A/N: It's been so long...here we go!
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James took out The Count of Monte Cristo. His two friends being too busy to notice him or even talk to him, he had decided to just go read on his bed. There was really nothing to do; he couldn't go outside without drowning, and there wasn't really anyone to talk to. So he had to read. Not that he minded though, he wasn't the most intellectual of all the people one could know, but he was by no means stupid or lazy. So all in all, he was fine with reading a book, especially when it had been recommended by one of his best friends. As soon as it was on his bed, James remembered. The annotations—they were...amazing. There was no way to describe it. And he had fallen in love with the handwriting too. Complete and total love at first sight. Better hope it's a woman, Prongs, he thought to himself. Let's not go gay here. And why am I falling in love with annotations of all things? I'm psycho. He sighed. Ah, well, he had better things to do than mope around all day on his bed. James began to flip through the pages. Perhaps he would find a few clues here and there about who the book had belonged to. But his search was fruitless; there was nothing in the pages indicating who the previous owner had been. Or was there? On one of the last few pages, a bookmark was carefully tucked inside. Said bookmark was a beautiful work of art, a thin piece of hard silver metal engraved with beautiful floral patterns and a picture of a mink. In the center was an oval with the name "Lily Aurora Evans." And James' heart flew out from his ribcage, into his throat. He was elated, for now he had a clue.
* * * * *
"Dear Lily," James wrote. Is this too informal? he thought. I could write Ms. Evans...but she might be Mrs. Evans. Or I could write Miss Evans, and that would work too. It would solve many problems that way. James erased his first line and replaced it with "Dear Miss Evans." "My name is James Harold Potter. I bought a book from the Stemson Library last summer, and that book happened to be The Count of Monte Cristo, a book which you donated. I do not understand how it was that you came to give up such a precious gem of a book after spending such time and effort writing such intricate notes, however, I do not believe you meant to also give away your bookmark. I hope I am not troubling you by returning it. And if it's not too personal, might I inquire who you are? I am fascinated with your notes, and I believe that if you would permit it, we could become very good friends. Please do not respond if this letter offends you, and my deepest apologies if it does.
"Sincerely, James Harold Potter"
James sealed an envelope containing this letter, and tied it to the leg of Midnight, his ebony-black owl. Midnight had proven that he could find anyone, no matter where the person was, so James had faith in him once again. With a pat on the head on James' part and a indignant click of the beak on Midnight's part, the owl flew through the window of Hogwarts castle. It was only then that James remembered that if a muggle were to see a huge, jet-black owl flying through the window, she would be very afraid...Oh shoot... he thought to himself.
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A/N: Short, short, short...I know! Sorry! Please review anyways? I'm not sure whether I should continue this fic...no one is really reviewing it...
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James took out The Count of Monte Cristo. His two friends being too busy to notice him or even talk to him, he had decided to just go read on his bed. There was really nothing to do; he couldn't go outside without drowning, and there wasn't really anyone to talk to. So he had to read. Not that he minded though, he wasn't the most intellectual of all the people one could know, but he was by no means stupid or lazy. So all in all, he was fine with reading a book, especially when it had been recommended by one of his best friends. As soon as it was on his bed, James remembered. The annotations—they were...amazing. There was no way to describe it. And he had fallen in love with the handwriting too. Complete and total love at first sight. Better hope it's a woman, Prongs, he thought to himself. Let's not go gay here. And why am I falling in love with annotations of all things? I'm psycho. He sighed. Ah, well, he had better things to do than mope around all day on his bed. James began to flip through the pages. Perhaps he would find a few clues here and there about who the book had belonged to. But his search was fruitless; there was nothing in the pages indicating who the previous owner had been. Or was there? On one of the last few pages, a bookmark was carefully tucked inside. Said bookmark was a beautiful work of art, a thin piece of hard silver metal engraved with beautiful floral patterns and a picture of a mink. In the center was an oval with the name "Lily Aurora Evans." And James' heart flew out from his ribcage, into his throat. He was elated, for now he had a clue.
* * * * *
"Dear Lily," James wrote. Is this too informal? he thought. I could write Ms. Evans...but she might be Mrs. Evans. Or I could write Miss Evans, and that would work too. It would solve many problems that way. James erased his first line and replaced it with "Dear Miss Evans." "My name is James Harold Potter. I bought a book from the Stemson Library last summer, and that book happened to be The Count of Monte Cristo, a book which you donated. I do not understand how it was that you came to give up such a precious gem of a book after spending such time and effort writing such intricate notes, however, I do not believe you meant to also give away your bookmark. I hope I am not troubling you by returning it. And if it's not too personal, might I inquire who you are? I am fascinated with your notes, and I believe that if you would permit it, we could become very good friends. Please do not respond if this letter offends you, and my deepest apologies if it does.
"Sincerely, James Harold Potter"
James sealed an envelope containing this letter, and tied it to the leg of Midnight, his ebony-black owl. Midnight had proven that he could find anyone, no matter where the person was, so James had faith in him once again. With a pat on the head on James' part and a indignant click of the beak on Midnight's part, the owl flew through the window of Hogwarts castle. It was only then that James remembered that if a muggle were to see a huge, jet-black owl flying through the window, she would be very afraid...Oh shoot... he thought to himself.
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A/N: Short, short, short...I know! Sorry! Please review anyways? I'm not sure whether I should continue this fic...no one is really reviewing it...