Archive of Our Own

…

Your eyes were always on me.

I'm not sure when it started but I know that once it did, it never stopped. I'd feel the undeniable sensation of someone burning holes into the back of my head, and when I would turn there you were, sure enough, staring.

The first few times caught you off guard. You were always cocky but you had not yet mastered the artform of shameless, self-assured charmer. I would catch you staring and you’d look away, jumping into some conversation with the person next to you that hadn’t been happening moments before.

I didn't know what to make of it then, but Severus would draw my attention back to him, disgruntled, and I would forget all about the boy with scruffy hair and off-kilter glasses.

…

You soon became something else entirely.

Quidditch star, trouble-maker in chief, Marauder. You and your little crew of tyrants were the epitome of cool and you knew it. Girls fawned over you and your partner in crime, Sirius Black; they would draw their initials next to his or yours in hearts on the edges of their parchment.

But not all girls.

I must have denied your requests to go out with you a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times.

Sometimes you were more thoughtful in your attempts. You once sent me flowers by owl in the morning because you thought that buying my lilies was a sure thing.

(It wasn't; I told you later that it was rather predictable, and Severus had chimed in scornfully to say that my favorite flowers were peonies, didn't you know, Potter?)

Sometimes you would spring the question out of nowhere, like you thought that by appearing mysteriously from behind one of the silver suits of armor in the hall you could simply startle me into a yes.

(It never worked; if anything those were some of my more violent refusals, and your ability to just appear in random places left me even more confused than your tenacity in those days)

You would always just grin afterwards though, completely unaffected by my rejections. You would smile so widely and ruffle up your hair so stupidly, saying something along the lines of, "I'm never giving up, you know."

I hated that those words made my face burn and left me scrambling for a response. I should have had a witty comeback prepared after the fiftieth time you said such a thing, but I never did. I only blushed harder and huffed out a deep breath, and I know that left you more determined than ever.

I hated that I liked that you were more determined than ever.

…

It was in our sixth year that you sent me a message on a butterfly's wings.

I remember being unwittingly impressed by your handiwork—you folded the parchment into a lovely little monarch, unlike the cranes most students crafted when they boldly decided to fly a note across the room. Your timing was, as usual, perfect. Slughorn had his back to us and was writing with levitating chalk on three different blackboards at the front of the room. We were supposed to be listening to a lecture on antidotes.

I admired your artistry before, against my better judgement, snatching the paper butterfly out of the air like a bird of prey. I knew who it was from before I opened it. I could feel your eyes from behind me, I could feel Severus's dark gaze from across the room—

(but we didn't talk anymore, and part of me blamed you for that, and I think you knew it, which is why you were uncharacteristically distant for a time… a short time)

—and my friends giggled next to me, but I ignored them as I smoothed out the parchment on my desk, your scrawl something I was, unfortunately, accustomed to reading.

Evans, will you do me the honor of accompanying me to Hogsmeade this Saturday?

Please select one answer with a X on the line and promptly return.

__ Yes, I would love to!

__ Absolutely, yes!

__ James Potter, there is nothing in this world that I, Lily Evans, would like to do more than accompany you to Hogsmeade this Saturday.

You thought you were so funny.

I did turn and look at you, then. Sure enough, there you were, leaned back in your seat and looking so nonchalant and cool. Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew were shaking with silent laughter at your sides, and even Remus Lupin was smirking, though he was valiantly trying not to look amused.

But you, you. Your gleaming, hazel eyes were all for me, shining behind off-kilter glasses and you smiled with your canines exposed and you looked so smug. You ran your hand through your hair in that stupid way and you had the audacity to wink at me.

Huffing and blushing, I turned back around and dipped my quill in ink. My body felt like it was on fire, but I pretended that you did not fluster me, no, you arrogant, big-headed toe-rag.

I didn't realize that overinflated balloons were allowed access to Hogsmeade, I began to write. I chewed my bottom lip, thinking of something more to add—

"Miss Evans, you wouldn't possibly be writing something other than notes about Potions my class while I'm lecturing, would you?"

I hadn’t noticed that Slughorn was making rounds. He was behind me, looking over my shoulder at what was definitely not notes about antidotes and snatching the paper from beneath my quill. I think my heart stopped; I didn't dare move or say anything. His beady eyes scanned the paper, and just as I began to fear the worst—that he would read the entire thing, including my less than ladylike response, out loud—he began laughing.

It was a joyous, belly-deep laugh. His eyes flashed to yours for a moment. Mine did, too, and I realized that for the first time, ever, you were the one left blushing and hiding your face. You ducked behind your text book and your friend's laughter was no longer silent. You'd made the critical mistake of attaching your name to that note. Slughorn smiled mischievously.

"Five points for Gryffindor, Miss Evans," he said, and I don't think I'd ever been more shocked at a professor's words in my life. Slughorn laughed again, his eyes twinkling in a knowing way, and the parchment that was once a butterfly went up in smoke at the tip of his wand. I suppose he always did have a weak spot for me, despite the fact that I had the nerve to not be in Slytherin.

"For sheer cheek!"

…

"Evans, please! It's really, really important!"

Why on earth they made you Head Boy baffled me.

Why on earth you were still infatuated with me baffled me even further.

It was in our first week as Head Boy and Head Girl that you came barreling in to our shared space, the one that separated your room and my room and which I knew was going to be a major problem the moment we both stepped foot in it.

"Really important!"

I'd never seen you look so alarmed before. I set my book aside and decided, for once, to take you seriously. "What's happened?" I asked.

"There's no time, I'll explain when we're there—just, please come with me! For just a moment! You can never talk to me again afterwards if you don't want to, but I need someone to come with me right now and you're here and just… please?"

Your voice almost broke. I listened.

"Thank you," you breathed as I stood and nodded. "Here, get under this with me, no one will catch us out…"

And suddenly the mystery of the inexplicable pop-up Potter was explained. You enveloped us under a cloak of invisibility and I think I was suspicious, then, that it was all a ploy. The way you needed to press your body so close to mine as we walked, slowly; the way your hand brushed mine more than just once or twice as though by accident.

I think I knew, and I think I didn't mind.

You took me to the top of the Astronomy tower, where the cool, night breeze made my skin break out into goosebumps. "So what's happened?" I asked as you slid the cloak off us. "Has someone been blasted off the side, and now it's up to us, Head Boy and Head Girl, to clean it up?" I even peered over the ledge, half convincing myself there would be something horrible on the ground.

"Oh, no, nothing like that. You're looking the wrong way, Evans. Look up!"

I did. The night sky was cloudless and beautiful.

"Can you believe this?" you said incredulously, gesturing up towards the heavens. "The entire school is asleep, missing this beautiful sight! It should be a criminal offense, don't you think? To miss this perfect night sky. I had to at least make sure one other person saw it."

I want to say I couldn't believe how ridiculous you were, but that would be an atrocious lie. I looked back to you and you were smiling, a whirlwind boy with bird's nest hair, the stars reflecting off your off-kilter glasses.

I wasn't annoyed at all.

I shivered and the smile slid from your face. "You're cold," you pointed out astutely.

Before I could respond you were pulling out your cloak again. Its silver sheen draped over both of us, only this time you were facing me. This time your hands were finding mine very intentionally and this time, I wasn't stopping you.

"There," you said, and I had definitely become much, much warmer. "Now we could be hiding from the whole world…"

You leaned in closer and paused. Your breath was fanning my face and suddenly your daring left you. After all this time, after years of effort—when you finally had me where you wanted me, you froze. I could see myself in your off-kilter glasses.

"…Yes," I said, because I guess you were still waiting for that answer.

Your kiss was a promise.

…

His name is Harry, and he is just like you.

The same hair, the same smile, the same ability to find trouble even though he can only crawl.

He can't walk, no, but he can fly, and Harry zooms around on a toy broomstick that I feel should not be able to go anywhere near as fast as it does. I'm certain he’s going to be another whirlwind boy causing mischief and mayhem wherever he goes. Our son has already broken a vase and nearly killed the cat twice, and you couldn't be prouder.

…I know being contained is hell for you.

Whirlwinds weren't made to stay in one place, after all—but the silver fabric that could conceal you is no longer here and if you even consider running off as a stag and leaving me alone with our son you know that the rest of this threat does not need to be put into words, does it, James Potter?

Outside there are muggle children milling about, dressed up in silly costumes on a quest for candy, but they walk straight past our new home, unaware of the building which conceals three people with true magic in their veins. You wish they could come in; you've always said that Halloween is probably the only day we could get away with doing real magic out in public.

But you can't leave the house, none of us can, and so you find other ways to entertain yourself. There's smoke coming from your wand and Harry laughs, a pink plume uncatchable in his tiny grasp.

My heart is so heavy with love I fear it may burst.

As much I want to let you continue your games of uncatchable, colored smoke with our son, it’s late, far past Harry's bedtime.

"James," I say, announcing my presence. "It's time to put Harry to bed."

You smile and hand him to me without argument. "Goodnight, kiddo," you say, kissing him swiftly on the forehead. You smile so warmly. I wish I could bottle it up and keep it forever.

I'm halfway up the stairs when I hear the door burst open and you shouting, sprinting.

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

My body starts acting of its own accord.

My legs carry me and Harry up the stairs, down the hall. My mind is no longer working properly, the world is an adrenaline soaked blur that is surely, surely a nightmare.

"Avada Kedavra!"

My body goes cold.

A flash of bright green like lightning burns across the walls, searing itself into my eyes. I hear something fall and hit the ground, a sick thud against the floorboards. I'm screaming but I don't comprehend it. My voice is an alien being that exists without me, beyond me; I'm a slave to the sounds that rip their way out of my throat.

Please god no please god no please god no

With Harry still in one arm I begin stacking things against the door in a haphazard panic, this is not real, this is a dream, this is a lie—

But then the door bursts open and I know.

He is the epitome of darkness, he is the conglomeration of every nightmare and every fear I that have ever had. His skin is pale and his eyes are scarlet and they are burning, staring directly at my son.

I drop my child into the crib behind me, my arms out wide like I can save him, I can save him.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

He's saying something in response, the monster, the nightmare, but I barely make out the words. Stand aside, I think he says, he's offering to spare me…

But he doesn’t know that I’m already dead. I am sprawled out on the first floor, my thin chest still, my off-kilter glasses concealing bright hazel eyes that see nothing, nothing.

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead —"

The only other thing in this world that matters is behind me. What do I have to fear of this man?

"This is my last warning—"

I am already dead.

"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please—I'll do anything—"

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"

…

You're a whirlwind boy with bird's nest hair, such constantly disheveled, tangled debonair. I'm afraid if I touch you, I'll be blown away.

I'm afraid if I don't, you'll disappear instead.