Disclaimer: All characters and settings belong to JK Rowling. I just play with her ideas!
Note: This is a collection of presents for my wonderful friends. I wish you all the best for Christmas, and that your holiday is filled with laughter and happiness. And, naturally, I'd love to hear what you think! - Lexie xx
James and Lily, for Cuba
To Heal A Broken Heart...
The brittle green foliage stung at her palms, but Lily Evans didn't care. She gripped the offensive holiday gesture firmly with two hands and tugged with all her might, tearing it from the air with a small grunt of effort.
Levitate that, Potter.
He blinked, taken
aback, and if Lily didn't know any better, she'd have thought he
was hurt. Fortunately, Lily did know better: she knew that an
arrogant toe rag like Potter didn't have the capacity within him to feel hurt, which at least was one less thing to worry about.
"Was that really necessary, Evans?" he asked quietly.
Lucky the common room was silent, or she would have missed his words altogether. Lily scowled at him. Surely, the answer was obvious.
"It's always necessary, Potter," she hissed back.
Subconsciously, her eyes scanned his for that familiar spark of fire, but this time, something was missing, and instead the hazel simply smouldered.
The common room held its breath: was this the beginning of another, legendary Evans-Potter argument?
As if in response, James Potter shook his head. But then-
"Evans, for Merlin's sake – if I can have one wish this Christmas, I wish you'd grow a heart."
Lily's ears roared.
All she could see was red. Perhaps, it was the red of the Gryffindor
scarf Sirius was now dangling before her eyes in jest. More
preferable to her imagination, it was Potter's blood.
Her mouth opened and closed several times, mute as a goldfish in her anger.
"You did not say that."
Potter's jaw jutted out in arrogance, as if daring her to contradict him further. How dare he suggest she didn't have feelings? Of course she did! And for that matter, she knew she felt a damn sight well more than he did. If that boy had one sympathetic bone in his body, he'd have left her alone like she'd asked him too, two years earlier.
Without realizing it, she drew her wand. Red sparks were emitting from its end, preemptively as it were.
James Potter ducked as
hundreds of tiny little pinpricks – the leaves of the mistletoe
plant he'd raised above Lily's head only moments before – sped
toward his face. Unfortunately for him, Lily's aim was true.
She smiled, satisfied, as they bit onto his skin. Potter raised his head – his glasses had protected his eyes – to meet her gaze, hard and emotionless.
Lily raised her wand again – and a hand caught her arm. She spun, surprised, to find Remus Lupin staring at her, face white with shock.
"Lily, what are you doing?"
He looked, quite frankly, alarmed. Lily shook her head absently. Now was clearly not the time, not when she was exacting revenge on the boy who'd bullied and teased her mercilessly for the past five years.
But unlike him, she would be merciful. She shook her wrist free from Remus' hold and uttered the counter-curse.
Potter dabbed at his
face gingerly, taken aback with surprise when he saw the tiny spots
of blood on his fingers. Lily had to hand it to him – he hadn't
cried out in pain.
At least, I suppose, he can take it as well as he can give, she thought bitterly. She crouched, face level now with his.
"Potter, if I can have one wish this Christmas, I wish that you'd leave me alone."
The crowd missed this
final exchange of un-pleasantries: they had hastily backed away the
moment Lily had uttered the first spell.
Now, Lily stood and turned heel, hurrying back up the stairs to the Sixth Year Girl's dormitory. She slammed the door, hurling herself against the soft, forgiving material of her bed. Opening her eyes, she winced, immediately closing them again: the bedding was as dark as the blood glistening across Potter's face in her mind's eye.
Feeling as though she was going to be physically sick, Lily at once lifted herself from the bed, propelling her body toward the bathroom.
She didn't know how
long she'd sat on the stone cold floor, gasping and heaving. Tears
splashed down her face in messy torrents, drenching her cheeks and
dampening the hair that had plastered itself to her skin.
She hadn't even realized she was crying.
Someone was knocking at
the door. It was a soft, steady, consistent tap, and Lily waited,
gulping air in silence, but who-ever it was did not seem ready to
Lily's stomach seemed to have settled, now. Gingerly, she raised herself to the vanity, ducking her head into the basin as she trickled water down her face. The towel, fluffy and soft to her eyes, felt like hundreds of tiny pin pricks in her flesh as she dried herself hastily, shuddering slightly.
She hadn't expected so much blood – but what scared her more than anything was the degree of satisfaction she still felt. What had this boy driven her to?
The tapping persisted, but there was no-one at the door.
Lily closed it, puzzled, leaning her forehead against the thick, hard wood. Was she hearing things, or…?
No – there it was at the window; an owl, requesting admission.
Lily sighed. So, perhaps not as crazy as she'd feared, then. She opened the window; the owl proffered a leg, and then, relieved of it's burden, flew away.
Lily unfolded the message with a frown. A scrap of parchment, severed in the shape of a ragged heart.
Six simple words.
Merry Christmas, Evans.
Lily sunk onto her bed,
watching the fabric, the colour of Potter's blood - the same blood
that coursed through his heart – mould around her legs. She sat
quietly, hands shaking ever so slightly, holding the little paper
heart. Outside, the sun sank beneath the rolling hills, and her dorm
fell into darkness.
Hands still shaking, Lily adjusted them gently. The message echoed in her thoughts; she summoned all the will she possessed and tugged.
The tear sounded in the silent dorm like a heavy rumble of thunder. Lily gazed hopelessly at the two scraps in her hands, the broken heart.
That beastly satisfaction swelled once more, and without another thought, Lily moved once more to the window, flinging Potter's heart out into the night. She watched as the pieces fluttered to the ground, scattering amongst the grass, surrendered to the elements. Free.
Lily closed her eyes,
fists balled, wishing with all her might that just maybe, this
Christmas, she could free Potter of her, once and for all. Because he
needed it, poor boy. Freedom, that was; certainly, not her.
The satisfied beast wondered why she cared about him, so suddenly.
Lily returned to her bed, lying herself down carefully, head sinking thoughtfully into the pillow as she wondered the same thing.
Why did she care about him? For him?
She bit back a scowl as the image of the smirk that would undoubtedly adorn his smug face at this piece of news flickered in her imagination.
What was wrong with her?
Lily Evans had more of
a heart than James Potter could ever comprehend. She hoped he was
"Merry Christmas, Potter."