Hullo.
How about a fluffy, cliche fic of L/J goodness to brighten up your day?
Don't mind if I do.
Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. All rights reserved.
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Musically Inclined
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Alright.
Something unbelievable has happened (and I'm not exaggerating for once).
Really. And it's happened to me. Not an indirect occurrence, mind you, it has happened specifically and only to me. And I'm trying to wrap my head around it, but that's not panning out so well because I just get the headaches, so like a coward I ran up to my dorm, which was mercifully empty of living bodies, found some spare parchment without some of Beth's mad sexual doodles gracing each side, popped my quill out and here I am.
Writing.
Writing pretty carelessly, I might as well add. I was never too good with... er, writing in a straight line.
Oh well. I don't even keep a journal. That would be far too much incriminating evidence. But I suppose unbelievable situations can do this to a girl.
I'm daft. This is daft. The world is daft. Gah.
Focus, Evans. Coherency.
Right.
Suffice it to say I was in the Astronomy Tower around curfew, and no, I was not there to snog a random bloke.
(James Potter is not a random bloke)
Gah! Coherency and pace! PACE, WOMAN! Don't confuse yourself!
I am now crossing that horribly placed sentence OUT and hereby cast it out of my mind for the time being. Such trains of thought are dangerous and thereby prohibited until written down in the incoming future on parchment for further inspection and dissection.
Alright.
Proceed.
Now you may wonder, "Now why were you in that Astronomy Tower, Lily Evans? Do you want to be surprise-snogged?"
I shall answer your second inquiry first; I DID NOT WANT TO BE SNOGGED.
I am a perfectly independent woman who does not bank on being petted over every day by a so-called "other half". Also, my sanity depends on a non-existent social life.
But for your first question: I was in the Astronomy Tower because there is a piano in the Astronomy Tower. A lovely, lovely, finely-tuned, gorgeous piano with no owner at the present.
That's right, non-readers. A beautiful baby grand is sitting dejected and alone, all the way up in the bloody Astronomy Tower. You may inquire how I got wind of this fine abandoned instrument. My answer is this: being Head Girl – though difficult and occasionally annoying - has its perks. You have the professor's unanimous approval and respect; therefore you have their trusted confidences. I certainly don't have a problem playing the part of teacher's pet. It's better than them hating on you.
Furthermore, being the wonderful Head Girl as I am, not only were their confidences acquired through authoritative decree, but by general favor. Also, it wouldn't kill to mention just who gave me this position, hmmmn? Oh that's right; Albus Dumbledore. The one and only. So I believe all arguments or suspicious inquiries are hereby null and void due to my elated status.
(The curtains in the professor's lounge are very long, very not see-through and always flowy. You could hide a body or several in them and eavesdrop on professor's conversations forever, say about certain delicate instruments being placed here and there. Ha ha ha.)
But continuing with my outrageous story – around eight o'clock I crept up to the secluded tower (that was just my paranoia speaking, it wasn't even curfew yet) and snuck into the top chamber – which isn't actually a classroom, just a place for storage.
Storage, I tell you. A baby grand in storage. Such sacrileges would never take place in Lily-Land. But again, I digress.
I sat my bum down on the beaten-down piano-stool which looked as though a thousand bums before mine had perched themselves upon the ratty leather, and opened her up so that she could breathe. I wondered how long anyone had actually played on this master of pianos – and how long it would be until someone played after I had finished. I propped open the top, and then uncovered the keys themselves.
I glanced around the chamber cautiously. I had a reason to be nervous. As a general rule, if an object is in storage at Hogwarts, it's not strictly for student use, and I have a reputation to uphold. I am Head Girl. But I looked over its beautiful angles and pristine keys, and my fears disappeared.
My fingers slid across the tops of the keys, feeling around for a note. I pressed ever so slightly, having forgotten the feel of a piano underneath me – and then I fell into a familiar tune, and lost myself completely.
… for the sake of disclosure, I suppose I should write that I'm a bit of a piano-swot. Truly. My first piano tutor was a complete nazi who wore a monocle, gray turtlenecks, and owned a dozen tabby cats, so that was a horrid experience. It took my father over a year to persuade me to have another go, but in the end, and after a fifty pound note, he swayed me.
But my second tutor was an absolute doll. I adored her, I really did. Still do. Last I heard, she was off in Vienna, happily retired with her husband of fifty years. When my parents went through the divorce, she would stay overtime and not charge for the extra minutes, patiently watching me struggle through Chopin and Rachmaninoff. I was only thirteen and was completely overwhelmed with my family so I was quite distracted, to say the least, but eventually I conquered that damn Yamaha.
Can't really say the same thing for my family.
This piano wasn't anything like what we had at home, though. This was an Estonia Piano. I would go into its rich history and Stalin's interference in WWII, but that would leave me writing til dawn.
And for any of you who hasn't heard the sound of this piano, I pity you. I truly do. Because you just don't know what you've missed until you've tried it, and I swear, hearing a finely tuned Estonian piano is at the top of my list of cultural experiences. My hands flowed up and down octaves, working my arpeggio's, and then I found myself playing a bit of Eastern handiwork. I am quite enamored with the Russian sound.
Of course, things can only go so well before they go to shit.
I was in the middle of one of my favorite pieces, when a voice startled me from behind.
"I wasn't aware you knew how to play the piano."
My breathing hitched, my fingers lost their rhythm and the song went sharp. My eyes grew as wide as china plates and my heart stopped beating.
I knew that voice. I knew it and I loathed it. Utterly.
And how did he find me here, anyway?
But Potter's been annoying me since the moment I stepped onto the Hogwarts Express. He can wait for his introduction while I spout my tale of woe – of how I needed to play the piano alone and in much desired peace.
Firstly - it's Sunday night. Sunday night. Classes are tomorrow – including Arithmancy, which I ultimately fail at – and I have a presentation tomorrow. For Transfiguration. So basically, Mondays?... Yeah, we're not exactly chummy. Anyone who is the average mortal probably understands where I'm coming from.
Secondly - Mary isn't talking to me. I don't know why, of course, her being Mary and as vague as she is. Can't get a proper sentence out of her mouth without pondering double meanings. I think I might have offended her with my statement concerning muggleborns – but I mean, I'm muggleborn, so I don't even know how that works itself out.
Anyway – Sunday night, which means tomorrow is stress and more stress, and no back up from one of my best mates, so what does that mean for me?
Translation: Lily Evans needs alone time. Alone time with this gorgeous, single, baby grand.
No Potter allowed.
I turned on the stool, ready to glare.
He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, hair unruly as always, although he did look a bit more ruffled than usual – his shirt was untucked and his tie hung loose. There was markings on his left arm – ink – that I assumed Black had something to do with. It said 'PRONGS AND HIS D-'. Don't think I really need to know what the remainder of that sentence was.
His feet were crossed idly, shoes muddy and laces nearly loosed, and he was gazing directly at me.
Not that I'm intimidated by Potter. Pah! The very thought of being intimated by one as asinine as he makes me chuckle in superior humor. Of course not. Inconceivable.
It's just...
That gaze was awfully... direct.
My eyes narrowed. "What are you doing up here?"
"I'm Head Boy, am I not?" he stood straight up, amusement clearly one of his dominant emotions. "Although, I suppose as Head Girl, you're one of the few who can ask me that question and expect an answer in return."
"And your excuse would be...?"
"I was walking down from the lower chamber and heard you playing," he shrugged. "Well – I didn't know it was you at the time - but you know what I mean."
I hid a scowl and absolutely refused to cross my arms and stick my tongue out at him. "It's not information I release to the general public... about my playing, I mean."
"I guess I'm not just part of the general public, then." A potentially smarmy comment without the additional leer? He must be having an off-night. "What were you playing?"
"Rachmaninoff. Piano Concerto No. 2."
"Whatever you say, ginger."
Oi.
I controlled the deep urge to make a cheeky retort and otherwise ignored the slight on my hair. "Not that I expected you to know who he is or his work. Do pure-bloods even listen to muggle music?"
"No," he replied, eyebrow arching. "At least, not the general majority."
I couldn't resist it this time - my eyes rolled. "Yes, I suspect you listen to some muggle bands. Let me guess: Led Zepplin? Kiss?"
"Personally, I'm a Queen sort of man," he replied with a grin. "They're dead-talented lyricists. Though what you were playing just now knocks them out of the water, sound-wise."
My eyebrows raised this time. "You? A bloke of classical taste?" I turned my back on him, looking down at my beloved piano. "I find this rather hard to believe."
"Sergei Vasilievich Rachmaninoff – Russian, wrote five works for piano and orchestra, plus four concertos. Born April first, 1873, died March twenty-eighth, 1943, which, coincidentally, is one day after my birthday – arguably one of the best composers of his time. Certainly one of my favorites, and apparently one of yours, as well."
I turned back to him so quickly, my neck cracked with a loud 'snap'. I would have been embarrassed if I hadn't been so shocked at his sudden display of musical knowledge – tasteful musical knowledge. He was smirking again.
"Was that your stereotypical image of me breaking? Or just your neck?"
My face burned. "That – I – I didn't mean -"
He nodded, graciously accepting my pathetic attempts at apologizing. "No harm done," he said. "I know I'm one out of many when it comes to musical whims. Still... you were pretty quick to judge me there, Evans. Perhaps a gift to ease my wounded feelings?"
I immediately frowned in annoyance, humiliation leaving as quickly as it came. That's how it usually was with Potter; ups and downs. I was never really sure where I was with him. "I don't do sexual favors, Potter."
"Whoever said anything about sexual favors?" he asked, feigning innocence. Really. The boy was a walking stick of hormones. It was far to late for any of this doe-eyed nonsense. His eyes widened. "Unless you're offering-"
"No."
He grinned. "I know, I know. But you know how it is. A bloke's gotta try." He looked down at the piano for a moment, thinking. "You know what," he said, the beginnings of a smile showing on his lips, "I've thought of something else to appease me."
"Appease you? Appease-? Whoever said I was going to-"
"Yeah, this is much better," he said, breaking out into a full-time smile. "Scoot over."
Scoot over?
"Potter," my voice was laced with warning, "what are you doing?"
But then he caught my poor little self off-guard and sat down right next to me on the bench. It was just big enough for the two of us, but only just.
"What-"
"You," he said happily, "are going to play me a little song."
WHAT.
As you can imagine by this time, dear non-readers, I was getting ready to emit steam from my ears and lasers from my eyes. As it was, I fixed my evilest glare upon the deserving idiot next to my person. He seemed obnoxiously oblivious to the hatred oozing out of my every pore, probably because he was practically bouncing with good cheer. He looked positively delighted with himself.
Git.
But even the most cheerful of us notice eventually when someone is glaring at them with murderous intent.
"Easy there with the glowering, ginger. You may burn someone."
"That's the idea." I crossed my arms. "And I'm not playing anything."
"Yes, you are."
"Nope, definitely not."
"I think you mean 'Certainly, dear James!'"
"Don't be juvenile," I muttered.
"But I am juvenile," he grinned, " and so are you, though you'd never admit it. I s'ppose you've far too much pride for that?" He asked almost conversationally. "That's all fine: the lads and I have pride issues also. Birds are weird about theirs, though," he said thoughtfully, scratching his chin. "... But you haven't played me my song yet."
"Issues? I don't have issues! I'm perfectly normal witch, thanks very much."
"How terrible," Potter said, mock-sympathetically.
"Not terrible, quite pleasant really, you should try it sometimes." My eyes narrowed. "Potter."
"C'mon, Lily. It's just one song."
Alright, maybe it was the fact that it really was just one song and wasn't worth the time spent moaning about – or maybe it was because I just wanted to play the beautiful piano in front of me already – or maybe it was because he asked so quietly in a way I'm not used to with him. (Or maybe it's because he said my name.) I don't know. All I know was that at that moment, when I was looking at him in his silent state of pleading, I made a decision.
A really dumb decision, but hey, at least you can't call me an indecisive bird, yeah?
"One song?" I ask warily.
"I promise the Sacred Marauder's Oath that under pain of dreadful humiliation, following the conclusion of one and only one song, I will leave you, and this exquisite instrument, alone," he said stoutly, raising his right hand in the air solemnly.
I have to admit, I almost cracked a smile at that. I glanced back down at the row of white, pristine keys below the set of black. My fingertips were already grazing the tops of C and G. Potter remained silent beside me, though he jostled impatiently a bit on the bench.
"Be still," I said. He glanced at me, mouth tightening, but otherwise showed no emotion at my rather rude command. He obeyed.
Then I began to play.
Yep. I began to play music for my worst enemy. Surprised?
Not as nearly as I am.
And you want to know the best part?
I wasn't playing anything.
That's right. I ad-libbed. And I am not an ad-libber. Really. You can ask anyone. It is a well-established fact that Lily Evans is a planner-person and definitely not one of this go-with-the-flow type of people. But whilst I was playing I just... I don't even know how to explain it. Sometimes when I'm alone, I just play whatever comes to my head. It's stupid and incredibly sappy and cliché sometimes, but then sometimes... it's not as sappy and cliché. Heh.
Or course, those times I'm alone, and not in the presence of James bloody Potter - who, by the way, was being mysteriously quiet whilst I was playing. Honestly, I'm not sure if I liked this new, broody Potter dummy. He was a bit unnerving when he gave you one of those direct stares. Like now.
I couldn't look over to glance at him because I was so engrossed in playing, and looking back I'm actually a bit proud of myself – but then my fingers began to compose of their own accord and the tempo was picking up and the melody was becoming rather intricate and passionate – and I could feel his eyes watching me. He was listening to the music, sure, but it felt as if he could've been touching my cheek. Maybe he was touching my cheek...
Which, ahem, is not conducive to piano playing. Just saying. Luckily, I was thoroughly involved with the piece I was performing.
Um... very involved.
And... uhm... shit.
I don't really know what happened. When I play piano, and really sit and just play, I sort of block out the surrounding environment. I can't be blamed. It happens to the best of musicians. And...
… shit...
I was really getting into this piece, I must've been playing for quite some time. My breathing was picking up and I know I must've been nearly falling off the piano stool by then – Merlin knows what my face must've looked like – and then...
… and then...
What else can I say?
In the middle of the song, in the highest chamber of the Astronomy Tower sometime after curfew... James Potter kissed me.
He did. He really did.
Right on my lips. My very own lips. The ones I touched with my finger just now.
His calloused hand reached over and held my cheek fast, turning my face towards him and...
I was too shocked to react, at first. 'James Potter is kissing me' didn't quite register until...
… Well, until it was too late.
If you'd be so kind as to recall, I am a planner. So when things just sporadically happen, things like a kiss – well, sometimes I do stupid, un-planned things.
For example: if I had had any inkling that James Potter was going to kiss me as I was playing the piano mid-song, I would have slapped him silly. The proper reaction. But you see, when un-planned things happen, Sporadic Lily emerges. And in this case, Sporadic Lily didn't react.
She responded.
I reached up from the piano keys and locked my arms around his neck. I suppose some lingering passion remained from the remnant of the unfinished song, because I certainly hope that I wasn't being that... er, active, on my part at least, intentionally.
What am I even writing about, of course it wasn't intentional. It was the music! The music made me snog James Potter!
… wow, that sounds just as pathetic on paper.
Now I can't quite tell you if James Potter is a good kisser or not because do I sound like a girl who has a lot of experience with these kinds of affairs?
No, I thought not.
And although it was rather unpleasantly wet and warm, and whilst at first I had been a deer in headlights as his lips touched mine, I have to confess I started with something not entirely disgust when I first felt his tongue touch mine.
He did kiss me thoroughly, though. He had wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me quite close. I can honestly report from personal experience that he is quite – ah – built in the...uhm, chest area. Seeing as my chest was crushed against his.
And as much as I hate to write it, as much as the logical part of my brain that possesses a memory screams denial... I have to confess that I sort of completely liked it.
Not James Potter! I didn't like him. Merlin.
Just... I liked kissing him.
That's all.
Having never really snogged anyone, starting out with Potter wasn't so bad, although I bet my standard are now set far too high. At least he knew what he was doing, because, well, damn. Normally I would oppose someone sticking their tongue in my mouth. But this?
I wouldn't mind a replay, honestly.
(I'm going to scratch that last sentence out because it's potentially dangerous.)
(...Okay.)
My hands were tangled in his wild, black hair, and he had just finished planting kisses across my jaw-bone, returning to my already swollen lips, when it finally dawned on me that perhaps, yes, it was time to put a stop to this.
Luckily, the universe intervened.
You know the moth-eaten bench of a thousand bums? That one?
Yeah. Don't snog someone on it.
With the unpleasant feeling that it could be taken metaphorically, I fell head over heels off the bench, landing on the hard, stone floor, and seeing as my arms were currently wrapped around Potter's neck in a vice grip, he came tumbling after. We must've been quite a scene to walk in on; me, the Head Girl, on the ground, clutching the Head Boy as if he was the only thing keep me from falling off a cliff, and him, smushing me.
Merlin, I'm supposed to loathe his existence, and here I am, snogging him like there's no tomorrow.
I'm such a girl.
As soon as I pulled away, I regretted it. Not because I wanted to go on kissing him! But because...
… he had one of those direct looks on his face again. You know the one where he just really... looks through you, if that makes any sense. I don't think it does, but a lot of the things Potter does don't make any sense. He can't even look at me without making me feel uncomfortable.
He was staring at me as if he'd never seen me before.
But that awkward moment passed as soon as it came, and all I knew was I had to get away – away from the Astronomy Tower, away from the music, away from James Potter.
Potter was still staring at me. He seemed to want to say something, but I knew if I let him say it I'd never be able to leave this room until he was finished saying whatever it was he needed to tell me, and I wasn't entirely sure if I wanted to hear it. A girl can only take so much.
"I need to get out of here," I choked.
Something else flashed in Potter's eyes. "No, you don't," he said quickly, breathless. His lips were slightly bruised. "Stay."
I took a few steps backward, my mind still reeling from what had just happened. "No. I – I shouldn't have –"
"Look, I'm sorry I kissed you, alright? It wasn't – fuck," he ended eloquently, running his hand through his hair, eyes projecting panic. It didn't help my disposition at all.
He had stood up as well, looking shocked at the turn of events. And still looking at me.
He was busy blathering something else (it sounded like the beginnings of a long explanation) when I muttered, "you saw me."
He blinked. "Er... yes. I did."
I shook my head. "You don't get it," I mumbled. I turned in place, reaching for the door. My hand had just touched the doorknob when I felt a sudden sharp intake of breath from behind me, and then his hand was holding my wrist in an iron grip, his eyes blazing with... I don't even know. I couldn't keep eye contact for long. But they were blazing fiercely with some highly strong emotion.
My wrist felt uncomfortable. I twisted it in his hand. "Let me go."
But he seemed to have recovered from the shock of my actions. Oh, goodie. "Not until you explain yourself," he said sternly.
Explain myself? Explain myself?
"What?" I said louder than I had intended. "Explain myself? Why should I explain when you – you were the one who-"
"It wasn't my-" he bit his lip.
"What?" I said flatly. "It wasn't your fault? That is completely untrue."
"No, I mean it," he said forcefully. "It wasn't my fault. It was you."
Me?
"Rubbish," I muttered angrily. "that is utter and complete rubbish and you know it. You're just trying to pin this on me. I'm going."
but his hand hadn't released me. "Not until I've at least had my say."
Um, no.
Angry albeit slightly intrigued, I said nothing. I mean, he'd just surprise-kissed me. I didn't want to stay, for Christ's sake, the clod has just kissed me! My desire to leave the room had amplified about a thousand times after he'd gripped my hand, but I knew I wasn't going to be able to leave unless I pulled out the ultimate bitch card and started slapping him, so for better or for worse, I stopped resisting him.
His shoulders relaxed a fraction when he saw that I wasn't going to put up a fight.
"I didn't have the intention of kissing you when I came up here," he began. "I... heard that you had wandered up here by yourself, but that you'd found something interesting, so naturally I got a bit curious. I started up the steps and then I heard music... so I followed the sound and that led me to you." His eyes softened. "You're a brilliant piano-player, by the way."
Even though I was still flushed with anger, the flush heated up with the flattery.
"And then... when I asked you to play for me... I didn't actually think you'd do it." He gazed at me with that look again. His words sounded strangely... hushed. Excited. " I didn't actually think you'd play music for me. But then you just started pressing keys and the music came, and all of a sudden you looked so..."
He left the sentence open, a far-away gleam in his eye. I wonder what he would have said if he had finished that sentence.
"I couldn't help myself," he ended. "You don't know what you... what you look like to me."
"So let me get this straight. I play you a little music, you think it's perfectly alright to kiss me while I'm preoccupied?"
"No. I kissed you because of the music."
I couldn't say anything to that. I mean, what could I say? He had just complimented my music, which is like complimenting my soul. It was my soul. That music was my very own creation. That was my very essence he had just heard, and if what he was saying was true, he... he had kissed me because of it.
Suddenly, I felt naked. Worse than naked. I felt more vulnerable than I had ever felt in my entire life.
So I did what anyone would do when they're vulnerable: I got aggressive.
"Well you can't just – you can't just do that!" I spluttered.
"Do what? Kiss you?"
"Kiss without permission. Or at least without some sort of purpose or ulterior motive – or, you know, if two people are dating for long periods of time –"
I stopped mid-sentence because Potter looked like he wanted to slap his knees with laughter.
"Would you cut it out! This is serious!"
"Alright, Lily," he said, chuckling a bit. "Alright. Then how about this..."
I shifted nervously on my feet; his mood had just changed rapidly from panic to frustration to... what, amusement? This was not a laughing matter!
"We're enemies!" I screeched. "We've been enemies since First Year! We've never gotten along – always hated each other – you hate me –"
but he had taken a few steps forward towards me while I had been shrieking.
"... What are you doing?"
"Just a suggestion," he said. His voice had sounded so amused before; now he sounded oddly quiet and serious.
Which means bad news for me.
He took two more steps towards me; I could've reached out with my hand and touched his face. Luckily, my survival instincts kicked in and automatically I took a step backwards with my left foot.
Unluckily, there I had run into the wall closest to the hinges of the door that was supposedly my last resort.
Of course. Poor Lily Evans, trapped in the tower, the damsel in distress.
How did I not see this coming?
"Just a suggestion," he repeated, voice still sounding oddly deep, "that you're perfectly free to turn down. I won't stop you from walking away. It's your choice."
I hate it when people say that.
"... So?"
He finally lost some of his composure and looked a bit nervous. "... You kissed me back."
It felt as if someone had knocked the wind out of me. I spluttered nonsensically.
Funny that I seem to do that a lot around him.
"You kissed me back," he said, confidence growing, "you can't deny that. And there's no excuse. You kissed me."
"Don't try to pin this on me," I snapped.
"Wouldn't dream of it," he muttered. Then, "Why did you?"
I blinked.
And momentarily forgot how to speak.
Shit.
"Why did you kiss me, Lily? If you hate me so much... you could've slapped me. Or yelled at me. Or kicked me in the bollocks – I was almost certain you would, it would be so like you. So why didn't you?" he questioned quietly.
Honestly?
"I – I..."
BECAUSE I LIKE KISSING YOU, YOU PRAT.
He moved even closer. "You said someone needed to ask permission to kiss a girl before they could," he stated ever so softly.
"Yes," I breathed.
He really was much too close, now.
"Lily?"
"... yes?"
And in one swift movement his warm lips pressed once again against mine, and I couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything else at all except the boy in front of me, holding me, gently kissing me, running his hand through my hair...
and then he moved away, staring at me with unfathomable eyes.
… at this point, dear non-readers, I was about ready to jump out the nearest window and crash-land in the courtyard in a bloody heap of gore in order to escape. As it was, I may have... shifted, a bit.
Brave, I know. Godric must be so proud.
"What are you playing at?" I asked weakly. "What are you..."
"D'you know how long I've been waiting to do this?" he said, quiet desperation tinting his voice. "How long I've... I've dreamed of..."
Right as he said that, things just became too overwhelming. He was speaking of dreams and snogging me. How is a girl not supposed to go mad? How?
"I have to go," I blurted out.
"Lil-"
I didn't stay. I couldn't.
I know it's cowardly and wrong and probably completely awful of me to leave him there – just as he had kissed me seconds before – but Merlin knows I had to. I just had to go. It was too much at once, too much to process in too short a time. And I couldn't think when he was so close, looking at me like that.
I fled down the winding staircase, through the corridors, raced up the moving stairs which led me to the portrait of the Fat Lady. He didn't follow me.
I should probably be happy that he left me in peace. I should be much more calm and collected now, right? Things should fall into place, the universe should once again make sense, the world would now right itself...
"Protego Animicum," I said in a quick breath.
I dashed through the commons, not wanting anyone to see my face. I probably looked like someone had died, which is ridiculous seeing as nothing of such gravity has happened at all. Certainly not. No one's died, it's just James Potter kissed...
I don't like crying. It's wet, messy, and it's one of the most confusing things in the world ( a bit like snogging, really). I normally don't cry much at all – maybe just get a little teary-eyed now and then. But I'm easily distracted. I don't like to dwell on unfortunate subjects.
So why the hell can't I get Potter out of my mind?
The tears flowed freely down my face, and all of a sudden this horrible sob wrenched its way out of my chest – honestly, I wouldn't have known it was me if I hadn't been the only one in my dorm – and then the trembling started, and for the life of me, I couldn't stop.
I think I passed out soon afterward, though. Sleep is therapeutic like that.
And so now here I am, scribbling away on my bed, the hangings drawn around me. Beth came by twice to see if I was awake but I've faked sleeping and she left me alone, thank Merlin.
I don't know what to do. Nothing in my lifetime has prepared me for this.
This is mad.
And I'm never playing the piano again.