Summary: ...And Lily loves him, the sad, imperfect boy.
Author's Notes: Waaaaah. Another fic. Yey. This is a drabble. I swear. I'd appreciate it if you read it. And uhm, review. Hahahah. :)
Lily Evans is a strong girl: hard to break, tough. She isn't like many other girls, because she doesn't cry often, doesn't spend her time adjusting her hair (because, in any case, it always looks great anyway) and doesn't fawn over James bloody Potter, with the blasted messy hair he thinks is so attractive and bloody brilliant.
Lily is smart. She isn't like many other girls, because she can impressively take on Potions any time, perform brilliant charms in class, and quite frankly cannot fall for the stupidity and bigheadedness of Potter the prat who thinks he can win her over with his idiocy because, again, she's way ahead of him.
Lily is kind. She isn't like many other girls, because she's the one who spends time to tutor the first years; the one who helps out Professor Flitwick when he falls over the stack of books he's standing on in class; and the one who, in the summer, invites the poor, uncared for boy down at Spinner's End to hang out by the river and dip their feet into the water to cool themselves all afternoon and talk. (But that hasn't happened in a long time, because friendships have been broken and hearts torn).
Lily is special. She isn't like many other girls, because she's got the greenest set of eyes that remind him of summer days and grass. She's got that brilliant smile that makes anyone feel special, because it just has that sort of power. And Lily loves him, the sad, imperfect boy, even if he isn't as nice or beautiful a person as she is. (The perfect girl doesn't love him now, he's sure, because of what he's done.)
But some things inevitably change when years pass and he hasn't spoken to her since that night. They're seventeen, and she somewhat flips her hair now. He passes by them in the hallway and he sees her holding hands with James Potter (and it wrenches his insides, no matter how he denies it). He tries to catch her eye (for the millionth time) and fails, because she never looks at him anymore. And one dinnertime, he sees a tear on her cheek when she opens a note from her parents just sent in by an owl. And he knows she never cries, not unless it matters - but then again, what does he know? They aren't friends anymore, after all, and he's not supposed to care because she doesn't expect him to.
But he forgets that fact when he sees her slip out of the Great Hall and he immediately follows, knowing where she'll go and hide. (Potter isn't even there anyway; he knows the bloody git's at the Quidditch Pitch again, being the obsessed Quidditch prat that he is.) His robes billow behind him as he goes down to the willow tree by the lake, and finds out he's right - because there Lily is, staring out at the distance, green eyes glazed over with unshed tears.
And he knows he shouldn't have come because she isn't going to talk to him anyway, no matter how concerned he tells her he is.
"Gran is dead."
It's the first three words she's ever spoken to him in two years, and she says it quite blankly without turning her head to look at him. And because he's more surprised of this than of the actual news, he merely replies, "Oh."
And because he's known her since they were nine, he knows she's heartbroken and terribly sad that her dear grandmum, who used to visit them in the summer and who used to bake those wonderful cookies for the two of them and her sister, is dead. Lily loved her dearly, he knows, and she tells him she's dead because she thinks he loved her, too, even if he only ever saw her during random days of past summers and could not even remember what she looked like.
But he doesn't tell her this, because she's too nice and too vulnerable right now. His eyes soften as he gazes at her still staring into open space, and hesitantly, slowly, he dares to sit beside her and put an arm around her shoulders.
He says nothing else, because there isn't anything to say, and words can never really express anything too perfectly anyway. Neither does she.
And gently, as the minutes wear on, she rests her head on his shoulder and begins to cry the tears she refuses to let anyone see. Tears turn into quiet sobs and she forgets she's the strong girl who doesn't cry, and she forgets she isn't friends with him anymore.
But he is, always has, and always will, he promises, because many things may have changed, but he's sure she's still his special girl, no matter what. He's the imperfect boy who loves her, even if she isn't so perfect anymore, even if she's fallen for James Potter, even if everything else has changed for them and things could never really go back to the way things used to be.
Lily Evans is a dear girl: that he knows forever and ever, and he holds her even closer.