The Beginning

or

Lily Evans is an Alien

If the truth was to be told —which it was, because Lily really hated beating around the proverbial shrubbery —it had started months and months ago. Maybe as much as year had passed since she had first noticed the Change.

For five years she had detested James Potter. He was everything she hated: arrogant; careless; selfish; rude; a bully. And, to further exacerbate her violent dislike of him, he had decided at some point during third year that he loved Lily and that the whole school should be made aware of it at least once a week.

He went out of his way to impress her: intricate spells that caused flowers to grow wherever she trod; fireworks spelling out their joined names in the Great Hall; long and futile attempts to teach the Giant Squid to sing 'a bicycle built for two' —nothing was above or below James Potter in his wooing of Lily Evans. But, as often happens with the more contrary type of teenager —and if Lily had a fault it was her pig-headed tenacity —the more James pushed, the more determined she was to completely loathe him.

Towards the end of third year, Marlene began a tally of the times Potter asked Lily out. They had reached a whopping one hundred and thirty seven before, quite suddenly, he stopped.

Lily had no idea why: number one hundred and thirty seven took place quite unremarkably on the Hogwarts Express at the end of fifth year.

'Oi, Evans,' Potter had called across the corridor. If Lily had looked more closely, she might have seen the look of resignation on his face. She would have noticed Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew watching grimly from inside their compartment. She might have heard the mutters from inside that compartment after she had blown him off for the one hundred and thirty seventh time.

'Bad luck, Prongs,' she might have heard. 'So ends the great saga.' And the final, fatalistic, ''S alright, lads. It's over.'

But she didn't hear, and so it came as a surprise to her when, in the third week of holidays, she still hadn't received a single proposal of marriage from Fergelina, Potter's tawny.

Another two weeks passed with nothing. The next time Lily saw him was at Marlene's birthday. It was close to midnight and she was sitting with Benjy Fenwick, Mary, Dorcas and Fabian Prewett on the grass outside Marlene's house. Mary was yawning and Benjy was asleep and, off to the side, Fabian and Dorcas were talking quietly in grave tones. Out the back of the house, Marlene's older brother and his friends were setting off fireworks as entertainment for the drunker guests and Lily was lying on her back, watching the colours shatter the pearlescent cloud cover.

Soon two figures stumbled out of the front door. The second figure stopped short at the sight of the little party. Sitting up slowly, Lily squinted and recognized Potter. The first figure was Sirius Black, who moaned, 'Not here, Prongs. This is clearly where the party came to die.'

Lily had long ago accepted that Black disliked her almost as intensely as she disliked his best mate, but that had never stopped her from giving him as good as she got back. 'No, really,' she insisted, staring up at him, 'It's been dead since you arrived, Black.'

'You lie, Evans,' Black said, waving a dismissive hand. 'I bring only life.'

Next to him, Potter chuckled gently. Lily narrowed her eyes, but made no further comment. Mary, however, squawked indignantly, 'Take it back, Black, or I'll tell Mar's mum that you spiked the butterbeer.' He laughed, said, 'Only for you, Mary MacDonald, only for you,' and ignoring Lily completely, sat himself on the grass between Mary and Benjy, now snoring loudly.

Uncommonly unsure, Potter hovered for a few moments before he lowered himself next to Lily. Determined not to ruin the lovely night for herself, she said nothing, and when Potter then said, his voice low and quiet, 'Alright, Evans?' she grunted and continued as she had been, lying still and peaceful on the cool, sweet-smelling grass.

And that was all he said to her the whole night. Countless times she thought he'd ask —go for number one hundred and thirty eight —but when he spoke, it was only to add to Black and Mary's debate about alien life-forms.

'I reckon Evans might be an alien,' Black said casually at one point. 'What do you think, James?'

Acting out of character for the second time that night, Potter did not reply with a dramatically incensed, 'how dare you suggest such a thing about mine lady-love!' as all expected. Instead, he said gently, 'nah. Probably not.'

Such was Lily's surprise, she felt like she had pins and needles in her brain, and Mary fidgeted uncomfortably.

Black looked faintly proud.

It was only on the Platform at the start of her sixth year that Lily realized that Potter's infatuation with her had ended. She hadn't received one note from him over the summer and though surprised, she was honestly glad about it. So much of her energy —better spent upon learning and other such frivolous pursuits what with O. coming up —had been expended on being mad at James Potter. Now, with N.E. on the horizon, she was glad.

She knew with startling finality when he passed her on his way to the front of the train, gave a small, impersonal smile and said, 'Alright, Evans?' He was moving quickly down the corridor and before she could muster up the words to reply, he was gone. It was the same line as ever, but it was the smile that told her that she was looking at the end of an era.

Although she was to be preoccupied all that year —a big one, academically, and thus a quiet one for her love life —she couldn't help but notice the increasingly surprising changes in James Potter. Or the fact that his love life was anything but stagnant. She didn't set out to notice, but how could she not when he and Daisy Abbott went around joined at the hip and, more frequently, the mouth?

Nor could she avoid seeing the changes. He had filled out his lankiness: now his shoulders were broader and his arms… weren't thin. He also grew into his looks, his formerly too-long nose now in proportion with the rest of his long, angled face. His hair was ever-messy, but now the girls called it 'tousled'.

Stranger still were the changes in his behaviour. He wasn't quieter: no, James Potter would never be quiet. He still pranked and laughed and caused havoc; he still teased his teachers and goaded the girls. But he lost the strut in his step and not once did Lily see him or even hear of him hexing someone for the sake of it. Even when he was up in the air, giving instructions in his Captain's gear, he was remarkably down to earth.

It took three words from Mary MacDonald for Lily to truly process what had happened.

'He's grown up,' the witch said, wonder in her voice. They were at lunch, watching James talking quietly and gently to his third year beater a few seats up.

Why couldn't you have been like this last year, Lily caught herself thinking bitterly. But that was an unhealthy thought. Does it do to dwell on the past, Lily? No. It bloody well does not, she told herself firmly.

It was just so strange. She had spent four years fighting off his advances, thinking him a prize arsehole, and now he ignored her and was the epitome of the top bloke.

Because despite these changes, he still treated Lily differently from everyone else. Now, when he saw her in the corridor, his face would fall infinitesimally and he would adopt that same impersonal smile and nod his head in greeting. When he had to talk to her, it was as if to a casual acquaintance.

I was just the —the infatuation of his youth, Lily realized, thinking absently how trite and poetic that sounded.

He had grown up. And he had left her behind.

She watched him closely that year. She had to be sure it wasn't just a phase.

Quickly, however, and with growing alarm, she began to see that James Potter was funny, intelligent, confident, gentle and a fantastic leader. The fact that he still served at least two detentions a month wasn't even a deterrent. His eyes were bright behind his glasses. He kept his hands out of hair, for the most part. His smile lit up his face like a bloody lumos charm.

But after a few weeks she began to see a pattern. And then she realised why. His eyes were bright for Daisy Abbott, and his hands weren't in his hair, because they were in her hands.

'Why did I get him when he was an absolute prick and she gets him now he's got the sun up his arse?' Lily asked Emmeline Vance and Dorcas one day on the way to Ancient Runes, watching the couple walk arm in arm in front of them. Neither friend said anything, but when Lily looked back at them, Dorcas was smiling smugly and Emmeline was staring at Lily with curiosity.

They think I'm jealous, she realised, alarmed. The thought was so surprising that she stopped in her tracks and had to enter the Runes classroom by herself a few moments later. Moving to her seat next to Emmeline, she watched as two rows in front of her, Daisy slid, laughing, into the seat next to James.

When did I start calling him James? she panicked. His shoulders contracted with laughter and she frowned when Daisy's hands came up to rest lightly on his shoulder-blades. Am I jealous? The idea was so frightening it took the starch out Lily's knees and she physically dropped into her chair.

All through the lesson she watched them. Or, really, him. Though she tried to distract herself, she couldn't help it. James had rolled his shirt up and his tie was hanging down his back. His hair was so dark it was like a black hole, sucking the brightness around it; making the myriad of other hair colours —Daisy's blonde, Remus's pale brown and even Sirius's obnoxiously glossy black —look dull in comparison… Snapping upright, she stopped the train of thought. Merlin, Lily! You're turning into a sap.

But she couldn't help it: she watched, entranced, as James leant over and whispered something into Daisy's ear. A loud peal of laughter left the blonde's mouth and he hastily covered it with a large hand, a wide grin lifting his mouth as partially-deaf Professor Vector looked up in confusion.

Two rows behind the couple, the room seemed suddenly too hot. Lily lifted the hair off her neck and shrugged her outer robes off. A strange, dark feeling had begun roiling in her stomach when Vector turned back to the board and the dark-haired boy stole a kiss from Daisy to the laughter of those around him.

'Are you okay?'

Emmeline was watching her with concern. The redhead scrunched her eyes shut and nodded. 'Yeah, thanks.' She tried to laugh casually, saying, 'It's a bit hot in here, isn't it?'

The other witch frowned. 'You're pretty red, Lil. Maybe you should step outside for a little bit.'

Lily nodded, holding in her breath. She let it out in a whoosh, tearing her eyes away from the nauseating couple in front. 'Good idea.' She felt a bit sick.

Emmeline made the excuse and Lily made the getaway. As she walked to the front of the classroom, she could have sworn James's eyes followed her, but when she sneaked a peak back at him at the door he was poking Daisy in the ribs, laughing. But someone was watching her curiously: Remus. Oh dear. Lily felt her stomach sink. Of all the people to be curious…

Once outside in the blessed cool, she leant against the door, letting out another deep breath in the fresher air. The Ancient Runes classroom abutted a corridor that was open to the courtyard through huge stone arches and she sank onto one of the low walls beneath a swooping arch. She felt better out of the stuffy classroom… with nowhere to look but forward at James and Daisy. But her stomach was still clenching and unclenching strangely. She leant her back against the cool stone and closed her eyes, basking in the thawing March sun.

March. He had been going out with Daisy for three months. For a sixteen year old as flighty as James, that was closing in on serious, Lily realized with a sinking feeling.

Why Daisy? She tamped down an irrational surge of nastiness. Breathing in deeply, she started again. She's pretty, she thought calmly, trying to stay objective. And she's smart and nice and loyal… and she's always lovely to everyone. And, here came the ballbreaker, she understands Quidditch. A bloody good catch, she concluded, swinging her heels against the low wall, staring absently ahead.

Thoroughly miserable, and now thoroughly aware that she was ruddy jealous, Lily returned slowly to the classroom. When the door opened again James's head stayed fixedly pointed at his parchment, though many others swivelled around. The rest of the lesson absolutely dragged by and the whole time fear was compounding within the small redhead in the fourth row. She was jealous of Daisy, but what did that mean about her feelings for James Potter?

If Lily Evans had a good quality it was her straight-forwardness and no-nonsense attitude. And if there was any indulgence she hated it was denial: a useless state of being which usually dragged painful things on much longer than necessary.

So, sitting in the fourth row of the Ancient Runes classroom on a morning in March, Lily Evans found herself pondering the imponderable: do I fancy James Potter?

No, she decided after a time of careful reflection and analysis (during which Vector explained a few crucial points that she would later kick herself for missing). No, I don't —I can't!—so that means —and this was embarrassingly petty to admit, even to herself —I must miss the attention. Even if I hated it back then, it was flattering, she conceded, feeling herself blush at the very thought.

Yet, when the bell signaled the end of the period and Daisy Abbott really should have had two holes burned into the back of her robes, Lily was still experiencing the agonies of confusion. And when James stood, stretching his shoulders and his long neck up in a yawn, she found her poor mind even more befuddled.

He reached his arms up high and made a satisfied sound when the joints popped softly, but stopped, motionless, halfway through the stretch. He didn't look at her —kept his head pointed in the direction of the wall —but Lily knew that he could feel her watching him. The thought caused a little tingle to brew in her stomach and though she knew she should look away, she watched intently as James shook his head as though to clear his ears from water, and, still determinedly not look at her, began to pack his things away with a haste that was surely not natural of the easy-going James Potter.

And Lily Evans, shunner of denial and fierce advocate for knowing one's own mind, shelved the feeling because, really, the thought that she might just fancy James Potter was extremely distressing.