Lily's Poem

"Evans". Why do you call me that? You know I have a name and you know, too, how much I hate being called "Evans". But I think that's exactly the reason you do it, right, James?

You arrogant, bullying toerag; you think you're so funny. For example, when you made fun of Snape in front of the whole school in our fifth year. But I'll tell you something- it wasn't funny at all. But then, to top it all, you asked me to go out with you. With you. Although I'm sure I told you about a thousand times before: I won't and will never go out with you, even if you were the last man on earth!

I hate your arrogant way of being sure that all you have to do is smile and all of a sudden girls will be queuing up to go out with you. Well, let them do it. I won't.

James and his broom. Almost like James and Sirius: always together, almost impossible to be parted. Do you know how you look during the Quidditch matches? Especially during the ones against Slytherin? Not that I'm watching you, but still, I noticed. You sit on your broom in that "I'm- the- best- anyway"- way and you think none of the beaters or other players will be able to stop you from scoring. You're so full of yourself when you ride your broom. Even there, you can't stop making your hair untidy, although it already really is even without you doing that.

And you stare, James Potter, don't deny it. Do you think I'm blind? Of course I notice how you stare at me. And where you stare. I'm not only flesh. I have a brain, too, you know. And not a bad one at that, I dare say. So please don't stare at me, not like that and especially not there. But it's not only me you're staring at: it's every girl in school. I suppose you'd even stare at Professor Mc Gonagall if she were a little bit younger. Your lovely little hormones are raging and you've got only one thing on your mind, I know it, and that's another reason why I hate it so much that you stare. It would be preferable that you were staring because you think I'm nice and you like me, but no- you only do it because of my long legs and my breasts!

Combat boots. They look so stupid. I mean, you're not a soldier; you're not even a muggle. Most muggles don't even wear them, except maybe some kids and, of course, the soldiers. But you don't need to wear them, especially not here at Hogwarts! You're safe here! There's no need for you to play soldier. Or, in the wizarding world, you'd probably rather be a warrior, but that's the same in a way.

But, ever since you saw that muggle newspaper with the picture of the soldiers, you always wanted them. Now you wear them all the time, no matter how hot it is. Honestly, they look rather weird, combined with your shorts. I don't say anything about winter--it's ok, nobody sees them under long trousers-- but with shorts? Merlin, don't you have a shred of fashion sense?

I really do hope you pull them off at night, before you get in bed. Because, if not, you really are a nutter, like I always said.

I don't know how you do it, but you do it. Reading my mind. You do it so much that sometimes I really think you read my thoughts; you say exactly what I have been thinking at that very moment. How do you do that? It's scary and I hate it. At times, I thought you really read my mind, not only some little thoughts, but absolutely everything that runs through my head: my feelings- about you, about my friends, everything.

I hope you don't do any of the kind and we are only "related souls", as people used to say. Although- wait a moment- I hate that idea, too. I don't want to be related to you in any way! Especially not by our souls! I mean, it wouldn't be too bad if you married Petunia and we'd be related in that way. That would be quite funny, but I couldn't bear my soul being linked with yours!

And with "always", I mean "always". In every class, in every discussion, no matter when I talk to you, it's always you that's right. Seems you know everything one can know.

Do you know how you feel after even a short time of talking to you? You feel depressed, become unsure of yourself and your own opinion and, a little later, you become annoyed and angry and think things like, "can't this boy ever be wrong?"

It's no fun talking to you, you know, because after a while you don't even want to say anything else because it's wrong anyway. I don't know whether you know that, but that is how it feels.

When you lie. As much as you would hate to hear it, you're not really a good liar. You get all red in the face and avoid looking into your opponent's eyes. And you keep biting your fingernails. So why do you do it? It's pretty obvious anyway, for anybody who is not blind or dumb, that you are lying.

It's only ever trivial things that you lie about. I mean, it might make it easier to accept if at least you'd lie not to hurt others feelings or something similar; but no, you lie because it's sometimes more comfortable for you to lie than to tell the truth. Did you ever consider the idea that your lies might have bad consequences for other people, who are innocent in all this, while you are too cowardly to admit whatever you did? Probably not, you utter buffoon.

It's terrible to feel yourself laughing because of you, James. But you do have a talent for it. You can tell the funniest joke without so much as a little smile. You are completely sinister while you tell them and look almost hurt when the others laugh, as if it was not meant as a joke at all. Then you break into loud laughter yourself and it's so contagious that everybody else has to join you in laughing, whether they want or not. It's always the same. Every time I notice that you are about to tell a joke or do something funny, I always try to think about my homework, or add numbers up in my head, or something like that, to stop myself from laughing. But it never works. Damn it.

Yeah, you make me cry. Big surprise, isn't it? Of course, tough Lily Evans doesn't cry. That's what you think, don't you? It's what everybody thinks. But how often have I cried myself to sleep after you made some stupid joke about me?

I'm not tough after all, although it seems like that, I know. Well, I have an older sister who has always bullied me, so I needed a hard skin to not let all her jokes hurt me. But, somehow, you manage to break through that wall I built around my heart. I don't know why, because you're the only one. Of course, your jokes are really harmless and never said with a mean intention and aren't even rude. Of course, I laugh with the others and act as if I forgot about it the minute after. But that's not true. It all feels like little stings that are there in my heart, aching. I often think about it months later and cry when I'm alone.

Because wherever you are, the sun is shining. You literally spread happiness and optimism around you. Whenever you're near me, all my sad feelings and thoughts vanish like ice in the sunshine. You're the one person that always manages to make me happy, somehow.

You don't even have to talk to me- it's enough when I see you at breakfast, sitting some seats away from me at the Gryffindor table, joking and laughing with Sirius and the others. That gives me a warm feeling inside and somehow- I don't know why- you being near me promises me that, in the end, everything will be allright.

Somehow I feel that, no matter how "cool" and "funny" you are on the outside, you are someone to rely on. I know I can trust you. I know you would help me if I was in danger and you'd probably risk your life for me, although you don't know me too well.

I know we're not really close. We're the same year and we're both in Gryffindor, but that's all that we really have in common. But still, every year in the summer holidays, there would be at least two letters from you: one for my birthday in august and one "just for fun", where you tell me everything you did during your holidays so far. It's always amusing and I wait for your owl to arrive with a letter every day.

But now, there are only four days left before we start our seventh year- and yet, there's not one single letter from you. Why? Do you completely hate me now? What has changed this year? It was very disappointing. You didn't even write to me for my birthday. Every evening, after a day of waiting for your owl, I lay in my bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering what could have caused you not to write to me anymore. Every morning, I started waiting again. But your owl never came, James, and I hate you for it.

Now it's out, in black and white. I don't hate you. I never did, although it seemed like that, I know. But, to be honest, you have always fascinated me, ever since our second year, I think. But I would not admit it to myself, I don't really know why. I just thought it couldn't be and that you would not like me anyway. Me, little Lily, the Mudblood, being so weak and ugly, with you- James Potter- so brilliant in school and popular with everyone- well, everyone except Snape.

So I convinced myself that I didn't like you at all. And, finally, I had myself convinced. I hated you, as much as I could have loved you, if I had been able to let myself do it.

I have been trying to convince all my friends what a terrible git you are ever since. But, for some unknown reason, nobody believed me. They all said they thought you were really nice and not at all as arrogant as I always said, especially when one knows you better. But I didn't want to hear them; I wanted to believe my own version of you. The arrogant, strutting, annoying, mean James Potter.

But now, finally, I can't bear it anymore.

I love you, I love you, I love you, and I always have.

I love you and, even if we should never meet again, I don't think I will ever be able to put that sentence in the past tense. Maybe, if you still like me and you'll ask me to go out with you again next year, I will say yes. Because I always wanted to say yes, but I never dared. My picture of you was too strong and now I deeply regret it.

It all comes down to these simple words: I love you, James Potter, I always have, and I always will. I will always, always love you.

I am so lucky and blessed to have you in my life, but now- now I fear I have destroyed it all by pretending I don't like you. I hope you like me, at least a little bit, if not as much as I like you- love you- and I so hope we'll be going out together next year. I don't care about N.E.W.T.S., you know, the only thing I have been able to think of for about half my life is you, James, and I hope it will be you I will think about for the rest of my days.