Disclaimer: I do not own any Harry Potter characters and all that stuff. Wouldn't it be awesome if I did? Piles and piles of money! Too bad I don't. Sigh.

Chapter 1 – Lonely nights and memories

He sat near the tall window and fixed his gaze on the grounds that spread beneath him; the long stretches of green and stone he had come to love as a second home after all those years. He let his mind wonder through the memories, reliving some of them with impressive accuracy, until he reached the part he had been dancing around. It had been a few months now and still he didn't know how he felt. He heard his mother's soothing voice in the back of his mind saying, "These things just take time."

He looked at the clear night before him; it should be over one in the morning. The voice was still lingering in his head and little pieces of its owner propped in his thoughts. It was an ability his mother had, no doubt, once you met her she seemed to pop in your head every so often, with her beautiful smile and sharp eyes. Some people thought she was fragile, but that was only those that didn't know her. She had a petite frame and a fair complexion, but the main reason for those erroneous thoughts was her well-known heart condition. She had an unstable health, but she would never surrender, curse or act victimized; the sparkle in her hazel eyes was ever so permanent, "a burning fire that never ceased", that's how his father used to cornly describe it.

He sighed deeply. Images of his parents laughing heartily during dinner flashing before his eyes; there was always so much love between them. It was something even a child could understand. Since he was a little kid he knew what happiness looked like and he knew he wanted it. He remembered his father's face, the perfect image of health and stamina. In so many ways he was the exact opposite of his soul mate, it could almost be seen as ironic. While everything about her was poised and elegant, he always resembled a hurricane, while everything about him was grand and dramatic; she was always sensible and practical. It was incongruence at its utmost level, but no one ever said love had to make sense. He stretched his legs in front of him a little, moving his toes one by one like he used to do with his mother when he was eight and she sang him stupid songs about feet trying to make him fall asleep.

He let his eyes search the night sky for his favored constellations, knowing he could count on their constancy. A small smile started to spread across his face when the memory of his first broom ride passed through his mind. He saw it playing like a film; the smell of the best Christmas present he had ever gotten, his father's proud gaze when together they soared and he didn't show any fear, only exhilaration. The smile he didn't know he was giving began to grow until it reached a full-fledged grin and then he laughed. He laughed alone in a dark room remembering how his father said to anyone in the most awkward circumstances that "his son was a wizard with a broom" and laughed merrily at his own joke.

He continued to let the memories trail in hopes that somehow it would make it a bit easier for him afterwards, although he doubted it. He was never one to dwell on self-pity and he wasn't about to start. He found it appropriate that physically he was a mixture of his parents; his father's strong looks filled with his mother's warm eyes. He found it appropriate because he felt that inwards it was the same way: his father's playfulness, his mother's wits, his unwavering loyalty and her persistence.

He let out a sigh as he fought an inner battle only to loose to himself, deciding to return to his uninviting bed. He contemplated the idea of simply not sleeping even as he reached for his glasses, which meant that the decision wasn't going to change. He pulled on the shoes that had been sprawled on the floor beneath him and took one final look to the beautiful horizon, letting the breeze graze him once more before he returned the window to its place effortlessly as to leave no trace of his presence there.

-- XXX -- XXX -- XXX --

She had been walking tirelessly for over an hour, like she was supposed to. She looked at the many paintings on the walls; they all seemed to be asleep. She moved silently but she felt like her footsteps could be heard a mile away. She opened a door only to close it again. She walked a bit more. She opened yet another door and closed it. She was randomly wondering instead of keeping her usual route, feeling tiresome but still aware she couldn't just give up and tuck in.

She climbed the flight of stairs half convinced that it would be a waste of time and energy, the first of which she had too much and the second too little. She sighed not knowing why she continued climbing step after step. Usually she wouldn't change routes like this, but then again usually she wouldn't be alone: her partner on the gruesome work was now very much incapable of joining her so that was that. She reached the final step and saw that the door was slightly open and so, naturally, she glanced through the gap.

He was sitting there like some sort of statue, a proud Rodin stranded in a deserted classroom. He wasn't in his usual uniform, but in blue plaid pajamas pants and what seemed a very old ruddy gray t-shirt. He was bare feet and his glasses weren't on top of his straight nose like always, but beside him, so now she could see his profile perfectly without the wire frames interfering, his strong jaw line and muscled upper body. She would never admit it out loud, not it even to herself, but she knew he was handsome and at that very moment, as she watched him so undisturbed, he was much more. The light was faint but she could see him with startling clarity; she could see his unruly hair moving softly with the breeze that came from the window that wasn't supposed to be opened, she could see the very subtle smile that curved his lips so lightly that she had to look twice. She watched with marvel as the smile spread leisurely across his face lighting it up until dimples appeared and he let out one lonely laugh. The sound startled her and for a second she felt like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. It was like receiving a present you weren't expecting, she thought, the sound of him laughing; it was beautiful and clear, filled with honesty and emotion. She fixed her eyes again on him; his grin still broad as his eyes searched for anonymous constellations on the clear sky. His dimples and clear white teeth creating shadows to the stars he searched, his toes moving to an unheard song.

She watched him unaware of her presence, his relaxed demeanor not showing the slightest worry in the fact that he shouldn't be where he was. He looked a little downwards, towards the grounds now, and she saw that the amusement in his eyes had a tinge of sorrow in them and she wondered what could possibly be that had put it there. It was strange but as she looked at him now she realized she knew short of nothing about him. She wondered how could he be so public and yet so private at the same time. Everyday she heard people talking about him and his friends; she faked deftness and pretended not to hear, she had seen him doing the same more than once.

She stood there rooted to her spot: a statue in contemplation of another. She studied his quiet smile, and saw slowly the sorrow and amusement being replaced with something she couldn't quite put her finger on. Without any notice he ran his hand absently through his hair, making it even messier, a habit she said she loathed. He let out a sigh and crunched his eyebrows together making her heart skip a beat, and after a moments thought he picked up his glasses with a dejected attitude. She smiled as he turned a little to enjoy the view again and she saw the look of pure amazement over beauty in his gaze. She decided to move now because she could see clearly that he would and thus would reach her spot soon.

She didn't know why, but when she got downstairs she didn't leave like she was supposed to. She was, matter of fact, very good in doing what she was supposed to do. She was good in following rules and sticking to plans, things that most definitely were not his main concerns. But that night she forgot the duties and the plans and waited in a dark corner as he came lazily, but extraordinarily silently, down the stairs, and still without knowing the reason why she followed him as he walked calmly the otherwise deserted corridors.

-- XXX -- XXX -- XXX --

He walked feeling the need to sleep approach him softly; he walked closer to the stonewalls now, running his hands through the rough surface in a childish way. He liked the feel of it and right then decided that if he ran into a banister he would just swoop down in it. He chuckled at his deranged thoughts, so tired he didn't notice the faint footsteps behind him. He stopped after some time to speak to one of the portraits that was still up. He liked talking to them; those that had been inside the castle walls so long they knew things he couldn't dream of. He remembered when one of the older ones had told him about a priceless passageway him and his friends had come to cherish dearly and chuckled again. Another portrait greeted him and he answered sitting himself down on the floor to talk for a bit, the thoughts of his bed no more enticing than they were ten minutes ago.

"- Another lonely midnight excursion, James?" – The portrait asked with an amused grin, not at all disturbed over the presence of the teenaged boy.

"- It is a rather beautiful night, Nigel." – The boy responded simply.

They had a sense of familiarity and friendship, or as much as person could have with a portrait. James Potter stayed seated on the cold floor, his body maintaining its usual grace while the man on the painting told him tales of the old days and jokes. He laughed quietly every so often, giving the other some sort of satisfaction. James liked the paintings and he found it odd that most people never talked to them, that actually they didn't seem to notice them at all. He looked outside and saw that the hours had been advancing on him, so he got to his feet again and wished his oil friend a good night, reinitiating his way back.

-- XXX -- XXX -- XXX --

Lily watched him sit gracefully on the floor in front of a portrait, his arms holding his legs in front of him as he started to talk to the man in the painting; it seemed as if the portrait was used to him and even more so, it seemed they were friends to some degree. She had cast a charm around herself not to make any noise and was trying to remain as motionless as possible. She watched as he laughed earnestly. He seemed to have an aura of easiness around him that she had never noticed before. She listened to the odd conversation with curiosity; her beautiful face lighting up whenever he laughed or made a particularly witty comment. She studied him intently as he stretched his arms lightly allowing her to see a bit more of his toned upper body.

She thought about the girls that swooned at the mere sight of him and for the first time in six years she admitted to herself that she understood them. Sometimes it was hard to make her eyes not look for him, but the fact was that he wasn't hard to find; even when he didn't want to, he was the center of attention. She remembered the first time she noticed he wasn't really comfortable with all the eyes that tore at him; it had been a strange realization that maybe he wasn't as attention hungry as she had thought. It made her eyes look for him even more often. And now there she had, a one-night spectacle all for herself, James as James and nothing more. Lily always thought people showed their truer nature when they thought no one was watching and his fascinated her.

It was not an understatement to say that they had a complicated relationship; they had arguments she was certain could be heard all over Europe, he had asked her for a chance over and over again for two years and she had pretended to hate him for four. It was ironic how now that he wasn't obsessing over her like he used to, she found herself being drawn to him, like flies were to light. Memories arose and she replayed a scene in her head, still keeping her gaze upon him. She remembered being seated in a large armchair in front of the fire one day in the beginning of the year and he walked in; there was no one else. She had kept her eyes on the fire, a not so indirect hint for him not to approach her but instead he had sat on the floor opposite of her.

"- Hi, Evans." – He said slowly looking steadily at her.

"- What do you want, Potter?" – She had said dryly still maintaining her gaze on the burning flames. She heard him sigh quietly.

"- I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry." – He said, his deep voice with a tone so soft it felt like velvet and she turned to meet his eyes. "- I think I was a bloody fool, or as you may prefer, an arrogant conceited prat or toerag or whatever, and I'm sorry. I hope it didn't faze you much."

"- Faze me much?" – She had said in disbelief, her tone much lighter than she had intended. "- You made fun of me, tortured me exposing me to ridicule, not to mention other people, and even managed to give the dying blow in a prized friendship to me and now you tell me you hope you didn't faze me much?"

"- I never meant to do those things, I truly never did. I think sometimes it takes a while before one can really understand the effects our actions may have on others." – James paused thoughtfully for a moment as she watched him puzzled, his hazel eyes filled with floating flocks of gold. "- I can't change what I did but I can apologize. The only one that can accept is you."

To say that she was stunned was an understatement. She nodded at him, a silent acceptance of his plea for a truce. He got up slowly, his familiar smirk or lopsided grin never making appearances as he moved calmly towards the stairs.

She snapped out of her hazy memories to find him still seated and smiling at the painting in front of him. Then she watched he get up and start moving again. The day after they had talked in front of the fire it felt as if something had shifted in the air around them. They weren't friends but there wasn't so much animosity between them anymore. She noticed that he now didn't chase her, that slowly his infamous obsession with her seemed to be fading and their usual quarrels diminished drastically, up to the point of almost none. It was fortunate for her, she thought, because how could she watch him if he were always watching her?

A/N: Hi there. I had this idea running over and felt like writing it down. Don't know if I'm going to follow up on it though, so please review and tell me what you think! Maybe then you'll get chapter 2! PA