Disclaimer I do not own Harry Potter

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A dark violet light, almost the shade of black, shone behind Lily's eyelids as she squeezed them harder, not allowing herself to cry.

She couldn't cry, wouldn't, dared not to.

The letter was still clutched in her hands, and she didn't have to look to know her knuckles were white from grasping so hard.

But she needed something to hold, and no one was around.

She wouldn't let a tear escape; she was stronger than that.

Or maybe the strong ones were the ones who allowed themselves to cry.

But it was so TRIVIAL to cry over, something she should just push aside and forget.

But she couldn't. It was, after all, her ONLY sister's wedding.

And Petunia had made it perfectly clear that she didn't want to see Lily there.

You're damned Lily, ever since you got that letter from that odd school of yours I knew it. Your presence at my wedding would only cause an unhappy marriage for Vernon and me. We don't want you to be there.

Why did her own sister, one that Lily had spent the first ten years of her life laughing with, hate her so much?

This hate was different than the one Malfoy and Snape held for her. Lily still loved Petunia like the sister she was, or once had been. This spite and malice now held was scorning Lily, tearing her heart apart.

The letter had, at first, made Lily gleam with joy. After all, her sister was getting married. But when Lily read, re-read, and re-read once more the last few sentences, all stating that there would be no invitation for Lily, she had rushed to her dormitory without a word to the others.

And now the tears swelled up once more, but Lily fought them back.

She remembered when she had been four, one of her earliest memories of a day spent with her sister.

A dog had chased Lily around the block they lived on, and gotten a good grip on her leg at one point. But Petunia (with a perfect older-sister stereotype) had chased it off before it could do too much harm.

The eight-year-old sister found Lily bawling in pain, and kneeled beside her with a flower in her had from their garden.

"Roses are red, violets are blue. But a lily's MY favorite, and a petunia hers too."

And Lily never forgot that rhyme, the rhyme that had bonded them as sisters and best friends.

Lily repeated the rhyme in a whispery voice, unable to hold her tears any longer.

"Roses are red, violets are blue. But a petunia's my favorite, and a lily hers too. Roses are red, violets are blue…"

"Lily shouldn't cry, because it makes me cry too."

Lily didn't look up, but smiled weakly.

"I should have known," she said. "You always appear at my worst moments."

James knelt next to her bed, and Lily could feel his soft brown eyes on her.

"On the contrary," he smiled, "it could be said that I always appear at the right time."

"I don't need a knight in shining armor, Potter," she scowled.

"Sounds more like you need a knight with two bottles of butterbeer."

"If only I could find such a knight." Lily smiled, opening her eyes to look at him. He was smiling widely and, when Lily looked at his hands, he held two bottles of foaming liquid.

"You already have," he said.

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Lily didn't know what she was doing when it happened. One moment, she and James were sitting on her bed, laughing and talking, and the next the two were engrossed in a passionate kiss, with such a fire that both felt themselves burning.

There was no denying that Lily was in love with James, as much in love as a 14-year-old girl could be. And the perfect way his lips matched hers, the knowledge of just how much force James should use, and the wonderful flutter soaring through her told her that James felt the same way.

So much for being just friends.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, "but you're so perfect, even when you're crying and choking on butterbeer."

Lily laughed. "I'm surprised I have enough willpower to keep you at an arms length," she replied. "It's about time that the will drained away."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means, James Potter, that I'm sick of being 'just friends.'"

And before she knew it, James had stood up (with her in his arms) and began engrossing her in a (more-than-friendly) hug, holding her close and not letting her go until she had repeated those last six words about 50 times over.

"Are you sure about that?" he asked her, finally settling down and realizing what she had said.

"I've never been more sure," she replied.

"Evans, you've been hanging around us Marauders too much. You just said a cliché."

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"Everything's been going too fast," Lily told herself that night. It was near eight and she was alone in her dormitory, uncaring to just where her roommates had all gone.

She wasn't only regretting her earlier decision; she was regretting her regret for it. The honest truth was that she WAS happy with James, happier than she had been in such a long time. But life was moving too quickly for her, seeing as how half of January was already over. She felt she needed more time, much more time.

You said it yourself, Evans. Life moves on, whether you're ready or not.

She figured she had grown strongly accustomed to a stable life where the only things that changed were her height, length of her hair, and the size of her bust. So strongly accustomed that the whole month of change had overwhelmed her.

There's no reason for life to move slowly when you need it to.

With a heavy sigh that carried all her mixed emotions, she walked out of her dormitory and down to the common room.

She froze when James saw her and rushed over to her, kneeling in front of her.

"You're not going to propose to me, are you Potter?" she asked, a sadistic smirk playing at her lips.

"Not quite yet Evans," he smiled. "I DO however, have a poem for you."

"Oh no…"

"A Lily so tender

A flower so sweet

The smell of the summer

And winter's defeat

"A copper flamed sunrise

Though dawn is not broke

To greet those found sore eyes

That twilight un-spoke

"An emerald crushing

A fire so strong

Eternally burning

Can do me no wrong

"Lily this ode be

An ode to the earth

For fragrance of lilies

And a blooming new birth."

He held a flower (a lily of course) and handed it to her. Lily had to use a lot of self-control to keep from bursting out laughing, which failed. When she hugged James with a thank you, she couldn't hold it in any longer. To her relief, James began laughing too.

"YOU, James Potter, are probably the most RIDICULOUS man alive!" she laughed.

"Being ridiculous is better than being 'Sirius,'" he responded.

"I heard that," Sirius remarked.

"Heard what?" James asked, feigning innocence. "I didn't hear anything."

"James, you prat," Sirius scowled. "Just for that, I'm going to tell Lily the truth, and that's that I am the one who wrote that poem."

"I should have known," Lily said, rolling her eyes at Sirius.