Disclaimer: I'm not J.K. Rowling so, unfortunately, I own nothing except the plot (or lack there of) of this little oneshot. Enjoy.
She didn't know why. She didn't know how. She sort of knew when. But, she was unshakably certain about whom, and that was all that mattered.
Why?
It could have been because he ruffled his hair when he got nervous. Merlin, did she hate when he ruffled his hair. Still, fine line between love and hate etc etc. It could have been because his glasses always fell slightly crooked, and he was never bothered to straighten them. It drove her berserk. Maybe, subconsciously, it happened because of a deep-seeded need to straighten his bloody glasses. It could have been because, as arrogant as he was, he was always kind. Although he was definitely responsible for more than half the Slytherins in the hospital wing, he really was kind. To most people at least. Eventually, she came to the conclusion that it was probably because he cared. He cared about his friends, about dinner, about house elves. He cared about Muggles, about his future, about equality. He cared about her.
How?
This was always a tricky one. How did it happen? She never had a proper answer, and Lord knows she was asked often enough. She had been so certain for so long that she hated him. 100%, without a doubt hated him. Until it hit her. It did hit her, really. After months, maybe years of small kindnesses and compliments and jokes, she finally realised. That's how it happened. It just did.
When?
This answer is remarkably similar to How? She didn't know exactly when. Somewhere between the aforementioned small kindnesses and compliments and jokes, she supposed. Perhaps it was before that? She doubted it, but it was possible. This situation alone was proof that anything was possible. Therefore, the answer to When?, was just as vague as the answer to How? All she'd ever say on the matter was "When he stopped being such a sod."
Who?
Come on, as if anyone really ever had to ask. All one had to do was open their eyes to find the answer.
Everyone, say it with me now.
James bloody Potter.
She didn't know why. She didn't know how. She sort of knew when. But Lily Evans was unshakably certain that she loved James Potter, and that was all that mattered.
A/N: First, I'm going to thank you for sticking with me on this. It was a new style of writing and I wanted to give it a try. Furthermore, I apologise if I absolutely butchered the magnificent pairing that is James/Lily. Review? :-*