So here's my first venture into the HP fandom, tell me if you like and where to improve. If you notice that the italics in the story have no spaces between them, sorry. Something's messed up with this computer that doesn't put spaces between words in italic and bold. And it won't put in line breaks either.
~thisisaline~
James wakes up early. One second, his eyes are shut and he's in deep sleep. Next second, they flash open. He's woken abruptly, with a strange unsettled feeling that he knows well. He's been dreaming again.
He shuts his eyes and tries to remember the last fleeting thought before his consciousness surfaced. He can't though. It's gone, like a breath of wind. This seems to be becoming a theme. None of his dreams seem to stay with him anymore.
Not that he really wants them to. They probably aren't very pleasant dreams, what with the war and all. But it leaves him feeling as though he's left something unfinished that wants an ending to it. Like wanting to read the end of a story, but having the book snatched away. He must have woken up before the dream ended.
James shivers. A cold draft of morning air comes through the window, which he had opened slightly the night before. The first rosy wisps of dawn are spreading across the dusky sky. He wraps the quilt around his lanky frame. He doesn't see any sense in staying awake. He might as well go back to bed. Although he knows he won't get back to sleep.
Five restless minutes later, James throws off the covers and sits up, and realizes just how cold the room is. Bloody September and its unpredictable weather. He puts on his glasses and tugs the window shut.
He stands up, washes, and dresses in his school robes. There. He's all ready for the day to start. Only time seems not to want to cooperate with him today. It's still too early for anyone else in Gryffindor Tower to be up.
James plucks a Quidditch magazine off his table and flips through the main article ("Exclusive Interview with Ballycastle Bats Captain: New Keeper Revealed!"). He tosses it back onto the table and reaches for something else to occupy his time. He comes up with his Transfiguration essay, on the subject of various forms of human Transfiguration, and a quill.
He scans over it and makes sure there are no errors. There aren't, none he can spot anyway. The essay joins the magazine in the clutter on his desk. James chews on the end of the quill absentmindedly. What else is there to do?
James stands up suddenly. He can't take sitting in this room anymore. He's become strangely restless recently. He's not quite sure why either. Maybe it's a side effect from war and such other impending crises.
He paces the room for a quick minute and then opens the door decidedly. He'll just go and wait in the common room until Sirius and Remus and the rest wake up. Or go read QuidditchTeamsofBritainandIreland again. Something like that.
James slings his school bag around his shoulder, stuffs the Transfiguration essay and his Quidditch book into it, and steps into the hallway of the Heads' dormitory.
The new dorm is quite a step up from the old one, he thinks. A bedroom all to himself. Private bathrooms and the shared study. And of course, there are other things. Such as the girl who he happens to be sharing this living space with…no, he won't go there. He's not going to relive all those disasters again. Clearly, she doesn't want him.
The thoughts have brought him to a standstill, but it's not another moment until he realizes just where he's stopped. His thoughts have brought him to Lily Evans's doorway. The door is ajar and the lights are off, the room inside only lit by the rising sun. She is nowhere to be seen, which means…oh,bloodygod.
James's eyes travel up the doorframe until they rest on the figure standing in the doorway. She doesn't look like she wants to kill him yet. That's a good start, considering his record.
"Hello," he says rather meekly. It's most uncharacteristic of him too…but then, this is Lily Evans he's talking to.
"Hi," she replies. "I didn't know anyone else was up this early."
She's not yelling at him. It takes a minute for him to process this; he's so used to the opposite.
"Neither did I," he says. "I guess we're both wrong."
She smiles slightly. "I guess so."
They are talking. Theyare talking. Civilly. Almost like a conversation. A normal conversation with Lily. Well.This year seems to be taking a more pleasant turn than the ones before it.
She's saying something to him. What is she saying?
"James?"
"Oh, sorry, yeah?"
She smiles a real, full smile this time, showing her white, even teeth. She has the most amazing smile and her lips are so perfect…no, he's not going there. He's losing himself again. That is not going to happen.
"I was asking if you wanted to come in."
"Come…in?" He knows he sounds like an idiot, but who can blame him? It's not as though he's used to this.
"Yeah, inside, you know?" She steps aside and gestures to the doorway.
"Sure." He follows her into the room, thinking to himself how unnatural this is. From day one at Hogwarts, the interactions of James and Lily had been like one of the laws of nature. The sun rises every day. Everything that goes up must come down. James Potter and Lily Evans do not agree.
Her room is in the same basic style of his, in the sense that the bed, desk, bathroom, and closet are all in the same place as in his room. But the room is so full of her personality, he thinks. It's so Lily.
The room is bright and a sort of balance between clean and messy. Pictures, posters, drawings cover the walls. And they're very good paintings, James notices. He wonders if she did them.
Lily goes over to a spot in front of the window and flops down on the floor, and looks up to see James still standing there.
"Sit down," she says, her lips curving ever so slightly to see James standing there so nervously, as though she's about to bite his head off. "Make yourself at home." He sits tentatively on the edge of her bed.
He watches her as she turns to something on the floor and becomes absorbed in it. On further inspection, he sees that it's a sketchbook.
"So," he says, trying to break the silence that has fallen over the room.
"So…"
"So…" He can't just keep saying 'so'; he must look so idiotic. "Er…I didn't know you draw."
Lily sits up and faces him. "Yeah, I do, I suppose. A bit."
"A bit?"
"Yeah…occasionally." She looks up at him to see him staring with wide, revering eyes. "Oh, don't look at me like that, it's not as though it's so wonderful."
"What are you drawing now?"
She holds the sketchbook up to him. "Come and see."
He moves over and kneels down beside her, and his eyes widen. The page is a glorious blend of reds and oranges, yellows and pinks, purples and grays.
Lily has drawn the sunrise.
"Wow," he breathes.
"Thanks." She grins and he grins back. A moment of understanding.
"That's amazing. Wonderful."
"Not really."
"Did you do the paintings on the walls too?" Of course she did. Though he has never seen her paint, he knows that they are her work as well as he knows an essay written in Remus's hand is his, or that the lines of the Marauder's Map were written by Sirius.
"Er, yes."
"Then it iswonderful," he declares.
"Oh, stop it, Potter," she says. "It's not something so extraordinary."
Oh. Back to Potter now. It's a shame; he did rather like how she said James.
"Can I look at them?"
"Feel free," she replies, not taking her eyes off the sketchbook. He rises from the bed and walks to the other side of the room. He raises a hand and fingers the edge of a drawing. Lily really is a talented artist.
The people in the paintings and drawings are incredibly lifelike. He notices that Lily has written the names of her subjects in the bottom corner of the papers and canvases. He can recognize them all without looking, though: there's Mary McDonald and Hestia Jones and Lily in a group hug; Marlene McKinnon with her pet cat; Sirius; Peter; and there's even one of him and Remus.
He marvels at how clearly she can capture the images. Though he and Remus are both bent over a book in the drawing, he can clearly tell it's them. But most of all, James marvels that Lily has drawn him. Of all people. And put the picture up on her wall. If that doesn't spell suspicious…
Now he comes to a picture he doesn't fully recognize. Two girls, one slightly older than the other, are hugging each other and laughing. Behind them are a man and woman, both looking cheerful. The picture radiates warmth and joy. It clearly shows a happier time.
One of the girls is clearly Lily. The long, wavy hair; the vibrant eyes are the same. But as for the others, he doesn't know.
"Lily," he says. "Who are these in this picture?"
She looks up, and immediately James knows he has said the wrong thing. The worst possible wrong thing to say. And for the second time this morning, he thinks oh,bloodygod.
Her face has gone very white and all closed up. Her brilliant emerald eyes are no longer dancing. When she speaks, her voice is quiet.
"Those are my parents." She hesitates. "And my sister."
"I didn't know you had a sister." Even better. Each sentence sounds worse than the one before.
"Yeah, well…" She stops, and James sees she's considering how much to tell him. "Her name's Petunia."
Without warning, she breaks into silent tears.
James finds himself in a very awkward position. One side of him wants nothing more than to wrap his arms around her, stroke her hair, comfort her, tell her everything is going to be okay. On the other hand, a part of him is afraid it'll make things worse. That she'll get angry at him or something.
Eventually, the comforting side of him takes over and he drops down beside her shaking form. He places a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Lily."
She looks up; a half-glance.
"Want to talk about it."
She nods, vigorously and launches into shaky words. "This last summer…there was a car accident. And they- and they- and they…"
James puts a tentative arm around her, knowing what the words that don't want to come out of her mouth are. "Shhhh. It's okay." But he knows it's not. Not for her anyway. And he didn't even know.
"Was your sister also…"
She seems to understand his question. "No. No. That's not it." She breaks down again and he holds her closer, one hand brushing her dark red hair.
"She hates me."
It catches him off guard and his head snaps up. "What?"
"She hates me. Petunia. For being a witch, and for having magic, and- and because I couldn't stop it from happening!" she sobs. "We were so close, before everything. And then…"
"Lily. It'll be okay."
Lily looks up again. "What do you mean?"
"Your sister will see," he continues. "She'll see that she's wrong to hate you soon enough. No one could really hate a person like you. You're too sweet and kind and considerate and talented and funny and- and perfect." His voice stops abruptly.
"I'm not perfect. No one is perfect."
He turns her face to him. "You are to me."
There is a pin drop silence. The tension in the room is stretched tight for one second, two seconds. James thinks he'd best leave before he makes a complete idiot of himself.
"Thanks."
"Wh-what?" Hold on. Those are not the words he was expecting. This isn't right. At this point, Lily should be yelling at him for trying to ask her out again.
"I said thanks."
Silence, again. This silence is more confused, as though they are both trying to process each others' words. Then she speaks, at last.
"You know, you're pretty close to perfection yourself."
And the tension breaks. They are in understanding, and she leans against him and it's happiness all through. They sit together in blissful silence as they watch the sunrise, and his fingers dance through her brilliant red hair.
For now, at least, they will be okay.