Hey girl, you've got a smart way
about you that makes me wish that I was smart enough for you.
She raised her hand to every question asked in class. It had been a fact of life ever since their first year of school, and not once had it changed. She was so smart that it was hard not to notice; it hit you smack in the face from even exchanging a sentence with her. She took notes, she did her homework, and she never slacked off during class work as most would. It made her different, but she didn't even notice.
Hey girl, you've got a fine laugh,
and I think that I can get used to that.
And you're already used to laughing at me.
He'd ask her day after day. "Go out with me, Evans?" he'd repeat.
She'd laugh, and though he saw no humor in the situation, he'd give her a nervous smile, hoping her response would be different than it had always been.
"No, Potter," she'd respond, and his shoulders were droop in dejection. "Never," she'd add just for good measure, but still, her smile was in tact.
Well, so what if your friends think I'm crazy?
I wasn't trying to impress those girls anyway.
They're all theory, no action,
and where I'm from we live like it's the latest attraction.
Her friends would stick their noses up in his presence, almost sneering at him. His eyes did not seek them out, instead only staying glued on the girl of his desire. Her bright green eyes would catch his, and almost innocently, her head would dip and a faint blush would reach her cheeks.
"Come on, Lily," her friends would say, and she'd let herself be dragged away. She'd glance back, but just once, and James would give her another nervous smile and a ruffle of his hair.
Though she never did quite smile back, he always thought that maybe, just maybe, he was getting somewhere with her.
But then his mischievous ways would catch up to him.
"God, Lily," he would hear her friends say, "I can't believe he's attracted to you."
"Why?" Lily would ask.
"Because," another answered, "he's such troublemaker. Did you see what he did to those Slytherins today? I thought their hair would just never stop growing!"
"Yeah," another girl would agree. "He's no good."
"Yeah," Lily would say faintly, "I guess you're right..."
Hey girl, you've got a short fuse,
and I've got designs on lighting you up,
and setting you off, and watching you burn for me.
Her green eyes would alight with the anger that bubbled in her stomach.
"James Theodore Potter!" she'd yell, and he would always wonder how she knew his middle name. "How dare you even think about kissing me, let alone actually trying to?"
His hand reached up to mess up his hair, but she would slap it away. "Don't you even think about it," she'd hiss. And then she'd turn sharply on her heel, her vibrant red hair almost slapping him in the face, before she stomped off.
But he could still smell her perfume.
The world lives for the weekends.
Well, I'll watch as my weeks bleed right into them,
without a rhyme to divide what is theirs and what is mine.
He'd watch as she finished her homework in a flurry on Friday so she could relax for the next two days of the weekend. Those were the days that he liked the most. Ink would be smudged across her nose, and her hair would be tied back messily, and her back would be arched over her paper, letting small wisps of hair out of it's hold, but she had never looked more beautiful. At times he contemplated whether he should tell her she should permanently have an ink-smudged nose, but he figured she would only get angry at him.
Still, he could only wonder if that was what attracted her to him. The fact that she was so incurably different than he was. She would try her hardest to do her homework before the rest of the weekend, where as he never even tried to do his. It did not matter if it was a Monday or a Saturday, his homework would not be done, and the pranks and regular Hogsmeade trips would go on accordingly.
Well, so what if your friends think I'm crazy?
I wasn't trying to impress those girls anyway.
They're all theory, no action,
and where I'm from we live like it's the latest attraction.
He would stumble in at two, three in the morning on a Friday night. His friends and fellow Marauders would be right behind him, but his smile would be whipped right off his face as he turned and was face-to-face with Lily's best friends.
"God," they'd complain about him, "He just doesn't know when to stop, does he?"
But Sirius always came to his rescue, "Don't worry, Prongs," he'd slur in his drunken state, loud enough for them to hear, "They're just jealous because we can have fun without a book in our hands!"
At this James's chest would swell, but they would turn their noses up and run up to their dorm. He always knew they would tell Lily everything.
And go on, go on,
your cruel intentions won't solve your problems,
everyone's gotta get bottom, bottomed out in the long run,
and those are the times you need love.
But through her friends, and their obvious lack of anything in common, he knew that she knew he was there. When her friends became too much for her, when her parents were killed by Voldemort, when the pressure of NEWTs was sweltering and beating down on her, he knew she'd turn to him. He was one of the very few things that stayed constant in her life, and no matter how much she tried, that would not change. She could yell, she could scream, she could insult him, but they both knew that by that night, she would be crawling into his warm bed, snuggling into his chest for a sense of support.
Their relationship was crazy–it was insane and warped and impossible to the naked eye, but nothing more pure had happened to either of them. Maybe that was why it was so beautiful.