3.
It's a Friday, and that fact alone is making me feel the same happiness that springtime often brings to bloom inside my chest.
I'm descending the spiral staircase from the Muggle Studies classroom at the leisurely pace I seem to be floating around everywhere lately, dragging a finger across the sill of the curved window that wraps around the stairs. The grounds outside are bathed in golden light, and I can see Hagrid near his hut, roughhousing with his massive Tibbetan Mastiff, Leo. I smile as the dog springs to its feet and lunges at Hagrid like a great shaggy lion. My smile widens as I remember the incident at the end of last year, when James Potter and Sirius Black capitalized on Leo's likeness to a wildcat, and briefly kidnapped him to act as the Gryffindor mascot on the afternoon of the Quiddich Final.
The contentment glowing in my chest swells as I realize I only feel a nostalgic sweetness at the memory. No heart-palpitations, no oncoming panic attacks. I am back. Lily Evans is a sane girl once more.
Well. You know what I mean.
This bizarre roller-coaster of a week is drawing to a close, and I really can't help but feel foolish in its hindsight. I spent the evening alone in the dorm last night, after deciding enough was enough, and forced myself to buckle down to sort out my feelings. And I can see what happened now; laid out behind me like the still frames of a comic book. And while yes... I feel silly, I also feel incredibly relieved.
James Potter for whatever reason (mostly his own amusement, I think) set his bull-headed sights on me pretty much the moment he hit puberty. Before that, even, though I can't quite remember the exact moment when I started to realize that his attentions were a little more pointed than the teasings of children. And so it has been for years and years. True, the great majority of his efforts have been highly theatrical attempts to ask me out, or else incessant teasing about my lack of dating thus far, but it has been attention all the same… and I suppose some part of me- a part I always tried to pretend didn't exist- enjoyed it.
And now those attentions are gone. Where I used to get a daily lift, a laugh, a chance to tell him off, I am now met with nothing; thin air. Potter and I have had huge fights before (and I mean huge. Shouting matches in the common room- objects bursting into flame around us- McGonagle storming down in her bathrobe. Huge.). Times where we haven't spoken to each other for weeks on end. But the anger in the air between us was still something. There was still a constant, if silent and resentful, back and forth. A backwards confirmation that we meant enough to each other to at least constitute mutual loathing.
And if I'm being completely honest with myself, this polite emptiness, the total erasion of the six years we have known each other, feels like an unexpected and unbearable rejection.
And that is so unfair. So unfair. Because how many times have I rejected him? With my nasty wit and fiery temper, without thinking about his feelings before I opened my mouth? Hundreds. At least. And the first time I get a taste of my own medicine, my whole world is rocked.
No way. I will not be that person. I will not be the brat who snaps and blunders around acting impulsively- then crumples like a victim the moment someone mirrors her actions against her.
So Potter has finally taken the hint that I have literally screamed in his face more than once? So he's become a mature human being (against all odds) and has finally decided to stop barking up the willow who has whomped him at his every attempt? Good for him.
Yes, I became uncontrollably vulnerable at the feeling of rejection. He suddenly seemed more desirable- a respect ignited by that ranking order of dogs; the rule of 'if he disgraces you, he is the leader'. I know there is something in the most basic part of being human that makes someone who ignores you attractive. And I won't bite.
I will stick to the track I have seen without fail for six years- I will live my life, without James Potter's intrusion, and be the happy, completely opposite personality of him that I am.
And I will let go of this ridiculous feeling of being snubbed, and be pleased that he has finally decided to cooperate with me!
I feel proud of myself for working this out in such a calm and timely manner, and the light pouring in through the crystal windows looks just a little bit brighter for it.
I finally manage to tear myself away from the window to continue on my way to dinner, my mind suddenly occupied with how Alice and I will spend our weekend. I am looking so forward to a sleep-in tomorrow, followed of course, by a long morning of lazing about in our dorm with the rest of the girls, talking and laughing and experimenting with beauty charms.
Midway down the stairs, I can see two sources of commotion moving towards each other from opposite sides of the corridor below, like two blips on a muggle tracking device, blinking towards each other on a collision course. On the end closest to me, I hear raised voices. Two boys are jeering and laughing, their insults and laughter shouted in equal barks. A small, feminine voice is protesting quietly, in the ragged tone that comes just before tears. On the other end of the corridor comes another blend of male and female voices. However in this case, the girl is speaking in the soft lilt of flirtation, punctuated by a tinkling laugh. The male voice is bantering with her in a hyper, cocky tone that I know all too well.
The foul play moving directly below me should have roused the Head Girl in me. I know it should have. I haven't been exactly living up to my duties so far. But seeing as the Head Boy was already down there, and seeing as the mouth of the stairs would have deposited me directly in between the two groups if I were to rush down to the rescue... something in me freezes.
Predictably, so predictably, Potter- ever heroic and noble- stills like a wolf when he notices the raised voices. That frighteningly hungry look, the one that I began to notice on him at the end of last year, slides into place as his eyes narrow in disgust, fixed on whoever is at the end of the corridor. I hear him mutter a 'hold on' to the girl beside him, who I recognize as Penny Wood, and he saunters down the remaining length of the corridor, drawing his wand as he does.
"Mulciber, what the fuck," he says in a loud, clear voice, "are you doing?"
The other party has come into my field of vision now. It's Mulciber and a younger Slytherin boy, on the heels of a young girl, like feral dogs snapping at her ankles. She's clutching her books tightly to her chest, looking disturbed and scared, and I can hear her sniffling as quietly as she can into the sleeve of her robe. She looks up quickly at the sound of James' voice, her eyes darting between him and the Slytherins.
"Oh, we're just having a little fun," comes the unnervingly charming voice of Mulciber. He nudges the girl in a forced playful way that makes her close her eyes in fright, cringing away from his touch.
"Yeah?" James asks domineeringly, his voice full of a barely contained fight. He bends down to look the girl in the eye, and says in a much, much softer voice, "Are you having fun?"
She gives a frightened little sob in protest, and even from where I'm standing I can see his eyes widen, his hand shoot out to rest bracingly on her back. He murmurs something in a low, sweet voice that I have never heard the likes of before, and his hand on her back comes up to smooth her hair. She's tiny- only a first or second year, and I can see that her little face is torn between relief and humiliation as fresh tears begin to pour silently down her cheeks. James draws himself up, standing taller than I remember, and looks Mulciber coldly in the eye.
"Fuck off, Mulciber. Chase after a girl your own age, if you must. Personally I think you'd be much better suited to a flesh-eating-slug than a human girl, but... I suppose that's beyond my reach as Head Boy."
There's a terrible moment where I'm sure, from everything I've known about James for six years, that he's going to lose control and hex Mulciber right then and there, to punctuate his disgust. I can imagine the duel that will ensue, and I realize with a heavy internal groan that it would, of course, be up to me to break up.
"Please," Mulciber sneers a horrible sneer, and there is ice in his voice, "as if I would ever mess about with a Mudblood. I've got plans for girls who aren't tainted with that sort of filth. Can't be getting myself all dirty first, now can I?"
This results in a moment where I'm quite sure, that I am about to lose control and hex Mulciber right then and there. The little girl is looking violated, and there is a nasty fire flowing through my blood at the sight of her face, and the sound of that muddy word. But James beats me to it.
"Go to the Headmaster's office," he says calmly, and for a moment I am stunned and a little angry that he isn't flying off the handle. "Right now. I'm sending word ahead of you, so don't you dare try and downplay your level of perversion, you sick, prejudiced sack of scum."
It is only as he finishes his sentence that I hear that the note of calm in his tone is forced- I hear the shaking in his voice beneath it, I see his fist clenched so tightly around his wand that his knuckles are white and red.
Mulciber snorts, "I don't have to do anything you tell me to, Potter. Get out of my way."
It happens so fast that I swear I don't even see James move at all. He twitches, his eyes flashing, and Mulciber is doubled over, yowling, his hands cupping himself between his legs. James locks his gaze on the younger Slytherin, and his eyes speak as clearly as a voice. 'Run'. The boy turns and speeds down the corridor and out of sight.
"There, Mulciber," James says in that same eerie calm, though he's breathing fast, "how's that for dirty? Do be careful with the boils- they pop at the touch of the breeze. Now go to the Headmaster's office. I'm sending word to Madame Pomfrey that she's not to treat you until you've spoken to the Dumbledore about your views on Muggleborns."
Mulciber shouts a string of obscenities, but staggers away all the same. James watches him until he's gone, his hand flexing on his wand as if he's coming out of a reverie. Penny Wood, who I had completely forgotten was there, approaches cautiously, and he tells her he'll see her later. She reluctantly disappears down the same end of the hallway as Mulciber- and it's just James, the young girl… and me. Watching like a frozen statue halfway down the staircase.
"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice making that impossible switch again. To tender concern. The girl tries to nod bravely, but her face crumples, and he smiles a sweetly heartsore smile at the sight. His hand cups her face gently, his palm practically the size of her head, and he tilts her chin up so she'll stop trying to hide her eyes.
"Don't ever listen to rubbish like that," he says softly. "I'm serious!" He drops his tone conspiratorially, that twinkle alight in his eyes. "Those gits are absolutely delusional, and they're just frightened because they've only ever known one world. You've known two."
The girl frowns at him dubiously and he nods enthusiastically.
"It's true," he says, "I always used to feel jealous of muggle-born students. They got to come here from a whole different world that I've never known anything about, really. It's the same for all of them. Voldemort, Mulciber- the whole idiotic lot. Just don't listen to it."
The girl starts a little as he says Voldemort's name, and then laughs nervously, looking around as though expecting someone to burst through the roof and smite him. He looks around theatrically as well, pulling a face of wide-eyed anticipation. The girl laughs again. He grins at her, and tousles her hair. "Off you go," he whispers, with a playful jerk of his head. She scurries away, still sniffling a little.
He watches her make it all the way down the corridor, and heaves a huge sigh when she disappears from view. His shoulders slump a little, and he runs a hand agitatedly through his hair before turning to continue on his own way down the corridor, beneath me, and out of sight.
I'm still rooted to the stairs.
There's a surging wave of feelings rising up inside of me, led most notably by a massive lump in my throat. My heart is pumping an intoxicatingly broken sensation through my veins with every beat, and I realize my mouth is frozen open, my eyes boring into the spot where James Potter was standing a moment before. I can't seem to change my expression, and I can see how I must look in my mind's eye- a portrait of raw, dumb-struck emotion.
The relief, the contentment of a few minutes before seems suddenly like a dream, and all I can hear as I stand on the deserted steps is the traces of that impossibly tender voice, still reverberating through my mind, filling hollow spaces I never even knew were there.
