It all starts with a sideways glance. Two entities, previously parallel, grab hold of each other. They subconsciously, infinitesimally, hold on to each other like Mufasa holds on to Scar's slimy grip just before he lets go. They put their entire being into just that, a sideways glance, with all the confidence that could lead to all the disappointment. For that fraction of a second, they are utterly vulnerable. The fibers of their being depend on the simultaneous nature of their actions.
Lily's eyes snap back from the glance; she turns to her chocolate frog, a cheap sugary distraction, but James' eyes stay firmly in place for longer than is socially appropriate, unable to tear away from the captivating pools of her eyes.
What he doesn't know is that she is not only perfectly aware of his glance, but also entirely conscious of the fact that he finds her beautiful. And she hates it. "How can you measure self worth," she'd always say, "if everyone can only fixate on your looks?" It seems an arrogant question to all those without the problem, but Lily finds her personal appearance more a drawback than anything. She attempts not to take advantage of it as much as possible, often concealing her figure in loose robes, refusing to paint her nails or make up her face. The raw beauty captured James all the more.
But how can you be "in love" with someone with whom you've barely spoken? It's difficult. How can you be completely taken with the idea of someone who is apathetic to your existence? Well, it's lonely. But that mutual sideways glance, that acknowledgment of existence…that's not apathy anymore. James characteristically ran his right hand through his – for once – neat black hair, disturbing all five minutes of his mother's careful hand.
"Head boy…who would've thought?" James thought out loud.
"What's that, James?"
"Oh, nothing. Nothing."
Potter was back.