A/N: First, a thanks to last week's reviewers: skazmi, Taylorcutie, roflshvuakomail, emandem, (), lasting illusion, ZoneSystems, Silver Scorpion, Rainbow Twilight, chili's-girl, VaneBEAR, Cassie Weasley, and tez-chan!
A warning: this chapter is about half as long as all the others, but I sort of planned it that way. The stuff in this chapter encompasses my original idea for this story around which everything else was based. Well, okay, that's maybe giving this chapter a bit too much credit, but it was the inspiration for the story. So, to sum it up, it's been a long time coming. And as such, I wrote it straight through in about a hour and a half. Hence the early posting (it's not a bribe to placate you for the shortness of the chapter, I swear!) ;)
Chapter 9: Interlude I—Your Winter
Finally, I thought with relief, collapsing on my bed. I stared around at my old room. It hadn't been redecorated since the summer after my first year at Hogwarts, when I'd enthusiastically decorated the walls with moving pictures of Mary and I, red and gold wall hangings, and a huge tapestry of the Hogwarts crest. So, maybe I'd been a little excited about being a witch—what twelve-year-old wouldn't be?
Now I was just too lazy to change it, though today it was particularly hard to bear. Not because I was embarrassed by my childish room—it's not like anyone but me was ever in it anyway—but because it reminded me of the place I'd left not twenty-four hours ago, the place to which I was already longing to return.
I mean, don't get me wrong, I loved seeing my parents. And Christmas was a time for family, so I would feel incredibly guilty staying at school for the entire holiday. But home also meant Petunia. And her snide comments and dirty looks were something I could definitely do without. Hence escaping to my room at the earliest possible moment.
I'd lied to my mother in third year and told her Mary spent all of Christmas at Hogwarts, and since then we'd worked out a deal that I'd spend the first half of my holidays at home and return to Hogwarts three days after Christmas. I'd played on her sympathies, telling her how bad I felt leaving Mary all alone . . . hey, it hadn't been a complete lie—she did spend every other Christmas at school (I'd never quite worked out why), and I did feel bad leaving her, but it was for completely selfish reasons. I was the one who was left "alone"; Mary didn't mind in the slightest, especially since she and Andrew had started dating. He also spent his holidays at Hogwarts—maybe Christmas wasn't such as family-oriented holiday after all.
It was in this state of loneliness and, I'll admit, slight self-pity, that Potter's letter found me. Yes, you read that right. James Potter sent me a letter over the holidays. And not just one . . . but I'm getting ahead of myself.
It was after dinner on my first night home that I'd made excuses to my parents about being tired from the train ride and fled to the solitary quiet of my room. Despite it being an excuse, I almost did drop off to sleep, but was jerked to full consciousness by a tap on my window.
Because the sight didn't really fit with my usual experience at home, I merely stared at the owl bobbing up and down outside for a long moment before coming to my senses and letting it in, along with a cold blast of air. It flew to my dresser, hooted once, and held out its leg, to which was attached a small scroll of parchment.
"Sorry I didn't open the window right away," I apologized as I untied the parchment. "It's just, I think you're the first owl to ever come to my house." As my parents were Muggles, I got my yearly booklists and beginning of term letters from Hogwarts in the Muggle post—well besides the first year; Dumbledore had come himself, a terrifying visit for me and my parents alike.
My surprise upon finding an owl outside my room, however, was nothing compared to the shock I felt when I'd unrolled the letter it bore.
Evans,
Hope home isn't as horrible as you were dreading. So far, you've already missed twelve games of Exploding Snap between Sirius, Peter, Remus and I (and even you couldn't have been annoyed by it, as we don't have homework—though, of course, I wouldn't've put it past you to be annoyed anyway), three epic snowball fights with the entirety of the remaining Gryffindors (the Marauders have more influence than you may have realized) and the fabulous food they always serve during the holidays. Okay, so that doesn't sound as incredible as it did in my head, but trust me, you should be jealous.
James
I don't know how long I stared at the paper, but it must have been long enough, because I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my finger, courtesy of the owl. "Ouch!" I said, dropping the letter and sticking my finger in my mouth. "Well, I retract my earlier apology," I told the owl angrily, my words coming out slightly distorted around my finger. Bending to pick up the letter, which had landed front side down, I noticed a further message on the back in Potter's messy scrawl.
P.S. I may or may not have told the bird to bite you until you wrote back. Hey, no one's perfect, right?
Glaring at the words as though they were Potter himself, I marched over to my desk, grabbed a parchment and quill, and hastily penned a reply.
Potter,
You're a horrible person. And it's rude to eavesdrop. (After all, there was no way he could have known I was dreading going home unless he'd overheard my conversation with Mary just before I left).
L.E.
Smirking because I knew the short and pointed reply would annoy him, I tied it to the waiting owl and sent him once more into the wintry air. Closing my window and shivering in the frigid breeze it had admitted, I sat down on my bed, frowning. What the hell? Why did Potter write to me? I thought I'd made it perfectly clear that we were not friends—besides, not even Mary writes to me over the winter holidays, as I'm only gone for two weeks. And why did he sign it 'James'? But I answered that question fairly easily. Why wouldn't he sign his own letter with his first name? It's not like he was required to refer to himself the same way I did. Right, I'm overthinking this. I really need to work on that. Putting Potter and his mysterious ways firmly out of my mind, I changed into my pajamas and went to sleep.
However, the letters didn't stop. I received no less than eleven letters from Potter in those two weeks at home. And, without quite knowing why, I replied to every single one of them.
~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~
L.E.,
I prefer the term 'selective listening.' And that was quite a short response—now who's being rude?
James
Potter,
I'm sorry (note the sarcasm). I suppose the pain in my finger made me a little snappish.
L.E.
Evans,
Yeah, sorry about that (no sarcasm to note here—honest). In retrospect, it wasn't the best move. But since when have I been one of the world's best thinkers, right? Anyway, you never answered my question (and, before you say it, I KNOW it wasn't phrased as a question, but a question was implied nonetheless): How is home?
James
It's—hang on, why do you care? Oh sod it, I'll just tell you anyway. It takes too long for you to respond—and I wouldn't want you to make the owl bite me again if I only sent that first question. Home is . . . fine, I suppose. I just like to complain.
L.E.
Well thanks for the conversation with yourself (tally up the sarcasm this time). As for the owl thing, just let it go would you? Sheesh, Evans, you sure know how to hold a grudge. And I don't believe you about home being 'fine.' I can tell when you're lying, Evans, even on paper.
James
Congratulations—sorry, I don't have your certificate ready, but I'll give it to you when I get back to Hogwarts (do I even need to say it?) Joking aside (because some of us are capable of doing that), you are, unfortunately, right. Home isn't really fine. I mean, parts of it are. The parts that aren't my sister. Because I know you'll just ask anyway, let me tell you about her. She hates magic, and therefore me, by extension. If I had to sum up our relationship in one sentence, that would be it. She didn't always hate it, of course, but it did always frighten her a little. Whenever I would do anything 'odd' she'd immediately tell me to stop. And when we found out that what I could do was magic, well, I think she was jealous. Understandable, of course. She actually wrote to Dumbledore asking him to let her in to Hogwarts—a little funny, but mostly sad. And when he—obviously—refused (kindly, of course), I think that was it for Tuny. We stopped being friends. And that's that.
Merlin, can't believe I just told you all that. Well, too late now.
L.E.
Well, Evans, I must say that was a very friend-like thing to confide in me. And before you protest, let me ask you this: why have you kept writing to me?
James
~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~
I couldn't really answer his question, because I wasn't at all sure why I didn't just stop writing back. It wasn't like I missed Potter. In fact, that had always been one of the perks of coming home—two blessedly Potter-free weeks. But . . . and it was that 'but' that scared me. It meant something was different. I mean, first of all, the run-in with Severus near the end of term would usually lead to my strict refusal to ever speak to Potter again beyond what was absolutely necessary (somehow, I'd always failed to keep that up even when Sev and I were still friends . . . but I digress). Obviously, things were different on that end, had been ever since the end of last year. And I knew I was going around slightly in circles (don't really know how one goes around in circles 'slightly'—what, is that like going around in ovals? And I'm off topic again . . .), but I couldn't help dwelling on the point. I had to figure it out soon, or risk being stuck in this weird pseudo-friendship limbo with Potter forever.
But of course I couldn't say anything like that in a letter (nor would I say it to him in person, come to that), so I resorted to being sarcastic and a little callous—my modus operandi with Potter.
~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~
You switched owls. And don't flatter yourself, Potter—I'm just bored. Why'd you start writing to me, anyway?
L.E.
Ouch. You know just how to cut a man down, don't you? But, fair enough, I suppose. As to your question, I guess I was 'just bored' as well (if you keep glaring like that, you're going to develop awful wrinkles). Besides, you don't have an owl, so it's not like you could have started the correspondence. And, as to the switch, I had to start using a school owl because mine has understandably become exhausted by all the letters you've been sending me. On a more serious note (contrary to popular opinion—read 'yours' here—I can be serious) I doubt your sister actually hates you.
James
She calls me 'freak' more often than 'Lily'. It's starting to get a bit old, actually. She really needs to come up with a new insult. Thanks for giving me the benefit of the doubt, though.
L.E.
And I'm not even going to comment on the subtle hint behind your 'all the letters' bit.
It's almost hard for me to say this, what with that thanks of yours. Ah well, it was only a small step forward (and, like I said before, I'm not really one to think before acting. Or writing, as the case may be). I'm not entirely sure that your sister means 'freak' as an insult, Evans. Either way, I see what Moony means now by 'Lily's dear (sarcasm—yes, even Remus uses it sometimes) sister.' She really does sound like a joy to be around.
James
And I wasn't hinting at anything—you're overthinking things, Evans.
You have a very skewed sense of the meaning of friendship, Potter. Though you did admit you fully understood that your comment wouldn't further the process, so I'll give you that. And yes, Remus knows all about my lovely sister. Just one of the many things we've discussed as friends over the years. And, I'll have you know, he was perfectly sympathetic about the 'freak' thing. By the way, tell Remus I'm sorry about the moon's unfortunate timing. I hope he has a Happy Christmas anyway.
L.E.
And I never overthink anything.
Emphasizing how you and Moony are friends based on all these supposed 'discussions' you two have had doesn't really help your case, considering all you just told me about your sister. Speaking of Moony, he thanks you for your concern, but it's had worse timing, and he should be fine by Christmas Day.
Just two more points, and then I'll shut up about the f-word, I swear: you study on Friday nights and Hogsmeade weekends, and you've never been to a Quidditch game.
James
And I know that's bullshit, Evans—overthinking is just one of your many endearing qualities. (May I also add that I quite like this second conversation within a conversation that we've started, though I've noticed we've unoriginally begun every part of it with 'and.')
No comment.
L.E.
Fine. I suppose I overthink some things. But who doesn't? No, don't answer that, because I know you'll just make some snarky little comment. There, broke the cycle of 'ands'.
Fine (two can play this game).
James
Thank Merlin—well done. And (oops, just ignore that one) even I overthink things sometimes, Evans. There, that'll give you something to brood over when you can't sleep. Oh, and Happy Christmas!
The second conversation thing is getting a little ridiculous, so I've opted to move it into the actual conversation (as that appeared to be going nowhere). Wow, I just re-read what I wrote, and I think writing to you has actually started to mess with my head, because that sounded absurd. . . anyway, moving on. I have never, nor will I ever, think about you when I can't sleep, Potter. And I don't brood over you, either.
Happy Christmas to you as well—hope you got everything you ever wanted (yes, sarcasm rears its ugly head again).
L.E.
Oh good, the sarcasm is back. I was starting to miss it. I never accused you of brooding over anything, I just gave you something to brood about, should you ever choose to engage in the activity. I wouldn't necessarily recommend it, though it can offer a nice change of pace if you're normally happy all the time. Oh, sorry, forgot who I was talking to.
James
I did get everything I wanted, by the way. Well, almost everything.
Ha, ha. I'm happy most of the time, just not when I'm forced to be around you (so I can see how that would give you a distorted perception). Doesn't mean I wouldn't be open to the occasional brood, if the situation presented itself. Though if I really wanted a change of pace, I could just go to a Quidditch game, I suppose.
L.E.
Yes! I knew I could persuade you! Our next match is against Hufflepuff on March 7th.
Well, according to my sources, you'll be back tomorrow, so I suppose this is my last letter. Thanks for humoring me and carrying on this little correspondence, even if it was only out of boredom.
James
I wasn't aware that you were trying to persuade me of anything. The comment at the end of my last letter was sarcasm again anyway, by the way—I apologize for not identifying it as such.
I'm assuming that by 'sources' you mean Mary. Either way, you're right, and you're welcome.
Lily
~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~0~
I'd written my name instead of my initials unconsciously, but I didn't really feel like using up another piece of parchment with a re-write, so I left it (let him 'brood' over it) and sent it off with Potter's latest choice of owl—we'd moved onto a third. Sitting back in my chair, I sighed. Would it be weird to see Potter again? Were we friends now? It had been surprisingly easy, even enjoyable, talking to him via letters. But he was somehow always more difficult to deal with in person. I guess I'll just have to see what happens tomorrow.
A/N: I wish FF would let you do fonts! I had such cool ones for the letters! Nevertheless, I had fun writing this, and I hope you had fun reading it! And I hope you're not too mad that it's short—next chapter (of the regular length, I promise!) up in a week!