Off Your Feet

Yes, this is definitely all I need. This is all. All I need. Just this. Period. The end. Just this big, nice tub full of floating lavender-scented bubbles and warm water and my good old copy of Advanced Charms and Their Practical Applications. That's all. Forget that arrogant prat James Potter. Who needs him? Who thinks about the fact that just through the door into this bathroom, there is a tiny entryway, and if you turn left off the entryway instead of right, you go into the prefect study instead of the prefect bathroom? No one, of course. And who is constantly haunted with the fact that if you do go into that study instead of coming in here, you can wind your way through wonderfully plush couches and many tables for studying to come to two doorways, side by side, the only break in the bookcases that line the walls, and that if you go through the left one and up the winding staircase, you come upon a door with a plaque reading "Head Boy" on it behind which James Potter himself can be found? If you followed that spastic, horribly grammatically incorrect sentence at all, then you will not find it hard to believe that I, Lily Evans, most certainly am not one with the problem detailed therein. Not at all. Of course not. Why should I be? It's not as if anything has ever happened between us, Potter and me. And even if it had, I most certainly would not spend all my time thinking about it to the point where I'm even doing poorly in Charms. Obviously not.

Alright, fine. I do have a bit of a confession to make. But it concerns only part of the previous statement... alright, two-thirds... okay, fine, the whole thing. To start with, I suppose I must confess that something did in fact happen between Potter and me. But it absolutely, positively, under no circumstances can be remotely considered my fault. To begin with, I think it's important to make sure you are aware that Potter has been acting differently this year. It's January and he hasn't even asked me out once. Not once! Not only that, he hasn't pulled one prank (not a substantial one, anyway) or hexed one person (well, alright, he has hexed Snape a few times, but he deserved it). He's also been making excellent marks as good as, if not better than, mine. Also, since the prefect study serves pretty much as the Heads' own private common room, though we both still spend a lot of our time in the Gryffindor common room, we've gotten to know each other better. We've even become sort of like (dare I say it?) friends. Until "The Incident," of course.

The Incident occurred a few weeks ago, shortly after we got back from the Christmas holidays. Somehow, don't ask me how because I don't know but somehow, Ja--I mean Potter convinced me to sneak out with him. I've decided that I must still have been tired from fighting with Petunia for two weeks, not to mention the Transfiguration test we had that day (Transfiguration is not my best subject, mind you), not to mention that I'm completely mad, because for some reason, I agreed to go, even though there was at least six inches to a foot of snow on the ground. We snuck out the front doors under Jame--Potter's invisibility cloak (can you believe he has one?! No wonder the Marauders have always gotten away with so much), across the lawn, and down to the Quidditch pitch. Secretly, I'm a fan of Quidditch, but I'd never been to the pitch at night. It was beautiful, all dark and peaceful, lit only by the almost-full moon and myriad of twinkling stars. The stars especially. They shimmered over the thick layer of snow blanketing the ground and sitting on the stands and goal posts, making the snow sparkle and twinkle like it, too, contained myriads of stars of its own.

"Wow," I breathed as soon as James pulled the cloak off us so we could see everything properly.

"See," he said, sounding smug, "I told you it was worth it."

"We shouldn't have snuck out," I added quickly, going into Head Girl mode, "but still. Wow."

I walked around in a small area for a few moments, awestruck by the perfect scene. Then, from behind me, I heard James start to chuckle softly. I ignored him until his soft chuckle became a badly suppressed laugh. Then I turned around and confronted him.

"What?" I asked, smiling at him confusedly. He was standing with his feet apart and his arms crossed over his chest as he watched me intently and openly. There was a slight sort of half-smile on his lips, and for some reason, my stomach gave a funny sort of jolt, and, without my conscious knowledge, my mind formulated the thought Wow, he's handsome, all on its own. I chalked these weird reactions up to the same madness that had made me agree to come out here in the first place and ignored it. "What?" I asked again.

"Nothing, nothing," James said, breaking his gaze in favor of staring at his shoes instead and shoving his hands into his pockets.

"No, tell me," I begged, giving him my best puppy dog eyes. James ignored me for a moment, but almost immediately upon looking up from the ground and seeing my face, he sighed, his shoulders slumped, and he gave in.

"You'll get mad at me," he said finally.

"No, I won't. Promise," I answered.

"Well, I was just--" he started, then hesitated. "I was just thinking that--please don't hate me forever--you look sort of... well, you look sort of funny. You've got like this big mass of red hair curls coming out from under your hat and your scarf is as long as you are and you've missed a clasp on your cloak and your cheeks and nose are all pink and rosy." He finished very quickly.

"Oh, yeah, sure," I said after he'd finished. "Just tell me how funny looking I am. Why should I get angry?"

"No, no!" James added quickly. "Not bad funny! Good funny! Like--like, cute, funny."

"No, no, sorry James," I said, pretending to be upset and wagging one finger in front of him. "Flattery won't save you now. There's only one thing I can think to do with you." He looked worried for a moment. Then I stooped down, scooped up a quick handful of snow, and flung it at him. It wasn't exactly a snowball, but it did the trick. James let out a gasp of surprise and looked at me with an indignant, open-mouthed smile, a mixture of shock and approval playing in his gorge--I mean normal, everyday, completely unattractive eyes. He quickly recovered, however, and quickly formed a perfect snowball, throwing it at me with the perfect aim that came with being a chaser and hitting me square in the arm as I tried to block my face.

That was it. After that, we were in a full blown snowball fight. It continued for some ten minutes or more before finally, after I snuck up behind him and slammed a particularly large snowball straight down on his head, James got fed up with me and simply looped his arm around my waist and picked me up. He put both arms around me and swung me around in circles, causing my hat to go flying across the pitch, while I shrieked and we both laughed until he lost his balance and brought us both to the ground. I landed on top of him, both of us laughing so hard we could barely breathe, much less move. Finally, our laughing subsided a bit and I propped myself up on my elbows on James's chest, still smiling. He was still smiling, too, as we locked eyes. Then suddenly, nothing was funny anymore. I couldn't for the life of me remember what was so funny. All I knew was that I still couldn't stop smiling, and I hadn't the faintest idea why. Not only could I not stop smiling, my heart wouldn't stop pounding and all I could think about was how gorgeous and perfect James's hazel eyes were and how cute his glasses were. I was too hypnotized by his stupid perfect eyes to notice when he put his arm around me, and too busy studying every inch of his perfect face to notice when he lifted his hand to push the hair that had fallen into my face behind my ear. I did, however, notice the touch of his hand to my face, the indescribable look he got on his face when he did it, and when the hand that the still hands removed from my face and the one on the small of my back both gently starting guiding me downward towards him. And I definitely noticed when our lips met, and the ensuing fireworks were hard to miss, too. I was too shocked to do anything at first, but after a moment I got hold of myself and began to kiss him back, gently at first, then more deeply. We lay there together and kissed for what seemed like only a few seconds, but was probably more like a few minutes. Then, suddenly, I realized something in a sort of epiphany: I was on the Quidditch pitch in the middle of the night kissing James Potter, and I was enjoying it. This epiphany was followed by a much worse one: I, Lily Evans, liked James Potter. This realization was too much to handle, so I did the only logical thing there was to do, the same thing any other teenage girl in my situation would have done: I ran. I broke the kiss, ignored James's confused look, jumped up, and ran. I ran all the way out of the stadium, across the grounds, and into the castle, not even thinking about the fact that I was out after hours and should be more careful. I just ran as fast as I could to get away from James and the horrifying realization I'd just had, praying I wouldn't run into anyone on the way that might slow me down. Unfortunately, I did. Fortunately, however, the people I ran into were the seventh year Gryffindor prefects, Remus Lupin and Rebecca Weatherford, my best friend, neither of who was very likely to turn me in. They both looked shocked to see me sprinting through the castle in the middle of the night, as if I was the last person they ever imagined catching while out on patrol, which, I reminded myself, I probably was. I came to a dead halt in front of them and opened my mouth to start to explain when suddenly there were more quick footfalls behind me in the hallway. James was sprinting up the corridor after me, quietly but forcefully calling, "Lily! Lily, wait! Lily, come back here! Lily! Lily!" I turned and looked quickly at him over my shoulder, then quickly went around Rebecca and Remus and began to run down the hallway again. The two prefects exchanged quick looks before Rebecca rounded and came after me and Remus stuck out an arm to halt James.

"Lily, hold up!" Rebecca called. For a moment I considered ignoring her, but then decided it would probably be better to stop than risk her wrath, so I stopped. "Lily! For Merlin's sake, what has gotten into you?! What happened?!"

I looked at her for a moment, trying to decide where to start. While thinking, I glanced quickly around the corridor, and my eyes fell on James and Remus. Remus was resolutely holding James back with both hands as James fought against him, looking directly at me the entire time. Their heads were almost side by side, and Remus was talking quickly and furiously into James's ear. Finally, he must have gotten through to him, because James turned his head slightly to look at Remus, then, with one last sad look my way, stopped fighting, slumped his shoulders, and hung his head. Remus gave him a manly sort of hug and continued to talk to him, but James barely returned the embrace or appeared to be listening to what Remus was saying. Instead, he just managed to look crestfallen. Unable to watch anymore, I turned back to Rebecca, who was still watching me expectantly. The words still hadn't come to me, but I decided that maybe if I just started talking they would. I opened my mouth to speak, but all the came out was a sob. The expectant look on Rebecca's face melted, replaced instantaneously with one of worry. "Oh, Lils," she sighed worriedly, enveloping me in a comforting hug. I began sobbing into her shoulder. "Why don't you sleep in the dorm with us tonight, hm?" I nodded mutely into her shoulder. "Okay, darling, come on, let's go." She put a comforting arm around my shoulder and I slumped against her for support. She turned and looked over her shoulder for a moment was she guided me down the hall and gave Remus a look like "What am I supposed to do?" Remus returned it and pointed to James, who he was now guiding down the hall with an arm around his shoulders, too.

Neither of the Head rooms was occupied that night or for about a week afterwards. In that week, I realized something else: I didn't just like James Potter; I was in love with him. I couldn't fathom how my mind had turned the moment on the Quidditch pitch, a moment that should have been beautiful and perfect, into what it was, an awkward, stupid series of events I'd rather have just forgotten.

And there you have it. In just under 2000 words, "The Incident." And see? Just like I said, completely and utterly not my fault. It was all James's fault, really. If he hadn't convinced me to sneak out then we wouldn't have gone down to the pitch and I wouldn't have had to get dressed for the could so he wouldn't have told me I looked funny so I wouldn't have thrown snow at him so wouldn't have gotten into a snowball fight and he wouldn't have picked me up and he wouldn't have tripped so we wouldn't have fallen and I wouldn't have landed on top of him so we wouldn't have kissed and I would have lived me entire life in peace without ever know that I was in love with him. See? Completely his fault. Completely. I was just an innocent bystander, really.

This is the comforting thought that is in my head as I settle into my favorite couch in front of the fireplace after climbing out of the bath and changing into my pajamas. I'm still thinking about it, with a little smile playing across my lips, when James comes downstairs a few minutes later.

"Oh, sorry, didn't know you were down here," he says awkwardly, hovering around the doorway the leads to his room.

"It's alright," I say. "Come, sit." I pull my legs up underneath me to make room on the couch, and James comes and sits awkwardly on the other end. It's been like this for the past few days, ever since James and I both returned to our rooms after hiding out in our old dorms with our friends. I sigh at the thought. James looks at me when I do, and I catch his glance. He looks away embarrassedly and so do I. Over the course of the next five to ten minutes, we do this roughly eight hundred times, this steal a glance, get caught, blush and look away routine. Finally, after the eight hundred and first time, James stands up abruptly. I think he's going back to his room, a thought which causes me unimaginable pain considering every moment we spend together is terribly, horribly awkward, but then he suddenly reappears in front of me. I start a bit in surprise and look up at him. He's looking down on me, his adorably messy black hair reflecting gold in the firelight and his gorgeous hazel eyes dancing. He gives me his adorable, irresistible, signature smile, and suddenly a feeling of happiness wells up inside of me that is so strong, I think I'm going to burst. He continues to smile down on me as he flicks his wand out to the side, and beautiful, slow orchestral music from nowhere fills the room. He stows his wand away again in the back pocket of his pajamas and holds out his hand to me. "Dance with me," he says.

The line is so corny, I want to laugh. "Can you really be this cheese--" I start, but James places one wonderfully soft finger over my lips.

"Shhhh," he says, smiling at me even wider as he pulls me up off the couch. "I'm trying to sweep you off your feet."

I can't keep the smile off my face as he leads me to the middle of the four feet or so of space between the fireplace and the couch. He pulls me to him, putting one hand on the small of my back and keeping my hand firmly grasped in the hand, holding it between our bodies. I put my other hand on his neck and we sway back and forth to the music. I sigh contently and lean my head into the crook of his neck. He rests his chin on top of my head, and I marvel at what a perfect fit we are. "The sad part is," I murmur into his chest, "you kind of are."