# Through the Bespectacled Eyes of a Teenage Wizard

Atlantis Forester

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Lily & James
Book: Lily & James, Books 1 - 5
Published: 13/05/2003
Last Updated: 13/05/2003
Status: In Progress

5th year: James Potter, an irresistably charming egomaniac, finds himself falling for the most unlikely of people - spirited, Muggle wallflower Lily Evans. (Formerly called "It's Enough Just to Breathe")

## 1. Prologue

It's Enough Just to Breathe

By Atlantis Forester

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm sure I don't have to precise. (I hate these things! J.K. Rowling, I hope you know how lucky you are! Not only this, but you also own a bloody castle! *pout* Wish I could create a personal Hogwarts, too. DARN.)

A.N. Remember that this is only a prologue!

Prologue:

I love to irritate people so very, very much.

It's just so entertaining to see them going through the different stages of anger: the first time, they frown, but wave it away; the second, they get slightly riled, glare, but still brush it off; the third... of course, my favourite of them all.

Naturally, I get into loads of trouble. For some odd reason, some people I tease don't find it a laugh when I nettle them. It'll always remain a mystery to me...

For instance, Lily Evans. There's a girl who really can't take a joke. After an encounter with her, my friends and I always end up laughing ourselves to sleep. I remember one time in which I transfigured her quill into a carrot. After all, it was Divination, so I needed something to while the time away. Really, considering that it's me, that was an utterly trivial matter. However, Evans... evidently, in her opinion, no such thing is trivial.

Now, Evans is really a one-in-a-million case (the workings of a girl's mind are beyond me). She's a riddle, really. For her, it's everything or nothing. I'll never get that girl. Evans has an abstruse character that absolutely no one can puzzle out. Arabella once admitted to me in a weak moment that, at times, even she, Evans's best friend, could not gather her. However, she did not elaborate and never spoke of it again.

Mundungus was even less clear. 'We'll only be masters of the world when we are masters of ourselves. That's her goal: the impossible. She's extraordinary, really. A rare one, Lily. She's admitted all the truth to herself that was possible for any human being, and that's something almost no one will do. She's past the first steps of finding out about herself, and that's far ahead of anyone else I've ever seen.' Do you see what I mean? Riddles, riddles, riddles. That's all that comes out of anyone's mouth when they speak of her. Even me.

Sometimes, Evans is so different that you can't help seeing her apart from everyone else. And, at others, she is so human that you wonder why you thought otherwise in the first place.

That early afternoon, in Divination, was one such time where she felt palpable... human. I never lose an opportunity at such a time where I feel I am actually able to reach her. Thus, I turned her quill into a shrivelled carrot.

Evans swivelled to me, the acerbity of her character now fully apparent in her state of anger and disdain. I couldn't help but notice that these were one of the rare moments when she actually seemed alive. That set me slightly off course, so I then did something I most definitely should not have done. I laughed.

Yes, right at her face. Sirius reckons I wasn't in my right mind back then. I agree. Perhaps her sudden vivacity triggered some inborn insanity?

Of course, that landed me straight in the hospital wing for two weeks with Madam Fusspot Pomfrey. She was able to cure some of my, er, 'illnesses', but had to do quite a bit of research with the help of Professor Flitwick to reverse some of the more severe hexes the batty red-headed monster had presented me with. (After a few days, Sirius gave up trying to visit me in the infirmary; every time he saw my face, he would mumble and rush out the door, his laughter echoing behind him. Remus told me that after each visit, Sirius would be rolling around with laughter in the Gryffindor common room for hours. It was a little hard to understand through Remus's chuckles, though.)

Now, it may sound like I deserved it--the hexes and all--but that would be untrue. Sirius, Remus, Peter and I pull pranks on everyone. We do tend to have particular favourite victims singled out, but everyone enjoys our larks except for some Slytherins. Oh, and Evans. It's all harmless fun, and it's a regular cycle that almost everyone's come to enjoy. It's only those conservative stiff-necks who are unable to relax or those who are just born being bloody thickheaded and insufferable who can't appreciate the fun in life.

Up till here, you might still be a slight bit confused about what's going on. Well, I'll try and clear things up a little. My name is James Potter. I am an underage wizard of fifteen years and am attending my fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Welcome into my life and hear my story.

Hold on! Is it just me, or do I sound like some form of advertisement?

I'm sure it's just me.

A.N. Not a brilliant beginning, I must admit. The first chapter is already done, and waiting to come out, as soon as I deem it time. Well, in other words, when I have enough reviews!

I'll have to remind you that this is only a prologue. The real story begins only starting from the first chapter, and each chapter will be FAR longer than this teeny thing.

I will be devoting the first chapter to James's beginning at Hogwarts, then, in the second chapter, will be taking it back to his fifth year.

Happy reading!

Cheers,

~Lanti~

P.S. I only just figured out how to code my fics, so... BLEARGH.

## 2. The Beginning

It's Enough Just to Breathe

By Atlantis Forester

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm sure I don't have to precise. It's bad enough having to write this thing.

A.N. Remember that this is only a prologue!

Chapter 1: The Beginning

I suppose the best place to start is at the beginning; and for me, my life only truly began when Hogwarts made its way into my cosmopolitan life.

When I first received my Hogwarts letter, I was ecstatic. Being from the family I am generated from, I lived and breathed the legacy of my pureblood primogenitors. For as long as anyone can recall, the Potters have always been accepted into the illustrious academy that inspired the stuff of dreams--one of the many reasons for the prestige of my kin. Thus, I had lived being perpetually reminded of my obligations to the family, seeing that I was their brightest star yet.

Let me elaborate upon their image of me. Everyone saw me as a brilliant though mercurial and recalcitrant boy with a source of startlingly strong powers and an almost inconceivable potential for the benefit of the Potters. Beside all of that, I was also extremely athletic and possessed an incredibly adept innate ability to fly (a most treasured talent in the young of the wizarding world), accompanied by a charismatic personality and unusually good looks. To sum it all up, a perfect child, and an even more well-rounded-to-be adult. I lived more than up to my parents' expectations, outdoing myself each and every time, and at every family reunion, I was inevitably the main subject of discussions.

(A.N. Modest, isn't he?)

So, when I received my letter, there was a big hullabaloo despite the knowledge that it had been inevitable that I would get it. I myself had been excited; had I not heard over a thousand times the daring exploits of my predecessors in Hogwarts? I was determined to outdo them all and did not hesitate to inform others so, my father especially. He scolded me, of course, but I could tell that he was secretly pleased and would have congratulated me had my mother not been scowling fearsomely at him from behind me.

Both my parents had been in Gryffindor, as any good Potter would be, and had become Aurors as soon as they graduated. Considering their bloodline and top scores, it must have not been that hard to achieve this goal. Their example had set a strong sense of patriotism and righteousness in me ever since I was very young despite my love of brewing trouble and my unruly principles.

That very evening, I had been invited to Sirius's house. Sirius Black is my best friend--beside Remus, of course, but he comes into the picture later on--and came from a well-to-do family of pureblooded wizards. Often are the times we were mistaken for brothers for our likeness and fraternal nexus. Sirius has dark hair, chocolate eyes set under highly arched brows, a lissom build and a personality just as larkish as mine. We were the best of companions and were hardly ever seen apart.

'James! Blimey, I haven't heard from you for yonks*!' Sirius beamed as I climbed out of his fireplace, dusting myself off. 'Guess what!'

I grinned at him happily. 'Brilliant! You got your acceptance letter!'

Sirius sulked. 'Bloody hell, James, how did you guess?'

'Great minds think alike,' I said impishly. 'With the two of us, Hogwarts won't stand a chance! Listen, I've been thinking--'

'You've been thinking?!' mock-gasped Sirius, all drama, 'How simply spectacular! Why, you jammy beggar*! You've gone and gained yourself a brain!'

I shot him a nasty glare. 'Shut your flapping clanghole*. Anyhow, I was thinking that we should create a pseudonym.'

'A sudo-what?'

'A PSEUDONYM. Honestly, don't you have a bloody dictionary?'

'Really, James, who doesn't? Oh! Smashing! As a matter of fact, mine happens to be standing right in front of me.'

I raised my eyes to the ceiling. 'Never mind. A pseudonym is a false identity. We--'

'An iden-tee-what?'

'SIRIUS!'

'OY! Calm! Sorry, I was just joking.'

'Well, let me finish!' I said peevishly. 'Alright, if we create a pseudonym, we can play as many pranks as we like--as long as we don't get caught--and not get into trouble!'

'Er, James? If we don't get caught, we won't get into trouble.'

'You know what I mean, you dipstick*! The other students would probably realise it's us after a while, but without proof, the teachers can't punish us! We'd leave some sort of message--using our pseudonyms, of course--behind so they know it's us, yet we would leave them no evidence the way we usually do.'

Sirius made an absurd pout. 'But I wanted to beat the record of detentions my pater set! How can I do that if I don't get into trouble?'

I rolled my eyes again. 'You can very blooming well get into trouble without being caught in the middle of a prank," I said acidly. "You've done it countless times. I'm sure that after a period of time, just glancing at your face would incite them give you a whole set of detentions.'

'Do you really think so?'

I ignored him.

'Oy, James?'

'What?'

'How about� "the Troublemakers"?'

'I was rather thinking along the lines of "the Marauders"�'

There was a pause. Then:

'Oy, James?'

'What?'

'Bloody brilliant.'

'Thanks.'

Thus, besides finding out that my best friend would come with me to Hogwarts, there was also the very beginning of the Marauders. I knew instantly that my years in Hogwarts would most likely be my best. So far, I have not been proven wrong.

We left for Diagon Alley by Floo powder the next morning with our parents. Sirius and I were left to worship the newest arrivals in Quality Quidditch Supplies in peace while our elders hurried from shop to shop, buying our things for school. Eventually, though, our parents dragged us away to get our wands.

I had passed by Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC many times, and had not been too impressed at its appearance, with its dusty windows, peeling gold letters, and overall shabby appearance. Yet procuring oneself a wand is one of the most important moments in a wizard's life, and Ollivanders was universally voted the best.

I heard the tinkling of a bell somewhere in the depths of the shop as we entered. It was really a tiny shop, empty except for a rather frail-looking chair and rows upon rows (there were thousands, I'm sure!) of narrow boxes which I assumed held wands. It was very silent, so Sirius and I waited, tense, our parents standing stock still behind us; I realised that this whole place was filled to the brim with powerful magic.

A soft voice sounded in my left ear. 'Good evening, Mr. Potter, Mr. Black. I've been waiting for you.'

I jumped, startled (Sirius did, too), and turned around. I saw an old man--who seemingly appeared out of nowhere; maybe he Apparated--with wide, pale eyes that shone like moons through the gloom of the shop. His eyes were very unnerving. I deduced that this was Mr. Ollivander himself.

'As usual, the male Potter gene seems to hold true,' he mused aloud in a soft, whispery voice, looking at my untidy hair. He turned his gaze (and a rather creepy one at that) to my mother. 'Cherry wood and dragon heartstring. Ten inches. Nice and flexible.' Mr. Ollivander then approached my father and Sirius's. 'Elm and unicorn hair--twelve inches--and ebony and phoenix feather--nine and a half inches, that one. Very whippy. Those were quite effective wands.' He finally turned to Sirius and his mother. 'He has your face,' he observed before saying, 'Birchwood and a hair from the mane of a Thestral--rather unusual--eleven inches. A little on the temperamental side.' Mr. Ollivanders fixed his silvery eyes on Sirius and me. 'Now let us see what wands will chose you.'

We gulped and turned to our parents, who gave us watery smiles. Mr. Ollivander took Sirius by the arm and sat him on the spindly chair. 'We shall start with you. Which is your wand arm? Right? Yes� Now, let's see�' After the tape measure--it was enchanted, I guessed, as it moved by itself in the air--finished its work, Mr. Ollivander examined the rows of boxes and pulled out one. 'How about this one? Ebony--like your father--and griffin feather. Quite bendy. Give it a wave.'

Apprehensively, Sirius cautiously waved the wand. Mr. Ollivander grabbed it from him, exclaiming, 'No, no, no, not that one. Perhaps this?' He handed him another wand. 'Oak, Augurey feather, nine and a quarter inches. Springy. Try it.'

Again, Sirius waved the wand, looking positively embarrassed. Mr. Ollivander almost instantly snatched it away. 'No, no! Definitely not! Remember, the wand chooses the wizard! This might do: rowan, unicorn hair, eleven inches.'

After trying at least five other wands, Mr. Ollivander searched in the very back of a shelf and pulled out another box. By now, Sirius looked absolutely miserable. 'Ebony, nine inches. Dragon heartstring,' he said happily, though a slightly dubious expression crossed his face.

As soon as Sirius grasped the handle, the wand started to glow red and gold. Mr. Ollivander looked a little surprised, but shook his head murmuring to himself, 'Ah well, the Blacks were always known for their unpredictability.'

Sirius grinned at me weakly. He clutched his new wand tightly, looking very relieved as he got off the chair.

Mr. Ollivander rounded on me. 'Now we shall see,' he said, his eyes shining with an eerie light, ' what wand chooses you. Wand arm?'

'Right,' I answered quickly. The tape then stretched out in the air and measured me.

Mr. Ollivander stroked his chin as he looked about the shop. 'Ah, yes,' he said. 'Perhaps you shall favour� fir? Hmm, maybe this will do.' He handed me a wand. 'Fir and the hair from a tail of a centaur. Eight and three and a half inches. Quite displeased with me, the centaur, when I pulled the hair out. Oh, well. Have a try.'

I barely lifted my hand up to wave the wand when Mr. Ollivander confiscated me of it. 'No! Absolutely not! Why not rosewood? Yes: rosewood, phoenix feather, thirteen inches. Pliable.'

A bit foolishly, I waved the wand. Nothing. Again, Mr. Ollivander grabbed it from me. 'Ah, another selective customer, eh? Not to worry, not to worry.'

As the pile of ineffective wands climbed to the ceiling, I started to get frightened. Glancing at Sirius mid-wave, I saw him bite his lip and look at me with concern as did our parents. Mr. Ollivander, on the other hand, looked more and more ecstatic the more wands failed. At the time, it seemed most unkind of him.

Finally, Mr. Ollivander pulled out two dusty boxes. One he glanced at momentarily before discreetly storing it in the drawer of a desk and opened the other, pulling out a shiny wand. 'Pliable. Mahogany, eleven inches. Excellent for transfiguration, though I think it might be a little too powerful for you.' He murmured the last part softly to himself, but I had heard anyways. I couldn't help but notice that he had not taken the effort to name the core of the wand. Mr. Ollivander handed me the wand.

When my hand closed around the handle, blood rushed up my ears, and every vein in my body was thrumming. A headrush of euphoria flashed through me as a thick stream of red and gold light shot from my wand as I swished it through the air.

'Oh, bravo, we've found it!' cheered my father. I smiled, albeit shakily.

We paid for our wands and exited the small shop. I was the last to go out. Just as I stepped over the threshold, I could not help hearing Mr. Ollivander say softly to himself, 'How curious. Now, for the next generation, I think I'll save this one.'

Afterwards, Sirius and I left Diagon Alley clutching a brand new broom each (the newest model). My father and Mr. Black--Sirius's father, or pater, as he calls him--forbade us from bringing them to Hogwarts as first-years aren't allowed. Their faces were stern and forbidding. However, when our mothers turned around, they started to make frantic signs at us with surreptitious glances. Of course, when our mothers turned back, they put on benign expressions and chucked our heads fondly. Sirius and I had to excuse ourselves to go laugh in the loo.

On September 1st, Sirius and I boarded the Hogwarts Express for the very first time. Billows of light smoke blew about the roof of the gleaming scarlet train, students and their parents hustling about the immaculate station. Extricating ourselves from our parents' clinging arms, we gaped around ourselves with growing excitement. Grinning, I gripped my hand tighter on my shrunken broom (courtesy of my father; he showed me the countercurse) and Sirius's, both tightly cocooned in my Invisibility Cloak.

Ah, yes. The Invisibility Cloak. It is, as a matter of fact, one of my many priceless family heirlooms. I was normally supposed to receive it after my sixteenth year of existence in this world; however, my father found me worthy to bear it earlier--call it a father and son agreement. It's proven to be an endlessly useful asset in my little excursions. Ahem. Well, back to the telling of the tale.

Being the impish, impulsive boys that we were, we set a couple dozen Dungbombs here and there as we swept by, making sure we would go unnoticed. After saying our final farewells to our fathers--who were mouthing 'Go for Gryffindor!'--and tearful mothers, we sauntered into the whistling train, dragging along our heavy trunks--most of the weight contributing to new gadgets we had procured from Zonko's--and proceeded to search for an empty compartment.

Soon, we came across a compartment that was devoid of students with the exception of one. Sirius and I could not help observing him with interest. He was sitting quietly in the corner right by the window, staring outside at the peaceful Scottish countryside, an open book resting on his lap and an atmosphere of repose and serenity surrounding his personage. His light brown hair was cut neatly in a schoolboy manner and fell over clear grey eyes, part of an attractive face. He was above average height and was wearing clean clothes that were evidently of excellent quality. Despite all this normalcy, there was something striking about him, a certain quality and a certain weariness cloaking his being; a weariness that, somehow, seemed to set him apart and made him much older than he seemed. Though we did not know him, Sirius and I already had taken a liking for the boy.

I slid open the compartment door and pushed back my messy jet-black hair from my eyes. The boy was startled from his reverie. I smiled amicably at him. 'Hullo! Can we sit here? All the other ones are full.'

He smiled shyly and nodded softly. 'It's fine. Make yourselves comfortable.'

'Thanks,' said Sirius.

We heaved our trunks into the overhead shelves and took seat at the opposite.

'I'm James,' I said, pointing at myself. 'James Potter. This bloke here is Sirius Black.' I jabbed my thumb at Sirius, who grinned and waved cheerily.

The boy glanced at me for a moment with surprise and some trepidation at the mention of my name. He got over it quickly, though, and smiled timidly. 'My name is Remus Lupin.' Although douceur and shyness laced his voice, his grip on my hand was strong and firm as we shook hands.

'Are you a first-year, too?' asked Sirius, making himself at home on the seat.

Remus nodded. 'I still can't believe they'd accept me, though,' he added, as if to himself.

'Why not? Is there something wrong with you?' Sirius joked. I could not help but notice that Remus looked exceedingly uncomfortable.

'N-no. There's nothing wrong with me--' Remus was flustered. I had a feeling that it was something personal and of an abstruse nature, so I interrupted and adroitly turned the conversation to Quidditch.

The more we conversed, the more Sirius and I took a shine to him. As the chitchat progressed, we realised what a perfect addition Remus would be to the Marauders. He possessed a great intellectual acumen (I was the judge of that) and was just as down-to-earth as Sirius was airy-fairy. An aesthete and gifted in the athletic department, it only improved the conclusion immensely when we found out that he was a veritable mastermind prankster with a keen sense of humour. We had found our third Marauder.

Sirius, being his usual blatant self, simply asked right out. It startled Remus, being as we'd only known him for a few hours. We found ourselves explaining the whole deal, from beginning to end, and he gladly accepted. Our offer seemed to touch him a great deal; later on, during a game of wizard's chess, he confessed that he had never had any friends. This flabbergasted us, as we'd never met anyone as gentle and pleasant as Remus.

Evidently, now we know he's a werewolf, so we understand, but at the time, we were completely nonplussed. You might be wondering how one can become good friends on such short notice. Don't rely on me to elaborate; I have no idea. Anyhow, back to the story.

After we finished all the sweets we procured from the lady with the food cart and donned our school robes, we were overcome by a sense of slight ennui. Boredom leads to restlessness. Restlessness leads to need of activity. And our definition of activity is a tad bit different from that of others.

Needing no encouragement, Sirius dove into his trunks--take notice of the plural form; he had too many things to fit into one� notably all his things from Zonko's--and produced a mind-blowing amount of Filibuster Fireworks and Dungbombs. Deciding to save the rest for later, we only grabbed several bunches of the evil-reeking Dungbombs and a packet of brightly coloured fireworks. I then untangled my Invisibility Cloak from the brooms. After a few moments of gasps and delighted exclamations over the shiny brooms and silvery cloak, we huddled under the Invisibility Cloak with our packs and snuck out of the compartment, sniggering from behind muffling hands.

Our first stop was the compartment of some greasy-haired, sallow-skinned git and his friend (a pale, pointy sort with white-blond hair--too big for his britches, that one).

Coincidentally, they happened to be Severus Snape, an old enemy of ours (Sirius and I discovered that Remus had met him separately as well; it made sense, as both came from old wizarding lines), and Lucius Malfoy, who came from a family that lived to soil the name of the Potters and take our place.

Oh, I assure you that we acted entirely on the behalf of those poor muggle-born first-years they bullied.

Don't look at me like that! FINE. It might have also had a little to do with us. Only a little, though. I promise.

Anyhow, Remus was deputised to light and throw in the first Filibuster Fireworks. Sirius followed suit with a bunch of Dungbombs. Covered in foul-smelling muck, choking and half-blinded by the thick smoke, the two burst their way out of their compartment.

Now, it so happened that while in Diagon Alley, my father had snuck me a spellbook called '101 Ways to Curse Your Worst Enemy'. That night, I read it from front to back twice and memorised the most interesting curses. At that moment, one of those spells happened to pop into my mind. I didn't remember what exactly its effect was, but I clearly recalled that I'd wanted to test it. It was quite convenient that I happened to have two perfect test subjects right before me. Aren't I simply loaded with good fortune?

I pulled out my wand and pointed at Snape and Malfoy as I muttered the incantation. A wisp of sparkling yellow light shot from my wand, split into two, and disappeared on their skin. Almost instantaneously, a peaceful and beate expression placed itself on their faces. For a few seconds, I was enormously disappointed. However, Disappointment packed her bags and bid farewell when Malfoy suddenly sported an enormous backside and Snape's hooked nose grew larger and larger, a lovely, huge, hairy wart at the tip for effect. Slowly, the daze faded from them, and they abruptly realised their unfortunate state.

A sort of ecstatic elation settled on Sirius's face as he stared at the two yelping and skip-hopping boys. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, shaking his head. 'James,' he announced solemnly, 'you are my new role model.'

Remus looked at me with awe. 'James,' he exclaimed in a strangled voice, 'that's a really difficult curse! Casting a spell like that is of a very advanced level! I doubt most third-years would be able to manage it!'

Sirius was curious. 'Why?' he asked. 'What does it do, exactly?'

'It's a Fault-Enhancing curse,' said Remus. 'How did you do it, James?'

'And how do you know that?' My voice was tinged with suspicious amusement.

Remus went slightly pink. 'I was going through Dad's library� maybe without some permission.'

Sirius snorted. 'Right,' he said, looking highly entertained. 'Though, I do wonder why Malfoy grew such an oversized arse. I understand Snape's nose, but--'

Remus made a face. 'I prefer remaining in the dark on that subject,' he informed Sirius tartly.

Throughout our conversation, we had shuffled away as quickly as we could from the 'scene of the crime'. By now, we were well distanced from Snape and Malfoy, so we slid out from underneath the Invisibility Cloak and popped the rest of the Dungbombs and Filibuster Fireworks into random compartments, making sure all the while that no one saw us and leaving a higgledy-piggledy mess in our trail.

I paused to answer Remus a few compartments away from our last target. 'I've always had unusual capabilities.' I tried to think of a way to explain without sounding too self-centered. 'I think it has to do with my bloodline. I reckon I discovered this around the age of four. Sirius knows already, as does his family and mine.' As the conversation was becoming too serious for my taste, I decided to add a dip of humour. 'Which means that I'm far superior to everyone else, naturally.'

Sirius snorted and elbowed Remus; both were stifling peals of laughter. Being the brilliant mates that they were, they actually managed to catch the humour in my, er, slightly odd and misplaced remark.

Alright. I understand that I'm a bit� arrogant and that the last statement was completely uncalled for (anyhow, I wasn't serious!)--and even though it would sound smug and stuck-up coming out of my mouth to anyone else--, but that was NO reason for Evans to look at me like that! Hold on, I'll explain.

Wait. I just wanted to add that that girl is bloody INFURIATING. Did I mention that she's also simply� infuriating? You do realise that's the only adjective I can best describe her with other than completely� infuriating. Er, never mind. Anyhow, she always tries to surpass me. What's even more infuriating is that we're nearly always tied on the top. Except in Transfiguration and Quidditch, where I excel her. Oh� yeah. And Charms. Where she� where she beats me. I don't want to talk about it. It's too humiliating and absolutely degrading. HONESTLY. Being under Evans. It makes everything in my world achromatic. Ad nauseam. Imagine just how she can utterly ruin your day by� forget it. Just the thought of her infuriatingly smug expression when she gets a better grade by half a point can acerbate even the worst situations. Argh. Never mind.

HOLD ON! Am I rambling?

Anyhow, as soon as I uttered my last sentence, two girls and a boy stepped out of the compartment closest to us. One of the girls had short dark hair cut into a bob right below her ear and equally dark eyes sparkling with the mischievous curiosity of a cat set in an elfin face. She was tall, athletically built, and was already draped out in her school robes.

'Really, Mundungus,' she was saying to the boy, shaking her head. 'You shouldn't have done that.'

'Ah, geroff, Arabella,' answered the boy good-humouredly. 'I just bunged him some, er, special treats I've been saving up for a while. He was an insufferable prat anyways.'

The boy was a likeable-looking sort and looked somewhat familiar. He had neatly trimmed, fine sandy brown hair and mild light brown eyes. His build and height were average, albeit on the slender side. He, on the other hand, was comfortably outfitted in Muggle clothes.

The girl Arabella turned to their last companion. 'Lily!' she said crossly. 'Help me out a little here with this mule-headed arse!' She received no answer. 'Lily?'

The second girl was the one that caught my attention. It's hard to miss her, really, with her mass of long, dark red, loose curls. She had pale skin--as have the majority of redheads--with a light dusting of barely visible freckles across the bridge of her nose and a short, slender physique. It was her eyes, though, that really set her apart from everyone else. They were huge and unnaturally green. Bright emerald green. At least, mainly. There were only green shadings in her irises, I can promise you that. Lime green lining her pupils, lots of emerald green in her irises, forest green on the outer rim, etc. I can name at least ten different shades of green in her eyes. I felt myself in a state of an almost dreamlike ataxia as I stared.

I'll admit that there is one thing I like about Evans: her eyes. I hate her, but I'm in love with her eyes. You just can't help it. Look at her eyes yourself; you'll find that you can't tear yourself off them. Everyone at Hogwarts loves her eyes, from Gryffindors to Slytherins to teachers. Although, I don't think Lily knows that. Mundungus told me that she doesn't know that it's abnormal to have everyone constantly staring fixedly at your eyes wherever you go. Since she's likely always been surrounded by this kind of behaviour, I suppose it's only logical. Of course, no one tells her. It's far too convenient to have her not notice or care that your eyes are always stuck to her face. Right now, we're in our fifth year, so it's cooled down a little. At least people don't double up the corridor anymore just to get a second glance. Well, only first-years to third-years to that now. She owes loads to her eyes; if it weren't for them and her odd character, I doubt she'd ever be noticed at all. Even though she has red hair.

Alright, I might be overcolouring it a little. Not everyone constantly glue their eyes on hers. They do double up the corridors, though.

Er, alright. No more interruptions. Ahem.

Anyhow, the redheaded girl, like her dark-haired friend, was dressed in her school robes as well. She, however, had heard my last addition and was staring back at me as if I'd sprouted venomous fungi out of my ears. She looked positively amazed� in a bad way.

It was extremely offending.

*'Blimey, I haven't heard from you for yonks!': Brit. expression that is equivalent to-->'I haven't heard from you for ages!'
*jammy beggar: Brit. expression that could be equivalent to 'lucky bastard'
*'Shut your flapping clanghole.': This is not a very nice expression to use. Avoid it. It means 'Shut up', naturally.
*dipstick: in other words... idiot

A.N. Well! That's the first chapter done with! Review please! E-mails also appreciated! Oh, and I've got pictures for this fic, if anyone'd like to take a peek. Just e-mail me!

Credits:

~Padfoot, my old gel, you're a real treasure! My best friend here was most of my inspiration for Sirius Black. Of course, that is why her nickname is Padfoot (even though she's a girl--and blonde). Most of our conversations are recorded--by moi, naturally--for me to use in the fic. Thanks! Cheers! (You can check out her fics under the name 'Padfootgirl'.)
~My reviewers: you give me strength! ^_^ I read each and every single one of them... at least three times each! Special thanks to those who actually bothered to give me a lovely, long review that pointed out to me what they thought!