WINDFALL
My Confessions
By Godswake
*~*~*
Chapter two: The First Day of the Rest of My Life
Chapter song: We're Gonna Be Friends, The White Stripes
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all characters, themes, and plot devices in Harry Potter, not I. Will Shakespeare wrote the lovely poem.
Ballet dancers. Morgana. Waterfalls. Faeries. Eyes. These things are beautiful. Stepping out of my morning bath and looking into the foggy mirror that reflected my gangly image- I realized I wasn't. What a revelation. Lily. I sighed and leaned forward, scrutinizing my reflection further. My freckles were too numerous and mingled unpleasantly with my imperfect teenager skin, which I was still getting used to. My nose was too turned up, and my chin wasn't prominent enough. The only things I even sort of liked about myself were my eyes. They were okay. But everything else… bleh.
I was only allowed one more sigh before Morgana began to scream at me. She was always so pissy in the mornings.
"Lily! Are you finished with the bloody lo yet? I don't think I've ever had to take a piss more badly than I do right now…"
"Yes, Morgan. It's all yours." I said as I walked through the frame as slowly as I could, just to make her a little bit angrier. It was a hobby of mine.
"Walk any slower and I'll take a leak all over your pretty little face!" she spat menacingly.
"Well then, that's incentive enough for me to stand completely still for the next few minutes."
"Lily!" she growled as a warning.
"Patience is a virtue, Morgana darling," I cooed, and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor, the product of what I liked to call MEMFOR. (Morgana's early morning fits of rage.)
I arose unmamed, and merely chuckled lightly to myself to congratulate my mind for having antagonized Moragana so. She was just so funny when she was angry.
Refreshed, slightly more awake and sporting an empty bladder, Morgana Tudor emerged from the bathroom looking much more radiant than any person should at 8:00 am on a Sunday.
"Better?" I asked as I sifted through my trunk, looking for something to wear.
"Better," Morgana agreed. I settled on a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt. It was chilly outside already, and I had never gotten used to wearing robes on the weekends.
"You're not going to wear those… things, are you, Lily? You don't really want to meet James looking like a bum."
Ugh. I had forgotten about that.
"Morgan, he's probably going to dump me somewhere or throw something all over me, so why the hell would I want to look nice? It's a pretty hopeless aspiration, anyway-"
"Actually," she interjected. "- I've given the whole thing a bit of thought, and I figure that you have a shot."
"Yeah, a shot a being tied to a tree and being used as live bait for a hungry oversized dragon."
"Lily."
"Morgana."
"- You know what I meant. At shot at- well, I just don't think that this whole fiasco with the poem was solely intended for subjecting you to utter humiliation. James Potter doesn't even know you, so why do you assume that he and his friends have it in for you?"
I paused and thought about this. Perhaps she was right. The weight of her words had not yet settled in my mind when my duel personality began to play devil's advocate.
"Your philosophy is, then," I began, slowly, then used a crescendo to increase the effect of quick wit. "That the Marauders don't know me, personally, so why would want to harm me, make fun of me, poke me, throw things at me, etcetera. Correct?"
Morgana's confident expression flickered slightly.
"Correct."
"- But if they didn't know me, (and they don't)- why would any one of them, especially James Potter, write me a love note?" I finished and waited for Morgana to respond.
"You've got me," she said finally.
I proceeded to perform an odd series of spasmodic movements. I called it a victory dance, but most of my friends and acquaintances would have attested to the fact that when I "danced", I looked more like a dying squirrel on Valium. (It's difficult to envision, but true.)
"Stop that," said Morgan with a grimace.
"Sorry."
"Listen carefully to me, Lily Evans."
"Listening."
"I love you dearly, but you cannot dance. Your dancing looks rather like the mating ritual of an arctic puffin."
I stopped looking offended and laughed.
"Are you quite familiar with the typical mating rituals of arctic puffins?" I asked giggling.
"I am," said Morgana, with an entirely strait face.
My giggling ceased.
"You astound me," I pronounced.
She smiled. "Ditto. I still think you should look presentable, though, when you go down to see James."
"It's impossible for me to look presentable!" I groaned exasperatedly, flinging my arms around in frustration. "And who says I'm going, anyway? Why would I want to?"
"Because you're impossibly curious about the whole event."
"Oh, I am not."
"You are, too."
"Not."
"Are."
"No!"
"Yes."
"Shut up."
"Fine."
Much laughter followed this conversation's end, and if there was one thing I was sure of (if not my looks, my fate or my dancing abilities) it was that Morgana Tudor's friendship was one of the greatest blessings I would ever receive. One day, though I didn't yet know when, I would be showered with great fortune, and even through all those years, a doubt never entered my mind as to who I worshiped most. Morgana one, God zero…
*~*~*
I had little faith at all, in fact, let alone in some impalpable deity. I had been raised under one of the numerous denominations of Christian organized religion. A faith that hardly distinguished itself between the hundreds, possibly thousands that had formed before or after it. This fact in itself contributed to my less enthusiastic opinions about God. The fact that there were so many theories- each follower of each new idea believed so sincerely in the wrongness and inevitable damnation of each contesting theory's practitioners. So if you really thought about it, everyone was gonna end up in Hell, sans doute. I wondered if there was even such a thing as the infamous fiery pit. Not everyone could be right.
And if no one seemed to be hitting the nail on the head, why didn't "God" come down and do something about it? My own philosophical answer to that question was that God did not exist. He never would, and I vowed never to teach my children that he would. Why put you faith in something that either didn't care, didn't exist, or was taking a long nap while humanity carried the weight of its problems?
These were my beliefs. These were the hard facts that I clung to in place of a God. I figured that putting my soul in the hands of the same creature who had sat back and watched slavery, war, the holocaust and AIDS wipe out lives was suicide. I trusted my own judgment and responsibility more. Evolution all the way!
No hell. No heaven. No brimstone. No angels. Nothing to worry about but life and the moment. And that was all I had time for. Living for the moment was such a cliché fantasy, such a far-off ideal, but I really believed in it. Carpe Diem, Seize the Day and all that, were for some reason so wonderful to me, such good maxims to live by. And I suppose it was because I understood, more than most people, that you could kick the bucket any second. I was an old soul.
*~*~*
I had been playing wizard's chess with Morgana in the common room (and beating the hell out of her skinny arse) when she suddenly perked up, broke the silence hanging between the two of us and said in an excited and low tone:
"Lily. It's quarter to six."
"Okay…" I said slowly, still contemplating my next move.
"No, no, my flower, look at me." She took both of her dainty hands, leaned over the chessboard, and squished my cheeks together as she lifted up my face. This made me look like a confused fish. "It's nearly six o'clock."
Silence. And then:
"Oh!" It had dawned on me. "Right, well… I don't want to go."
"You codfish. You're going."
"How dare you! I am not a codfish!"
"You are if you don't come down to the willow with me. Now!"
"Morgan!" I whined and stamped my foot. To no avail. Morgana grabbed my wrist and dragged me, dead resistant weight and all, through the portrait hole and down to the grounds. Immediately upon steeping through the threshold of the castle and into the open air, my best friend and I witnessed the tall figures of four boys silhouetted against the setting sun. As the images came clearer into focus, we saw two of these bodies dive behind a nearby bush, leaving James Potter and Sirius Black standing there, trying to look nonchalant as they leaned up against the huge landmark tree.
"Lily Evans," cooed James, not wasting any time once Morgana and I were within speaking distance.
Sirius followed immediately after his famed best mate. "And Morgana Tudor."
"How do you know my name?" Asked Morgana, eyeing Sirius suspiciously. His eyes glittered with pleasure.
"I know more than just your name, my lovely," he continued.
"That's really kind of scary," said Morgana with her trademark frankness and her hands on her hips.
"Don't be frightened. I have something very special to show you, Morgana."
"What's that?"
"It's a surprise," Sirius said quickly, taking her arm. "And it's all the way on the other side of the grounds. Come come."
And he began leading Morgana away in the other direction, toward the forbidden forest. She looked too taken aback to protest, and merely threw several dejected glances back at me as she allowed herself to be ushered away. After this, I heard what sounded like muffled whispers and giggles fro the bush that was presumably occupied by Peter Pettigrew and Remus Lupin.
"Oy! Bugger off, you two, will you?" said James, his voice laced with mingled irritation and amusement.
The two buys hopped up, red in the face from laughing, from behind their hiding place. Both saluted James, winked at me and began to walk back up toward the castle.
Thinking quickly, I remembered my last resort against the obvious trap I was letting myself fall into.
"Remus, wait!" I called after the sandy-haired boy. (He was the only one of the four that I sort of knew) He and Peter halted.
"Yes'm?" He asked innocently.
"Help me," I whispered desperately.
"Oh," Remus chuckled some more. "No can do this time. Sorry Lily."
And my last hope bolted toward Hogwarts with his chubby friend breathing hard in his wake. I was doomed.
"So," began James with a small smirk on his handsome face. His hazel eyes seemed more like a pool of every color in the spectrum, and they were sparkling with what seemed like several secrets that shown from behind them. His messy hair was so black that when the afternoon light reflected on it, it looked blue.
I stopped before I started analyzing his appearance further. Bad Lily, I thought miserably. You're ugly. You're stupid. You're not worthy. You're-
"Why did you right it?" James's eyes glittered. I broke my dazed stare, and with horror realized that he had obviously seen me goggling at him. It was this revelation that distracted me from the nature of the question he had asked in the first place.
"Huh?"
Smooth, Lily. You are so smooth.
"I said, why did you write it?"
I was still lost. "What do you mean?"
James gave me an odd look before reaching in his back pocket and pulling out a small, folded up piece of parchment. After unfolding it, he cleared his throat and read:
"Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of you desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to you, till you require.
Look him in the eye.
"'Nor dare I chide that worldwithoutend hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of your absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
No, don't. He'll know you think he's beautiful. Focus just above the brow line…
"'Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught
Save, where you are and how happy you make those.
Don't turn red.
"'So true a fool is love that in your will;
Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.'"
Breathe.
"I didn't write that," I spat out quickly, ruining the poignancy of the moment.
"No, you didn't. William Shakespeare did. And I'm not finished yet," said James quietly.
I shut up.
He continued. "'James- I hope you like Shakespeare. Meet me tomorrow at the willow around six.'"
All right. That did it.
"I didn't write a fucking word of that," I said bluntly. I had quite a mouth for a thirteen-year-old.
"What d'you mean you didn't-"
"-Not a word."
"Well then why…?"
"-Maybe you can tell me who wrote this."
I then took out my own note, and read the Sylvia Plath poem and the postscript after it to James.
"I didn't write a fucking word of that," James swore. He was beat red.
"Okay," I began calmly, myself turning ghostly pale from humiliation. "Then I guess the question is, who did?"
There was a pause, and then:
"Sirius."
"Sirius- he… what?" I was trying to follow James's train of thought.
"He did this. He knew that I… and you… he thinks this is funny. I'll kill him!" James heaved.
"Want to fill me in?" I was remaining impossibly calm, to my credit.
James looked at me distractedly, as if he had forgotten I was there. Figures. I was pretty forgettable.
"It doesn't matter," he said after an awkward pause.
"Well, actually, it does, because I haven't got a clue what you're talking about. What is it you think Sirius Black did, exactly?"
James sighed and shook the note in my face. He was being rather rude, and I felt my visage reflect my feelings as I put on a sour expression. My affections were waning. Not that he would care…
"Who gave this note to you?" he asked impatiently.
"I thought… well, I had thought you did. I mean, how can you blame me, it had your name at the bottom and-"
"No. Who put this note in your possession?"
And then I got it. Of course. Of course! How could I think for a minute that that poem wasn't a joke? I was stupid, ugly…
"Oh," I said weakly.
"`Oh', is right. Sirius Black, correct?"
Flashes of what had happened in the library taunted me. "Yes," I mumbled.
"Yeah. Well, ditto. He gave me this piece of parchment and said that Lily Evans gave it to him so he would pass it on to me."
"And he and Peter came and gave me the note in the library."
"We've been set up," James gave me a sideways lopsided smirk.
"So it seems. But I still don't get why. Was it to embarrass you?"
"Uh- I don't know. Sirius has an interesting sense of humor. You'd have to ask him. Anyway… change of subject. We may as well have a bit of chat before Sirius and your friend get back… Why haven't you ever spoken to me before, Lily Evans?"
I tried to collect myself, but it was nearly impossible. What do you say to that? What do you say when James Potter asks you a question like that? Oh God, oh God…
"You've never spoken to me, either," I breathed.
"Touché, " James laughed. "Well, I guess not. But we can always change that."
He held out his hand and shook mine. I never decided whether it was just the shock of his touch, or… something else… but for a moment my vision blurred, my stomach flipped and I forgot about balance as I seemed to float. Reeling, I shook it off as he pulled his hand back. Sometimes I imagine things.
"Hi. I'm James Potter. It's nice to meet you, Miss…"
"-Evans. Lily Evans," I gave a small smile.
"Fabulous. Now we've been officially introduced, and you can tell me more about yourself."
He then proceeded to sit and make himself comfortable as he leaned against the trunk of the looming willow tree and looked up at me, apparently waiting for me to commence spilling the contents of my soul. I laughed openly at his eagerness. I couldn't really tell whether or not he was kidding.
"Do you really have that much extra time on your hands?"
James shrugged his shoulders. "Sure."
I sat down next to him. "Okay…"
"Just start with your age," he said encouragingly.
"I'm thirteen."
"Born?"
"August 20th, 1960, in an insignificant suburb outside London."
"Called?"
"Waltonmore."
"Ah. Height?"
"Around 5'3", last I checked."
"You're quite small, then. Muggle-born, Half-blood or Pure-blood?"
"Muggle-born."
"Siblings?"
"Nope."
"Parents?"
"I've got two."
"That's lucky."
"- Both muggles, both real estate agents. Both really annoying."
"Favorite food?"
"Fettuccine Alfredo. Ice cream, too. And bread. I love bread."
"What about vegetables?"
"Blech."
"Then how are you so skinny?"
"Dunno. Just lucky, I guess."
"What are some of your good personality traits?"
"Uh, I dunno… I don't really have any…"
"I'll figure that out on my own, then, I guess. I know you have them. You're just not comfortable enough to tell me. Vices?"
"I'm picky. I'm boring. I read too much. I cant dance…"
"-Stop. Everyone's picky, you're not boring, one can never read too much, and I myself will teach you to dance."
"Uh, thanks."
"You're welcome. What do you like to read?"
"The classics. Poe, Shakespeare, Blake, Plath, Stoker, Dickens, Chaucer, Vidal…"
"You're a nerd."
"I know."
"Favourite band?"
"The Rolling Stones."
"The Who?"
"No, the Rolling Stones, I don't like The Who."
"What?"
"Never mind."
"I'm confused."
"Lie down before you hurt yourself, then. Suffice it to say that the Rolling Stones are a muggle band. Next question."
"Right. Got any problems?"
"Quite a few. But I'd rather not list them right now."
"I see. You're guarded."
"I am not."
"Yes, you are. Favourite sexual position?"
"Uncalled for."
"Hehehe."
"Shut up laughing."
"Sorry."
"I think it's my turn to ask questions now."
"Shoot," said James happily.
"Give three positive words that describe you."
"Handsome, intelligent, brave."
"Come off it. Now three bad."
"Uh… I can't think of anything."
I gave him a look.
"Fine. Lazy, clumsy, any pretty damned conceited, actually."
"That's better. Are you religious?"
"In my own right."
"What does that mean?"
"Whatever you want it to."
"Uh-huh. Name one thing you believe in."
"Beauty."
I paused for a second. "Yeah," I said finally. "Me too."
That night, I sat up in bed, too excited and too flabbergasted to sleep. I was elated and utterly euphoric, and I needed some time to think before I started to dream. As I listened to Morgana breathe (she crashed as soon as we'd gotten back up to the castle- apparently she'd had an interesting little romp with Sirius), I reflected on the events of that evening, and vowed that I would never let that be the last conversation I had with James Potter. I felt uncharacteristically confident, and as I finally closed my eyes and smiled to myself, I thought I knew it wouldn't be.
~*~
A/N- There you have it. Be sure to tell me what you thought of this! Oh! And happy New Year and all that jazz. Ciao!
-Godswake ;).
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