We weren't particularly close, despite having been classmates for six
consecutive years. She was a controversial girl; I often witnessed her
stumbling into the Gryffindor Common Room in the early hours of the
morning, inebriated, a slender arm slung around the narrow shoulders of
Simon Field, her flagrantly homosexual best-friend-forever. They would
slowly meander over to the boys' dormitories and fall asleep, still fully
clothed, on Simon's bed, and I would stay down in the Common Room by the
fire, planning my next prank with Sirius and Remus, feeling slightly put
out by the juvenile nature of our fun compared to hers.
Despite her obvious alcoholism, she was always the annual surprise on the top of the Honour Roll. She was the Gryffindor prefect in the beginning of fifth year. And as the year came to a close, she had been the one to receive twelve O.W.L.S., where I had only received ten and even Remus only eleven.
She was relatively well-liked among her peers. She was muggle-born – that was the extent of my knowledge about her. All her friends were muggle- born, and she didn't even try to cozy up with the Purebloods, the aptly- named Gryffindor Golden Girls, who were idolized for their brilliance and blonde hair. Ironically, these were the very same girls with whom I'd spent my entire childhood, the girls I laughed with, the girls I dated; the girls I would, undoubtedly, end up marrying one day in the near future. Sometimes, as I gallivanted around with my childhood friends in Hogsmeade, I would see her and Simon walking hand-in-hand down the street, talking quietly to each other. It was a far cry from the liquor-induced states of deliria they donned at night, when all the little ones were safely in bed.
I will always remember the day I fell in love with Lily Evans.
It was mid-November. The rain had started the week before, and there was no sign of it letting up. Dumbledore had cancelled Quidditch until the weather had improved, so there was absolutely no reason for anyone to be outside.
I could see the Quidditch pitch from the window of the Common Room. And there she was, sitting smack-dab in the middle of the perfectly manicured lawn. I couldn't see what she was doing there from several hundred yards away, and I didn't really care beyond a mild curiosity, but something urged me to climb off the over-stuffed armchair on which I had spent the afternoon, and question her about the deterioration of her brain that had caused her to be sitting outside so casually in frigid weather, wearing only her school uniform.
As I approached, I watched her tilt her head upwards and close her eyes, her hands gripping the lawn as if gravity was about to fail her and she was to simply fall off the planet. I said nothing, but stood behind her as she embraced the rain.
I hadn't noticed before, but I noticed now that she had a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, surprising on her tanned face. Her eyelashes were unusually long, framing a pair of unbelievably vibrant emerald eyes. She had forgone the typical smudged eyeliner she usually sported around Hogwarts, but the small silver bar through her right eyebrow was still there.
"Hello, James Potter."
I jumped, uneasily; I hadn't been sure if she had heard me approaching, and if she did I had assumed she wasn't planning on acknowledging my presence, seeing as how she hadn't done so for the past six and a half years.
"Erm... Hey."
We were quiet for a long while. I wasn't sure if she was planning on continuing the conversation; if she was, I wasn't about to disappear and ruin my chances of ever getting to know her.
It never occurred to me then why, exactly, I was so intent on striking up an unconventional relationship with this unconventional girl; why I had sought her out in the worst possible conditions when I could have been inside the cozy Gryffindor Tower, talking to people who regularly greeted me and made pleasant small talk.
Lily didn't seem the type for small talk, but I waited for a while, and then eventually sat down next to her, abandoning all hope of avoiding pneumonia or some other life-threatening disease caused by November weather.
"Are you planning on sitting out here long?" I asked tentatively, wondering if she was truly as sane as the teachers made her out to be, or whether she was merely one of those brilliant psychos who managed to serendipitously pull off excellent grades.
"As long as I need too."
"Ahh... I see."
Silence.
She glanced at me, finally, and I met her gaze. To my surprise, she was smiling, her eyebrows raised slightly.
"And why might you be out here as well, Mr. Potter? I don't imagine you're planning on flying today, and I simply cannot think of another reason you might be out here without your good friends."
I paused, before replying. I wasn't quite sure if she was mocking me or being sincere, but either way, her ambiguous tone of voice was more than a little disconcerting.
"I was just curious as to why the Head Girl was sitting out in the rain for seemingly no particular reason."
"I flourish in the rain, Potter."
Well. That was a bit of a surprise. I couldn't think of a reply, so I remained silent. She didn't seem to be expecting an answer to her confusing statement, anyway.
But as we sat there and as I looked at her, I could see what she was saying. She was the kind of girl that boys talked about at night as they shared their supposed "experiences" with other girls who couldn't quite compare. But in the rain, she was more than a fifth-year-boys'-dorm conversation. She had a sort of aura that was not easily ignorable in the rain. Her dark red hair was plastered to her face, her eyes were closed, and she looked, very simply, breath-taking.
"You're like an iris."
I stopped short, surprised at my own voice, at my stupid analogy. But it seemed just the thing to catch her attention. She turned and looked at me, her eyes unreadable. I knew she was waiting for me to explain myself, so I tried to do just that, all the while cursing myself for my lack of eloquence.
"It's as if... Well, you're obviously noticeable regularly. You've got a very quiet sort of look about you. Like an iris, you know? But in the rain, you stand out. It's hard to take my eyes off you when you're in the rain, and I don't really know why. Just like irises stand out in the rain. All the other flowers fade into the background."
I didn't know what it was that I was trying to say, but for some reason, she didn't make a scathing comment towards my clumsy explanation. My cheeks burned as we sat in silence. But when she spoke again, her voice was neither sarcastic nor judgmental.
"It's interesting... Simon said that exact same thing to me once. We were in fourth year. Remember that really big rainstorm?"
I nodded.
"I've always liked sitting out in the rain. It's calming. Well, I suppose he was kidding at first, when he said it, but he's always half kidding and half telling the truth. Simon's funny that way."
I relished the knowledge that Simon was a serious joker, for some reason. It was Simon, who lived in the dorm room next to mine, whom I'd never really talked to or met, but who seemed to be a pretty nice fellow.
"He can be such a brat sometimes, what with his being so ambiguous about everything he says. Even to me," she mused, more to herself than me.
Pretty nice fellow, ambiguous brat; tomato, tomahto.
"He's perceptive, then. It's true."
She shrugged and leaned back again, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue to catch the rain that was beginning to lighten considerably.
"Maybe I was misnamed, then."
It was that moment when I realized that I was in love with Lily Evans. It wasn't the kind of epiphany I'd expected of a realized love. It was a quiet sort of emotion, and not necessarily a happy one, considering that her opinion of me had no doubt stayed exactly the same as it had been before. But I went ahead and plunged into unexperienced territory.
"I think I'm going to marry you one day, Lily Evans."
She snorted, and gave me a look.
"Is that a declaration of love, Potter?"
"It's just a statement. But I am in love with you."
"As of when?"
"As of now."
"Well, then, consider your confession accepted and appreciated. But I don't believe in love, Potter, so you'll have to concentrate your efforts elsewhere."
She stood up and wrung her hair out before starting to walk slowly off the Quidditch pitch, as the rain turned into a light drizzle. I stayed behind, still sitting on the wet grass. But she paused, and then said, softly, "I was in a pretty bad mood when you came out here, Potter. I guess our conversation cheered me up a bit. Thank you." I smiled, and called back, "No problem, Evans."
Even if my love was one-sided, it was most definitely true.
Despite her obvious alcoholism, she was always the annual surprise on the top of the Honour Roll. She was the Gryffindor prefect in the beginning of fifth year. And as the year came to a close, she had been the one to receive twelve O.W.L.S., where I had only received ten and even Remus only eleven.
She was relatively well-liked among her peers. She was muggle-born – that was the extent of my knowledge about her. All her friends were muggle- born, and she didn't even try to cozy up with the Purebloods, the aptly- named Gryffindor Golden Girls, who were idolized for their brilliance and blonde hair. Ironically, these were the very same girls with whom I'd spent my entire childhood, the girls I laughed with, the girls I dated; the girls I would, undoubtedly, end up marrying one day in the near future. Sometimes, as I gallivanted around with my childhood friends in Hogsmeade, I would see her and Simon walking hand-in-hand down the street, talking quietly to each other. It was a far cry from the liquor-induced states of deliria they donned at night, when all the little ones were safely in bed.
I will always remember the day I fell in love with Lily Evans.
It was mid-November. The rain had started the week before, and there was no sign of it letting up. Dumbledore had cancelled Quidditch until the weather had improved, so there was absolutely no reason for anyone to be outside.
I could see the Quidditch pitch from the window of the Common Room. And there she was, sitting smack-dab in the middle of the perfectly manicured lawn. I couldn't see what she was doing there from several hundred yards away, and I didn't really care beyond a mild curiosity, but something urged me to climb off the over-stuffed armchair on which I had spent the afternoon, and question her about the deterioration of her brain that had caused her to be sitting outside so casually in frigid weather, wearing only her school uniform.
As I approached, I watched her tilt her head upwards and close her eyes, her hands gripping the lawn as if gravity was about to fail her and she was to simply fall off the planet. I said nothing, but stood behind her as she embraced the rain.
I hadn't noticed before, but I noticed now that she had a sprinkle of freckles across her nose, surprising on her tanned face. Her eyelashes were unusually long, framing a pair of unbelievably vibrant emerald eyes. She had forgone the typical smudged eyeliner she usually sported around Hogwarts, but the small silver bar through her right eyebrow was still there.
"Hello, James Potter."
I jumped, uneasily; I hadn't been sure if she had heard me approaching, and if she did I had assumed she wasn't planning on acknowledging my presence, seeing as how she hadn't done so for the past six and a half years.
"Erm... Hey."
We were quiet for a long while. I wasn't sure if she was planning on continuing the conversation; if she was, I wasn't about to disappear and ruin my chances of ever getting to know her.
It never occurred to me then why, exactly, I was so intent on striking up an unconventional relationship with this unconventional girl; why I had sought her out in the worst possible conditions when I could have been inside the cozy Gryffindor Tower, talking to people who regularly greeted me and made pleasant small talk.
Lily didn't seem the type for small talk, but I waited for a while, and then eventually sat down next to her, abandoning all hope of avoiding pneumonia or some other life-threatening disease caused by November weather.
"Are you planning on sitting out here long?" I asked tentatively, wondering if she was truly as sane as the teachers made her out to be, or whether she was merely one of those brilliant psychos who managed to serendipitously pull off excellent grades.
"As long as I need too."
"Ahh... I see."
Silence.
She glanced at me, finally, and I met her gaze. To my surprise, she was smiling, her eyebrows raised slightly.
"And why might you be out here as well, Mr. Potter? I don't imagine you're planning on flying today, and I simply cannot think of another reason you might be out here without your good friends."
I paused, before replying. I wasn't quite sure if she was mocking me or being sincere, but either way, her ambiguous tone of voice was more than a little disconcerting.
"I was just curious as to why the Head Girl was sitting out in the rain for seemingly no particular reason."
"I flourish in the rain, Potter."
Well. That was a bit of a surprise. I couldn't think of a reply, so I remained silent. She didn't seem to be expecting an answer to her confusing statement, anyway.
But as we sat there and as I looked at her, I could see what she was saying. She was the kind of girl that boys talked about at night as they shared their supposed "experiences" with other girls who couldn't quite compare. But in the rain, she was more than a fifth-year-boys'-dorm conversation. She had a sort of aura that was not easily ignorable in the rain. Her dark red hair was plastered to her face, her eyes were closed, and she looked, very simply, breath-taking.
"You're like an iris."
I stopped short, surprised at my own voice, at my stupid analogy. But it seemed just the thing to catch her attention. She turned and looked at me, her eyes unreadable. I knew she was waiting for me to explain myself, so I tried to do just that, all the while cursing myself for my lack of eloquence.
"It's as if... Well, you're obviously noticeable regularly. You've got a very quiet sort of look about you. Like an iris, you know? But in the rain, you stand out. It's hard to take my eyes off you when you're in the rain, and I don't really know why. Just like irises stand out in the rain. All the other flowers fade into the background."
I didn't know what it was that I was trying to say, but for some reason, she didn't make a scathing comment towards my clumsy explanation. My cheeks burned as we sat in silence. But when she spoke again, her voice was neither sarcastic nor judgmental.
"It's interesting... Simon said that exact same thing to me once. We were in fourth year. Remember that really big rainstorm?"
I nodded.
"I've always liked sitting out in the rain. It's calming. Well, I suppose he was kidding at first, when he said it, but he's always half kidding and half telling the truth. Simon's funny that way."
I relished the knowledge that Simon was a serious joker, for some reason. It was Simon, who lived in the dorm room next to mine, whom I'd never really talked to or met, but who seemed to be a pretty nice fellow.
"He can be such a brat sometimes, what with his being so ambiguous about everything he says. Even to me," she mused, more to herself than me.
Pretty nice fellow, ambiguous brat; tomato, tomahto.
"He's perceptive, then. It's true."
She shrugged and leaned back again, opening her mouth and sticking out her tongue to catch the rain that was beginning to lighten considerably.
"Maybe I was misnamed, then."
It was that moment when I realized that I was in love with Lily Evans. It wasn't the kind of epiphany I'd expected of a realized love. It was a quiet sort of emotion, and not necessarily a happy one, considering that her opinion of me had no doubt stayed exactly the same as it had been before. But I went ahead and plunged into unexperienced territory.
"I think I'm going to marry you one day, Lily Evans."
She snorted, and gave me a look.
"Is that a declaration of love, Potter?"
"It's just a statement. But I am in love with you."
"As of when?"
"As of now."
"Well, then, consider your confession accepted and appreciated. But I don't believe in love, Potter, so you'll have to concentrate your efforts elsewhere."
She stood up and wrung her hair out before starting to walk slowly off the Quidditch pitch, as the rain turned into a light drizzle. I stayed behind, still sitting on the wet grass. But she paused, and then said, softly, "I was in a pretty bad mood when you came out here, Potter. I guess our conversation cheered me up a bit. Thank you." I smiled, and called back, "No problem, Evans."
Even if my love was one-sided, it was most definitely true.