- Chapter IV -
The Self-Proclaimed Wedding Planner

This is not happening.

That is not Potter in my doorway.

I am not half-naked.

I am merely having a hyper-realistic dream.

Yes.

"Uhhh…"

That sound did not just come out of his mouth.

That is not cold air I'm feeling on my arms, and that is not blood I feel rushing into my cheeks.

"Uuuuh…Lily…"

Oh, god. It's real.

"JAMES!" I scream.

Hah. Only in my dreams. I don't scream. I can't scream.

Oh, I try screaming, sure. I try so hard I feel like I'm going to hack up my lungs.

However, nothing remotely resembling a scream comes out of my mouth.

Instead, I cough as if I were a chain-smoker, scamper around my bed, looking around desperately for something to cover myself. I settle for a pillow. Why don't I have a lock on my door? Is Dumbledore some sort of twisted pervert in league with Potter?

I think he's paralyzed. His hand is on the door, and he's gaping at me. "Uuuuh…"

He's turning green. Rather unattractive. I swear, if he barfs over my carpet I will hex him into next week.

"I…I was – I'm…fuck…" he gulps loudly, shakes himself awake, and adjusts his glasses. Why the hell is he adjusting his glasses? I don't think the point here is to see anything clearer than he already has!

"I'm just going to…wait," he mumbles, stepping back and forth over the threshold like a lost puppy. "Uuuuuh, outside."

The door clicks shut behind him.

Why?

Why is this happening? WHY?

Because it wouldn't have been awkward enough that I attacked and kissed him in the middle of the common room?

But NO!

Of course not.

Because my life is the grandest of disasters.

I stand up, and stay in my spot for a little while.

I find that time tends to linger when you're suicidal.

I turn my head and see my bra on my dresser. It's taunting me. I swear it wasn't there three seconds ago.

Paranoid now, I pull on the first shirt I can find before another Marauder walks in on me, and briskly walk out the door.

The sooner I step into the common room, the sooner I realize what a bad idea it was to wake up this morning.

He's sitting in the couch across the fireplace, his elbows on his knees and his hands in his hair. The chances of me running across the room and escaping undetected through the portrait hole located smack in the middle of his field of vision is extremely slim.

That doesn't mean I won't try.

Run, run, run, run –

"Lily?"

Bugger.

My chest filling with dread, I turn around and am now face to face with his stupid self, filled to the rim in earnest embarrassment.

"Lily, I'm so, so sorry."

Bloody moron.

You can't just walk into a girl's room without knocking.

"Lily?" he asks tentatively, seeing as I haven't replied to him verbally. Seeing as I physically cannot respond to him verbally.

I see no other option. I turn on my heel and climb through the portrait hole.

He clambers into step beside me, somewhat taken aback by my non-verbal response. "Lily, come on," he groans, "I'm sorry. Please talk?"

I hate men.

I really do.

With their toned abs and distracting smiles and their complete lack of respect for doors. Oh, how I loathe the gender.

"Lily?" He groans again, getting a head of me and instead choosing to continue walking to breakfast backwards, intently scrutinizing my face expression as he does so. "You can't be this angry," he reasons, cocking his head at me. "It's not like you didn't walk in on me."

Oh, yes I can. I attempt to growl at him, but what comes out of my mouth is more like a nails scraping on a chalkboard.

Wait, a second. Did he just suggest that we're equal in our shame? Oh, gasp, I saw his abs, while he got a full frontal! Big fucking deal!

I fix my death glare on him, but he doesn't seem fazed, as I'm still not able to form audible sentences. Without the insults and the threats on his life, my face probably looks like I'm experiencing some severe constipation.

He seems slighting iffy now. "That got your attention," he says in a hollow voice.

My teeth begin to grind. I'm vaguely aware that is not good for me.

He tilts his head in the annoying way that he does, and he stares at he through his annoyingly round glasses. I can't tell if he's angry, upset, bemused, or just plain retarded.

The anger in me is bubbling over. I can feel it.

"I hate you."

Oh, I do.

"Sorry?"

Why is he talking? I haven't said anything.

"Lily, what did you just say?"

…

Did I just say that out loud?

I didn't. I couldn't have. I'm poisoned. I can't speak.

I tentatively make a sound in the back of my throat.

I think it made a noise.

I can speak now.

Oh, my god.

He steps back from me and we stop walking. I can't help but notice we are where we were yesterday. Fate is cruel.

How the hell am I going to explain myself?

I suppose I could say – Yes, Potter, I frequently talk to myself inside my head, however, I did not mean it when I said I hated you, I simply dislike you intensely. Also, I though my voice had disappeared on account of your stupid friends, so when I spoke, I had no idea you could potentially hear me. So, I hate you – but only secretly.

Or, I suppose I could go and throw myself off the Astronomy tower.

I can hear the healers approaching to take me to St. Mungo's mental ward.

"Did you mean that?" He asks tentatively, in a small and confused voice.

I slap my forehead in exasperation.

I clear my throat, testing again to see if my voice is really there, or if it was just an extremely annoying coincidence that I insulted him within the fraction of a second that it came back.

I think I may be hysterical.

"No."

I think that was out loud.

He looks at me, and his expression is unreadable.

I'm crazy.

I'm crazy.

He thinks I'm crazy.

But I'm not going to give him the pleasure of allowing him to know that I worry about what he thinks.

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

Obviously, my mouth has other plans.

I hate myself. I can't seem to make anything come out of my mouth, that has anything, remotely, to do with what I want to say. Which is most of the time, a good thing. But not in the present moment.

He looks taken aback at the question. "No," he says slowly, raising an eyebrow at me. It seems too cautious. He probably thinks I'll bite his head off if he says yes.

"Okay," I say lamely. "Good. That's – that's – "

" – good?"

"Yes."

"Hungry?"

"Starving."

We begin to walk down the stairs, and I'm halfway there before he grabs my hand and leads me through a shortcut across the tapestry. I let him take me. It's a very strange feeling to not care where you're going.

"I'm sorry for walking in on you," he mutters finally, after a long silence. He hasn't let go of my hand yet. He looks over and grins at me, half-impish, half-sorry.

I don't know what to say.

I also don't know why I haven't pulled my hand back yet.

It's cosy in his palm.

.x.x.x.x.

It's beautiful, really, to be greeted by a fountain of pumpkin juice in your face at 8 in the morning.

"Mina, I'd appreciate it if you kept your morning refreshments inside your mouth."

"He saw you naked, didn't he?" She shrills, completely ignoring my biting remark and mopping herself down with a napkin. On the other foot, I'm standing there dripping with pumpkin juice. "Please don't tell me he saw you naked."

This isn't right. I'm not usually the girl who has to deal with all this irrelevant boy-drama. I find it useless. At least I used to. I blame it on Potter and his stupid abs.

At my silence, she presses on. "Ohhh, he saw you didn't he? I knew it!" She suddenly spits, slamming her goblet and spilling more juice. "I knew something like this would happen! You two, sharing a dorm? Seriously? All that sexual tension bottled up into a single space?!"

She giggles to herself and shaking her head, leans back, only to jump up again, screaming, as if she's just understood something. "Oh, my god! Dumbledore did it on purpose!" She begins laughing, winking at me. "He wants you two together!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" I snap, slapping her across the shoulder. "He's like a hundred years old, I doubt he worries about me and Potter." She's still grinning inanely. "You're sick!"

"Oh, please! Open your eyes and look at the facts!" She retorts, waving her hand at me dismissively. "It wasn't mandatory for heads to share a room before you two, did you know that?"

"No…"

"Aha! I rest my case. Old Dumby is a perv."

She's nodding. A lot.

And smiling. Evilly. Frankly, this scares me just a little bit.

"You saw him naked too, didn't you?" She attacks again out of nowhere, pointing an accusing finger at me. "You two are being naked around each other!"

"No one is being naked around anyone!" I scream hysterically, praying to God no one is listening in to our conversation.

She smiles again. Contently, her head cocked in a sympathetic kind of way. "Was it delicious?" I'm far too blindsided to answer. "It was, wasn't it? Oh, I bet it was, what with all that Quidditch and the sportiness, and the practices and the drills – I bet his body was just a – "

"What – oh for crying out loud!"

I give up. I officially do. It's difficult having a pervert for a best friend. There's no point in arguing with her. My head sinks into my arms onto the table in exasperation. She's still giggling to herself. I can hear it. It's driving me insane.

No matter what I say, she's going to turn everything around and into some sort of sexual fantasy or innuendo. Seriously, I tell her one thing, and you'd think I was pregnant with Potter's child.

"You're gonna get some, you're gonna get some, you're gonna get sommeee…"

…

"You're gonna get some, Lily's gonna get some, you're gonna get some…"

Is she singing?

Wha –

"Mina, are you high?" I shout, finally, looking up – so utterly annoyed that I've bothered raising my head. The moment my eye level rises, however, I regret ever coming down to breakfast. Why can't I have normal friends?

She's doing some sort of tantric victory dance, waving her arms around and muttering the same chant.

"You're gonna get some, Lily's gonna get some, you're gonna get some…"

First years are now openly getting up and finding other seats around the table, because she's so utterly terrifying in her joyous dancing.

"Mina?"

"You're gonna get some – "

"Mina!"

"Lily's gonna get some – "

"MINA!"

"Whaaaat?" She ceases in her dancing for a second, looking mildly put out.

"What is wrong with you?" I ask, in the most offensive manner as I can.

"Nothing!" she says enthusiastically. "Fit as a fiddle!" She continues now, with her mantra and dance. I think I'm just going to let her. There's no use fighting. I groan and drop my head back into my arms.

Suddenly I'm aware that she's talking again. "Is there some reason as to why you are annoyed at the fact that he saw you naked?"

Ohhh, that infuriating little –

"Lily Evans!" She squeals, her pitch jumping in indignation, causing the first years that were brave enough to stand by and watch, yelp in fright and shuffle away. "Did you just growl at me?"

I growled. Yes. Growled.

That's how bloody angry she makes me with her tantric dancing.

Breathe. Breathe. Must not kill best friend. I do love her, deep, deep, deep down, after all. "For the last time, Mina, he did not see – "

She puts her hand up to silence me. ME. She's silencing me. I'm surprised I don't have furious steam coming out of my ears. She grins at me and my anger cheekily, scratching her chin in feigned thought.

"Soo…then…"

Please change the subject.

"You saw him naked?"

This seems to be the last straw, because I find myself screaming something along the lines of "IDIDNTFUCKINGSEEHIMNAKED!"

She giggles maniacally and dodges the spoon I throw at her with surprising agility. I actually can't believe I'm having this conversation with her –

I feel something on the back of my head.

Oh, my god. He's looking at me.

Alright, alright. I'll act totally nonchalant. I am the definition of nonchalant. I am nonchalant. The adjective itself. I am it.

Yessir.

My leg is twitching and my face is going red, but I still am the definition of nonchalant. Yes.

He smiles, that arrogant half smile that he has. "You alright, Evans?"

His eyes are really beautiful. I'd never noticed before.

Then again, he's asking me a question.

Question.

Answer.

Basic principle of human conversation.

Let's do this.

Come on, mouth.

Say something. Anything. Some words. Any words will do. Come on.

"Fit as a fiddle!"

What?

Why did I just say that? WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?

He's nodding, his smile awkward and stretched across his face. "That's…cool." He hovers in his place a little, and people are looking between him as if expecting some sort of catastrophic end to the still-civil conversation. He leans back in his chair and I put my head in my hands.

Kill me. Kill me now.

" – and you'll just have to have The Cauldrons for the band, obviously, and you could have lilies everywhere – like a themed wedding, because well – your name, and – "

I'm not understanding this talk. It's like a different language. Wedding? What's a wedding? She's already begun the plans for the Evans-Potter ceremony. Good God. She wants me in a satin dress with white fruffles and feathers hanging – NO!

NO, NO! I refuse to be dragged into this!

I'm not getting married to potter! I wouldn't get married to Potter even if he was the last man on earth and all other companionship I had as an option was a goat!

Yes, I'd rather marry a goat.

He's a Potter. Honestly. Can you imagine?

Lily Potter.

I'm vomiting in my mouth just thinking about it.

"AHAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Oh, great. She's told Tessa now, and they've put their heads together and are whispering like two insane old ladies. I suppose I could use this behavior as viable proof to lock them up in an asylum for ever.

Tessa suddenly looks over at me, Mina watching happily from behind her. "Oh, my God," she gasps, "You kissed him?" Her eyes widen in surprise because I don't deny this, and she makes an exaggerated "Ooooooooohhhhhhh…"

Yes, welcome to the nightmare, friend.

"I didn't mean – " I start, but Mina interrupts.

"Where have you been, Tessa, weren't you in the common room? Everyone saw, I can't believe you missed the event of the year – "

I'm disgusted by my friends.

"Yes, thank you – this is making me feel splendid. Keep talking about this mistake as if it is everything but a epic lapse in my judgment."

I stab a sausage because I'm angry.

I hear the jovial laughter coming from the other side of the table where Potter is having breakfast with his friends. Normally. On the side of the table where no one is planning weddings or drowning each other in pumpkin juice. Why can't I have normal friends?

Oh.

Never mind that last comment actually, I really do prefer my friends because Black just fell face-forward into his food.

And he's laughing.

He has an egg stuffed up his nose, sausage pieces in his hair, and maple syrup dripping down his chin.

And he's laughing.

How can he still be laughing? I must admire his sense of zero self-respect or shame.

I hear Potter's laughter echo down the table. He's rocking back and forth in his chair.

Oh, and look.

There's Remus. The soon the be deceased werewolf. He catches my eye, and gives me a weak smile. I grit my teeth at him, and I think flash him with the very attractive sight of food in my mouth.

He's still giving me the – "It's full moon tomorrow, pity me," face, but no. He shall suffer the painful consequences of making me kiss morons.

I'm beginning to stab my scrambled eggs now, imagining it's Remus's face. You diabolical (stab), plotting, (stab), spiked-chocolate-giving (stab), ingenious (stab), man-wolf.

I'll get my revenge.

You'll see.

You'll all see.

He made me kiss Potter. UNFORGIVABLE, I say.

He not only made me kiss Potter, but he made me kiss him in the middle of the bloody common room, in broad daylight, in front of the entire Gryffindor house.

Oh, you just wait.

Oh, you just wait, because my revenge will be legendary.

I think Black is looking at me and sniggering.

Sniggering. At me.

A boy who has an egg stuffed up his nose, sausage pieces in his hair, and a face plastered in maple syrup, is sniggering at me, because I'm the one who looks stupid.

" – NO, NO! You don't know anything! Celicita Olivander is an incredible singer!"

"Are you mad! I have a better voice than that woman! I'm telling you, it's Ivander Abbot or nothing!"

"Nothing, then!"

"No, you can't take my wedding away from me!"

"THERE IS NO WEDDING!"

"You stay out of this, Lily. All you have to get up and say 'I do.' You'll be fine."

They are now arguing which song Potter and I should dance to on our wedding night. Soon they'll be discussing the sheets we should sleep in. Apparently Tessa knows an excellent tailor.

Somebody, please kill me. I'll pay you.

Review? :)

Johnnydicaprio