It began as all love stories did—a boy and a girl meet on a warm summer night, the fireflies aglow as they engage in polite conversation. Soon, when he smiles, she gets butterflies, and when she laughs, he feels his heart skips a beat. And as they part ways when night fades into morning, their mind is filled with nothing but the other. And they both know, even if they try not to realize it, that they're just setting themselves up for heartbreak, but somehow they can still believe this one's going to be different.
Lily Luna examines her reflection in the mirror, scrutinizing the red hair, the blue eyes, the small scar on her left cheek. She carefully sets down the brush but quickly picked it up again and runs in through her long hair again, smoothing out the last tangle.
"Where do you think you're going?"
Startled, Lily drops the brush and spins around, her heart beating at a dangerously high rate. She is facing her father, his green eyes studying her. She sighs, relived but still shaken, as she bends down to pick up her brush. "Dad," she laughs breathlessly, "You scared me." There's a joking air to her voice, but even she can hear how it shakes nervously.
A smile twists at Harry's lips, but he keeps his voice firm as he asks again: "Where do you think you're going, Lily?"
Nervously running her fingers through her hair, she tries to say something, but she can't speak. Harry waits expectantly, watching his only daughter struggle to find words.
"Lils," he tries again, softer this time. "Are you meeting someone?"
And when she nods, she wonders if he can hear how loud her heart is beating—and not just because of how he scared her.
"Why so late?"
She shrugs, biting her lip and averting her gaze to the floor in a desperate attempt to compose herself.
"Who?"
The final word, the question she had been anticipating for the past long sixty seconds. And Lily didn't answer, how could she? But then the word slips from her trembling lips.
"Dad!" Lily is begging now, her eyes brimming with a fresh round of tears. "Dad, you can't—"
"I can and I will," Harry says coldly. "I said no, do you want me to repeat it for you?"
"Dad." Now she's whispering, her voice broken and pleading. "Dad, please, just…"
"No." He draws out the syllable, his tone cool and harsh. And he wanted to give in to his daughter's teary eyes, to just break down and let her do what she was begging for, but he knew he couldn't. He had always been stubborn in that way—once he made a decision, he wouldn't go back on it, no matter how hard it was. And he has to say it again, just to be sure. "No." But not even Harry can keep the gentle, apologetic tone from creeping into his voice.
Lily draws in a deep, slow breath, feeling the tears spilling down her cheeks, and slams the door in her father's face, her vision blurring. She stumbles over to her unmade bed and collapses in a sobbing wreck, and cries until the sun is glowing above the horizon.
Now it's not Harry who's yelling, but Lily is still small and helpless. And she can only cry harder as his voice rises in frustration, humiliation. He's yelling but she can barely hear him, and instead she focuses on the starless sky, letting the words just become noise.
"I was waiting for hours, Lily!" he shouts. "And I looked like a right idiot, sitting alone with the damn flowers, waiting for you!"
"It was my father." Lily can now find words to argue back. "I tried to go, he just—" Tears roll down her cheeks. "I'm sorry," she whispers desperately, as if that would fix anything.
"Oh, you're sorry," he says sarcastically. "Fantastic. Why don't you say sorry to your dad, for tainting his perfect mind with the thought of his daughter with a Malfoy? Because sorry can fix everything, right?"
"Scorp—my dad—"
"Lily, who cares about your father?" Scorpious's eyes flash in anger and humiliation. "Are you so worried about what he thinks that you just blow me off to step around getting in trouble?"
"I tried, Scorpious." She keeps her voice calm and steady, despite her desire to just break down and cry like she did the night before. "Alright? I tried. And if you don't care, if all that matters is that you look bad… then I'll see you around." With one final stare as the hazel met the gray, she shoves her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt and walks off, and the night air is filled with her name being called desperately, but all she can see is a blur of shapes as the teas continue to roll down her cheeks.
Ginny is hugging her crying daughter as Harry can only watch, because he knows he is the reason for the tears. But he can't bring himself to apologize, because he's not sorry for what he said—the Malfoys and the Potters didn't mix. They never did. Maybe it was just his way of clinging to childhood rivalry, but he couldn't fathom the idea of his daughter with the son of the man who had caused him so much pain all those years ago.
His wife sends him a desperate look over Lily's shaking shoulders, as if willing him to help. "She's your daughter, too," she mouths, a frown tugging at her lips.
Harry gives in, as he only did to Ginny, and crosses the room quietly, running through what he could say.
"Lily, I'm—" he begins, but she swiftly cuts him off.
"No, you're not," she snaps bitterly, and stands up abruptly. "You never are." Feeling a sob rising in her throat, she runs from the room up to her bedroom, and closes the door with a slam. She sinks to the floor, hugging her knees tight and rocking slightly, her naïve heart not able to take all of this at once.
She loved him, though she never told him that. She didn't know why she hadn't just said it—it was only three words. But they were three important words that could change everything, and it wasn't clear if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
And what would her father think? Harry Potter's daughter saying she loves Scorpious Malfoy. It was just a setup for gossip and rumors, and as much as she loved him, she knew it wasn't worth it. If he had listened to her, watched the way she smiled at him, then he should have figured it out already. But she had come to the conclusion that he hadn't figured it out. If he had, he wouldn't have let her walk away.
"Lily. Wait."
Surprised at the sound of her name, she glances over her shoulder, the cold wind biting her cheeks. When she sees Scorpious, she almost wants to keep walking, but something holds her to the ground. She's unable to move as she studies him, her eyes moving over his blonde hair that fell in his eyes, the eyes the color of ash. He was more beautiful than she remembered, even though it had only been a few months.
She swallows the lump in her throat, and the first thing she notices is the contrast between his forest green scarf, streaked with silver, against the crimson and gold. It was as startling as putting Potter and Malfoy in the same sentence—they didn't mix, not ever. But somehow, they did.
Scorpious feels his breath catch in his throat as he examines her, even more breathtaking with snowflakes tangled in her red hair, a rosy flush caught in her cheeks but the scar still white against her skin. Her long eyelashes had caught some of the snow, too, he noticed. She was waiting for him to say something, do anything, just to break the tension, he realized, so he parted his lips to speak. When nothing came out, he swallowed and tried again with the same result.
They both moved at the same time and locked in a tight embrace, her face pressing into his chest, his hands smoothing down her hair. She was shaking with tears, though different tears than before, and he was dizzy with relief.
And she looks up at him, with tears trickling down her fair face, and smiles, the first real smile since the day she walked away. "I…" She laughs a little, then tries again, her smile widening " I don't care what my father says—he can disown me or throw me on the streets if he wants. But I love you, too."
"I love you, too, Lily Potter," he murmurs into her hair, the words surprising even him. "And nothing, not my family, not our Houses, not your father, is going to stop that. And that's a promise."
Hand in hand, they walked through the snowy Hogsmeade village, seeming to glow in a way that only innocent lovers could. And they both knew what a delicate thing love was, how a single word could shatter everything so carefully built. But they also knew that if something was meant to be, it would fix itself in the end.