark, "you can still hop on my tree any time you'd like."
She turned to him with a crinkled nose and said icily "I loathe you, James Potter."
He even loved the scratchy sounds her quill made when she wrote.