Summary: In the big scheme of things we are living to die. But right here, right now, we're all dying to live. We are in a war between those who believe in love, and those who don't. I'm on the side of those who will never stop fighting, because we actually have something to fight for – those we love.

AN: Hello! New LJ story...i know i know, should be writing my other stories, but this one really will be a very short one. Basically, it's the story of Lily and James, through Lily's eyes.

Disclaimer: Fine, I'll put them back when I'm done.

For Hannah. Just because.


This is a love story. Pure and simple. It's taken a while to write. I've always meant to write it, I've just never really got round to it. But now's the perfect time I suppose. Nine months of lying around doing absolutely nothing, and James is determined that I'm to do exactly that. Perhaps it's not one of the best love stories of all time. Perhaps it's insignificant in the big scheme of things. But I think if all we concentrated on was the big scheme of things than life itself would be pretty boring and insignificant. I mean, what is the big scheme of things? Living only to produce more life? Is that what I'm doing now? Carrying another insignificant life inside of me?

You see what I mean? In the big scheme of things we are living to die. But right here, right now, we're all dying to live.

And where does love come into all of this? Perhaps we're all living for love. Dying for love. Love is the answer to all the unthinkable questions. We're all here to find love. And I know the little one I'm carrying will be the love of my life. And he will grow up being loved wholly, unconditionally and eternally my his father and me, and will pass that love onto his own children.

But then there are those who don't love. Who ignore it. I suppose that is where this love story becomes difficult. We are in a war. The war between those who believe in love, and those who don't. And I'm on the side of those who will never stop fighting until we find peace, because we actually have something to fight for – those we love.

Which makes all the difference I suppose.

Which is why I'm confident we'll win.

Oh, I'm not saying that I'll survive, or James will survive just because we love each other enough. No. I'm not deluded enough to think that. I know that love can't fight for us and make us victorious. It just means that, in the end, after a thousand deaths and tragedies, we will win, because we have a reason to keep fighting and never stop.

My name's Lily Potter. And this is my story.

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I don't really know when this story starts. I suppose that's the same with most tales really. Finding an appropriate beginning. Our lives are so filled with different events and people and dreams that the storylines all seem to merge into each other so we can't distinguish beginnings from middles from ends.

I suppose I could open with the first four years of my life at Hogwarts, made miserable by the spoilt brat that was James Potter, picking on me every chance he got and deciding his nemesis was my then best friend. But that's not really the way I want to start the love story of my life – with bitter memories and the cruel games of children. Perhaps I should start with when I found out I was a witch. The same time my sister stopped talking to me, and my home life changed forever.

No. Perhaps not. Again, it doesn't set quite the right mood I was hoping for.

So instead I will start this story on the day of our first kiss. The day when I realised the arrogant bullying toerag was the man whom I'd spend the rest of my life with, however long that may be.

I woke up very early that morning, I remember. Mist blanketed the grounds, a harbinger of the oncoming rainstorm. I awoke suddenly, and stared up at the deep red canopy, a smile on my face. Quietly, I swung my legs out of bed, attempting to hold on to the peace of sleep for as long as I could. My dream had been a good one. I couldn't remember what it had entailed, but I'd woken up smiling. I'd woken up with hope.

Gently pushing open the window, I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, letting the cold, damp air flow inside. I felt calm, happy, and at peace with the world, the silly smile still plastered to my face. I must have been dreaming of a boy – which boy I couldn't say. Maybe no boy in particular, simply a faceless being. Someone who loved me. I'd never been loved before. Neither had I loved. True, a few boys had asked me out, but each had, in turn, been politely rejected. It wasn't that I didn't want a boyfriend; I just wanted my first one to be really special, and he (whoever he was) hadn't asked me out yet.

Alright, I lied earlier when I said that the few boys who had asked me out had all been politely refused. One of them had not been politely refused. He had been refused in the rudest manner I could accomplish. But still. He'd deserved it, hadn't he? He was always so mean to everyone. He'd deserved to be rejected, because he was arrogant, cruel, pretentious…I could have gone on and on. But that year I knew it'd be different. He'd be different. It was our final year and everyone had grown up so much over the summer. I thought maybe that year we would be civil to each other. Maybe even friends. Maybe I knew…maybe then, when my thoughts continuously flitted around him, maybe I knew I had feelings for him.

Shivering, I left my post by the window, and hurriedly dressed, pausing only to drag a comb through my thick red hair and check my reflection in the ancient mirror, before leaving the dormitory where my classmates slumbered on.

Arriving in the Great Hall, I found it almost empty, only a few sleepy students slumped over coffee and scrambled eggs on such a wet Saturday morning. My eyes raked over the robe clad bodies until I found familiar faces. Only a few Gryffindors were up, mainly first years, still excited at the prospect of a fully cooked breakfast and ready to set out and explore the castle on their first weekend of the school year. A couple of sleepy yet cheerful looking fourth year girls sat clumped together, gossiping over pumpkin juice, and, at the far end of the table, a lone figure sat hunched over a Daily Prophet, a piece of toast hanging from his mouth. My stomach squirmed.

I think I've already mentioned how much we'd all changed over the past however many months. Change is a funny thing though. We don't like it. Sometimes we even fear it, but it will come. Inevitably, it will happen. People will change, places will change…life will change. And we either adapt and move on, or we get left behind. I'd expected him to change, I honestly had. I'd expected him to be nicer, more mature. But the bit where he loved me? No, I hadn't expected that to change. I suppose the truth is, it hurts to grow, and anyone who tells you different is lying. When you grow, you grow apart, and things that were the world of importance become insignificant. But here's the truth: sometimes, the more things change, the more they stay the same. And that was what we all wanted: for things to stay the same. Well, I did anyway. So for things to stay the same, we needed to change. So sometimes change is good. Sometimes it's everything. But it wasn't what I was expecting.

I knew I was going to go over and sit with him. I'd never have done it before, but I was different now, and I couldn't imagine not going over to him. He looked almost comical sitting there all by himself, his eyes racing over the Prophet, his toast dangling forgotten from parted lips. His glasses sat crooked on his nose, and his thin face was topped with a mass of black locks, sticking up in all directions as if he'd just stuck a metal rod into a power socket. As I sat down, he looked up and the toast fell from his slack lips into his cereal bowl, splashing milk down the front of his robes. He swore and attempted to wipe it up with the newspaper, but in doing so, caught his goblet of pumpkin juice and knocked that down the front of him as well.

His face was as red as my hair by this point, and I couldn't stop the small smile from creeping onto my face as I watched him.

"Alright Evans?" he muttered as finally, it seemed, he remembered he was capable of magic and pulled his wand out.

"I'm fine," I replied simply, watching as he cleared away the mess with one sweep of his wand. "Had a pretty good summer. We went to Wales actually, which was good fun, but a bit wet. It rained the whole -"

"Did you want something?" he cut me off mid rant, eyebrow raised.

I felt as though he had slapped me, and floundered for words. "What do you -"

"Do you need something? Can I help you in some way?" He was looking at me coldly, expectantly, almost impatiently.

Waves of shock washed over me as I realised what was happening. Here I was, attempting to make conversation, attempting to actually be civil to him, and he was coldly rejecting me. Just as I had done to him so many times in the past; had cut him off before he'd even had a chance to begin; had humiliated him in front of everyone.

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"No," I murmured. "No I don't need anything."

"Right." He stood, grabbed another piece of toast, and stalked out of the Great Hall, leaving me sitting alone, my face hot, my eyes filling with tears. I realised then that only one thing in life is certain, besides death and Ministry mishaps. No matter how hard we try, no matter how much we regret it, we are going to make mistakes. We are going to hurt people. And in return, we are going to be hurt. I wish I could say I hadn't meant to hurt him, but if I'm to be truthful, then yes, I did mean to. Asking me out, every single day – it had humiliated me. And so I rejected him, humiliated him, hurt him.

They say the only way to recover is to forgive and forget. It's good advice, I suppose, but not very practical. This is the real world, and things aren't as simple as that. When someone hurts us, we want to hurt them back. Without forgiveness, nothing is ever settled. Hurts don't heal. And all we can hope for is to forget.

But that wasn't enough, not for me.

I needed his exoneration. I needed his affection. I needed him.

So I went after him.