Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related works belong to J.K. Rowling and all affiliated companies, not me.
I think the first time I spotted her was about third year.
Third year was the year we—when I say we, of course I mean the Marauders—became interested in girls. I mean, we'd finally gotten over the childish fear of cooties, we'd sort of noticed the opposite sex. At night, we might swap stories about our daily excursions, conversations or conquests, all while eating as much chocolate and butterbeer as we could swallow (we'd become quite proficient at the art).
Lily—or Evans, as I sometimes refer to her—oftentimes, nowadays, I call her Potter, and the implications of that simple word get her so bright red with embarrassment and anger that it's worth the temper tantrum that will inevitably follow.
I'd already had my first 'flirtatious conversation' with a blonde girl in my year, Sandra Mellow, so I was feeling pretty good that day. We, the famous Marauders, had been sitting under the shade of an oak tree, plotting our latest prank against Severus—or Snivellus, as we liked to call him. James, Remus and Peter had gone to get some diagram boards, quills, ink, and other supplies for drawing out the finer intricacies of the plan. I was sitting, quite alone, under the tree, watching Hogwarts' lazy masses of students chat and laugh in the late afternoon sun.
Then I saw her.
Well, her red hair, more precisely, which was shining prettily in the waning sun. She was sitting and talking with her friends, and I watched her pretty green eyes light up with happiness as she talked comfortably with her friends. Occasionally she would throw her head back and just unrestrainedly laugh, which I thought was about the cutest and funniest thing I'd ever seen.
After watching her long, red hair and her eyes—like emeralds, really—I decided to go over and talk to her. After all, I had a newfound confidence where girls were concerned. Just as Lily and her two fellow Gryffindors were standing up and collecting their textbooks to leave, I stood up. I must say I did a bit of a swagger even then, which must have looked awfully humorous on a third-year—mind, on a third-year of my caliber and handsomeness, it very well might have looked very attractive.
In fact, I'm sure it looked very attractive.
(James insists that my third-year swagger was easily the funniest thing he's ever seen. I, however, think he's just jealous. He hasn't got the famous, trademark-Sirius girl-attracting swagger.)
However, he has got the girl.
Anyway, back to that fateful late afternoon in our third year.
I stood up and swaggered over to the chit-chatting group. I walked right up to Lily, and she didn't notice me till I was practically under her nose. Okay, bad comparison, since I'm at least six feet while she's a petite five-two. Obviously, I wasn't six feet in third year, but I was certainly taller than Lily.
She looked a bit surprised to see me there--after all, I WAS, even back as a thirteen-year-old, one of Hogwarts' most popular men. I noticed just then that she had the faintest, most delicate smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. They were cute, and I saw them in the light of the soon-setting sun.
"Hello!" I said to Lily, gallantly offering my hand out for her to shake.
She accepted it, looking a bit surprised. She shook my hand back, though, and I remember feeling how small her little pale hand felt in comparison to my bigger, tan one.
"Hello. Who are you?" she asked, but not unkindly. She was peering at me as if I was some kind of unidentified lab specimen.
"I'm Sirius Black, and you?"
"Lily Evans." She replied, her hair still glinting prettily.
"Nice to meet you, Lily Evans." I said, smiling at her. She smiled at me too, although I don't know to this day if it was out of politeness or that she actually wanted to smile at me.
Her two friends were glancing at me and Lily, then at each other, and giggling—inexplicably, though, because really, what was there to giggle about? Lily, however, ignored her two giggling friends and kept right on talking to me.
"If you don't mind me asking this, why are you introducing yourself to me now?" she questioned.
"Why not?" I asked, pushing back a lock of black hair out of my face.
"We've been in the same year for two-and-a-half years, and you're bothering to introduce yourself now?" asked Lily, and you could almost see a crinkle of confusion forming in her forehead.
"Do I need a reason to prompt a show of friendliness to a fellow classmate?" I asked in my most charming voice.
This caused Lily's two friends to giggle even more, as if it was the most humorous thing ever said. I mean, I know I'm witty and all, but this was taking things a bit too far.
"No, I guess not." Lily said, still studying me with a slight smile gracing her lips.
She then turned to her friends, who promptly increased their giggling under her stare. I picked one forgotten textbook up and placed it on the stack that she grasped. She smiled at the gesture.
"Well, it was nice meeting you—Sirius Black." She said, almost jokingly, only with sincerity, too. It's difficult to explain, but I do my best. She and her friends set off across the lawn, and I watched that red head bob all the way back to the castle, flanked by two eagerly chattering (and most likely, giggling) friends.
"You too—Lily Evans!" I half-shouted, a bit too late really, when they were half way across Hogwarts' grassy slope.
She turned her head back to me, mid-walk when she heard this, smiled (I could still see it from a distance), and waved to me, before resuming her walking.
I waved eagerly too, even though her back was facing me.
That night, when James rattled on about his recent conquest—Celine Saunders--I kept quiet about my conversation with the redhead with eyes like emeralds, even though James, Remus and Peter demanded the reason of my overly happy smile every other second.
Third year soon melted into fourth year. Lily and I became even better friends, and as such, both of our "groups" sometimes mixed—that is, at times sitting together at lunch, quidditch games (although me and James played on the Gryffindor team, of course), and just hung out in the common room. Lily's friends—Annie and Cattie (her name was really Catherine, but refused to be called that), joined our group, establishing friendships with us, the Marauders.
Annie and Remus began going out around fifth year, which is when a lot of things changed. And not just the change of Remus and Annie giving each other the trademark lovesick-puppy glances and snogging in broom cupboards (who knew Remus had it in him!). This was the year when Lily and James really…erm, met.
I mean, of course they knew each other vaguely, through the connection of me, but they only spoke the occasional word at dinner—for example—"Can you pass the salt?" or, "Your quill fell off your desk." Or something equally trivial.
Ah, but then came the fateful day when the two truly met.
All of us—that is, me, James, Remus, Peter, Lily, Annie, and Cattie, were all sprawled out across a big, circular couch. It was quite nifty; we could face each other, and there was even a big desk, for doing homework, in the middle.
Remus and Annie were snogging on the couch (to the advice of "Get a room!" by James), Peter and I were plotting a particularly amazing prank (in which all the Slytherins' hair turned bright, flashing red and gold which would not wear off all day), Cattie was completing some potions homework; Lily was rereading her Transfiguration essay for what seemed like the thousandth time, and James was wrinkling his nose as he tried to decipher his charms homework.
After a few minutes of contemplating the offending sheet of parchment, James threw it down onto the table in annoyance.
"Sirius!" he complained, from the other side of the comfortable couch. I looked up from me and Pete's notes on the ingredients of the hair-color potion we were planning on brewing.
"What?" I said.
"Help me with this bloody charms homework?" he whined.
For everybody knows that I, while my homework is seldom done, excel in all my classes. And that's not just me being modest.
"Can't, we're planning the Hair-Color-Changing-Operation!"
James grumbled loudly, sinking further into the couch. Lily lifted her eyes from her miniscule print of her essay and sighed audibly.
"If you want, I'll help you." Lily said, trying to be nice.
James looked at her, a bit surprised at this offer, for a moment. Then he said, "Thanks."
"It's alright. Now, let's go to that table over there so that we can focus better." She suggested, pointing to a small wooden table with two chairs, over in the removed, far corner of the common room.
James followed her, and the two sat across from each other on the wooden desk.
I think we all knew something monumental was happening, really.
Lily would gently rifle through the textbook and point something out for James to read; James would read it and write it down; James would make a funny remark; Lily would smile and look at him and giggle.
It was the giggle that gave it away.
Lily had NEVER giggled ever before, let me tell you. Her two best friends, Annie and Cattie, were professionals at the complicated sport of giggling, but Lily never giggled. She was never one of those girls who wore lipstick or gossiped over boys or anything all the other Gryffindor girls seemed to do 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
Here I was, though, and besides from giggling, I noticed her tilt her head back and laugh appreciatively at something James had said.
It was the laugh I'd seen in third year, when Lily and I first met.
Her hair was shining, as always, and you could see, if you looked closely, the individual fire-red strands. Her innocent green eyes and that dainty sprinkle of barely-there freckles on the bridge of her nose.
I watched Lily giggle (again!), point something out in the book to James, and then push some of James's hair out of his eyes.
I tried to keep concentrating on the ingredients needed for the potions—four finely chopped eyes of newt, steamed—a teaspoon of crushed chrysanthemum flower—ten one-inch long tarantula legs—but I couldn't. Whenever I went back to the thick Potions book I heard a faint voice of Lily's, informing James about the vanishing charm, or giggling; James making charming remarks and the scratch of his quill making scribbled answers on the parchment.
That night in fifth year, when we went up to bed, we all knew James inability to stop smiling was not because of his successfully completed charms homework.
And as we drank our nightly butterbeer and ate our fill of chocolate, he kept silent, with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye exactly like I'd had, just two years before.
Time passed, things happened. Exams were taken, people broke up, people got together again, people broke up again. Quidditch games were played, classes were taken, pranks were pulled. We lived life as normal sixteen year olds, who had not a worry in the world, beyond quidditch and exams and relationships and such.
It was in sixth year that Lily and James got together, after a long year of flirting and secret conversations once everybody had gone to bed. I still remember how Lily beamed, but was as red as a raspberry, and how James grinned somewhat embarrassedly, as they walked to breakfast—holding hands—the morning they got together.
Sure, I was happy for them. I'd be a terrible best friend if I wasn't. I was just—oh, I don't know. It hurt for me. I was the one who'd, in some way, caused this love and I'd gotten nothing for it. I'd liked Lily first, two years before James even noted her existence. It annoyed me, but I put up with it and tried to be happy for the two, as they looked at each other with doe eyes and as James sent roses to her.
I gritted my teeth and bore it and put on fake smiles and I did my part quite well, if I do say so myself.
They were the perfect couple, to be sure. They looked wonderful with each other—James, the tall, hazel-eyed quidditch played with floppy bangs that Lily continually attempted to smooth down. Lily, the small, petite redhead, with eyes like emeralds and a smile that lit up the room.
And while they celebrated the whole year as if it was all one big Valentines' day, it was strange.
Because we—the Marauders, of course—had ceased having those nightly butterbeer-and-chocolate while talking about girls conversations. James was sometimes up late being romantic, meeting Lily for a dessert in the room of requirement, or just meeting up with her. Remus also continued to see Annie, and they too ventured out for walks by the lake and other excursions. Peter had even found a little Hufflepuff girl and rather pompously strutted around with her, during the late hours of the evening. And I was with whichever fling I wished, or else planned our pranks, all alone in our dormitory.
And although I was extremely happy for my best friends' good fortune, I couldn't help but miss those nightly talks, sometimes about pranks too, and it wasn't just about the butterbeer or chocolate any longer.
Sixth year passed normally. Everything went as it should. I had several more flings, one of which was Elizabeth Lock, a raven-haired, ice-blue-eyed beauty. People said we looked good together, that we were an according couple, and maybe we were. I don't know. I knew it wouldn't work, and so I broke up with her, and I know she'll move on and live happily ever after.
It was weird, in a sense, having Lily and James be such an official couple. It was odd. James still spilled butterbeer on his shirts, only this time, Lily knew the charms to bleach them. James's hair was still as messy as ever, but Lily could make it lie more flat with a spell.
Although this, of course, made for a much better groomed James, it wasn't the same James Potter I knew.
I dealt with it, as sixth year passed. I pretended not to notice when they whispered in each other's ears, those secret gazes they were always shooting at each other.
It was sweet, really. A storybook romance. They'd go off to Hogsmeade together, all alone, to one of those cafes, sometimes, or to Honeyduke's, or claim a table for two at the Three Broomsticks. He'd buy her what seemed like every candy in the shop. She'd, of course, protest, but James would always respond that it was his money and he would spend it on whatever he liked—and that happened to be his girlfriend.
I saw them walking down the street, once, Lily sucking on an oversize Sugar Quill that James had bought her. His arms were wrapped securely around her shoulders, like he'd never let go. James turned to her and said something; she laughed, the laugh I knew so well: she threw her head back, the gleaming red strands catching the sun, and laughed freely and fully.
I don't think I'd ever made her laugh like that.
I don't think I ever will.
As everybody says, they're meant to be. And they ARE. You can see it in their eyes, how they look at each other. It's not just some teen fling, although it'd be much easier on me if it was.
I wonder if they know how lucky they are.
At the end of sixth year, James's parents requested that Lily come over for a supper during the summer. He'd mentioned her in his letters home, and they were very much eager to meet this girl that James had said so much about.
As it was each year, James and I exited the summer train together—both receiving equal welcome from their parents. I swear, for a fairly small, thin woman, Mrs. Potter's certainly got an iron grip. (I thought she was going to crush my ribs, the hug that she gave me).
We spent those days almost normally—well, normally being the Time When There Was No Lily. Although that time seemed so far off, I could hardly remember it. We did no homework we'd been assigned (as always), played quidditch at every spare moment, slept (a lot), and ate Mrs. Potter's amazing cooking (also, a lot).
It was very nearly the same as every summer, except for Lily's picture on James's bedside. She was never very far from his thoughts, and I could always tell when he was thinking about her.
This was very often.
It's a rather cute picture, actually. I'm not one to coo at babies, or "awww" at kittens, or anything, but this was hilarious.
It was Christmastime, and Lily and James had vowed to make each other a sweater, as a symbol of undying devotion. Don't ask me why; they just did. Lily figured (she never was very homey with her charms) that if James took the time and effort to knit a sweater for her (even by magic), that he was pretty much devoted.
James spent all weeks leading up to Christmas in making the sweater. We had become accustomed to seeing the many bundles of yarn, of assorted colors, decorating his bed. He worked all hours for that sweater, barely doing much of anything other than it. I actually wish I had a picture of James working on the sweater—he would scrunch up his nose and concentrate and try to do it by magic. Of course, you really needed to focus to knit magically, and so focus James did. It wasn't simple, but James did, for Lily.
They decided to swap sweaters in the Hogsmeade Christmas visit.
The sweater that James knitted for Lily (ach, my mate's turning into an old lady) is green, a green that matches her emerald eyes, with a L stitched across the front in white. One sleeve is shorted than the other one, and the body is loose and the neck is rather tight. There are some loose stitches and knots, but the way Lily looked when she received it—it was like the messed-up sweater was a gold diamond necklace. She wore it like it was the fanciest gown in the world.
James's sweater was decidedly more normal, although still amusing. It was a deep, dark blue—they call it navy. Lily had made it a bit too tight, and the sleeves were too long, so James had to roll them up once or twice. She'd also knitted a design of a golden snitch on the very right top of the sweater, and enchanted it to move so it looked as if it was flying.
And there they are, in that picture. Strolling happily in Hogsmeade in their utterly ridiculous sweaters. Both are grinning happily, arms wrapped around each other.
I hope they know how ridiculous they look.
After all, I remind James—several times a day.
I remember the day Lily came over for dinner, to meet James's parents.
It was quite funny—James spent the better part of an hour fussing about how he looked—untucking his shirt, tucking it again, wonder if he should wear these shoes or those. I finally advised that he just LEAVE it be, otherwise he'd be fretting for hours.
The doorbell rang, and James ran to get it—it was the first time he'd ran to get a door since, well, since a while. But run he did—sliding down the long, polished oak banister and opening the door.
I watched from the top stair.
Lily's face was a bit flushed—it was a rather cold night, for summer. She wore something simple, but she, as always, still looked beautiful. She looked a bit shocked as James opened the door eagerly, but smiled when she saw him.
"Lily!" James cried, scooping her right off the floor.
She squealed happily (see—squealing? Lily had never squealed before she and James began going out) and wrapped her arms around him, while shrieking in protest as he tickled her. They were both so happy and there I was, the intruder, watching.
I watched them smile and tickle and hug and squeal (Lily's part, not James) for a while. James was just giving a very radiant Lily a kiss on the cheek (he was still holding her up) when Mrs. and Mr. Potter came into the room.
James sheepishly set her down.
"Lily! What a pleasure to meet you!" Mrs. Potter cried, giving her a warm hug. Lily looked grateful that James's parents hadn't massacred them because of their display of "public affection" with their son.
"You too!" Lily said, cheeks still flushed with color.
Mr. Potter came over too, shaking her hand, and Lily stayed composed and friendly all the while, and all through dinner.
We went in to eat dinner—which was Mrs. Potter's supreme cooking, as always. They sat next to each other, of course, holding hands when they thought nobody was looking. They each wore this secretive smile that I couldn't quite figure out, but maybe that's because I've never been in love like they have.
The dinner went on, and naturally, we all started discussing Lily and James's relationship. After the butternut squash soup had just been whisked away (Lily, laughing, wiped a bit of soup from James's upper lip), the topic came to when they'd gotten together.
"So," Mr. Potter began, looking at the two lovebirds from across the table, "when did you two get together?"
"The beginning of sixth year." James replied.
"So, how did you get introduced?" Mrs. Potter asked, her friendly face covered with a smile.
"Actually, Sirius kind of introduced us—didn't he?" he asked Lily, and she nodded.
"Oh, Sirius? Do tell!" Mrs. Potter said enthusiastically.
"Yes, it is I that is responsible for this budding love." I said jokingly, and a laugh passed through the room.
"So, how did you introduce them?" James's mom asked excitedly.
"Let James or Lily tell," I responded, "they probably remember it better than I do."
The Potters looked expectantly at James and Lily.
"Well, I was having trouble doing my charms homework…" James began. "and I asked Sirius to help me, but he was busy researching…what was it, again?" he asked.
"The Hair Color Changing Potion, for the Slytherins. Marvelous prank, really."
"Yeah…so he said he couldn't help me. But then…" James said, looking at Lily, as if cueing her to finish the story.
"…then," Lily replied, smiling, "I offered to help him with his homework, and that's when we really met…"
"And the rest, as they say, is history." I sighed dramatically, making everybody laugh again.
And finally, seventh year was here. Our last year at Hogwarts—it seemed impossible. Seven years ago, we, the Marauders, had formed together—joined with a pact to inflict many pranks upon this school as we possibly could.
We didn't let that pact down.
But things were different, now. We had less time to plan those pranks, with all this girlfriend business. Still, we managed; James became captain of the quidditch team, me being his co-captain.
Reading up to this, you might think that Lily and James—being the perfect couple they are, of course—went through their relationship without any squabbles, arguments or fights.
If you thought that, you would be completely WRONG.
Because they did occasionally fight—and when they did, it'd be best to run for cover, lest your eardrums burst. But they'd never actually break up—although, well, one time—it didn't really come CLOSE, but it was definitely their biggest argument ever—and I was smack in the middle of it.
It was the last quidditch game of the season, and me and James, as co-captain and captain, spent hours of practicing and making up diagrams and game plans. We trained till our muscles ached, and till we were extremely sweaty and our robes rumpled.
Lily refused to come in contact with James till he took a shower after these practices. And I don't blame the girl one bit.
Anyway, we had a very good record all season—winning all of our games except one, and that was when James had been in the hospital wing. If we won this game, we'd win the cup.
And boy, did we want that cup badly.
The morning of the pivotal game dawned, everybody on the Gryffindor quidditch team waking up especially early, as to squeeze in some extra practice time. We were playing Slytherin, the team that played dirtiest of all four houses. All of us Quidditch players ate breakfast (or tried to, anyway) before setting off to the Quidditch pitch.
We were just strolling out onto the pitch, and the game was about to begin in less than a minute. I instinctively spotted Lily, Remus, Annie, Cattie, Peter and his Hufflepuff girlfriend (I still don't remember her name) sitting in their usual row of the stands. Lily wore a red-and-gold-striped Gryffindor scarf that James had bought for her, and her cheeks were red with cold, as always.
She waved happily, and I didn't even bother waving back.
Because, of course, she was waving at James, not me. Her boyfriend, you know, in case you've forgotten.
James waved back, before shaking hands with the Slytherin captain—McNottfly.
And thus the game began.
As I sped up into the cold, crisp air, at least I felt a little better. Quidditch had an indescribable power to just take my mind of everything else but the game. I did a hell of a job whacking the bludgers away from my teammates; our chasers did their part too, and the score was 40-30, Gryffindor being in the lead.
I whacked bludgers continually, and just as a particularly vicious one was headed towards a member of our team—Julie Bell—James heroically went into a dive—thus catching the golden snitch.
The red-and-gold-clad stands erupted into loud, raucous cheers, and James was mobbed by all the Quidditch team.
God, we were all so happy. Everything was just so…great.
We, after accepting the cup, went up to the common room…flanked by cheering fans (okay, okay, flanked by cheering fellow Gryffindors…).
We organized a party in the common room—plenty of sweets, and most especially, alcohol. We had the usual, tame butterbeer, but also some of the rather more alcoholic drinks. Such as firewhiskey, for instance, and Mounson's champagne. We set about, everybody happily laughing and talking, full to the brim of happiness because of our victory.
Anyway, for some odd reason me and James decided to have six and a half shots of Mounson's. Don't ask me why, it seemed to make some kind of sense at the time. It's pretty strong stuff, but I've always been pretty good at holding my alcohol.
The party was still going full swing at 1 in the morning, everybody celebrating. Me and James sat together with a large group of people cheering as we downed our shots. We clinked glasses and simultaneously downed our fourth shot. I was feeling a bit light-headed, but nothing very unusual. It's normal to feel light-headed—in case you haven't experienced the feeling—after winning the Quidditch Cup.
We took a break to do some wild dancing and talking, the whole Gryffindor common room was littered with empty Butterbeer bottles, chocolate bar wrappers, streamers somebody had conjured up.
After about an hour of that, me, James, and consequentially, about a third of the room, turned back to the couch, intent on finishing those six-and-a-half shot glasses.
The crowd laughed and cheered as we downed our fifth, but then a considerable amount of people began going upstairs, and also to dance in the middle of the common room. Me and James both downed our fifth shot glass, and by now we were quite drunk.
I decided to take a break by dancing, and James stayed on the couch, still with a fair amount of people.
It was hot and rather crowded in the common room, what with all the dancing, talking, eating, drinking and whatnot. I wove my way to the dance floor, and was practically assaulted by some girls who wanted to dance with me. A beat thrummed through the room, and I more felt it vibrate through the floor than heard the actual song.
I made my way through the dancing masses, and finally found some familiar faces. Lily, Cattie, and one other girl I didn't know, were all dancing in a circle. Remus and Annie were dancing together a few feet away. Peter isn't much of a dancer—never has been—so he was nowhere to be found. Probably in the crowd that surrounded James.
They welcomed me into their little circle, and, for some reason, I was in the middle. I think Lily was drunk or something—somebody probably spiked the punch, because I'd certainly never seen her dance like that.
Two other guys, that were also on the Quidditch team, and I was pushed back into the circle. I actually think that Cattie and the other girl were probably drunk as well—heck, practically everybody at that party was probably some form of drunk.
Which may have been the explanation of what happened next.
A rather slower beat struck up; you know, one of those slow songs where the couples dance together, arms around each other. Cattie grabbed one of the boys, wrapped her arms around him, and began dancing. The other two paired up—
Lily turned to me, placed her hands on my shoulders (she had to reach quite high to do this), and whispered in a very un-Lily-like fashion, "Let's dance."
She said it almost mischievously. She looked different than usual, she was looser, somehow. I felt somehow like it wasn't right, but what could I do? It would be rude to simply break away during a slow dance. I cautiously placed my hands on her waist and we began to sway to the music.
Because of our rather close proximity, I smelled alcohol—Mounson's, probably—on Lily's breath. She was drunk, and so was I. Somebody had probably spiked the punch, because Lily isn't the kind of girl to just get drunk without reason.
We swayed back and forth to the slow beat—Lily getting closer, and closer all the while, till we were nearly nose to nose. Well, we would have been, if she'd been my height.
I could definitely smell the alcohol on her breath, and I didn't really think about the world that was going on outside of our dance. All I knew now was just that I was dancing with the beautiful girl that I'd had my eye on since third year.
I enjoyed that dance in the way I shouldn't have.
She was looking up at me, and I was looking down at her. I could feel her body heat and all I wanted to do was hold her tighter.
She looked straight up at me, and said, in a very drunken, slurred voice—again, so uncharacteristic of the normally prim Lily—"Siriussshhh, you havveee bluuee eyessshh."
This was so completely out of the blue, that I opened my mouth to say, "Wh—"
But I couldn't finish, because suddenly her soft lips were on mine, and I was hopelessly entwined in the soft, slow-moving, champagne kiss.
All I can say now is that—well, I was drunk. Which I obviously was. And so was Lily. But me kissing my best mate's girlfriend—that was just plain sick, and made me the worst mate ever.
She pressed her lips on mine, and my legs felt like they were turning to jelly. Lily's a damn good kisser. She lightly ran her tongue along my bottom lip, and I swear I felt like my limbs were all going to fall off, and she'd be snogging a limb-less weirdo. Her lips were petal-soft, and I pressed my lips a little harder against hers, dizzily—all I could think about was Lily's lips, and that I was kissing the girl I'd had my eye on since third year--
Of course, this was the moment that James chose to come and look for his friends.
I'd never felt like a worse mate.
He looked as if he couldn't register what he was seeing, at all. His eyes turned as wide as saucers.
And I felt worse than I ever had, and a knot grew and grew in the pit of my stomach. Me and Lily separated, both looking guiltily over at James.
He simply, dejectedly—with shoulders slumped, and eyes downcast—through the throbbing, happy party, with happy people following him, walked slowly back to the dormitory.
And when I came in—fifteen minutes later, having been detained by masses of annoyingly clingy girls—his hangings were drawn.
We never had our six-and-a-half shots.
A/N:….well. I haven't the faintest WHERE that sprung from. I…well, I just don't know. I started, I guess…just writing…and it developed into—into this. Um…yeah. It's obviously NOT the end—it's like a broken-up one-shot, really. I thought the full works would be too much to be crammed into one chapter. So, it'll be two chapters…maybe three.
And, just letting you know, it's definitely NOT Lily/Sirius pairing.
Review? I appreciate them all, and they help me write tons quicker : - ) hint, hint