Her Eyes: Autumn

We met in September 1971, when fortune decided to make us roommates. Bad fortune in my case. Our family tree tapestry was blue, since virtually everyone had been in Ravenclaw, and the result of my Sorting would label me, Marlene Wagtail, the family dunce. On the first night, I was lying on my bed, bitterly contemplating my impending doom – being outshone by my one-year-old brother, Myron – and she approached and extended her hand.

"I'm Lily," she said. "Lily Evans."

Ugh. Gryffindor "courage". Mother had always warned me that they had some nerve…

"I know. I saw you at the Sorting," I replied, showing her that I was clearly not an idiot. "Right after Dawlish went to Ravenclaw." Lily Evans looked slightly blank. "You know, Dawlish. John Dawlish? Only son of the Deputy Head of the Auror Department?"

She shook her head, and it clicked in my head.

"You're muggle-born, aren't you?" I asked in a singsong voice.

"I am," she said, neither intimidated nor incensed by my patronizing demeanour. "But I've done some magic already."

"Like…? I've always been one for Transfiguration," I said, thinking of the mahogany wand in my pocket.

She blinked, her eyelashes the colour of leaves at this time of year. "I prefer Charms," she said, pressing her lips together in a wistful smile, as if fondly recalling something. "But I think I'll like Potions best. Simmering cauldrons and shimmering fumes."

I raised my eyebrows. So she had a way with words too. But words were my domain! I was the poet of my family. Having won a children's Poetry Contest in The Daily Prophet (the prize being 10 Galleons and a fine Raven Feather Quill) I now intended to become the resident melodramatic poet of Gryffindor Tower. I spoke slowly back. "Bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses."

"Infusing the veins and creeping through rooms," she replied, deftly defending herself.

"So that all is seen through rose-coloured lenses." I wasn't going to lose this fight too. My chest heaved and I bit my lip, ready to think of another retort the moment she opened her mouth.

"So why aren't you in the Common Room with everybody else?" she asked gently. It was only nine-thirty, and most of the first-years were busy forging useful connections downstairs.

"Because I don't belong here," I snapped, losing control. I dealt far better with sharpness and sarcasm and shortness than touchy-feely stuff. "I'm a Ravenclaw!"

"So we're in the same boat, you and I," she said.

"What?"

She sighed and sat herself gracefully onto her bed. "I always thought I should be in Slytherin. Ever since…"

I pinched myself for not having noticed it before. That competitive streak, the coolness of manner, the smooth arrogance…

"But wait," I said, interrupting her, "I thought you're muggle-born! I demand an explanation…er…I mean, we have to stick together, right? Beat the system? Prove to that scrap of fabric that his retirement is long overdue…"

That was the moment I realised she couldn't have been in Slytherin after all; not only was she a muggle-born, but she had a laugh that rang as clear and loud as the bell on the clock tower. Of course, it would take me years to realise that Gryffindor Tower was my own real home.

A/N: Thankyou lilyre for being the first reviewer! I've never written about Lily, and I know this isn't how people usually imagine her, but I thought I'd experiment a bit. Please forgive me.