The Ramblings of a Stupid Girl

I gaze resolutely out the common room window to the grounds below the school. Nobody bothers me as I stared out; they all assume I just want to be alone. I have been known to disappear for periods of time when I am worried or the crowd is particularly hectic or maddening. I usually return in a refreshed state of mind with a pile of homework accomplished. No homework will be accomplished this time. My Herbology essay is shoved under my bed; my Prefect patrol charts lay unfinished on my nightstand, and my NEWTs study book is, well, I don't know where that is at the moment. The only object I know the location of is that blasted boy, James Potter. I glared at him as he romped around in the sunshine and brisk breeze. Oh, how I itch to wipe that laugh off his face.

If I were asked to describe my past two years at Hogwarts, three things would enter my mind: laughing with the girls in my room, sitting through classes all day long, and James Potter. That fickle boy has nearly been my undoing. For the past two years, he has unrelentingly dogged me around the castle, its grounds, Hogsmeade, the train station, Diagon Alley, and even some Muggle places I frequent. I recently begged my friends never to let me be alone in the castle because James is sure to find me. It's like he has a built in Lily-radar. If I walk down the corridor without a companion, he appears out of thin air to walk me somewhere. If there is ever a vacant seat next to mine, he would take it. He sent me flowers on St. Valentine's Day and my birthday. He gave me a Christmas present and sent me an owl once a week over holidays. Through all of this, he asked me out every Monday and Thursday, plus days when there were exams, feasts, or Quidditch matches.

I pride myself for never have encouraging him a single blessed time. I am regularly mean to him and I nearly always ignore him. I really do not understand why he continued to pester me like that. There would be no way anybody could make me constantly trail after someone who treated me like dirt. Especially not if they called me a bullying toe-rag under their breath every time I entered or exited a room. Really, did the boy have no pride for two years where I was concerned?

He was an insufferable jerk to everyone else. He tricked them into thinking he was cool though. It's like he has a whole trunk full of mind tricks to play on poor, unsuspecting students. He tromped around this school like he owned it, never regarding the rules. He hurt feelings like some people hurt insects: unthinkingly and with a little bit of satisfaction. He wheedled his way out of trouble like little boys get out of trouble for not eating their vegetables, with a little bit of a pouty smile to make you think he was sorry, and then a cocky, arrogant as hell grin letting you know he knows you won't do anything bad to him. I used to hate him so much. I always felt like he was such a child while I was very much superior, more mature.

Worst of all, he knew exactly where the line was. He knew the barrier that could not be crossed, and he drew up so close to it sometimes I knew he would topple over it. He never did, though, especially where I was concerned. Potter goaded and infuriated me to the point I would lose my temper. Maybe we would have a rather enlightening quarrel, maybe I would stomp off, perhaps I would hex him, or worst of all, sometimes he would placate me so imperceptibly I wouldn't know I was no longer mad until I was laughing at him.

I've probably spent just as much time with Potter as I have with my best friend, Ella, these past two years. We were like Hogwarts' most seen together couple, only we were not a couple. If somebody wanted to find either me or James, they just looked for the other one of us. He was that good at following me. After the time he crawled through a twenty meter room filled to the ceiling with old, dusty tables and chairs to find me and give me the latest Quidditch update, I eased up a little and made my little sabbaticals in places more publicly accessible. People said our names and giggled and smirked like we were one. It made it nearly impossible for me to get a decent date. Lily Evans and James Potter, Evans and Potter, Lily and James, James and Lily, Hogwarts' greatest couple that never was. That's what we were, the greatest couple that never existed.

James saw how perfect we would have been together, but I was blind and stupid, and pig-headed. We would have been great together, especially after he settled down this year and acted a bit more normal. We both have the sort of intelligence that allows us to not study and get good marks, but we both like learning new things. He loves to play jokes and have a good time, and I do too, once I loosen up a bit. I just need somebody to ease me into it. We actually have a similar sense of grim humor, and we're madly in love. It's just too damn bad I didn't realize it before now.

I hit my head against the glass as I thought about that. Now I realize it. He knew it all along, and he tried desperately to get me to see it too, but when he finally gave up on me, I finally realized it. Sometimes I really drive myself mad. Everybody says I'm a smart witch, but I have my doubts on occasions. Now I know how James feels. No wonder I saw him looking longingly at his wand, wanting to hex me. I must be the densest girl on the planet. No, Bertha Jorkins is the densest girl. I am the second densest girl on the planet.

I snarled at James again, this time as he was walking back into the castle. I am miserable and it is his entire fault. I could easily go back to hating James Potter…if I wasn't so infatuated with him. I hit my head against the panes of glass for several minutes again, and the object of hate/infatuation placed his palm between my aching head and the cold glass.

"Do try to finish the patrol chart before you permanently damage your brain. You know I hate doing those," James said with humor. I knew he would be concerned, so I didn't look at him. Those patrol charts were a joke between us, and I wanted to cry. I would most certainly not cry in front of James Potter, though. Through two years of tests, piles of homework, being orphaned, getting into fights with my best friend, and being accosted by a pack of Slytherins, I have never cried in front of that insufferable boy, and today would not be the first time. I didn't say anything to him, so he sat down next to me on the stone sill and pulled my foot into his lap to tie my sneaker. "You're really in a mood today. What's got you so worked up? Letter from Petunia?"

I never told him about Petunia. I haven't told him about a lot of things, but he still knew them about me. I turn my face farther from him and remain silent.

"You should've come outside with me and Sirius and Peter. We had fun. We turned Rita Skeeter's damned quill into a spider and it crawled up her arm. It was pretty funny." I heard him sigh and he stood up, "You probably wouldn't have thought it was amusing, though, Evans. I need to round up the team and head down to the pitch for tonight. Will you be there, or are you staying here to mope?" I heard the irritation creep into his voice and he said shortly, "That was an ignorant question. Why would you be there?"

When he walked away, I let the tears pour out of my eyes and I sat in my little cocoon of misery. It was so difficult being a teenage girl. Three quarters of an hour later, Ella came buzzing by. "Lily, are you going to get up and go to the exhibition or sit in that cold window all day?"

"Cold window all day."

Ella crouched down next to me and made me look at her. "Oh, Lily. Why are you letting yourself get so worked up over him? You don't even know if it means anything."

"I'm finally getting what I asked for for two years."

"Maybe it's your turn to ask him."

"Certainly not." I felt indignant at the very suggestion that I ask James Potter out. "Go ahead without me; I don't feel up to going."

Ella squeezed my hand and left, scurrying to catch up with the rest of Gryffindor. The whole school had been chattering about the exhibition for the past week. It would be a series of three mini-matches between two teams and then the winner of those two matches to get the school geared up for the first real match two weeks down the road in the middle of November. The captains of each team had been tirelessly organizing the event, planning a feast on the pitch after the games. I know James has been really excited about it, and so proud of his part in organizing it, but I couldn't bring myself to go down there and be with the happy throng when my poor heart had been mercilessly shredded by the one and only James Potter.

Perhaps I have been too hard on him all these years. How did he take two years of me walking all over his heart when I feel ready to collapse after five days? It has been five long, excruciating days since my world tilted wildly and began unraveling at the seams. On Monday, for the first time in two years plus some months, James Potter did not ask me out. On Wednesday, the day of our Arithmancy exam, he did not ask me out. Yesterday, he did not ask me out. Today, he has not asked me out. James has lost interest in me, apparently. He doesn't walk with me as much, and he doesn't always sit with me. All of a sudden, he just sort of stopped. I didn't even say anything mean to him!

And now I want him. I have never had sexual fantasies about James Potter before this week-okay, who am I kidding-I am going to be struck down by lightning if I keep lying like this. I have recently taken notice he is an attractive person. This past week has intensified that about a thousand times, and I'm ready to launch myself on this particular forbidden fruit. Worst of all, I miss him. A lot. I miss James Potter a lot. That is painful to contemplate. I spent two years trying to avoid him, and now I really wish he would start bothering me again. I like the way he opens doors for me and carries my book bag and walks in front of me when we going through a crowd of first years to part the sea of smelly little kids that take up the whole corridor. I was even growing fond of the way he held my hand before I snatched it away and hit him with whatever I could lift in arm's length.

He could have been mine now if I wasn't such a stupid, immature little girl. I bang my head against the glass again. My life is ruined.

To confirm that, the object of my ruination walked into the common room. James bloody Potter has apparently decided to forsake the feast outside, because he strode in, still dressed in his red uniform. I have to say, shin guards and Quidditch gloves are a pretty big turn on for me. I wonder if I would have time to ambush him in his room before the students flood back into the castle. All this misery is killing my brain cells. I am seriously losing my mind. I resume hitting my head against the window. Maybe I will eventually fall through if I keep it up long enough.

I can hear James stomp up the stairs to his room, throw some stuff around rather loudly, and come back down rather loudly. He looks royally pissed off as he walks toward me, and I begin wondering if he came to rip up the remaining fragments of my poor little heart.

"I don't know what you're getting at," he says in a low voice as he approaches, "but you're going to make yourself sick, sitting here, and hitting your head against the window, in the draft, nonetheless." He is absolutely burning with fury. Interesting. I am burning with absolute wretchedness. To my surprised, he pushes a blanket and a box of tissues in my lap. "If you're going to mope, you might as well do it the right way and have a good cry and get this worked out of your system. I assure you, hitting your head will not solve any problems. If it did, you and I would be having a right good time in one of the many empty rooms in the castle right now."

How did he know why I am hitting my head? Surely I am not that transparent.

"As it is, hours of hitting my head in frustration got me nowhere but the hospital wing, so stop it. What's your problem?"

I watch him as he crouches next to me, and I briefly wondered what he would do if I suddenly leaped on him. However, it appears he is completely oblivious to the source of my despair, and if he doesn't know, I'm not going to enlighten him. "If you can't figure that out for yourself, you're dumber than I thought." That was probably not the way to win his affection. Crap. I'm not real good under duress.

"If you can't figure out a solution, you're the egotistical one."

What did this boy really know? Does he know what I am really upset about? "Don't you have someplace you need to be, Potter? Perhaps you should go to your little Quidditch celebration so your adoring public can fawn over you and ensure your status as Quidditch god and all around Hogwarts hero."

"I suppose I might as well. The company up here is on the Neanderthal level." James stomrs out the portrait, and I rest my battered head against the window.

Why does nothing turn out the way I want? Why can't I just say I like him instead of being mean? Why does he have to be so right all the time? Why do I have to have this splitting headache?

Then, with a revolting flash of self-revelation, it all comes to me in a wrenching rush. I know why my cute little world has been torn apart, and I know why James Potter isn't with me in this window sill, and I knew why I have this rotten headache: of the two of us, I am the child. He is the one who had grown up more quickly, he is the more mature. I am a stupid, silly little girl who has ruined everything.

Now, I have to fix it.

The following Monday…

By God, if imitation is the highest form of flattery, James Potter should have a head the size of the Soviet Union from my flattery. This morning, I got up early and waited for him to leave for breakfast. I quickly ran along to catch up with him, and I carried his book bag for him. James shook his head slightly, Remus and Peter stared straight ahead, and Sirius gave me a knowing wink. I winked back.

At breakfast, his friends wisely left a seat open next to him, and I took it. James looked at me with disbelief, and neither of us said a single thing.

All day long, I walked with him through the halls, carrying his book bag, occasionally holding his hand, and most importantly, passed him notes during class.

So, here I am, waiting on him to come to our Head Student meeting to discuss the patrol schedule and we had previously planned to study together for the Arithmancy test. I have meticulously applied my makeup and fixed my hair. I'm ready for James Potter. He won't know what hit him.

He walks in, a pleasant smile on his face, and to my utter shock he says, "Hey, Lily, how's my favorite bullying toe-rag?"

I know my jaw dropped, because my mind went blank for a good ten seconds. Does he have to be so difficult? We discuss my chart, and of course, he doesn't argue. We crack our Arithmancy books and begin quizzing each other on some formulas and other inane things that take backseat to bewitching Potter. As I ask the next question, I make my move. While reading it, I casually bump my foot against his. Thiswas a normal enough thing; who hasn't had that brief brush of feet under the table that cause both sets of feet to jump back under their own chair with hasty apologies? Only my feet are not returning to their chair.

The look of suspicion and surprise on his face is utterly priceless. It's hard not to ruin it by giggling. "You didn't answer my question, James."

His eyebrow rise, and I manage to levelly meet his gaze, because of course, I have no idea what my foot is doing to his ankle. He had done this to me several times, but I had always given his leg a swift kick or two.

"Say James, did you know that this weekend was a Hogsmeade weekend?" I ask.

"I believe I became aware of that somewhere along the course of checking the patrol chart for the trip." I had answered that way multiple times before. Kudos to James for remembering.

My heart is racing, and I blurt out before I chicken out, "Would you go with me?"

James sighes dramatically, "I would rather date the giant squid than go out with you."

I had anticipated this. I am going to lay down my hand and take my chances. I lean across the table and kiss him. For a moment, our eyes meet before we both fall into the kiss. That kiss proves to me how stupid I was before and how right I am to finally give him a chance. "Please James? I missed you."

"You have to suggest a time," he says with that devilish smirk of his.

"Oh, right! Will you meet me at nine thirty at the entrance?"

"I think I like it when the girl does the asking. It gets better results."

"Only when the couple in question is an insufferable git and a pig-headed girl."

"What a fine couple."

"Yes, I rather think so," I reply. James is walking around the table to kiss me again. Now, I am too preoccupied for my stupid ramblings.

A/N: Well, I'm done with that infuriating plot bunny. I've had it hopping around in my mind for a couple months, and for a terrifying moment, I was actually considering starting another fanfic. Doing a one-shot was the only way to ever finish THR and WDBTN. Anyway, I really liked this idea, and now I can finally move on.