"Fleurose."
I watched in vivid fascination as the tea-stained handkerchief upon my desk curled at the edges, folding and unfolding, and then grew a stem sprinkled with demure thorns and leaves before finally turning a deep crimson colour – a beautiful rose.
It wasn't that I hadn't seen a rose before, but that this was one of the occasions when I got a Transfiguration incantation right during my first try. Professor McGonagall stalked over briskly, leaning over and fingering with her spectacles such that they perched even lower on her noise, and then awarded me a rare smile. "Very good," she commented, before sweeping away, the hem of her emerald green robes trailing along the dusty floor.
Erika, sitting beside me, looked impressed. "I thought you hated Transfiguration," she whispered, making sure that Professor McGonagall was out of ear-shot.
"I never said that," I objected, "I just don't exactly love it."
"So… James hasn't been asking you out for a while, has he?" she drawled, smoothly changing the subject and placing emphasis on his name. James.
I quirked an eyebrow. Strangely enough, my throat seemed to be getting drier by the moment. "I didn't know you took notice of such things," I replied calmly, nonchalantly skimming the page before me, tracing my finger along the lines as I read.
"James really likes you, you know," she persisted, her tone hushed. "Give him a chance." Though the words themselves were a request, her tone shaped them into a command. A vague sense of déjà vu jolted my senses. Had we had this conversation before? It seemed like ages since I'd last talked about James with someone else.
"I don't like him in that way," I insisted.
"So in exactly what way do you like him?" she countered.
"It's…I don't really like him. I don't even know him well. It's just a sort of acquaintance, a nodding acquaintance." I startled myself by keeping my composure. Normally, I'd have started giving her the cold shoulder by then.
"Well, at least that's better. During the years before you'd have started ranting and going on about how horrible he was. You wouldn't even say that you had an acquaintance with him; you'd just blatantly state that you hated him," she mused, smirking.
I felt my cheeks coloring, as though someone was doodling on them with a pink crayon. "You're not implying anything, are you?" I said hotly, abruptly ceasing my calm pretence. Thankfully I did not say it out that loud; only the students in front of us turned to give me an odd glance, then they turned to face the front again.
"Hm?" she responded distractedly, twirling her rose with slender fingers, "Implying anything? Of course not, Lily…I've never been the sort to, ahem, imply."
"I'll take your word for that."
Professor Flitwick's squeak punctured the din in the Charms classroom that afternoon. "Good afternoon, everyone. The test you took a few days ago has been marked, and as you all know, it is a very important paper…It will count towards your end of term report. Your NEWTS are only a few months away, so I suggest, if you have done badly in this test, to try to improve. Now, I will read out your results."
All of a sudden, the classroom had acquired a silence it was rather unwonted to. Silence hung in the air like a heavy veil, and the air itself was still as if holding its breath in anticipation. I clasped my hands together in silent prayer. I sensed Erika tense beside me, and though my eyes were not on her, I knew her hands were clenched into fists.
"Now, I'll announce the top scorer in the class…" Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. All pairs of eyes were fixed on either Amelia or me. I silently recited another prayer, while Amelia leaned back in her chair, utterly smug and composed.
"…actually, there's a tie – would the class applaud Amelia Tyler and James Potter for getting an 'Outstanding' each for this test?"
The tension was filled with the hubbub of a standing ovation. I slumped back in the chair with defeat. She had won, after all. I was but a muggle-born Gryffindor; how could I possibly hope to beat her? But James…how astonishing. I would never in a million years have suspected him of topping the class in Charms, never. The class held its breath once more as the professor cleared his throat.
"Not far behind, with a high 'Exceeding Expectations', is Miss Evans. Shall we have a round of applause for her?"
The sound of clapping rang in my ears like church bells, and I realized that I had been holding my breath.
It was evening now as time ebbed and flowed of its own accord. The sky's cloak had fallen, blue-black and cloudless, eyed by the gaze of a dim red moon. I was in the astronomy tower again, listening earnestly to the murmur of wind weaving through the mountains and trees, and the ripples in the blue lake, inky black with a tinge of red under the moon's illumination.
You needed the bad to balance the good, I realized. Just like yin and yang, night and day, truth and lies. I sat, cross-legged, on the cool stone floor. In my lap lay a black envelope; on the floor a piece of parchment folded into quarters, creases strict and harsh in their uniformity. I unfolded it again to reveal smudged blue ink, all runny and indiscernible. But legibility was not a purpose the parchment had to serve anymore; it had fulfilled that duty long ago, and I had memorized every single word written on it.
"So you've stopped coming to the Room of Requirement, huh?"
A familiar voice snapped the tranquil silence like a twig. I knew whom it belonged to, even without looking up. I gripped the envelope, folding it into halves, quarters, thirds and as much as it could fold. "They came again, Adelaide," I told her quietly, "The Ministry Owls." I turned to face her, and then gestured helplessly towards the parchment on the floor.
"Just like that," I related, choking on my tears, "A simple 'crucio' and he'd died. My grandfather was always frail. The curse was too much for him. Damn Voldemort. I hate him. I HATE him!"
My emotions shifted between anger and grief as tears spewed forth in torrents, making dark runnels down my cheeks. Adelaide looked on, her mind terribly conflicted. "Perhaps," she protested "Perhaps Lord Voldemort isn't so bad. Perhaps he's…scared? He's just lead astray…he didn't have any proper upbringing, you know…"
I stared at her in disbelief and fury, and then when I spoke, my emotions were mingled with my words. "You're defending him? You're defending the dark lord who's been terrorizing muggle-borns? The…deranged fool who thinks he can gain immortality? It's asinine!"
I expected Adelaide to defend herself, but she didn't. "He isn't as bad as you think! He's…he's not what you make him out to be. So what if he wants to gain immortality? Is that bad? It's not very nice being a ghost, the mere imitation of life! I knew him from school, and he was my…he was my close friend. He's not a bad person! Stop degrading him!"
I gaped at her, appalled, as she left in a blur whirl of grey. I knew him from school. I mulled over it, trying to put two and two together and get four. He was my close friend. It didn't make sense. Adelaide was never the type to befriend a cold-blooded murderer.
I bit my lip, listless, eyes vacant. Then I resumed my sitting position. That argument had done nothing but put me in a tighter dilemma. The person who had killed my grandfather used to be my best friend's close friend. What tangled webs we wove. Cicadas chirped, owls hooted; but the sounds swept past me, caught in a whirlwind of ignorance, not making any impression on me whatsoever.
"Hi." A stealthy baritone pierced the silent twilight, and I jumped, startled. Before I could turn to see the bearer of the voice, James Potter had moved in front of me with fluid ease. My eyes widened as apprehension dawned on me in hazy tendrils.
"How long have you been there?" I demanded, wringing my hands in desperation and pursing my lips tightly, thinking that this was probably how Petunia felt when she got angry at me. His expression was one I was unable to discern. It was a mixture; a mixture of so many emotions.
He shrugged. "Long enough to know all there is to know," he responded cryptically, a half-smile creeping onto his lips.
I sensed my eyes blaze. I deliberately averted my gaze; there was nothing left to say, after all. He knew everything, and it would be no use trying to hide the truth any longer. Silence stretched between us like a trampoline; it was so tense and tight that you could almost bounce on it. "Why are you always here nowadays?" I lamented, softly. It was a rhetorical question, but he answered anyway.
"The first time, curiosity was the culprit. This time, you didn't show up when it was time for patrolling, so I figured that you'd be here."
"Oh."
"Interesting, isn't it, that your friend Adelaide was a friend of that murderer?" he stated provokingly.
"Don't tell anyone," I mumbled a feeble warning, "She'd probably like it to be a secret. She isn't guilty because of association."
"You're brilliant, Lily, really," he murmured softly, "Managing to keep a friendship under wraps for years. Was that why you were late to show up after the first patrol, because you met up with her?"
I stared at him in mild wonder. He was a smart one; I'd always known that he was a top student, but I never expected him to possess such intelligence, or should I say, common sense. "Yeah." I affirmed blandly.
James laughed. "Since when were we on civil speaking terms?" he quipped.
I glanced at him, the fact only just registering in my mind, the aftermath dragging along surprise with it. "…I don't know. But who cares? At least it's better than fighting all day long." I surprised myself by adding the last bit. Had I really said that? Hadn't I enjoyed fighting with him? Wait – I enjoyed fighting with him? No, I hated those fights. Wait – I stopped myself again mentally. If I hated those fights, did that mean I didn't like to fight with him? That I'd rather not fight with him and be his friend…?
My thoughts twisted into a single object I imagined to be a sphere, turning round and round in its orbit and perplexing me even more as it revolved. Then I blushed as something jerked me back to apprehension, discovering the hazel eyes before my own green ones and realizing that I had been staring at James.
I averted my gaze quickly. James cleared his throat, perhaps a little too loudly. "So," he started, "About patrolling-"
"Yeah," I interrupted, "We'd better get going."
His eyes widened as though with surprise, crinkling with humour. "Actually, I was thinking of not patrolling tonight. All discipline and no play makes life dull…" He flashed a grin at me. That same grin I had detested for the years past. Now it seemed strangely…
"Yeah, ok." I mumbled in assent. In truth, I didn't really feel much like going patrolling. I needed a break. A break from what, I wasn't sure. I just needed something that seemed so easy yet so hard to obtain, yet I could not put a finger on it. What was it? As if reading my thoughts, James laughed. I decided that I liked his laugh; warm, throaty, the kind of 'throw-back-your-head' laugh. It was nothing, I realized, like the cold ones he made when hexing people. It was nice.
"You need to ditch the discipline, milady," he teased, face crinkling with mirth.
I raised an eyebrow. "Do I really?" I remarked quietly, "Discipline helps shape my life. It's what I depend on. With the added responsibilities of Head Girl and the upcoming NEWTS, no discipline is quite literally planning to fail."
James faked a yawn. "Boring," he declared, "You need some excitement in your life, and excitement is what a Marauder can certainly offer…" he trailed off, rising to his feet and looking over the parapet, stealing a brief glance at the grounds.
Silence filled that momentary pause. Something was up.
I bit my lip uneasily as a grin stretched over his handsome features. "James," I started warningly, "Whatever plan you have in mind-"
The rest of my words were lost in the flurry of moments as James reached for my hand, pulled me along as we descended the aged steps leading away from the tower, through a maze of corridors, and finally bursting through – almost literally if he had not stopped in time – the door leading out into the grounds.
"You seem different this year, you know," James informed me, stretching out on the moonlight-scattered grass. I sat up straight, fiddling with the hem of my robe.
"Oh, really?" I murmured, too lost in thought to care much about his words.
"Yes. As in…you don't curse me or ignore me when I talk to you, and usually you'd be calling me all the difficult, decent words to badmouth me by now. You wouldn't even let me spend a few minutes with you in the past."
I had to admit, he'd captured my attention. Nervously I straightened out my robe, trying to give the image of a perfectly calm, collected and composed manner. "Did I really do that in the past?"
"Yes."
"Oh."
"You're weird, Lily."
I nodded drowsily, eyeing the smooth mirror lake. It was still, as if it had frozen as ice. "Snow will come in December," I mused randomly, scooping up my hair and holding it in a makeshift ponytail to let the cool breeze brush over my neck.
James nodded. "Snow, snowmen, snowflakes, snowballs, snowball fights, and presents in December," he added.
I uttered a soft giggle. "Homemade treacle, apple tarts, pineapple pie, turkey and Christmas trees in December."
"Tinsel hung on the banisters and home-sewn woolen jackets and tin soldiers in boxes removing the lid and marching all over the place…"
This was fast becoming a game.
"Christmas Pudding with thimbles and coins hidden inside," I sighed.
"Holly wreaths, chimneys and Santa Claus with his big red bag."
"Reindeer and a sleigh…Bells on the sleigh."
We went on and on till we fell fast asleep on the grounds, and awoke to a Saturday when the first sliver of morning light outlined a cloud in shiny gold and a world of a soft red-gold hue was awakened.
