Chapter 12

For the next few days I tried hard to get used to the new routine of showering at night, getting up the next morning three hours before I normally would to let Annabelle attack my hair while Abby meticulously applied my makeup to match the outfit they'd chosen for me the day before. I hated the amount of energy everyone put in to making me look "beautiful," but even I couldn't deny the amazing results. It seemed that my popularity grew by the day. More and more people went out of their way in the hallways to tell me hello, or wish me luck in my classes. Most of these people were male, but even the girls were starting to befriend me.

"They're just jealous," Annabelle said confidently one morning when I mentioned the girls. "They only want to get to know you because they want to ask you how you went from nerd to minx over the summer, so they can make themselves look more beautiful too."

I realized this was probably exactly why these girls suddenly seemed so interested in being my friend when before they didn't even know I existed. It made me angry that the world—Muggle and wizarding alike—seemed to be so obsessed with looks, but it also made some inner part of me buried deep under my bookworm-ish personality smile to hear that girls were jealous of me. In complete honesty, the fact that even a miniscule part of me being was happy about this made me even more adamant about my dislike of the makeover.

One thing I liked about this year, though, besides the more interesting and complicated spells, was the time I was getting to spend with Davie Sathers. He was a really nice boy, charming and sweet and funny, and he seemed to be genuinely interested in what I had to say. He never pressed about my family life, which, as he pointed out once, I always seemed to avoid talking about. He realized it made me slightly uncomfortable, and immediately changed the subject. He also never tried to kiss me or hold my hand or anything; he didn't seem to expect anything out of me, he just liked keeping me company in the library, where I hid from Annabelle and Abby after classes.

"It's not that I don't appreciate their efforts," I said to Davie one crisp late September afternoon in the library. "It's just…I don't understand why they're so determined about the whole thing."

"They probably think you wanted it," he said, shrugging. "I mean, you've never really told them that you didn't like it, have you? Sure, you protest, but you've never outright told them you were against changing."

I thought about this for a moment, sucking on the quill poised above my Potions essay. "Well, you've got a point there," I said finally. "I guess it's because I thought I wanted to change. I was tired of never being noticed, I suppose, but once I was put in the spotlight, I realized that I didn't like it at all."

"You're not telling me that you don't enjoy all this attention?" he teased, grinning at me from across the table.

I tore off a piece of spare parchment, rolled it into a ball and threw it at him. "That's exactly what I'm saying!" But I grinned at him all the same, and laughed when the ball hit him squarely between the eyes. "Actually, it's not the attention I mind, it's just the fact that I had to change so much to get the attention. I hate that the world is so obsessed with the way people look. All these people are realizing that I'm an interesting person, but they don't seem to realize that I've always been this person; it took a fancy new hairdo and new clothes for them to notice me."

"You're right," he agreed, nodding. "I hate to admit that it took those things for me to notice you, too. But I'm also glad you went through with it, because without this makeover thing, I never would have gotten to know you. I wish I could say that I'm the type of person that noticed you before, but I can't, and I'm sorry."

I was touched at his honesty. "But if I were to go back to the old me, the bookworm, you would-?"

"Treat you the same way I'm treating you now," he said, somewhat proudly, and I laughed again.

"Well, good. I'm glad to hear that."

And suddenly we seemed to be a whole lot closer to one another than we had been two seconds earlier, and the laughter died in my throat. I found myself captured in his gaze, captivated by the bright blue pools that seemed so endless and yet so genuine. My mind was completely swept clear of all thoughts of my now forgotten essay or the makeover; all I could see or think was him.

I felt his warm fingers brush lightly against my cheek, and suddenly it hit me: this was the moment. This was going to be my first kiss, and instead of fearing it, I welcomed the idea that it would be with this amazing boy, in a place that I loved. This was it, a life-changing moment that every girl has fantasies about, and suddenly I couldn't imagine a more perfect opportunity for it to happen.

Our faces were mere inches apart now; I could feel his breath against me, smelling faintly of the mint gum he had been chewing earlier. For a moment I panicked, wondering what my own breath must smell like, but after he didn't pull away, I figured it couldn't be that terrible. In the moment just before our lips touched, my eyelids fluttered shut while my heart began to beat ten times faster than its original rate.

And then his lips met mine, and the whole world just stopped. Nothing existed but Davie Sathers and me. I could hear nothing but my own heart roaring in my ears, the sound of his gentle breathing, and…

"So, fraternizing with the enemy now, are we?"

And James Potter's voice?

No.

That couldn't be right.

That was not what I had imagined for my first kiss. James Potter was definitely NOT apart of that dream. That boy belonged somewhere in a nightmare.

But sure enough, there he was, standing on the other side of the table, glaring at us as Davie shot away from me.

"Well?" James demanded, completely ignoring Davie now and training his laser eyes on me. "What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?"

I was completely speechless for several moments, torn between saying so many things, both to Potter and Davie. I decided to first deal with the former. "Enemy? What—what are you talk—what are you doing here?"

"Witnessing a huge act of betrayal, apparently," he scoffed, glancing briefly over to Davie with a seething look before returning his icy stare back on me.

Luckily Mrs. Pince was elsewhere in the library helping some Hufflepuff girl find a book, otherwise she probably would have thrown me out for the commotion that ensued. Anger finally seemed to kick in over shock, and suddenly I was filled with such a hot rage that I stood up so quickly my chair toppled over backward.

"How dare you?" I ignored the fallen chair and stepped right up to Potter, glaring up at him furiously. "Just what do you think you're doing in here, huh? What the bloody hell gives you the right to barge in here and—and—interrupt us?"

"I was trying to save you from making a very bad mistake, Evans! You'd never be happy with him!"

"Oh, and what, you'd think I'd be happier with you? You don't know anything about me, you stupid boy! You know nothing about me. I happen to be very happy with Davie, a lot happier than I could EVER be with the likes of your sorry, immature, idiotic self!"

"How would you know that? How could you say you'd never be happy with me if you don't give me a chance? That's not fair, Lily!"

"NOT FAIR?" I roared. By this time we were in the entrance hall, although I wasn't completely sure how we'd gotten there, and the argument had escalated in volume so that several first years coming inside scattered around us, running to be anywhere but in the middle of the argument of the century. "You want to know what's not fair, Potter? YOU RUINING MY FIRST KISS BECAUSE YOU'RE TOO STUPID AND IMMATURE TO DEAL WITH THE FACT THAT I HATE YOU!"

"Hate's a strong word, Evans," James drawled. This was how a typical row between us went: I screamed myself hoarse while he sneered coolly and kept antagonizing me.

"It's a strong emotion!" I shot back, angrily shoving my hand through my hair, roughly yanking out several strands.

"Ah, but you do feel about me," he said smugly, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling as if he'd just won a Quidditch match single-handedly. "You feel strongly about me."

"You're right, Potter, I do feel strongly about you. I strongly feel disgusted whenever I see you flirt with all the girls you come in contact with. I strongly wish you'd drop off the face of the planet. I strongly want to push you down a flight of stairs and then cut off all of that stupid, messy hair of yours so you can't flip it back all the time like you're king of the world. I strongly loathe you from the very depths of my soul." I panted, cutting myself off, because I could have gone on and on. "So, if that's what you're aiming for, to make me feel 'strongly' about you, well then, good job. You've done it."

The cocky smile had successfully been wiped off his face. He now stood before me with his jaw practically at his feet. Hurriedly he closed his mouth and tried to make it seem like my words meant nothing to him. I was too angry to feel sorry for all the mean things I'd said. He'd just shattered my very basic desire for the perfect first kiss, something every girl deserved; in my mind, he deserved every single harsh word and then some.

"Uh oh."

My head snapped up to see Abby and Annabelle standing at the bottom of the stairs, watching us both very carefully. Potter didn't make a single move to look at them. He just stood there staring at me.

"Lily?" Abby said tentatively, taking a small step forward. "What happened? Is everything okay?"

And then I was running to my best friends, being enveloped in their open, loving arms. Unexpectedly I began to cry, and silently they each wrapped an arm around one of my shoulders and led me up the staircase, leaving James standing alone, undoubtedly still staring at the spot where I'd been standing a few moments earlier, a look of shock and hurt still in his eyes.

"Out of the way, now," Annabelle shouted through the crowded Gryffindor common room, as everyone from all years began to ask a million questions about the fight. Thankfully while Annabelle fought to make a path through the crowd, Abby blocked me from view, remembering that I hated crying in public. Finally we managed to make it up the stairs to our dorm, where the girls both locked the door and also propped a chair against the handle so no one else could get in.

They sat me down on my bed, and while Abby went to get a washcloth for my face, Annabelle removed my shoes and robes. Abby came and carefully washed the mascara lines from my cheeks and eyes, and Annabelle rummaged through my trunk until she found my favourite pair of comfortable pj's and the girls helped me out of my uniform and into those pj's. Then they lied down on either side of me on my bed and let me cry.