An Adult's Game
Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly. I wish I did though. That would be pretty cool…
Author's Note (I generally don't have these in the beginning, do I?): I feel like this was heavily influenced by some of the other Jily fanfics out there….or just other fanfics in general…Well, we'll see how it goes…I hope you enjoy it. :)
Prologue
She never knew why he smoked so much. She didn't know why she even cared. He had no reason to smoke—to contaminate his body the way he did—he appeared to be just fine. That, in itself, was probably all the more reason why he smoked.
He was Gryffindor's golden boy, the star chaser—captain of the Quidditch team. He was at the top of the class, second only to her. He was a good-looking lad, and the ladies loved him. He was conceited, spoiled, arrogant, self-assured—everything an only child of a pureblood family would be. But he was always good at heart. Sure, he played pranks, and some mean ones at that, but he meant well. He was not cruel or cold-blooded, but neither was he warm or compassionate. He loved his family; he loved his rather "exclusive" group of friends. His life seemed—for lack of a better word—complete.
His parents loved him very much. He was born when both of them were middle aged, so they spoiled the poor boy rotten. He was nourished and well cared-for—he had everything any child would ask for. He even had love. He had the love of his friends, his family, and a girl that hated him with every fiber of her being.
His only problem was that he was in love—in love with a girl that loathed him with all of her being. He was in love, and he hated it. He did not want to be in love. He was only a teenager! He was not supposed to be in love. But his heart was not controlled by his mind. He had to fall for the one girl that could not have.
She wrote too much, and she knew that. He always saw her writing, scribbling on some random sheet of parchment she found in the bottom of her bag. Not that h was watching her, of course. Her hand would move across the wrinkled sheet of paper furiously, with so much passion and emotion, the same passion and emotion she did not dare express out loud—the passion and emotion that could only be found if one stared deeply into her eyes.
He knew she rarely ever took notes in class—she knew everything already. She scribbled away in every class, even when there were no notes on the board. Even when the professors stopped lecturing, she still continued writing
He smoked because he thought it made him look "cool"; he thought it made him stand out. The older boys did it—why couldn't he? It did, of course, make him stand out, and surprisingly, not in a negative way. The girls found smoking attractive at the time, so, at the tender age of fifteen, it became a common sight to see him with a cigarette in between his fingers. He held them in his fingers just as she held a pencil in her hand.
He was James, and she was Lily, and they were only children, playing an adult's game.
Author's Note:
Thank you very much for reading! I'd greatly appreciate if you'd review as well, but if it's too much of a hassle, that's okay too.
I hope you've enjoyed it! (And I apologize for any typos.)
Thanks again! :)
-Delia