You're my once upon a time. But he's my fairytale ending.
It's an old story. A tale as old as time. Maybe older. A boy and a girl.
Love at first sight. Maybe.
Scribbles on parchment, and spells are like fairy dust in the air. You could always smell magic, a tingle in your nose, the shiver under your skin.
Oh, you got older, you got used to it. But when it was still new, still fresh, it was perfect.
"Doing something, Evans?"
"Sod off, Potter."
Love at first sight. Maybe... Maybe not.
"I think I won't. Not this time," wand twirling in his fingers, "Evans."
He was too sure, too confident. He knew everything about magic that she didn't. It was wrong.
"I don't want to hex you, Potter," she says, but she does. Trying to look calm, she folds her secret parchment with her secret spells, and stows it away in her bag. Inside, she's furious. Angry.
"Aww, c'mon, I like to think we've outgrown that." Grin.
It's that smile he's probably practiced in front of a mirror just to get girls to swoon over him. He was like that.
"You haven't outgrown anything since you were five, Potter." And when he laughs, she just wants to hit him.
There wasn't anything particularly annoying about him. He was just too annoying to be particular about.
"Oh, I've outgrown a lot of things, Evans," a sparkle in his eye, and he stands up to his full height, at least a head taller than her, "you want to see how much I've grown? I could. . . show you."
He always means more than what he says. Her ears are turning red, red as her hair, she can feel them, and prays to God that he doesn't see them over the sunset. He would never let her live it down.
"I'm going now. Prefect business," she says at last, embarrassed to be backing away like she was afraid of him. Because she isn't.
At least, that's what she thinks.
"Ah, the prefect excuse." He pretends to mull it over, and an almost thoughtful looks glazes over his eyes. "Say, if I were a prefect, Evans, think you'd give me the time of day?"
She looks at him, all of a sudden very tired and drained. It's an old game, and it's getting boring.
"Potter, worse things have happened."
And then she's walking away into the dusk, trying to ignore the burn of his eyes on her back. After all these years, she thinks she should be over it, but then again, it's hard to get over things.
"Lily!" she hears, before she hits someone tall and thin in faded robes.
It's Remus.
I don't want to wait for a prince that's never going to come.
"Sorry," she says, and means it. His brown eyes are sad, but then again, they always are. They look away and focus on a point above her shoulder. He looks relieved. She finds out why.
"James," he says, moving past her like it hurt to see her, and he smells like spilled ink and books. Like Remus.
Clutching her bag tighter to her, she takes a deep breath and walks through the halls. The sunlight is filtering through, and Peeves is being as annoying as ever, but nothing is registering in her head.
Remus J., Remus John, Remus Lupin. Remus. Remus.
I'm sorry.