An Infinite Improbability
I had seriously doubted James Potter's credibility ages ago. Of course, I was right to have doubted. Potter has not a scrap of sincerity in him whatsoever.
I was greatly surprised when I learned that he was going to be working alongside me as a Head Student this year. It was preposterous. Dumbledore always has his reasons, of course.
That was what I willed myself to believe when I first heard the news.
But now, after four months of being back at Hogwarts, I had rarely ever seen Potter doing any of his duties at all. Dumbledore may have his reasons for most things, but not all things. The idea of making Potter Head Boy is ludicrous! It is beyond reason! He is still the same as before. Not to be trusted with anything that required responsibility. Not to be trusted to do something as simple as doing rounds. Not to be trusted with watching over students for a couple of minutes (in case you wanted them swimming in syrup, of course). Not to be trusted with showing up for classes prepared—homework and all. And most of all, not to be trusted by me.
Not that I never tried to be civil to him. I did. I even went as far as trying to actually trust him. I was maybe hoping for some sort of hidden angelic persona to suddenly emerge from his laid-back and negligent outline.
Well, I tried.
I've always dreamed of the day when I would finally be able to talk to him like I would with other people—and not want to strangle him while he stood smiling idly at me. I would have liked to at least have him look me in the eye and smile his real smile. The one he uses when he's around his friends. The one that wasn't pretentious, or haughty, or superior. Just a normal, human smile. The one smile that would make me want to smile back.
However, as of late, he seemed to have lost his vigor. I don't remember him asking me out since we came back from the summer. Not once. He hasn't even tried to persuade me to profess my supposedly undying love for him in public. It was a change; I loved it. I found that he wasn't as unpleasant as before. I shouted at him less. I glared at him less. And I didn't have to address him at all. Not that I didn't want to talk to him. It was just that every time I do, I feel that it's my duty to call him 'Potter'. I have not an inkling of a clue why, but that was just how it was. He calls me Evans, fine! I'm calling him Potter!
I didn't like that, though. Thus, my reluctance to having to talk to him and call him that.
I like his name. James. It's such a shame I might never have a chance to say it. It's also such a shame I might never, in my life, hear him call me by my name.
I mean, exactly how hard was it? For heaven's sake, it's four letters! Lily. That simple. I expect it'd sound lovely. But I also expect the moment he'd say it was the moment I agree to go out with him.
But then, if he does, by any chance, call me Lily, I think I probably would agree to go out with him….
I'll try to consider that.
I heard the door squeak open. I sat up immediately. It was probably just Remus though. Always checking the billboard for Prefect assignments. Now if only James was anything like—
"Evans," mumbled an unruffled, low voice.
I had to blink twice. Perhaps I had my eyes closed too long while daydreaming. I seem to be having a hallucination.
Never in my life have I seen James Potter inside the Head Room. Of course, Head Students and Prefects were all expected to, at some point, visit the Head Room. But I never imagined I would actually see James in here.
He nodded at me. He didn't smile. Just nodded. Nodded as if to say that he was there, I was there, let's get on with our lives. He looked around. "Nice place," I heard him mumble.
"You should have known that four months ago," I mumbled back, though very quietly. But he apparently still heard me, because he looked at me again and smiled. A weak smile. This was not the smile I wanted.
"I just wanted to see the list of students staying for Christmas. Remus said it would be here."
I looked at him for a second more before pointing to a piece of paper tacked to the corkboard behind a long wooden table, where I would usually find some prefects studying. Trying to get away from their common rooms, or not wanting to go to the library.
He nodded again and went to the table in three strides. I wish I could do that. But I didn't have legs nearly as long as his.
He took the paper off the wall, whisked a chair out from under the table, and sat, tilting the chair a little so it stood on two legs. He stared at the parchment. I saw his eyebrows rise slightly and his lips slowly curve into a smile. I looked away when I realized that I was watching him.
"What, Potter," I said. "Deciding on what prank would be most suitable for a certain amount of people?"
He sighed and said, "Not really. But there's an idea."
I rolled my eyes at him.
"So," he said, looking around the sizable room again. "Pretty nice place. You're always here?"
I watched him. Maybe this was the civil conversation I had been hoping for. Or, well, I can try and turn it into one. "Pretty much. The common room's always noisy. And there's no point in going to the library when there's a whole section of books here too. Of course it's not half as much as what's in the library, but it's a start. And, except for a few times when some prefects drop by, I have the room to myself."
James nodded. "Well, you make it sound so nice, I think I'm gonna start hanging out here too."
I didn't really care. If he messes around, I'd just shut myself inside the smaller room that branched off from the Head Room. It's the actual—I guess you could say 'headquarters' of the Head Boy and Girl. I was the only one who knew the password though. Professor McGonagall told me to tell James. But I conveniently forgot. I know it's not right. But I figured I needed my own share of rule breaking.
He looked at me and decided that I wasn't riled with what he had said. He smiled. It didn't entirely reach his eyes, but it was nicer than before. "So," he said. "You're staying for Christmas?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"No reason. Probably just wanting to savor my last year here."
He didn't seem very happy. I was thinking he would probably comment on what I said. He didn't. He nodded again. What's up with all the nodding?
He took off an imaginary hat and bowed. He looked up, put the nonexistent hat back on, smiled, and left.
I continued staring at the door even after he was gone.
That young man who just left with the messy black hair, tall frame, and hazel eyes…
Who was he, and what did he do to James?
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