I remember the way he asked me, his hazel eyes wide in disbelief, stopping dead to turn and face me.

"You've never jumped in a pile of leaves before?"

I remember how I shook my head, feeling slightly exasperated and also slightly envious. As if this is another Quidditch-like affair, where James Potter flies to the tops of the clouds, looking more graceful than God Himself, while I stand rooted quite firmly to the ground, craning my neck to watch him, tripping over my robes. As if this is another thing James could find the pleasure in and only James—and I am stuck in the stands.

If there's one thing I hate, just absolutely hate, it'sbeing stuck in the stands.

"I've got to take you," James said. http/ were sparkling. "It's the greatest thing that ever existed. How can you not have jumped in a pile of leaves before?"

"I know." I replied in a mocking woebegone voice. "I've really been missing out in life."

"You have," he said firmly. "We have to go jumping in a pile of leaves."

"Right. Because when there's Death Eaters around and people dying left and right, there's nothing better to do than jumping in a pile of leaves, right James?"

He stared at me, right at me, for just a moment. "You can let the Death Eaters and Lord Voldemort run over your life," he said slowly. "But I'm not letting them run over mine,"

"Run over? James, just because I care—"

"And I don't, Lily?" His eyes were locked dead center with mine and his voice was testy now. "Of course I care. But I'm a seventeen-year-old wizard, still in school, and there's not much I can do right now, is there? I can't just break loose and start killing every Death Eater-looking thing in sight,"

"I know that, but—"

"And," he interrupted me, raising his voice. "Until I can get out there, I'm not letting them get me depressed, because in a few years, I know I'll be fighting them. And they're not going to stop me from being who I am. Or jumping in pile of leaves," he added, with a small upturn in his lips.

"But sometimes," I said determinedly. "You can't stop them from it. Like if they killed your entire family, you're not just going to say, 'oh, well, there's that. Let's go jump in leaves now!'"

"You're not," he agreed. "But only you can make yourself feel like shit. Other people can try, but if you get back up and fight them, who's the one feeling like shit?"

"But it's not always easy for some people to get back up," I said. "Some people couldn't just stand up and start fighting again,"

He shrugged and I pulled a loose thread on my sweater and we dropped the conversation, as if our body language signed a silent compromise that we both had fair points to make.

"Well, anyway," he said finally. "I still want to take you jumping in leaves,"

I laughed at his peristance. "Fine," I said, rolling my eyes at his triumphant look. "Because obviously, jumping in a pile of leaves can just completely change your life."

I would find it funny, for the rest of my life, that jumping in leaves with James Potter did just that.

I remember when James came into the common room, Friday evening, telling me to grab my scarf and that we were jumping in leaves. Right now. I remember how I stood up, with little to no hesitation, and followed him, scarf in hand.

And I remember it was then that I suddenly got the strange sensation that there was a part of me that was detached from my body, floating above my head like a ghost, following me and watching the scene unfold as if it were a movie.

I remember how excitedly James showed me the four-foot tall pile of leaves he had Summoned together, near the edge of the lake. I remember how the colors of the leaves seemed to mesmerize me: a shockingly vibrant yellow, violently splashed red and a raw, light brown.

I remember while I was staring at the pile of leaves, the detached part of me, the Floating Lily, was hovering near the trees and simply crossed her arms and watched through slightly narrowed eyes.

"Ready?" James asked, his eyes crinkling up in excitement.

"Ready."

I remember when I responded, "Ready" surely and confidently, James turned to look at me, his grin wide, and abruptly, he reached for my hand, covering it in his easily.

"Go on 3," he said. "1…2…3!"

We ran toward the leaves and jumped, and somewhere in the time span between, our hands separated and we both fell back to earth on our own. We landed (none too gracefully, I might add) on our leaf pile, the leaves not cushioning our landing nearly as much as I hoped they would. But that moment when I was in the air, alone and unsuspended, was a moment of glory for me, Lily Evans, the non-Quidditch flyer and the former virgin of jumping in piles of leaves.

I remember how the brilliant colors of the leaves flooded my vision as I was buried in the pile. I remember when I surfaced, I saw James already up and throwing the leaves about like confetti. I laughed and gathered an armful of the leaves and dumped them on his head. He retaliated with a bigger load, showering me with autumn colors.

Meanwhile, Floating Lily simply nodded as if to say, "Yes, that James isn't that bad." I (the grounded, full-bodied Lily) got the impression that Floating Lily didn't fully understand how things went from "Go away, Potter!" to jumping in leaf piles with him so instead of participating, Floating Lily preferred to watch—and from good distance, mind you.

I remember when we had stopped trying to drown each other in leaves, and we were sitting down, I saw his eyes. I had seen them before obviously, up close even, but this was the first time I really saw them. They were the color of autumn, a warm brown with a ring of a rich, deep green that spiraled around the pupil and erratic spots of either a light brown or a dark yellow thrown in, which I later understood was what gave his eyes that sparkling look.

And whenever I really saw James's eyes, now and forever, I would always get the feeling of brilliantly colored red, yellow and brown leaves falling over my eyes.

In a way, it made me sad. Dying leaves match his eyes.

But then, I remember when I was young, I once asked my father why the leaves outside were turning red. He told me it was because they loved my hair color and they wanted to match it.

Dying leaves match my hair. Dying leaves match his eyes. It made sense, in a strange, slightly twisted sort of way. But it did make sense.

I remember we jumped again and again, leaves everywhere, James's eyes laughing. And then, from either pure bliss or tired legs, I collapsed on the ground, and I remember thinking how strange it was to be able to escape the dark world like this, however brief and temporary the escape was.

I sat up, watching James's idly play with a leaf, and I told him, truthfully, that this was one of the best evenings I've had in a long time. He didn't respond but looked at me, his face and eyes serious, and said, "You've got a leaf in your hair, Lily."

He leaned in closer, closer, closer, and with slightly fumbling fingers, he tucked my hair behind my ear.

"Where's the leaf?" I asked. I did not look away from his face.

"Wasn't there. Mistook a stray strand for a leaf," he said blithely. "Same color, y'know."

I would have told him that that was the stupidest lie I've ever heard, and it was apparent to anyone that there never was a leaf, and he ought to think of a smoother way to get close to a girl. I would have told him that, except in that moment, he tilted his head closer mine.

Oh.

I remember how his eyes were barely centimeters from mine and every single autumn color shone brightly. People often tell me I have pretty eyes, but there were eyes much more beautiful than mine and I was staring right at them.

May I never see those eyes die.

And then, the next second, the gap between us was gone, and James's lips covered mine, his hands moved to my hair and….

Oh…

I remember how we gently pulled apart and I opened my eyes to find James's face a mere breath away from mine. His eyes were lingering shut, his mouth still slightly open. And all of a sudden I got the sensation that Floating Lily, who had been surveying the spectacle from above, was rushing down to join me, and now, Floating Lily was absorbed inside of me, as connected and attached as my right leg.

And so when James asked me, quietly, his eyes serious again, it was every part of me, every breath and molecule, every little shard of my heart that responded,

"Yes, James. I'll go out with you."