The realization that she loved James Potter didn’t hit her
like a ton of bricks. It wasn’t some epiphany she had in the middle of Charms
while watching him laugh with his friends. She didn’t suddenly see him on the
Quidditch pitch and think Oh my God, I’m
No, Lily Evans realized she loved James in a slow trickle,
little bits flowing in one at a time. First it was his laugh, that infectious mischievous
laugh that meant something was afoot.
Then, it was his hair. That stupid perpetually messy hair of his, that begged
for her to tame it. Next, his hands. Spindly capable hands that could cast a
quick spell just as well as they could gingerly bandage a cut. His eyes were
next. Those brilliant hazel eyes that saw everything,
and were almost always laughing. The first time she saw him cry, she almost came
undone herself. She’d never known eyes like his.
His temper was quick and fierce, and once you crossed him he
never forgave you. Everyone knew it. It was one thing that Lily couldn’t stand,
until she saw that part of him unravel completely their sixth year. Sirius had
messed up bad. The day he forgave his
best mate, Lily fell for his new-found gentleness. She watched as James became
more rounded and fell for every softened edge. She fell for his loyalty and the
way he faced danger head on, standing straight and unafraid.
The last piece clicked into place on an average morning
their seventh year. They sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall,
steadfastly ignoring the growing number of empty seats around them. Classmates were
dropping like flies. The owl post came, with the Daily Prophet and its daily
list of the dead. He leaned over her shoulder and they both scanned the list. A
thought floated up to the surface, gentle as can be. James, she realized, was
the only person she couldn’t bear to lose.
It wasn’t a shot in the dark or a bolt of lightning. It came
as easy as an old memory. She wasn’t sure how long, but it had been there for a
while. She glanced up from the paper and met his eyes. “I think I might love
you,” she said quite simply.
He blinked a moment, taken aback by her statement. Finally,
he spoke. “I think I might love you as well.”
It was a quiet confession, not a big declaration or a
whirlwind event. They both turned back to the paper in comfortable silence and,
when they were finished eating, left the Great Hall hand-in-hand.
But the lies of your lips were nothing but void without melody. You once sang to me, your voice could breeze my hair and make me feel warm, but the ink of your voice painted a mark on my face and not even rain can wash it away.
I would have loved you, I would dream freedom for you, but you tied my hands and bonded my soul to your own prison.
Tribute for falondiiin and the rest of the elvhen pantheon ouo