Somebody was sitting under our tree James.

You remember the one, that big beech we'd take refuge under those long sunny weekends? The tree where we drew up the map? The tree that hid us from Hagrid after we carved foul messages into the pumpkins? The tree where you and Evans kissed for the first time? The tree where I can sometimes hear your voice, if it's late enough at night and if I've had enough Firewhisky?

Well, somebody else was leaning against that trunk James.

He had black hair, and the girl with him had red. Her head was on his chest, James, just the way you and Lily used to sit. She played with his glasses and he played with her hair and they talked and they smiled and they laughed. They looked just like you, I could've sworn I was in 1978 again.

They were happy James, just like you were once upon a time.

Somebody was sitting under our tree James, and it hurt me worse than anything.

A/N: My attempt to kick this stupid writer's block out of my way, get over the writing funk, find the land of plot bunnies or however you want to put it. I guess this was a drabble? I don't know, but whatever it is I kinda like it.

I'd appreciate any comments, constructive criticisms, and the like. :)