Lily, I know you were probably very exhausted and sick of everything on the train, and I'm not expecting you to be a saint to me afterwards. Sirius told me I should write this: that when girls are upset, they don't know who they're confessing to, just so long as they're doing it. Sock him, not me. It wasn't my idea. Anyway, you're perfectly entitled to be mean to me; it must be terrible for you: the person you've been fighting with be the one to hear you break down. I don't hate you; not anymore.
Come to that, I think I never did. I don't know why I was fighting with you; and I understand completely that I was being quite a—well, I'll not say what you have the right to call me. You'd never attack anyone, now like I thought you did, and I'm sorry for suspecting you. Sorry for accusing you and sorry for everything else, sorry for the continual cold shoulders and a terrible year.
I want you to know that you'll always be one of my very best friends no matter what, and even if you decide to hate me, I'll still hold you in the highest respect, because I deserve your hate. I know you may think me an awful fool for writing this, and perhaps I am, but I wanted you to know this.
This is getting terribly long, and you're probably thinking, "Good Lord, what kind of an idiot would keep on repeating himself?" The reason for that is that I desperately want you to know how sorry I am. Eva told me you've been having one hell of a year, and that's it's all my fault. I'm not disputing that at all, because, for one thing, when it comes to me, I know the truth when I hear it, even if I don't usually acknowledge it. And now I am, and I wish I didn't have to. That is, I wish I hadn't put myself in the position where I had to say this. Anyway, it's said, or rather written, that I've been an idiot, which you've probably already characterized me as. I don't blame you one bit.
Still, I want to ask you if you can find it in one part of your heart to forgive me. You don't really strike me as one of the most forgiving people–that wasn't meant as an offense–so I should hold your forgiveness even higher than if I was in this situation with someone else. Please. This is the most eloquent letter I've ever written or hope to write, ever, and the strange thing is that, so far, this is my first version. Almost like I could say the same thing to your face if I wasn't so terribly shy of apologizing to a person. It's so much easier to do it in a letter. That's a good piece of advice, if you ever have to say you're sorry. Just thought I'd mention that.
I'm on the middle of the second page now, and I haven't really written much. In fact, all I've written is wind, and so much of it that it's turning into a tornado. But still, I hope you get my point; I've tried my best to say I'm sorry, and–oh, what you said on the train that day was right. I use the word "I" too much, and I'm appearing as a self-centered fool. But then, that's probably what I am. You know what they say–you can always tell what a person is like by the way he writes. And that holds true for me.
But if you can find it in your heart to forgive this self-centered, arrogant, presumptuous, semi-permanent, fair-weather punching bag, I'd be eternally grateful and beyond.

–James

P.S. Sirius just snatched this from me and made the comment that it looks frighteningly like a love letter. That's the thought that was farthest from my mind when I started to write this, and since I have no intention of making several drafts of this letter so you can get the perfect edition, you're getting the rough draft with all of my faults on it.
I just thought you'd be avoiding me if I didn't add this post-script, since, on re-reading this, it does sound terribly like a love letter. Trust me. It's not. If you doubt my word on this, think of what Serena would say if she found I'd written a letter to you with only the faintest trace of a suggestion of that topic in it.
I hope that proves my point, and I hope we're going to be on speaking terms when we get back to Hogwarts and that I'm not messing up every chance I had by writing this. It just seemed like the best thing to do, and I'm going to send this before I get cold feet. Cold fingers, actually, but you know what I mean. And no, I'm not going to prove that.


Lily smiled indulgently, folding up the letter. Ignoring the "Lil, let me see!"s Eva was squealing, she stuffed it inside her trunk, pulling out parchment and ink of her own. Green ink, but then that was the only kind she hadn't used up of that stock she laid up her first time in Diagon Alley.

Pre-script: James, you're a terribly bad correspondent. Just writing 'Lily,' at the beginning, and not giving me a hint as to how I should address my letter. And what if I wrote 'Dear James' at the beginning of this and you teased me for the rest of my life about it? And what if I omitted the heading and you thought me rude, or if I wrote 'Dear Mr. Potter', or 'Hello there, you skunk'? I'd sound so formal and stiff, and so mean. And you've been rude enough for the both of us. The only path left for me to take, it seems, is to do the same thing that you did. It is common for friends to use the 'Dear Whoever' heading, isn't it? Good. I thought so. And, to address another point in your letter, the word 'hell' can be omitted. That doesn't even remotely define the type of year I had.
Dear Whoever,
I didn't think your letter was in the least like a love letter; what I really thought was: "Good grief, he's sounding like he's saying this on his deathbed and has to get it all out before it's too late." Sirius has too much of an imagination, don't you think so? I do. That means you do, because I can't tolerate opposition, as you've doubtless noticed.
Since I'm writing to you now, I suppose I have to speak to you afterwards. Almost like in Gone with the Wind, where Scarlett is taken to everyone's house by Melanie, and the hostesses can't turn her away because of Melanie, but after they've received her, they can't cut her afterwards. That's just like this. I'm writing to you and being friendly, so it'd be a bit odd for me to be as mean as I could afterwards.
No, I'll be perfectly nice to you in public and private, unless you insist on injuring me again. Oh, don't draw any conclusions from that. You angered me when you used me, and you made me livid when you started to accuse me and all the rest, but don't flatter yourself by thinking that you had such a hold on my poor innocent heart that I was actually hurt by anything you said or did. I don't think we'll ever get to be such good friends that you can ever hurt me, but that isn't going to prevent me from being nice. At least, as nice as I can get, which, knowing me, isn't much.

–Lily

Post-script: There is such a thing as a pre-script, isn't there? There is now.
Oh, and Eva's been looking over my shoulder while I'm writing this and she insists that I should put in lots of "Oh, of course I forgive you's in here, but you know me well enough to know that that 's not the type of stuff I write. And, like you, I'm not making a final draft. If we keep up this correspondence, we should swear solemnly not to re-write or cross out anything. Spelling mistakes don't count. And don't try to palm off a whole sentence as a spelling mistake. That's cheating. But, unlike you, I'd say this in public and to your face. I don't care much for public opinion, as doubtless you have noticed.
Post-post-script: Sirius, I don't care if you tell the whole school, and I know you're going to look for this letter and find it if he doesn't show it to you, as you seem to know where every other bit of James' things are. So don't try to blackmail James. I don't care if you hang this from the ceiling at breakfast, and you know I don't. And I can train James not to care, and you know I can.

Snatching her letter out of Eva's grip, she folded it in sixths and placed it inside one of her envelopes, noticing with satisfaction that if James thought her letter was complete balderdash, he'd probably not be able to read most of it, as she had quite tiny writing. Giving Alisande an Owl Treat, she quickly scribbled a "To James from the person who had to decipher two pages of your terrible writing" on the front and handed the letter to her owl, who immediately took off into the pale pink clouds. Lily scowled at the tint of the masses of evaporated water, thinking that she infinitely preferred the deep orange and gold it had been earlier. But then the smell of bacon from downstairs made Lily and Eva dash for the kitchen, quickly pull the scones out of the oven and sit down to a breakfast, which, even if it wasn't in the same scale as that at Eva's or Hogwarts, was still very good.
Later that evening, James' owl arrived again. This time, it accepted a Spearmint Owl Treat (gives your owl minty smelling breath!) before soaring off again. Lily immediately ripped the envelope open and pulled out a foot-long bit of parchment with infinitely neater writing on it, bursting into laughter at the first few sentences.

Dear Lily,
I give. Don't tease me about the heading. Sirius saw it and burst into the most unmale fit of giggles I thought it was safe to have. I got a bit nervous and left. I'm in the library now. I hope he won't look for me here, and if he does, I have a book nearby that I'm going to cover this with. Here's your piece of writing you asked for, the contract thingy. All right, maybe you didn't ask for it, but still, here it is:

I hereby faithfully swear that I shall not send Lily any second, third, or above drafts of letters. What I send her will be strictly my first draft, and if I do send her a final copy, I will also send her my rough draft.

Signed: James Potter

Happy? If not, send me a revised version, and I'll sign it. But you've got to sign exactly the same thing, too. You know what I just thought? You probably don't, but you're hearing it anyway. Reading, I meant. See, I had this crazy idea, probably inspired by my friend who's looking for me and is outside the door right now, that if you and me got married, and if we kept these letters, what utter balderdash (if I may use the phrase) our kids would think this is. They'd probably be right, too. Eva'd probably tell you that this is a proposition, but I'm imploring you to listen to your good sense and go with your first impression, which I hope I can pin down correctly: Where did that come from?
Well? Was I right? I certainly hope so. If so, tell me, and if not, tell me what it was.
Sirius is searching behind the bookshelves, so I'm just going to say Thank Mum for a half-way concealed armchair in this book-wilderness and goodbye. Thank Mum for a half-way concealed armchair in this book-wilderness and goodbye.
–James
Lily grinned again and handed over the letter to Eva, who, as Lily expected, burst into a fit of giggles when she saw the 'what if we were married' sentence.
"Lily, he likes you! Read this; he's practically proposed!" She squealed again, and Lily rolled her eyes.
"Eva, dear, read the next bit."
Eva obeyed and her face dropped.
"Lily, he just had to write this, didn't he?"
"He did."
"Oh, well." She thrust the letter aside, flung herself onto Lily's bed, which Lily was now going to be occupying, and rolled over on her stomach, kicking up her heels.
"Lily, even if he wrote that, do you think he was serious?"
Lily put down her quill and ink bottle. "Eva, he has Serena!"
"Well…so? I mean, yeah, Serena is a guy's dream, all plastic and things, but when you get right down to it, you're a real person. I bet the deepest thought she's ever had is "Geez, the reason things fall is because I dropped them. Come on, you're smarter than her any day!"
Lily sniffed. "Eva, dear, boys can't stand girls that're smarter than they are. And in this case, James has no other option than to take her. Oh, I'll admit she's smart when it comes to boys, but she doesn't think, I'll agree with you there. And I'm definitely off of the list for him when it comes to possible future girls. For Pete's sake, I'm only twelve!"
"Thirteen in June."
"Oh, right. Anyway, he's a year older than me. And even if I were older, no one would be the slightest bit interested."
"Why not?"
"I'm terribly ugly and have a smart mouth. No guy wants to even have his name mentioned in connection with someone who looks as bad as I do." Over the last year, Lily had paid so little attention to her appearance that she had come to know herself as a tousled, orange-headed, skinny little girl looking about seven instead of almost thirteen, and she did nothing to dispel this image from her mind.
"Liar!" Eva sat up in bed, indignation written all over her face. "You looked so–so pretty when you first came to Hogwarts! And you still are. They're just too darned blind to see past your messy braids! Don't look at me like that. They are messy. If you'd just let me work with you a bit, you'll see. And so will they."
Suddenly businesslike, Eva jumped off of the bed and marched over to her trunk, which included makeup and hair products for "the day when Mother finally stops being so stubborn." What that really meant was for when she was fifteen and her mother decided to let her wear makeup.
After burrowing in the powder-blue trunk for a while, she came up with a small wooden box. She slid back the lid and pushed Lily down, as far away from a mirror as possible, in case Lily decided this was nonsense and left.
Lily had to put up with many long minutes of untangling her hair while Eva washed it in a small basin. Then, putting it up in quite pri ckly curlers, Eva started to work with makeup.
Eva was obviously in her element; Lily was skeptical. After a good two hours (it took that long because Petunia had broken the hairdryer and Lily's hair had to be air-dried), Eva had finished. She had also discovered a Muggle shirt that actually fit Lily; most of her shirts were baggy and much too big. This one was one she had been given as a gift when she was eight, and it was a beautiful forest green. Pulling out a pair of pale blue jeans from Lily's dresser, Eva threw them over to her friend, who, shaking her head, pulled them on.
When Lily had slipped into the clothes, Eva led Lily over to a mirror; the one that was over the bathroom sink. It is an understatement to say that Lily was shocked.She had never seen herself like this, not for a year, and the only thing she recognized was her nose; slender, with a small tilt. Her hair had been washed thoroughly, with a darkening sort of conditioner, and the full luster of her burgundy curls shone brightly. She needed no powder on her face, but Eva had put especial work into her eyes. The deep forest-green tigress eyes shone out with a sheen they had never had before. Dark and fathomless, they gazed out into the mirror, rimmed and enhanced with a hint of deep violet around the lashes, which, bristly, long and thick, were shaded black. Her lips, cutting a burgundy line through her face, parted to show the white, pearly teeth. Two small emeralds, placed in silver settings, pierced the lobe of each of her ears and sparkled with a bright glitter through the tumble of curls. Lily stared.
"Eva?"
"I told you."
"Told me what?"
"Look at you. You're beating Serena with a rawhide whip–she's never looked like this! Never."
Lily turned away from her reflection. "But Serena's so–so–"
"So–what? Exactly. So what?"
"Well, poised and dignified and pretty and–Eva, she's got that long blond hair and blue eyes and charm–I haven't got the least bit of that!"
Eva laughed, a scornful, short chuckle.
"Lily, you don't need charm. You've really already got it. And I'm even regretting doing this to you, because any attention I ever hoped to get is sorta crushed. And if James sees you like this, he'll dump Serena in a flash. I'd bet my life on that."

Lily had stood up, eyes widening. "He would?"
Eva nodded. "Definitely."
Standing up sharply, Lily ran to the sink. She turned on the faucet and let the water run over her hair, washing the curl out. Letting the cool stream run over her face, she wiped off all of the makeup. She reached behind her, grabbed a towel off of a hook, and wrapped it around her wet hair. Lily removed the earrings and slapped them into Eva's hand, closing her fingers about them, twisted the towel a few times, and shook her hair down. Eva simply stood there, shocked.
"Wh–what'd you do that for?"
Lily's eyes were blazing and she was clearly in a state of excitement. "I'm not going to ruin everything they have. He's happy, and I want him to stay that way. If he's not interested in a little twelve-year-old, he has his reasons. I'm not going to try to win him over with this–" she gestured to the makeup kit–"and then have him leave me if I–if I have vitriol thrown on me. I'm winning the husband I'll end up with by anything but looks. I hate the way I look, and I'm not going to give up happiness I might have with someone who understands me for someone who only likes my hair." After that speech, delivered with fire in her eyes and the impression of energy held into her frame by force, she dashed outside, only to fling her arms around a large tree trunk and sink, breathless, to the ground.
She stayed there a long time, for Eva, wise beyond her years, had judged that it was best to leave her friend alone for the time being. Somewhere between four o'clock and sunset, Lily got up, dusted herself off, and went into the house for paper and ink. Finding a queer relief in writing, she addressed her letter.

Dear James,
Your hunch of what I would say was totally wrong. Actually, the first thing I thought was, "Well, that makes sense." Not, "What utter balderdash." Still, it was a good try on your part.
Here's your contract. Sign it:

I, James Potter, hereby faithfully swear, forever and beyond, to be the slave of Lily Evans and to fulfil her slightest impulse.

Signed: .

There. That would be more like it. I signed exactly the same thing myself, in case you were wondering. Didn't change a single word.
Eva had fun today with makeup. Her makeup, that is; Serena has the stuff you gave me. Eva decided that I would look ever so charming if I tried to, so she put my hair up in curlers and painted my eyelids and did all sorts of uncomfortable things that, when put together, took two hours, and then was surprised when I told her that I didn't have the slightest intention of doing this every day. I mean, would you get up at four-thirty just so as to get ready? I thought not.
Still, she should be rather satisfied with the results. The results being that I finally caved and decided the throw away all of my pants that I ripped climbing trees and cliffs. So now I really only have three pairs left. But she's not getting anywhere if she decides to make me throw out all of the T-shirts that go down mid-way to my knees. And if she does do that, I'm going to be going around wearing white shirts with the top three buttons undone and a loose tie around my neck. See how she likes that.
Why did I start talking about clothes? I don't know. There's no point to it, really. Still, it was the best thing I came up with, so…so I wrote it down.
This is going to sound really vain and stuck-up and conceited, but I have to ask this of you, because I have the funny feeling that you're going to give me an honest answer: Do you think I would be more liked if I tried to do something with my hair and eyes and things? I was just wondering, and it seemed to me that Eva would be a biased witness, because she did the artistic part.
If you don't want to answer, don't, but please don't laugh.

–Lily

Post-script: Somehow, writing this makes me feel better. I don't know why, but it does.

Over the next few days, Lily and James corresponded regularly, in between the trips Lily and Eva took to swimming pools or fencing tournaments (Lily placed ninth out of eighteen) or to some of Lily's nearby friends' houses.
James' reply to her last letter, though, was rather short. She had asked him if she should keep it sort of hidden that they were corresponding; would it make Serena mad? He had written a very laconic reply.

DO NOT TELL ANYONE!

When the Easter break was over, though much sooner than Eva and Lily expected it would be, they were nevertheless ready to get back to Hogwarts. Eva was interested in the Muggle world and Lily was anxious to practice her fencing, but they were both sick and tired of Petunia's nagging every single time they spilled some milk on the floor or orange juice on the table. So, by the end of the vacation, they were excited and chirpy at the prospect of seeing all of their friends again and getting away from Petunia.
The morning of their return trip, Lily had been forced to leave the dining room, since if she had stayed, she most certainly would have lit into Petunia for ranting a long tirade about how nice, quality people never got syrup on the phone and how Lily just made more work for everyone whenever she was home, and how she was royally sick of Lily and all of her stupid stuck-upness on account of her being able to do magic. Pressing her lips together, Lily roughly shook off Eva's hand, lunged towards Petunia, watched her sister retreat in satisfaction, and stalked outside, slamming the door loudly.

The trunks were all loaded into the car by the time her parents called her. Lily was quite thankful that, as Petunia had just turned fourteen, her parents trusted her enough to stay at home alone, so the car had only four occupants.
"Lily, honey?"
"What, Dad?"
"Are you so advanced now so that we can't hug you goodbye?"
Lily scoffed. "Dad. Please."
"Is that a yes or a no?"
"I'm not going to see you till summer. And I'm not selfish like that."
He smiled into the rear-view mirror. "Thanks, hon. It's just that Petunia kicked up a fuss when your mother hugged her at a school assembly, and she screamed through the whole car ride home."
"Oh, Dad, you know I'm not a brat like Petunia. And yes, she is one. Don't try to tell me differently."
"Lily!" Her mother turned around in her seat. "Don't talk about your sister like that!"
Lily would have responded with a "What sister?", but as the car stopped at King's Cross and her mother looked murderous, she reconsidered.
The baggage was quickly loaded onto two trolleys, and, forgetting completely about her parents, Lily headed into the barrier, having just caught sight of James and Sirius.

She purposely crashed into Sirius' trolley, and, with an exaggerated moan, she caught her stomach and fell over onto the cobblestones with her trunk and bags on top of her.. The boys hurried over, Sirius apologizing profusely for what he thought he'd done.
"Lily, are you all right? I—I'm so sorry—I don't know how that happened—here, let me help. James—idiot—" here he waved to his friend—"help me with this trunk." They were lifting the heavy black and gold trunk off of her, carefully, and offered to help her into a compartment. With a weak nod, she accepted, and as she sank into a seat, trying to flex her wrists and giving short gasps for air, she wondered just how good she'd be at acting in plays. Probably very good, she told herself, but practice couldn't hurt. And this was just the perfect place for practice.
Gathering her features into a pained frown, she managed to convince the boys that she was badly hurt. In whispers which Lily could hear perfectly well, though they were unaware of it, they determined that not for an instant should they leave her alone, lest something else happen to her. Lily knew that they wouldn't have spoken to her on the platform. James certainly wouldn't, for he had asked her in his last letter if she was going to blackmail him with the contents. It had been too late for her to answer it, and so she had a shrewd suspicion that he was going to stay out of her way as much as possible. Therefore, she had done her best with a quickly contrived ruse to make them notice her, so they couldn't use the excuse; "Well, we didn't see you" later, after not speaking to her for the trip. Still, she hadn't expected this to work so well, and she hadn't expected not to be mashed to death beneath that trunk. Resolving to milk this situation for all it was worth; probably the last time she would ever get a chance to talk to them without anyone else around and without poisonous influences from a certain damsel in distress, she lifted her head.
"Hi."
They whirled around. "Lily! You're all right!"
"Well, that depends. I might not be. What happened?"
Sirius looked rather nervous and James looked quite concerned. "You—you mean you don't remember?"
"Remember what?"
"Sirius, you idiot! If she's got amnesia, your family's paying the medical bills."
"Don't be stupid. Well—don't be stupider than usual is what I mean. She's not lost her mind. Lily?"
"What?" She grimaced once more as she rested her head on the back of her seat.
"I crashed into you with my trolley."
"So that was what it was! I was almost convinced someone had dropped a mountain on me!"
"That was your trunk."
"Oh. That explains it."
"Yeah…You sure you're all right?"
"Fine. Fine." She let her head drop to the side, and Sirius, standing up and making for the door, mumbled something about getting the baggage. He left, leaving Lily and James in the compartment, James fidgeting with a loose thread on his robes and Lily staring at him with a wide-eyed, innocent expression as if she had not the least bit of an idea of what was going through his mind. Even though she did have a very good idea.
"Lily?"
"Oh—what?"
"You never answered my last letter. You're not—you're not going to show them around, will you? Not that I wouldn't put it past you, but you know—please don't do that!"
"Shoulda thought of that before, shouldn't you?"
He hung his head, looking every inch like a kicked puppy. "I should have. But please—if you've any mercy in you at all—don't blackmail me with those things."
She shook her head. "You have a terribly suspicious nature. I never intended to do that in the first place."
"You didn't? But—but then why didn't you write me back?"
"I was in the middle of packing my trunk, and if I had stopped to write anything at all, Mother would have done something terrible to me."
"Oh." He looked terribly relieved and sank back against the back of his seat, breathing again. Funny—Lily thought—she hadn't noticed he was holding it. "Thanks."
"Why would you think I would?"
"Wouldn't put it past you."
"You have a point. But never mind that—are you going to be speaking to me once we get to Hogwarts?"
He looked unexpectedly like a deer caught in headlights. "Um—er—err—"
"Is that a no?"
"Er—"

"Is that a no?"
"Er—"
"Is that a no?"
"I—I—umm, Lily—"
"Well, what?"
"Lily, you know I care for Serena a lot, don't you?"
Lily raised her eyebrows. "I didn't notice," she said rather drily.
"Well—see, Serena doesn't especially like you."
"I didn't notice that, either."
He went on as if she had not said anything. "And I don't know why I want to be your friend—you know you hang around Snape and Malfoy—"
"You mean Serverus and Lucius."
"Yeah, them. And I couldn't tell you why I seem to want to talk to you—I guess it's because you're different from anyone else I've ever met—you temper, you know. And I do like Serena, more than I think I could ever like you. But the darned problem is that you two hate each other beyond any hatred I've ever encountered, and I'm at a loss as to how to have both of you for my friends."
"You only want Serena as a friend?"
James turned a deep red and tried to hide the blush that was creeping up his cheeks. "Yes—no—yes—oh, never mind. Never mind. I didn't say anything."
"I didn't notice."
"Didn't notice what?"
"I didn't notice that you didn't say anything."
"Huh? Oh, shut up."
"Get stuffed."
"Go eat hamster guts."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because snake ribs taste so much better."
"You are disgusting."
"I can also dissect and put back together a human brain in a half hour."
"I repeat what I said. You're disgusting."
"Have you ever looked at the insides of a fetal pig?"
He was a bit flabbergasted. "And when did you do this?"
"I have several high-school relatives that take anatomy."
"Oh. Just don't dissect me!" He half smiled, but it faded when he caught sight of Lily's interested and excited expression. "Don't you dare!"
"Ugh." She wrinkled her nose. "Boys. There's only a seventy-five percent chance I'd kill you, so stop being such a baby."
"I don't want to die!"
Lily rolled her eyes. "What are you going to have done with your body when you're dead?"
James stared at her. "WHAT"
"You know, cremation, burial, organ donation…"
"Why?"
"If I live after you, I want to take a look at your brain if you decide to become an organ donor."
"Why"
"I just want to see how little wrinkles your brain has."
"What the—"
"This should be common knowledge. Every fact you know creates a wrinkle in your brain, or so they say. I just wondered if it was true that your brain is as smooth as the end of a baby's spine."
"The end of a baby's spine?"
"Fine; if this has to be put to you in words of one syllable: a baby's butt."
"Gee, thanks! I oughta—"
"You oughta make up your mind pretty quick as to whether or not you're going to be talking to me."
"Huh? I mean, why now? We were having such a good argument—oh. I see." He gulped and looked out of the pane of glass in the compartment's doorway. Serena was standing outside, talking to Eva.
"Well?" Lily was sitting perfectly upright in her seat, the picture of old-maidish primness, ankles crossed and mouth pursed in a ridiculous O.
"I—uh—er—"
"Mr. Potter, that is not a verifiable answer. Ten points from Gryffindor."
He scowled at her. "You're not helping any."
Lily dropped her attitude. "I'm trying to!"
"You are not—How?"
"By making myself as unlikable as possible. Answer!" She rapped his knuckles sharply with her hand, and he removed it from the chair ledge, massaging his hand.
"All right, all right. I'll not talk to you, if that's what you want. Bye." Standing up stormily, he slammed the compartment door open and waved a careless hello to Eva, putting his arm around Serena's shoulders at the same time.
Lily sat in her seat, shaking her head. "Either that boy's hopelessly insane, or he just hates me. I'd say both. In fact, I will say both. Both."
When they arrived at Hogwarts, it was dark and stars were twinkling sleepily in a forest-black sky. The air was warm and gentle, and for an instant Lily wished she could stay here forever. But then she caught sight of a round, pale moon waving at the school from behind a bank of clouds, and she hurried on inside, trying very hard not to notice the brown-haired boy being led across the grounds to the Whomping Willow by someone who looked suspiciously like the school nurse.