Hello there, world of fanfiction.
Usual disclaimer: It's not mine. I wish I was as brilliant as J. K. Rowling.
Perfect
She certainly isn't the most beautiful girl in Hogwarts. You're aware of this. She's aware of this. But it's fine. Nobody ever claimed that she was Aphrodite incarnate. You're definitely attracted to her, though, no doubt about that. You've got a thing for green eyes, and hers are some of the brightest you've ever seen. You also happen to find freckles adorable – as long as they're in moderation, of course, and not so overpowering that they practically meld together and from afar it looks like a tan until you get up close and realize they're just a bunch of dots. Her freckles are a little more abundant than ideal and her ears are a little too small for the size of her head. Or maybe her head's a little too large for the size of her ears. But, either way, a few extra freckles or an over-sized noggin aren't going to stop you from liking someone; you may be an arrogant trickster, but you're not shallow.
Even with the over-sized noggin, it's a good thing she has a thick skull, you muse. It protects her brain better. And you of all people know how great a brain it is. She's towards the top of the class, getting almost perfect scores in every subject. She's not the most brilliant person in school, of course. There are a few people who are more naturally apt at more than a few subjects. But she's got to be the most motivated. She studies hard for all of her exams, rewrites any essay that isn't up to her (very high, you might add) standards, and practices spells countless times until she gets them just right.
And you admire her for this; you definitely don't put that much work and effort into your schooling.
To some extent, you even admire her for being a Prefect. She genuinely cares about the job and doesn't just want the title. To her, it's an honor and a privilege. And while you don't quite understand it, except for the chance at being Head Girl or Boy (which you think is a bit over-rated anyway), you respect her for having priorities.
She's not the nicest girl in school – and you've been on the receiving end of not-so-nice Lily enough times (more than enough, really) to know that she can be quite fierce. Her temper flares easily. Especially around you. And a lot of that is your fault, you admit. You know that you can be arrogant, you know that you can be condescending, you know that you're childish and enjoy pranks a little too much. But at the same time, you still think that she's a little too uptight and needs to just let go sometimes.
She's usually good at controlling her temper (around anyone who hasn't labeled themselves a 'Marauder', anyway). If she overhears an overly bitchy remark made by a fourth year, she'll smile good-naturedly, and say, "Sorry, Mary, I know you can't stand her. But you oughtn't be going around the school saying things like that. It's quite inappropriate for the hallways. I'm gonna have to deduct five points from Ravenclaw." Mary will be annoyed, surely. But she'll understand. Because it's Lily Evans and she's a prefect and she's just doing her job. If she catches a second year hexing a first year, she'll be a little more brutal – "Hey, come on guys! No hexing in the hallways! Ten points from Slytherin" – but the second year will still understand. He shouldn't have been doing that in the first place, anyway, and it's Lily Evans and she's a prefect and she's just doing her job.
The one thing she won't stand for, though, is discrimination. She hates snotty, arrogant purebloods (and that's probably part of the reason why she couldn't stand you for so long. You admit it, you're proud of your heritage). If she ever catches anyone hexing a Muggle born for purely that reason, if she ever hears so much as a whisper, a suggestion of the world "Mudblood", she will go berserk. "Do not even think about using that word, Malfoy! Fifty points from Slytherin and a week's worth of detention for you and your goonies. So help me, if I ever hear you say that again, I will hex you myself."
She certainly knows how to stand up for herself, though. And you more than admire that about her. She doesn't need your protection. Of course you know that. But you still want to give it to her because that's what a gentleman would do and you've been raised to be a gentleman and she deserves a gentleman.
She's loyal, too, and forgiving. To the point that it's almost a fault. She stood by Snape for so long and you'll never really understand why. He didn't treat her right. You could tell just from looking at him that he was in love with her (who could be that close to her and not fall in love, you wonder). You don't think she ever really realized it though. Oh, she knew that he liked her as more than a friend. But love? That's a bit too much, she'd say. You're overanalyzing things, she'd say. Nobody can truly be in love without really getting to know someone, she'd say, and she doesn't let people in that easily.
That's a thing that you love, and hate, about her. She's very protective of her heart. You understand that. It's her heart, after all. It's a precious thing, a heart, and it can be broken so easily. But she won't let it because she won't let anyone get to know her, she won't let herself get to know anyone that well. She won't let herself fall in love because love is dangerous. She's waiting for someone truly spectacular, someone she can trust wholeheartedly who will never let her down (that's you, you know it is). And you understand that. A heart should only be given to someone deserving. But how can she know who's deserving of her heart without getting to know someone a little bit? And that's what you don't understand. She can be so closed off that she won't even toy with the idea of letting you in just a little bit. That's all you ask for, really, a chance.
And, you admit, she's done that a little.
But just a little. It's the middle of your sixth year and you're finally on a first name basis with her. She lets you call her Lily. And she calls you James. You remember how wonderful it felt to hear her say that the first time. You'd only ever been 'Potter' to her, she'd only known you as a toe-rag, as an arrogant bully, as a condescending jerk, as a sodding prick, and so on.
You think that it's safe to consider yourself her friend now. She calls you James. She sometimes asks you for help with her Transfiguration homework (it's the one subject that you're a lot better than her at) and occasionally offers to help you with your Charms (and that's the one subject that she's loads better than you at). She even cheers for you at the Quidditch games.
And she's even – willingly, you feel obligated to include – hugged you a few times. Not long, of course. Just a quick hug, here and there. "Thanks so much for the help studying, James, I don't know if I could have passed the Transfiguration exam without your help!" You're quite confident that she would have, anyway, but it feels good to know she appreciates your help. And it feels better when, seconds later, and quickly wraps her arms around your lanky form and squeezes. It didn't last long enough, in your opinion, but now you know better than to say anything rude or too vulgar to her. More than once a week, anyway. But now she'll even laugh at those lewd remarks.
You love it when she does. It reminds you that she actually does have a sense of humor, that every once in a while she actually lets herself go and relaxes (which, you happily note, she seems to do a lot more now that she's friends with you. You'd like to think you've had a part in that).
She doesn't have a girly laugh at all. She giggles every now and again, of course, like any normal person. She chuckles politely, too. But when she really laughs, she laughs. She guffaws. And then she snorts. It's positively un-ladylike and you love it. She's so pristine in her manners, her uniform always perfect, she takes her job as a prefect seriously, she does all of her homework and hands it in on time with absolutely no splotches on the parchment (she makes sure of it; you've even seen her rewrite a 4000-word essay because she got a blot of ink in the middle of the second-to-last paragraph), and you almost can't believe that she snorts when she laughs. But she does, you've witnessed it. You've even made it happen a few times.
She's not that graceful, either. Her hair is, though, all long and flowing and wavy and dark and luscious and soft (or you imagine it'd be, anyway) and well-maintained. With her clean uniform, tidy hair, and (usually) pleasant expression, she gives off the appearance of someone organized and put-together and in control of her limbs. And while she's certainly organized and (usually) put-together, she's anything but in control of her limbs. She trips, she drops things, she spills things (and as a result, rewrites essays so often it's a miracle that her hand hasn't cramped up in a permanent claw), she's just not graceful.
It's not to say that she's an awkward hulking mass. She's not, she's actually quite slender. But that's being a little too literal, you think. Still. She's not all that awkward. She just has awkward moments and if you were asked to describe her, 'graceful', 'swan-like', 'willowy' or any similar words would not be used.
She's a little too antisocial. Not that you're saying she doesn't have friends. She definitely does and they're a tight group. And she's known around the school. She is a prefect, after all, and not one to be messed with. All of the teachers know who she is and they all love her. But sometimes you go an entire weekend without seeing her, which is a little odd seeing as you live in the same tower. You assume she's holed up in her room doing work. You assume she sneaks into the kitchens (an ability which you like in a girl) for food since she definitely doesn't go to the Great Hall (you check, old habits die hard).
Sometimes you can't help but think about these things, about her eyes, about how she's got a lot of freckles, how she's fairly nice but has a wicked temper, how she has morals and stands up for them, how she's loyal and forgiving and yet not trusting, how she snorts when she laughs, how she trips when she walks, how she always does all her work and has nice hair and even hugs you sometimes.
And even though you know it's probably a losing battle (it's taken six years to get her to refer to you by your first name, after all), you can't help but still like her. You can't help but kick yourself for being such a prat for all those years. It's not one-sided, you know that, but you can't help but feeling that if you had only matured earlier (you know it's wishful thinking, you know it's useless to think about that now, but sometimes you can't stop yourself), she would have given you a chance, she would have said yes.
Sirius and Remus and Peter all tell you to stop worrying yourself about it. They say that, yeah, she's good looking, yeah, she's smart and can even be funny, but if she still doesn't realize what a great bloke you are, then she doesn't deserve your attentions anymore, eh, Prongs?
To some extent, you agree with them. You wish you could agree more, though, because still, you still want her. And half the time you don't even know why. You just know that you like her.
She's not the prettiest or the nicest or the smartest or anything like that.
She's not perfect, in any sense of the word. You're aware of this. She's aware of this. But nobody said that she was.
Hope you enjoyed it. Haven't really written anything in second-person before. So yeah, review? (: