"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed." Carl Jung

Now, I woke up the next morning with the most excruciatingly painful headache I've ever had the pleasure of bearing, but a new feeling of longing and piqued interest in my heart. It was odd, though. All I drank was butterbeer, but then again, taken in vast amounts, butterbeer can act like alcohol. I've certainly learned that the hard way before and again today.

Even as I was suffering, I could still recall his flustered expression, with a faint grin. It was different, compared to his usual infamous cockiness which I've heard lots of.

Unfortunately, we barely spoke after the party. He was such an interesting character; I wondered how he remained so intangible these past few years to me. I knew more about him than I led on. Secretly, I thought Sirius and him were geniuses. They pulled the most decadent and articulate pranks at and on the least expected times and people.

He was always surrounded by people. Beautiful, waif-like girls surrounded James and the rest of the Marauders. Everybody laughed at his jokes, not out of pity or fear, but because they were genuinely funny. He was somebody with a great sense of humor. And I was somebody who loved to laugh. You could already see what a beautiful friendship we would have.

I would see him in the halls during passing time and try and catch his eyes during the very few classes we had together. Many times I've seen him catch my eye or stare at me back. I tortured myself, constantly questioning, was he interested or was this just a desperate case of wishful thinking?

Oh how dearly I wanted to be close to him.

I was disgusted with myself, obsessing over a male like this. I decided to deny it. Deny this amorous feeling burning a hole in my chest, but I did realize something: life is like a box of chocolates, you're never going to know what you're going to get. I was not expecting to be obsessing over James Potter, even though it made things interesting.

As soon as I had finished my thoughts about comparing life to something such as packaged candy, I peeled my warm blankets off my body and slowly trudged into the bathroom, willing myself to get ready. It wasn't so easy since my head was throbbing in pure agony. I opened the bathroom cabinet as quick as I could and chugged the last of the lingering hangover potion. Wiping my lips with the back of my hand, I felt instantly better.

As apathetic as I could muster, I casually asked Cecily and Adrienne what they knew about James.

"James Potter," Cecily paused as she stared into the mirror, contemplating her next choice of which cosmetic to use. "Nothing too special about him, why?" She picked up a tube of chapstick and smeared it on her lips. Cecily stared at her reflection and smacked her lips a few times. "Perfect."

Life wasn't fair, but then again what was? Cecily was so naturally pretty, she didn't even need makeup. Besides, she didn't have a hangover the size of Britain. I didn't even bother to look in the mirror. As long as I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and flossed, I was good to go. No amount or combination of makeup was ever going to make me look even the slightest of pretty.

"James Potter?" Adrienne asked from my left side, hooking an earring on her left ear. "Oh, he's wild. The things I've heard he and his little friends have done... ooh, just absolutely blows you out of your mind."

"Like what?" I asked, trying to sound as careless as I could while dragging a comb through my ragged hair.

"Trashing the teacher's lounge, raiding Professor Slughorn's secret cabinet of ingredients, pranking Severus Snape at least once a day if that slimy git's lucky..." Adrienne said as she hooked on the other earring on the right ear. She smiled at her reflection. "You know, the usual."

I sighed.

"What about Peter Pettigrew?" Cecily asked as she put her long, blond hair into a ponytail. "I think he's kind of cute."

Adrienne wrinkled her nose as she leaned in and scrutinized her reflection. "He's too short."

Cecily snorted. "That's because you're practically six feet tall." Peter was around 5'5" while Cecily was just one or two inches shorter than him.

"You are pretty tall, Adrienne," I agreed. I barely made 5'1". I was rather petite, but I liked it that way. "But, Peter is adorable."

"I know." Adrienne sighed melodramatically and curled her eyelashes. "It's so hard to find a guy that's taller than me. Most are just a couple of inches shorter, which is... okay, I guess. But it just looks so weird. I mean, imagine Lily dating somebody that was five feet!"

"Lily's dating somebody who's five feet?" A voice said, entering the bathroom. It was Genevieve with a grin on her face. "Why am I not surprised, Lily? You finally got somebody around your own height." She went to her own sink and tied up her hair.

I slapped her arm playfully. "Adrienne said it would look weird if I dated somebody who was five feet tall. I mean, it doesn't matter how tall he is! I mean, as long as he's funny, nice, sweet, and junk, it'll be fine!" Adrienne handed me her eyelash curler and I curled my lashes as well.

"Of course, it doesn't even matter. He's practically your height anyways," Genevieve added as she whipped out her toothbrush and added a thick layer of toothpaste unto it. "By the way, thanks for not waking me up." She started scrubbing her teeth vigorously. Genevieve was quite obsessed with dental hygiene and forced us all the brush daily. And that was why I brushed and flossed twice a day, every day.

"How could we wake up somebody who was snoring over our 'WAKE UP!'s?" Cecily asked lightly as she put away her toothbrush in a pink cup. "We tried, Gen, we really did. Anyways, I've got to go down!" Cecily hurriedly exited.

"Oh, me too," Genevieve said quickly as she scrubbed her mouth some more and spat out her toothpaste and splashed some water onto her face.

As she left, I shot Adrienne an odd look.

She put on a coat of lipstick and gave me an offended look. "Well, don't look at me."

I sighed as I left the bathroom. I wanted to find out something interesting about James, but all we talked about were midget boys. No one I knew seemed to know him that well. Idly smacking my head (perhaps I even got in a little bit of sense); I swore to myself that I wasn't going to drink ever again. Furthermore, I divorced my beloved Absolut and vast amounts of butterbeer and decided to marry Marlboro Lights.

For the next few days, James and I barely spoke. Why would we, anyways? We had nothing in common besides having our classes together. I'll admit it I was definitely intrigued. I was still gathering information about him. But it's mostly the same old. Rich, handsome, nice, good quidditch player... blah blah blah.

Three days (and a few hours, give or take) after the party, I was studying in the library for a Transfiguration exam and being disturbed by anyone was the last thing that I had wanted. It was a Sunday and most people were eating dinner by this point. The library was pretty much empty, except for the procrastinators who waited until today to finish their homework, just like me. The dormitory wasn't really the best place to study for an exam, what with all the gossiping, chattering girls in there. I needed the quiet and tranquility of a library to keep me going, which was maintained wonderfully by the shrill and strict Madame Pince with her piercing, murderous glances. I had charmed my hair blonde, which looked absolutely horrible with my skin, but I just felt like I needed an escape. Besides, I was beyond unrecognizable. My lustrous eyes were a dead give-away, as usual, so I masked them with sunglasses. Besides, Transfiguration was a subject that I have been neglecting lately.

I had just finished my essay on Switching Spells and had just started to practice turning a hedgehog into a pincushion. Last time I had Transfiguration, it was going all right, but my pincushion had too many spikes. So I thought I should perfect it today. I took out my very sharp pincushion and placed it in front of me and whipped out my wand. Trying my hardest to concentrate, I flicked my wrist and wand in as many ways as I could think of. There were still three spikes.

A heavy Potions book with random pieces of parchment sticking out dropped on the desk neatly, but loudly.

I snapped out of my stupor of concentration and looked up blankly. "James." I was a little taken aback and very surprised. Remembering what I had said to him, I'm surprised he even sought me out. Any normal guy would've been intimidated to death.

"At your service," he replied, bowing a little.

"At my service? Wonderful, do you think you can help me fully turn a porcupine into a pincushion?" I raised an eyebrow questioningly.

James looked down. "Look, you don't need my help. You've already did it."

I looked down and there were no more spikes on the pincushion. It was fully transfigured. "Well, McGonagall will be proud," I declared.

He started flipping through his potions book. "Mind if I study with you? Tables are all full."

I shrugged nonchalantly. "I don't mind."

He smiled at me. "You know, you are one little lady that's pretty hard to find."

"And is that a compliment?"

"Well, it certainly isn't an insult, Miss Evans. It was certainly hard to find you through all these faces in the library, too. What're you doing, wearing sunglasses? It's certainly not sunny in here."

"It is in my world."

"Your world? I would love to go there."

"Sorry, bud. The entrance fee is so high, even you couldn't afford it. Besides, it's only allowed for special people."

"You'd be surprised at the things I could buy, Lily. Whatever the price, name it."

"You're so persnickety."

"Sometimes I can be even more persnicketier." James wiggled his eyebrows.

I suppressed laughter. "Don't make me laugh, Potter. I'm trying to concentrate here, which, thanks to you, I cannot anymore."

"Why can't you concentrate?"

"Because you're here."

"Then I guess I'm a distraction?"

"That would be correct."

"How wonderful, I've always wanted to distract other people and now I've finally done it."

"I'm so proud of you, Potter."

"So am I."

"Good."

"Glorious day, today, isn't it?"

"Abso-fucking-lutely."

"I like that word."

"Because it has 'fuck' in it, right?"

"Partially. Also, it has 'absolutely' in it, split by the word 'fuck', which makes it extremely extraordinary. Like persnickety."

"Well, I'm glad you feel that way, Potter, because there are hardly any extraordinary words, let alone extraordinary anything, left in this world."

"Tell me about it. The world is such a sham."

"No need to state the obvious."

"On the contrary, Quidditch is rather extraordinary."

"Oh you and your bloody Quidditch. When will you boys stop with that?"

"Perhaps never. It is the greatest sport invented."

"Just flying around chasing a ball."

"Two, actually. While batting away two large ones. Anyways, it's better than your Muggle sports."

"Like I give a damn about Muggle sports. I wish the concept of sports was never even invented. It's useless."

"You just don't like Quidditch and sports because you're no good at them. You skipped our first flying class, now what kind of a foundation is that?"

"Oh, shut up Potter. Some day I'll learn."

"It's really an extraordinary feeling. Like how 'abso-fucking-lutely' is an extraordinary word."

"That doesn't really make sense, Potter."

"It does if you think long and hard about it, Evans, dear."

"I don't mind you calling me 'Evans', but please don't call me 'dear'."

"Why not? 'Dear' sounds better than 'Evans'. More affectionate."

"True, but it makes us sound like an old, bickering married couple."

"What's so wrong about that?"

"I wouldn't ever want to grow old."

"And why not? Everybody ages, it's part of the aging process and the cycle of life."

"Being old means dependent on somebody because you can't do any damn things for yourself."

"You're dependent on your parents now."

"Yes, but not while I'm at school."

"But when you go home, you are."

"Still. Anyways, I'd hate it if my tits sagged down to my knees."

"Yes, that's not exactly a very pretty sight, is it?"

"Oh, shut up, Potter. That's what happens to old women."

"Then let's hope you never become old because your tits are looking fine right now."

"Gee, thanks, James. I feel so special, now that you're looking at my tits."

"Why are you calling me James all of a sudden? Are you embarrassed, perhaps? Flushed, maybe? Well, it's okay, Lily. I mean, you're rather intimidating yourself."

"Shut up, Potter. I am not embarrassed or flushed. And I'm not intimidating either."

"You are abso-fucking-lutely right, you know that, Lily? Because when people aren't embarrassed and aren't flushed, their cheeks always turn red. And you are intimidating. It's surprising intimidating people like you get embarrassed."

"Shut up, Potter."

"It's quite nice, actually. It matches your hair. How did your hair become so red?"

"Shut up, Potter."

"Your mother, maybe?"

"Shut up, Potter."

"Or perhaps your father? He's Irish, isn't he?"

"I got my skin and hair, which clash horribly, from my mother. My eyes are from my father and I've always wished for his brown eyes or even my sister's blue eyes. She's perfect, you know. Blonde hair, blue eyes, skinny. I'm just plain awkward. An albino midget, if you will."

"Your eyes are very bright. A very bright green."

"Thank you."

"You know, they look like the color of grass."

I shot him a look.

"No, really."

"Well your eyes look like the color of dirt."

"Actually, my eyes are more of a golden shade, but whatever you say. Grass and dirt go together, you know. Grass grows on dirt."

"I know. They still look like dirt."

He laughed. "Except they really don't."

"They do. If my eyes look like the color of grass, yours resemble dirt."

"Fine, then. Maybe they do. That makes us a pair. Anyways, you're not awkward, Lily. You're unique."

"I guess. Maybe."

"Trust me, you are. Being pale, green-eyed—excuse me—grass-eyed, and red-haired is better than being the average blonde-haired, blue-eyed girl. It makes you unique."

"Are you trying to cheer me up?"

"Possibly."

"It's not going to work. I still want to have blue eyes and blonde hair. Grass eyes are horrible."

"Well, you're already half-way there. Why not charm your eyes blue?"

"Because then I'd be exactly like my sister."

"Isn't that what you want?"

I paused. "I don't want to be exactly like her. She's horrible."

"Then be yourself."

"I try. But sometimes I don't know who I am."

"That happens to all of us, love. We don't know who we are until we discover ourselves."

"How?"

"A major epiphany, I guess."

"How shoddy, I hardly ever have epiphanies."

"I know. Life sucks."

"It does."

"The world isn't fair."

"Obviously."

It was silent. We had run out of things to talk about.

"Finish your homework?"

"Pretty much. The pincushion was the last of it."

"Excellent work, by the way."

"Thank you, James."

"That's Professor Potter to you, Miss Evans!"

"Thank you, Professor Potter." I laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"You, being a professor, of all things."

"It's not that funny."

"Yes it is."

"Is not.

"Is too."

"Is not.

"Is too."

"Is not."

"Is not."

"Ah, I told you."

"Shut up."

"Trying to use reverse psychology on me? Tut, tut. It'd never work. Nothing works on me."

"You were supposed to say 'Is too'. You ruined it."

"Oh, really? Damn, I hate ruining things."

"Well, you do seem to have a talent for it."

"Well, that's not very good, is it?"

"No, it isn't."

"How unfortunate."

"Mhmm..."

"Oh well, too bad. Unfortunately for you, Lily, I guess I'm going to ruin this conversation." He checked his watch. "Yep, Quidditch practice. Sorry, Lily. I've got to go."

"You and your bloody Quidditch."

"Shame I didn't get any Potions homework done."

"A real shame," I agreed, flipping open his Potions book. In it was a piece of folded parchment with a few lines of James's scrawl on the top. "You haven't started? You realize we're supposed to have three feet by tomorrow?"

James shrugged. "I've got a brilliant mind and know how to use it well. Besides, I'm excellent at managing time."

"Then you better be leaving, James. You're late." I smiled, resting my chin in my palm.

He glanced down at his watch briefly and muttered 'shit' under his breath. "First time that this has ever happened."

I nodded. "I'm sure. Better be going, James."

He grabbed his Potions book into his arms and added, "Until next time, Lily." He then turned neatly on his heel and strode off.

I leaned back in my chair, biting the tip of the quill in my mouth, and smiled. So there was going to be a next time?

Hmm... interesting.

&&&&&

Now, my father and mother both solemnly declared they were devout Catholics and firmly loved and worshipped God. However, their behavior proved them to be devout alcoholics worshipping alcohol instead, which is, perhaps, why I married my beloved Absolut in the first place. It's in my blood.

When I was younger, my mother and I fought nail and tooth. Not just about church, but everything else, too. She pleaded, yelled, screamed, and forced me to go to church every Sunday. I always obliged, being the obedient, darling daughter I was at the peak of our arguments before she blew a fuse or gave herself a heart attack. I even confessed my sins to the pastor once due to my mother's persistent encouraging. I admitted only some of the things I done. Yes, it was I who set a snake in Petunia's room and used up all Mother's expensive designer lipstick on my face so I could see how war paint looked on my face in case Native Americans attacked us. It was I who would stay up late and read with a flashlight under my bed, despite repeated warnings from my parents, sister, and nannies, which ultimately led to the demise of my eyes (I now wear contacts, blasted things). It was also I who stole Mummy and Daddy's bottle of wine and drank a small cup every day. I knew I was fucked up. Before starting Hogwarts, I was already a boozer.

Confessing did not feel good at all. I knew the pastor wasn't there to judge, but underneath all that holiness and piety of him, I knew he was shocked by the things I did and thought me to be a bad Catholic. But I don't disagree with him; I'm the worst Catholic or religious person you'd ever meet. After the confession, I walked out, feeling vulnerable and looked down upon. My pride was stomped on the pastor's sharp intake of breaths, which screamed out judgmental, during my confession and my mouth was forever kept shut since. I stopped letting people in after that.

Maybe with the exception of my friends. But they weren't dressed in white, commanding a church of religious nuts, and preached the way of God all the time. If they did, they hid it extremely well.

I had the biggest grin on my face as I walked out of the library that day. I was giddy with euphoria as I tightly clutched my large Transfiguration book with both arms. As weird as it was, he thinks I have grass eyes. I retaliated by claiming his eyes are dirt. They aren't, really. Nevertheless, we're a pair. He even said it to himself. I was smiling this incredibly stupid smile as I entered my dorm. All my friends were there, each on their own bed, doing their own thing, probably putting off homework, except for Genevieve. But then again, she probably had hers done.

"What's up with you?" Cecily asked as soon as I entered the room, looking up from her bed. She had obviously noticed my state of ecstasy.

"Nothing, nothing..." I responded, being as blasé as I could as I walked over to my trunk and dumped down my book. I sat next to it, fingering a weathered edge of the cover.

She looked at me suspiciously. "You're not drunk, are you?"

I certainly felt as if I was drunk. The world seemed like a blur. "Now, if I was, do you really think a drunk would answer that question correctly?"

"Good point." She looked down again, flipping through her magazine.

"Well, if you're not drunk, what bloody happened to you?" Adrienne demanded from her bed. She was painting her toenails a glaring, fire-engine red with the utmost contemplation. The color was almost as red as my hair. "And why the hell are you blonde?"

"Oops," I murmured, whispering the charm to cancel out my blonde hair. Instantly, my hair was bright red again. "I didn't want to be disturbed at the library."

"Now what the hell happened in the library to cause you to be so skittish?" She looked up, screwing the nail varnish bottle tightly closed. Once Adrienne left the top opened and it spilled all over the bed. The smell of it was horrible and our room stunk of that disgusting smell for a week. Nothing we tried charmed out the smell, not even the strong scent of patchouli and flowers! It was incredible how strong it was but unfortunate for us because we all had to camp out in the other dorms for a week. "Don't lie to me, I know something happened. You have that insane look on your face. Besides, when you walked in, your grin was wicked huge."

I flung myself on the bed, pulling the sheets over my head. "Shut up," I remarked muffledly. Secretly, I could hardly wait until next time. Should I seek him out or play the hard-to-get card and make him find me again? Oh, the choices... it was so hard to decide which one to settle upon.

Grass and dirt go together, you know. Grass grows on dirt. His words stuck to my mind. Grass and dirt do go together. Grass does grow on dirt.

"What did happen, Lily?" Genevieve had finally looked up from her own Potions homework. "You sound... different."

I took my head out from my pillow, flung my sheets off, and cleared my throat. "I just had a very nice conversation. It is rare to find somebody who I can talk to for more than a few minutes, other than you three. And... that is all." Once again, I dragged the sheets over my head, feigning sleep, and ignoring their curious questioning. Dirt-eyes wanted to see me again and that's all that really mattered right now. Abso-fucking-lutely.