Her beloved....
She hated the word 'love'. 'To love', as a verb, was something that she didn't do well. And she also didn't do it too often, either.
Perhaps it was because the way she lived kept only to few close to her, and the rest of the world at a safe distance. People who were not deemed worthy of her attention were to be tolerated, or ignored. Most of the world she just barely tolerated in the way one had to tolerate their bills instead of tossing them in the waste bucket or burning them with glee in their backyards, Lily barely tolerated most people.
Maybe it was the fact that she operated best when keeping most people as far away from her as possible, and if they annoyed her and didn't keep their distance, they became enemies that were there for her to hate and scorn, to loathe and (eventually) destroy. She existed in her day-to-day life by operating behind a thick shell of scorn and solitude-- she was not the most lovable of people and sure as hell was not a socialite by a long shot.
Perhaps it was because she'd been told that she looked positively 'divine' when she wore an expression of hellish fury often enough that she'd begun to believe it. She'd even suited her temperament around the fact in hopes she'd look her best if she was angry most of the time, even if it required her to be hopping mad most of her life. When dueling, she operated best in a state of livid, analytic fury that would lash out at unpredictable moments that made her a powerful foe in battle. And since she got into so many duels at school that would break out unexpectedly in the school halls, the younger year students would still cower and shy away from her months after witnessing her fighting, she was sure she'd done her job at being angry all the time pretty well.
And she liked doing that, she thought with a rather perverse twist to her lips in an outrageous resemblance of a smirk. She liked keeping them all away from her
The few she people that she did tolerate, however, had an annoying habit of transgressing into an even higher, more selective realm in her mind--- They would rapidly start crossing into the lines of the few people that she adored.
These people were rare, and far and few between. Perhaps other, more normal people had a much larger spectrum of people filling this description or held a much bigger place for more people in their heart, but Lily Evans wasn't one of them.
Oddly, while being wholly selective about those she associated with or liked or talked to, she would then choose from that number whom she had decided to respect as well.
But above all, she fiercely hated most people; she barely spoke to her old muggle schoolmates at best and loathed and plotted the destruction of Dumbledore and most of the Griffindor professors and staff at worst. Albus Dumbledore, or 'Prof. of Transfiguration and resident sheep - shagger', M. Magonagall, Transfiguration teaching assistant was simply referred to as the "witch". These were just a few of the epithets she snarled about them to her joking, smirking comrades in the Slytherin House. It all wasn't exactly mature, sure, but it was fun.
The 'witch' insult was really particular since the truth of the matter was that Magonagall really was a witch, but not the type set that Evans was referring to. Lily Evans, being a self-titled "through-bred mudblood", and a young witch herself (though she claimed that she didn't like being called that) meant the type of witch that were ugly, covered in boils, had long, twisted noses and green skin, and lived in moving houses on top of chicken's feet and ate little children.
Lily herself had been called a witch only twice in her life; the first time was on the playground of her primary school by her best friends who had both decided they didn't want to be her friends anymore. Probably because she was "strange", and always managed to have strange, disasterous "incidents" that just happened to occur when she was around. The second was by her own sister, Petunia. Petunia was older and wiser than Lily, (and in Lily's opinion, far prettier), and lead a perfectly normal life. Strictly speaking, Petunia was the better of the two sisters, and was the perfect daughter. They couldn't have been more different… especially when Petunia took great delight in reminding Lily constantly of this by calling her sister a witch as often as she could. But that was another story.
And though she would have never used the term aloud, she loved only three living people.
Curiously, they all shared similar characteristics; all of them had raven black hair which contrasted sharply against their fair skin. They were all highly educated and incredibly skilled in magic, be it from the 'good' side of the magical spectrum or not. They were all men from unhappy homes but stood tall and all of them held high prestige in wizarding society, and all three, curiously, were quite brilliant.
Serverus Snape was her constant companion during the Hogwarts school year. Her best friend and confident, in fact. He was her first friend and her last.
She had first met him at the Slytherin house table after being sorted. Having spent the better part of the train ride to the Hogwarts castle locked in the dustbin by some older (and far stronger) witches and wizards who'd thought she looked 'funny' ….. promptly took all her pocket change (three quid, a dust mite and a pack of chewing gum), and stuffed her in the nearest rubbish bin. It was a rather miserable train ride after that.
Serverus, however, was calm, well read and sharp tongued. Having had his sleek black locks turned magenta by a smarmy group of Griffindors boys on an equally unpleasant train ride there, he was tolerant, even friendly to the fact that she had been dripping banana peels and candy wrappers ever since she'd first arrived to the Great Hall.
Immediately struck by his quick wit, resourcefulness and steely resolve, she imagined him as a young, wizarding version of Oscar Wilde, and had stuck fast by his side ever since. Given his vampirish good looks, similarly spiteful attitude towards those he disliked and prestigious knowledge of the Dark Arts, not to mention being incredibly skilled in potions, it was a wonder why they never bridged the thin line between close friends to lovers while still at Hogwarts.
Tom M. Riddle, however, was an entirely different story.
He was a dangerously charming, cunning and handsome man that she had happened to meet by chance in Knock Turn Alley by literally running right into him when she wasn't paying enough attention to where she was going. It turned out that they shared a lot a lot of ideas, but that didn't mean that they got along. It was not so much that it was a clash of ideals, really, but more of a clash of wills. He was manipulative, ingenious and powerful, while she was dexterous, independent and destructive.
The tension that existed between Tom Riddle and Lily Evans was fierce, corrosive and almost sexual in nature. He was a natural; a spiteful orphan of a martyred pureblood mother and some prick muggle father whose very existence marked him a bastard half blood. He had been cast into a solitary existence as a child in a muggle orphanage; where he had spent much of his youth, unhappy and neglected. Resentment stemmed from misery. Strength spawned from hate, and power replaced, but did not conceal, pain.
And his was marvelous. Eyes of sharp crimson orbs, proud mouth slanted like a snake, glancing up from a book or scroll, he was both acidulous and fine.
And he was powerful. Good god above was he powerful, and as charismatic as he was evil. Building a solid ground of resources and allies everywhere he went, his reach was wide and his informants everywhere. There seemed to be no spell that he did not know, no skill he did not possess, no rock he left unturned, no puzzle he had not solved. His anger was as wrathful as the vengeful gods of old and his regal personality lead him to be addressed as 'lord' by his lovers, friends and followers.
They had only met a few times, with each instance separated by years, allowing tempers to burn out but allowed interest in the other to linger.
She thought about him a lot, turned the things he had said over and over in her head and churned them there until she understood yet detested the smooth, flawless workings of his logic path, finding his thinking as dangerously efficient of his power.
There was a lot there to despise... and even more to be wary of. They did share a lot in common; they both admitted openly to despising both Dumbledore and the pseudo-politics that now ran the Ministry of Magic, but in the end of it all she found that she fit neatly under several categories of types of people he hated and would just love to destroy………… muggle–borns just like her.
Yet she kept on thinking about him; he was like a deep-rooted poison that stained her mind and seeped through more and more layers of protection from other people that she had set up. The further he spread, the further it reached to color the bias of her thoughts. It was like a brain tumor or a blossoming cancer.
Or a deeply rooted affection or love.
And she personally preferred the previous to the latter.
But the third one.... the third of the only three people she had deep affection for was the one who had most successfully squirreled his way through her thick shell that separated the differences between people she 'tolerated' or 'liked' to people she had 'fondness' for to... the people she adored. And finally; at the deepest, most innermost workings of her heart, to the people she loved. The third one she loved was the story of her own undoing.
James was her favorite mistake... but her most beloved.