Raindrops—catch me if you can
Chapter 1: Confessions
The world was spinning.
I know what you're thinking: Well no shit, Sherlock.
I should make it clearer.
My world was spinning out of control.
The Death Eaters and Voldemort had finally been bumped up to an imminent threat in 6th year, people everywhere were dying, and the newspaper blared, "MURDER!" every single time that you skipped the headlines and the front page because it was so damned depressing. The obituaries took up one half of the whole paper.
After the whole fifth year fiasco, James started acting nicer, less conceited, more wise. A major shocker, I know. James Potter, the infamous prat who could charm off your pants—and quite literally too—an intellect?
I tell no lies. And I swear to God, I had been so amused and amazed at this.
Once James had gotten past himself, I found myself liking him more and more—it wasn't long before we had become friends.
He understood me, James Potter, with that messy black hair and smirkish smile, knew what I wanted to say through my babbled words. And so, with his influence, I not only become friends with him, but with the rest of the Marauders as well, considering them all to be my brothers. But while making all these new relationships, the ties between my sister and I continued to become more strained. I knew it wasn't long before it would totally snap and twang off into little pieces, flying in the air, and never to be regained.
But it's not like I cared, anyway.
It was a godsend every summer when I got to get away from her.
Where was I? Ah yes, my world felt like it was crumbling. In fact, I think everyone's was. We had all begun our phase with our severe crushes and broken hearts, Christina, Mai and I all having our share of boy problems. Confused in our delusions of love, giggling, sighing, weeping, crying, beaming rays of happiness and all that. Ah well.
Mai probably got the worst of all of our problems, as her mother was a Muggle, and if Slytherins hated people who were pure non-magical at first, they loathed half-and-halves even more, going on about their, "pureness and sacredness" shit.
Mai was a Chinese-Canadian, and was proud of it, thank you very much. She was loud, and always spoke her mind, so she'd often get in trouble for what slipped out of her mouth. She was free-willed, spirited, wanted to break the rules, and dared to most of the time, leaving me to stare at her in awe.
She was spontaneous, like firecrackers going off all the time, and yet every single one surprised you. She was opinionated, down-to-earth (most of the time), sarcastic, witty, optimistically happy in a hyper sense and perverted, somewhat. Her life dream was to meet a gay guy. Preferably a Japanese one.
You did not hear me wrong. That's who she was, and if you hated it, then in all honesty, she could care less. She didn't give a damn about society's ways. The thing with Mai was, you either loved/admired her or hated her with a vengeance.
Christina was the more pragmatic of us all, calm and serene, and so effing scary when she was hyper, causing everyone to stare at her while she let out high-pitched voices, talking about shooting/castrating random people or whatnot. She was one hell of a debater and violin player, a whiz at all the classical kind of things. We often teased her, calling her the Renaissance Woman, as lame as that was.
We were all nerds. And if you have any objections, you can stick your hand down your throat.
She listened to music that I would classify as soft pop, along with the occasional Beethoven and Bach, and (the horrors) alternative rock. (I think I had more of corrupted her rather than helped her when it came to some of her more out there-ish tastes. i.e. Three Days Grace, The Exies… Yeah…) Christina was orderly, tidy, her brown hair tied in a neat ponytail, bun, whatever. And on those rare occasions when she let her long hair down, it was like a shimmering chocolate water fall, the one I would imagine would look like from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, only prettier and more glinting of other colors. She was perceptive, her blue-grey eyes would stare at you in a way where you felt you were being scrutinized, but in a friendly sense.
They were my sisters, they kept me on Earth, as I was a dreamer, a trait I got from my father, as well as my green eyes and red hair. I was a walking oxymoron: the calm, psychopath bitchy freak that was nice, the girl who wanted to kick ass in baggy cargo pants and a t-shirt, and to be whisked off, staring out at the sunset with a significant other. I was a hopeless romantic. Christina and Mai laughed at me for it, rolling their eyes while I composed little bits of fluff I had grasped from the air, yet enjoying it as much as I did. I was also an avid runner, as it felt so awesome, the way you turned into liquid and were poured onto the sidewalk, glistening, and those two joined me, jogging. Whenever I start to, it's like my problems are melting away and the world becomes somewhat more stable, I can deal with things and think through it all.
Think through all my feelings, too. And as sad as it is, I don't know what to think anymore.
They're all confusing and swirling these days that I can't think straight.
It's pretty scary, actually. Maybe not to some people, but it is to me.
And I have absolutely no idea why.
I just don't like how I'm falling apart.
6th year was full of quirks, good ones and bad ones, and I experienced them all with my friends by my side.
Life was funny. And extremely ironic. The kind of funny where you're practically crying at first, and then when your look back, you start smiling. That's where irony comes in. Or, if the whole ordeal had been ironic in the first place, irony reappeared.
Either way, irony and reality had slapped us full in the face.
Some of us were ready for it. Well, more like everyone else was, except for me. I don't know why it had hurt as badly—I mean, I wasn't the one who actually had relatives who liked the prospect of offing Muggles (Sirius), nor was I like Christina, whose aunt was in St. Mungo's because of an attack, and even less, Mai, who got all that bitchy karma from the Slytherins (and managed to flick them off with a high-pitched giggle). It had hit me, and I had stumbled and fell splat onto the ground. That's where he found me.
And he had given me a smile, offered to help me up, and that moment I took his extended hand, I fell for him. Him, with his questioning eyes, his curving, crooked smile, that mysterious personality, his dark beauty—everything.
He had dazzled me, inspired me, frustrated me, vexed me, miffed me and just shook me up and twirled me around in general, like that day I had spun with him, our arms crossed over each others, spinning and swirling over and over in the grass until we had tripped and stumbled, staring up at the sky in our dizziness.
Everything to me, except what I wanted him to do.
Hold me, and to never let go, asking me to be his.
Maybe if I had opened by mind to reality more often, I would have seen what I was looking for. Maybe, if I had, I would have seen what I completely dreaded. And maybe, I should be satisfied and decide to when I want to, and just leave it at that.
It was my choice. But I had no idea what to choose.
That's pretty much what it had become, indecision, if's, maybe's all converging into this swirling mass.
My name is Lily Evans. This is my story, my life, my existence.
Whatever you do…
…don't close your mind.