I'm aware that it's biology, that it happens to everyone, that it isn't anything to be embarrassed of. Well, I'm aware of that now. But at the time, I wasn't, and neither were the other kids who stood there and jeered at me, mocked the manifestation of my body's maturity.
It was year two Charms class, and I was going through puberty, just like the other boys in my year. I was actually quite proud of the normalcy I was seeming to display; cracking voice, random hair growth, gangly limbs, acne on my chin and forehead and back, and even the random erections I got. Up until this point, I had only gotten them in the morning or during the evening when I could easily tuck off to my dormitory. However, this day, the window was open to invite in the spring breeze, and Lily was sitting warm and delicate next to me. A minor breeze swept in, lifting her gingery hair, making it dance softly, and blowing the sweet deliciousness of her skin my way. She smelled like vanilla and lavender, she smelled like spring itself, she was my own perfect Persephone. Just as I was being swept into my own thoughts, Sirius Black leans over his worktable to hand Lily a note from his miscreant friend, and yells, "SNIVEL'S GOT A HARD ON."
Lily snapped her beautiful emerald eyes my way, furrowing her brow, her face glowing in the light, illuminating her gorgeous freckles. The other kids laughed, and laughed. They threw out mean names, crude jokes, the worst offenders of course being the sadist Potter and his little clan. Professor Flitwick tried to maintain order, tried to subdue the class, however after nearly an hour of his driveling lecture, they all were eager for something more exciting to focus on. After realizing relief would not come, I jumped from my seat and hastened out of the classroom, down the hallway and onto the floor where I'd find my mirror. I locked the door behind me, and threw myself down in front of it, sobbing and cursing Potter's name. At last when I could breathe again, I looked up into the mirror, ready to see what cruel fantasies I knew lied within.
Of course she was there, with me. She was facing me, her chin tilted to meet my eyes, lips twitching in hidden amusement. Her arms rest around my waist and she was pressed close enough that I could make out all of her curves through her robe. Her chest, rising and falling against my own. Her knees, knobbly endearing, slid halfway between mine. I could feel the ache in Mirror Me, because I could feel the ache in myself. I had never thought of her this way, as a sexual object, as something to be desired for more than her wit, her easy laugh, her tender heart. At this moment, I knew that I wanted to share something besides my love with her, I wanted to share the manifestation of love. I wanted that forbidden intimacy that had before only be known to me through the smutty talk of the upperclassmen. Sure, I understood what it was, though I never imagined myself, engaged in such an act, with anybody. But now, here, looking at what could be (and could as in physically possible, albeit not realistically possible) I wanted it, I wanted her.
Looking back, I'm not sure whether this revelation of desire was new, or good or bad, or inevitable. Perhaps if I never thought of her in a sexual way, the yearning, the hurt wouldn't be quite as intense. Perhaps it would have been inevitable because she was a minx, beautiful and intelligent, the perfect mate. Perhaps it was bad, because for quite a while I was ashamed of my feelings and desires, although they were probably definitely the same that James Potter held. I cannot reason why it was good. I don't suppose it was. Regardless, that day there was shift in my thoughts of Lilly. No longer could I imagine walking in the woods, swimming in the ponds, laughing and running about with her, without the scene shifting to a kiss, a tender stroke, an endless embrace. I had never felt innocent of anything, and these new desires and ruminations did help. But she, with her creamy open complexion and capacity to care for everyone, she was able to keep me close to innocent, to remind that such a thing was possible, to make me believe that not everything was a tainted mess. That maybe one day, I could be innocent somehow as well. And if I was innocent, maybe I could be loved.