Window Sill
She sat on the window sill, clutching her knees to her chest, gazing out on the Quidditch Pitch at the small figure exploring the air like a firefly. She knew, even without being able to make out any features, who it was. No one else flew with that grace, with that ease. She never went to Quidditch games because she didn't like the competition, the strategy, the mechanics of it. But this, this was calming and freeing, and, unbeknownst to him, this was what got her through the lonely nights in the Head Girl Dormitory, what had broken through the tears, through the knowledge that her parents were gone and her only sister hated her.
It was last year that her parents had passed away tragically in a car accident, and yet it seemed like ages ago. In the beginning, she could smell her mother's perfume on nearly all of her belongings, and it would always bring tears to her eyes. Then the smell had faded, and she cried for the loss, not wanting to let go of the only smell that had been constant through her childhood.
At first, she dreamt about them every night, only to wake up empty, feeling like her bedroom was an infinite void that could no longer be filled by her father's laughter and her mother's touch. Then, like her mother's smell, the dreams had faded, leaving her with blurry pictures. She could no longer make out the crow's feet gracing her father's eyes, or the freckles dotting her mother's nose. She could no longer hear their voices encouraging her, congratulating her, assuring her that her sister loved her even though she didn't show it.
Then, one night, she had been sitting on the window sill as she was tonight and had spotted him soaring through the sky peacefully. She didn't know then who it was, only that watching him calmed her, made the weight on her heart just a little lighter. Each night afterward, she would sit in the same spot and watch, and each night unfailingly, he was there, making her feel like she was out there with him, without even realizing it.
She only discovered about a month later the identity of her savior, of the individual who had helped her get past the greatest loss she had ever known. A careless conversation between him and his friends at the breakfast table revealed all she needed to know. James Potter went flying every night before bed. She was taken aback by this discovery, but she found it surprisingly comforting nonetheless, and she found herself not wanting to cease her nightly ritual. In trying to forget the pain in his heart, he had helped her to overcome the pain in hers, and she knew she would always owe him her happiness. She could have drowned in sorrow, but he had rescued her, and she wanted him to know it. She vowed that the next time he approached her and tried to strike up a conversation, she would make a real effort to be his friend.
But he never did approach her. He no longer asked her to Hogsmeade, no longer asked her how she was, no longer stared at her when he thought she wasn't looking. It was as if they were living in two separate worlds, like she was watching him through a television set and wishing that he were real. The more he ignored her, the more she wished that he would acknowledge her. Suddenly, her sister didn't matter anymore, and she sat watching him at night for a completely different reason. Her heart was once again heavy, but this time instead of curing it, he was the cause for it.
Still, she gazed at him, unable to tear her eyes away, unable to forget that when he had tried to be kind to her and had tried to be her friend, she had brushed him off, and now that she needed him more than ever, if only to tell him that she was sorry and that she understood, he would no longer spare her a passing glance. And as much as it hurt her, as much as it made the pain in her heart only more prominent, she couldn't stop watching him.
As he soared through the air, and as she imagined being there with him, she felt like they shared an intimacy, one that she craved, and one that he was unaware of. And she couldn't bring herself to let go of that. She had finally realized that she needed him, not only because he could make the pain in her heart disappear, but because she loved him.
She watched him descend, finally tearing her gaze away when his silhouette had joined that of the ground and was no longer discernable. She closed her eyes, letting a solitary tear escape, not bothering to wipe it away, and she stood up from her spot by the window and lay down on her bed, closing her eyes though she knew that sleep would not come.
Moments later, she felt the pressure of a body sitting beside her on her bed, felt a masculine hand softly brush the hair from her face and rest on her cheek. She knew instinctively who it was, but she also knew that he couldn't be there, not after all the weeks of ignoring her, so she concluded that it must be her imagination. She didn't want to see her empty dormitory and confirm that she was, in fact, alone on her bed, so she remained perfectly still, not daring to open her eyes for fear that she would lose the feeling of his warm touch on her cheek.
"Lily," his soft voice whispered, and she knew that this was a dream from which she never wanted to awaken.
"I just want to say that I'm sorry. For asking you out, for hexing Snape, for everything I ever did that made you angry. It was only ever to impress you, and I've finally realized how idiotic it was. Really, though, I'm here because I miss you. I've been trying to avoid you, because I know that's what you want, but it's been so hard. I saw how much you were hurting when your parents died, and all I wanted was to take you in my arms and assure you that everything would be okay, that I would never leave you. All I wanted was to make your pain a little easier to bear. But I couldn't. All I could do was watch you, knowing that I couldn't do anything to help you. But that hurt me, so I stopped watching. You're not alone, though, Lily, and I'll always be here for you if you need a friend. I just want you to be happy. I love you."
She wanted to cry at the words that she wished with all her heart could be real, but even more so when she felt his lips against her cheek and the weight disappear from her bed. This time, she could not stop herself from looking, and she was astonished to see James' retreating silhouette. "James?" she finally called out tentatively, scared that he was just an illusion, a figure of her dreams like her parents had once been. But when he froze suddenly without turning around, she knew that he was really there, and she let out a dry sob.
"You have helped me," she continued, "more than you'll ever know." He stayed frozen for a few moments, before finally sighing and preparing to go to bed, but she wasn't going to lose her chance because of fear. He was here now, and if she let him leave, he may never come back. She stood beside her bed and addressed him once more, "And James?"
This time he turned to her and stood silently staring at her before finally whispering timidly, "Yeah?"
She mused that this was the first time that she had ever seen him timid, before realizing that she would be too if she had confessed her love to him while she thought he was sleeping and it turned out he had heard every word. She slowly made her way over to him until she was as close as possible, and she noticed that he visibly swallowed when she reached her arms up to clasp her hands together behind his neck.
"I don't have to be asleep for you to kiss me," she said softly before rising onto her tiptoes and brushing her lips against his gently. She stared into his eyes, and she could see that he was shocked, and she could see that he had meant every word that he had inadvertently revealed to her.
"And James?" she said, even quieter this time. He only smiled as a response now, remaining silent, and she took that as her cue to continue. "You don't have to wait until I'm asleep to tell me you love me either. Because I love you too." And this time, it was he who bent down to capture her lips.