Someone Who Fits Me Like You Do

Dislaimer:  All characters belong to JK Rowling and the respective publishing houses.  No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made on this story apart from the personal enjoyment I got in writing it.

 

 

Someone Who Fits Me Like You Do

 

 

And, at that moment, I’d never felt more like Jane Austen’s Emma or Alicia Silverstone in Clueless, during the scene with the water fountain behind her.  I wanted to use Sonorus and sing to the heavens my revelation, and dance around in circles, all at the same time being overcome by the feeling of sheer stupidity.  I suddenly felt like the blindfold had come off of my eyes, and I saw the world in a whole new light:  full of hints of my growing infatuation with my best friend, as well as glaring signs proclaiming that Lily Evans needed her head examined.  Immediately.

 

Perhaps I should rewind a bit and introduce myself.  My name is Lily Evans, I am sixteen years old, and a Muggle-born witch at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.  I was somewhat blessed with the unlikely combination of red hair and green eyes, and the divine gift of being able to eat an entire plate of cheese fries without having to worry about spending the rest of the week sans food.  Not that I particularly enjoy sitting down pigging out with my nose in my food.  While I enjoy a Chocolate Frog feast every so often, I usually leave the daily food-fests to my best friend James and his cohorts, The Marauders.  I was told once that there are breeds of dog that will continue to eat and eat until they become sick, if such food is available to them.  I would imagine the Marauders to be the same…it takes a concentrated effort to keep up with their metabolisms.

 

Please don’t read into the Clueless reference as a key to my character.  I am certainly no happy-go-lucky Hufflepuff who flips her hair and giggles like she’s tipsy off butterbeer.  On the contrary, I may not be a Ravenclaw (or Matilda Wormwood), but I am probably one of the most studious (James might cough and say “boring”) and bookish Gryffindors ever to walk through the halls of Hogwarts.  I am a great fan of all literature, both wizard and Muggle, though I have a soft spot for romances with strong female characters.  Who wouldn’t?  Growing up as a Muggle-born, I’ve found that my blood, or lack thereof, has given me a distinct handicap in relations with some students and even professors.  I guess this disadvantage makes me all the more stubborn about my studies and my achievements.  It might not be far from the truth to say that I’m attempting to cover my Muggle-born birth with good grades.  Books are a significant part of my life, but  thank goodness for my friends.

 

Ah, my friends.  It’s odd, that for so feminine a person, I have four guys as my closest friends.  I find the pettiness of girls, especially around this time of adolescence, to be stifling and grating to my nerves.  Even in my dorm, in which all of the girls seem to get along peaceably, one girl having PMS or a bad day can throw off the dynamics of the entire group.  These sort of days usually end with me swallowing one of Madame Pomfrey’s Headache Potions.  As I said, I get along better with the guys of my year – James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black.  They don’t particularly care whether I have makeup on in the mornings (in fact, the first time I wore it in fourth year, they decided I was trying some paint-by-numbers experiment, and asked for the spell so they could try it on Snape…the result was memorable).  They laugh because they want to, not because it’s appropriate, and they find humor in the little things in life – something I’ve always admired and often envy about that quartet.  They also know what’s real and valuable in friendship and life, things like loyalty and courage and bravery, not good looks and a cute significant other.  Of course, these four weren’t angels, far from it, but they had their heads screwed on straight.  Most of the girls in my year throughout the school had their heads firmly stuck up their arses.  It makes conversation somewhat difficult, if you get what I mean.

 

I’ve often sat and thought about it, chuckling at my strange predicament.  Imagine the four most notable daredevils and pranksters being best friends with a very female bookworm.  I am certainly no tomboy.  My skill level for Quidditch is nil, and I have resigned myself to being the Head Cheerleader for James and Sirius of the Gryffindor Lions whenever there is a match.  When I received my letter, I imagined myself flying a broom and getting lessons at cackling into the night, but I’ve had to put away those dreams, sadly.  I’ve found myself unable to use a broom for anything other than housework, and whenever I’ve tried to cackle, the most I get is, as Sirius so grandly puts it, “the come-hither call of a Whooper.”  As if I’m not insane enough, being friends with them.  To make up for my complete lack of athletic talent, I have discovered a rare talent with Wizard’s Chess, to the point where I can hold out against the Chess Master, Peter, for more than three hours.  When I beat him, he had to go ask out this annoying Hufflepuff.  Unfortunately, that worked against my best interests when I found her following us to Hogsmeade the following weekend.  Ruined the day for us all, until James and I escaped through the tunnels under Honeyduke’s.  Poor Remus and Sirius…at least they got out alive.

 

We have had such fun, though.  The adventures usually begin with Remus and me in the Library, our noses in moldy old tomes “borrowed” from the Restricted Section with James’ Invisibility Cloak.  He’ll appear grandly and present each book to us as if it were the jewel from which all life sprung, or some rare gift to bestow upon a queen.  I find it quite amusing.  After several sneezing fits, we develop sufficient resources to hand our collection of ideas over to the “Dream Team,” James and Sirius.  Those two masterminds can come up with any permutation of chaos, even with limited resources and constant supervision.  Those two can make it happen.  Peter acts as the “spellchecker,” literally.  He runs though the plans for any loopholes, usually making comments about how Snape is an evil git and he wishes that this prank did more permanent damage.  Did I mention that Pettigrew was scared witless of Slytherins, particularly Snape? Mind you, this doesn’t stop him from acting the hot shot whenever Snape is absent.  Once everything is smoothed out, the four of them would usually carry out the actual prank, though I occasionally help when the spell requires some Charms talent.  Most of the time, however, I act as the alibi, the “arse-saver.”  I happen to be on good terms with McGonagall, who strangely still believes my excuses after almost six years of pranks.  Ah, the use of puppy-dog eyes. Priceless, they are.

 

Though I’ve always felt like I have four brothers to protect and support me, I’ve always been closest with James.  With him being an only child, I serve as a sort of “sister” and “confidante,” when something of serious note needs to be discussed (not Sirius, what an old joke).  My sister and I have never gotten along, and so James serves in the same capacity, always there when I need someone to give me a hug after a rotten summer, or to cheer me up whenever, lately, Petunia sends me hate-mail about my parents’ deaths.  While all four have been unbelievably supportive and caring during my time of mourning, only James really knows and understands how hard their deaths shook me, and how close I was to giving up the wizarding world altogether.  Don’t be so shocked.  How would you handle it, if your parents were killed because you could change matches into needles?  Wouldn’t that put you off Transfiguration for a while?  James also knows about my difficulties with Petty, and how I’m still having problems fitting in the two different worlds.  I don’t know how he does it, but he just seems to understand, and it bugs me to the core.  I grapple with these questions for days, losing sleep, and he explains and expounds on all my inner fears in twenty minutes, going over how each of them is ridiculous.  Usually, by this time, I’m so worked up (I do have a bit of a temper) that his hair is either on fire, or I’ve cast a Nohearums spell on myself and am buried in the world of Elizabeth Bennett and Fitzwilliam Darcy.  It’s not that I don’t love to talk to James, I do.  It’s more a matter of it irking me to no end how much he claims to know about me, and how often he happens to be spot on.

 

I began getting to know the group in my second year.  After figuring out that Remus was a werewolf (not too hard, considering that by now most girls were developing a hatred for the moon, as well), I confronted him and asked if there was anything I could do to help.  Feeling myself the insufferable know-it-all, I thought there must be some way to “cure” him.  Failing in this, I planned to make his life somewhat less miserable during the days that he was in class, as well as take copious notes when he wasn’t, so that he could still remain on top of his classes.  The other boys somewhat adopted me, finding in me a mascot and a release for all of their inanity.  I became the sounding board for their many hair-brained schemes to ruin Snape’s day, and I even was able to suggest some Muggle pranks that would surprise the pure-blooded Slytherin.  I find myself proud, to this day, of my idea to double-knot his shoes together during Potions one day, tying him securely to his stool.  When he attempted to get up to ask the Professor a question, he knocked over the entire table, with the cauldron full of Forgetfulness Potion landing on his head.  He came up sputtering, and had to spend the next four weeks in the Hospital Wing, undergoing a rigorous process of Un-Forgetting.  Silly me, for dropping my quill during class…

 

Since then, we’ve been inseparable, with a few exceptions.  I am not a Marauder, and I am not an Animagus, but I do have access to the Marauder’s Map, and I have used James’ Cloak for my own purposes late at night.  Being friends with these troublemakers does have some great perks, even if I have been forced to clean the Trophy Room a few times.  So often, in fact, that we usually need do nothing more than dust the trophies to get them gleaming.  When James and I were made Gryffindor’s Prefects in fifth year, our relationship took on a whole new level.  I know he and Sirius are like brothers, but James and I, we’re foils of each other.  Where he’s even-tempered and calm (except around Slytherins), I have a flash-fire temper that has more than once landed me in deep waters.  While we both get good marks, I study for each of my points, and he breezes his way through, reminding me to take breaks every once in a while to rest my brain cells.  Even in looks, we are complements.  Where I am all colors, in red and green, James is black and gray-- jet-black and unmanageable hair, and gray-blue eyes brimming with amusement and intelligence.  Cap that off with wire-framed lenses, Quidditch muscles, and a view of the world from high above the morass of students, James is one delectable wizard.  I may not be the most unbiased witch in the world, but I have often found myself wondering why he hasn’t dated more than he has.

 

Speaking of dating, there’s another place where James and I get along famously.  While we haven’t dated each other (I did go with Sirius to Hogsmeade once…Sirius came back with a duck bill and feathers, and I got a detention…so much for inter-group dating), James and I have shared all of our exploits.  He comes to me with questions about girls (as if I’m the expert) and regales me with stories of the young ladies who consistently throw themselves in James’ path, hoping for a date or a kiss or a smile.  After I’m done giggling myself silly, I respond with tales of woe from my own tortured love life.  Unfortunately, the boys in my group find it unhealthy for me to be a normal girl with boyfriends, and more than once Sirius and Remus have scared off a potential suitor.  The relationships I have had have been…unfulfilling, to say the least.  No one I’ve dated seems to be right for me.  Every time something happens, James ends up saying, eyes gray with mocking, “You’ll find someone who fits you perfectly.  I promise.”  For me who has been raised on books proclaiming love to cure all ills and to conquer all evils, the boys at Hogwarts have proven themselves to be sub-par when it comes to l’amour.  Amos Diggory, my date to the Yule Ball last year, humiliated me on the dance floor by trying to get me to copy his disco moves, spilled my pumpkin juice all down my dress, and then ignored me for half of the dance to ogle Heather Prewett.  To complete the night, he got mad when I didn’t give him a goodnight kiss, and didn’t speak to me for a week.  When he did finally show up, expecting an apology, I slapped him.  James was proud.

 

Lately, however, I’ve found myself to be getting unspeakably angry when talking with James about our relationship possibilities.  I understand that sixth and seventh year, the wishes in a relationship become more concrete, as people begin to search out someone with whom that might be able to live for a time outside of school.  The problem is, every girl who James talks about is lacking something.  As I hear about their rendez-vous and snogs in the Astronomy Tower, little nigglings of unhappiness rise in my stomach, so bitter I just want to spit them out.  None of these girls really knows him!  They only know him as the Quidditch player, or as the prankster, or as the cute boy who gets good grades.  None of them fit him the way I envision someone fitting James – he needs someone who challenges him, not blindly supports him, but who can back him up when he needs it.  James knows this, and he sighs about it, saying, “Eventually I’ll find someone who fits me like you do, Lil.”

 

Someone who fits me like you do, Lil.  You know not how those words have haunted me.  This conversation was a week ago, and I’ve spent hours puzzling through and grappling with what he was trying to get across.  Last night it came to me, like a Lumos in my head:  I didn’t want these other girls to have James because they didn’t know him like I did.  I didn’t want to be in a relationship with other guys at Hogwarts because they didn’t understand me like James did.  No one can challenge me like James, and I know no other girl would dare to challenge the Great and Almighty James Harold Potter like I do on a daily basis.  He makes me laugh like no one else, and I know how to zing him when he needs a good chuckle.  I laid awake last night, thinking about those eight little words, until I realized that no one fit him like I did.  Moreover, I didn’t want anyone to fit him like I did.  I felt like I was about to explode with jealousy of the entire female population of Hogwarts, who had the eye of James Potter as something other than a “sister.”  I gnashed my teeth at the unfairness of it all, and then I laughed heartily at myself for my immaturity and insecurity.  This does not mean, however, that I was able to sleep last night.

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

I have become a character in a badly-written soap opera.

 

I know I have.  I can tell as I walk through the halls and into the Library.  I feel myself glaring at Chun-Yin Xing, as she is asking James about the homework she missed in Muggle Studies.  She’s flirting with him, I can tell by her batting eyelashes and coy smiles.  What’s getting to me is that he might be flirting with her as well.  He’s oozing charm and good lucks, and his smile could light the Ball in Times Square at New Years in America (amazing how bright Muggles can get it without a Ball-Lightning Concoction?).  I know I’m glaring, and I know she can feel my gaze burning into the side of her head as she continues to talk to him.  If I had any less hold on my faculties, I might just punch her in the schnoz and turn Potter around for a good lip-locking.  I feel as if I’m going to combust, and I can’t take it much longer.

 

James has noticed as well, much to my chagrin.  As soon as Chun-Yin leaves, he turns to me, surprised but amused.  “That time of the month, Lil?  Or has Chun-Yin stolen your favorite quill?”

 

“No, of course not.”  I’m cool as a cucumber.

 

“No, of course not, how could I even dare to think such nonsense?”  James deadpanned.  “Try again.”

 

Bloody Hell.  This cucumber’s been pickled in the brine of jealousy.  “Um…” I turn my face away from him and pretend to be absorbed in my books for Arithmancy.  If only these number diagrams could provide me an outlet to this most mortifying situation…

 

Rolling his eyes, James begins to tap his fingers on the table.  Tap, tap, tap, tap. In a rhythm. Tap, tap, tap.  He knows I can’t stand it.  And he’s patient.  I’ve known him to wait all day for me to vent.  He is not in any hurry at all.

 

“No.”  A little shaky, but still vehement.  I will not let him win this.  Not if I plan on keeping his friendship at all.

 

Cool fingers cup my chin and force it slowly to turn back toward him.  Tilting my head up slightly, I’m face to face with a gaze that is so intense, without hint of gray, just a depth of blue that is caring and concerned, and totally overwhelming my small defenses.  “What’s wrong, Lil?  Surely you can tell me?  Please?”

 

Oh no.  Not the sweet request.  I can’t handle this.  I haven’t slept in days, and my feelings are right at the surface.  I’m surprised my thoughts are not flashing across my forehead like some kind of news ticker.  I try to hold his gaze, try to stand up to that powerful onslaught of intensity.  Failing, I feel myself crumbling, knowing that after this, James would probably never want to talk to me again.  I dropped my eyes as tears began to form.

 

As I curl myself into a ball in that back corner of the Library, warm arms encircle me from behind.  James has come around behind my chair, and is resting his head on my shoulder.  “Where find your troubles their roots, dear one?”  He’s always been a romantic one when it’s just him and me.

 

“Oh, James…I’m so sorry.”  I sigh it out, half in anguish over what is inevitably to come, half in contentment for the current position I’m in.  His arms seem to salve my nerves and I feel safer, stronger, more myself than some caged animal.

 

“For what, little flower?  You’ve done me no harm, for all that she will bear burn marks in the side of her head for days,” he notes, amusedly.  “Rest your thoughts not with her – she knew the assignment, and wanted only to bother me.  I only flirted enough that she would leave.”

 

I stiffen, unprepared for the waves of relief and shock flowing through me.  He didn’t like her?  He wasn’t trying to…show her off in front of me?  Fresh tears threaten to rise to the surface.  “Then…you…” I start, sniffling audibly.

 

At this, James goes back to his chair, turns it to face mine, and grabs my hands in his, holding them tightly.  He stares me straight in the face and says, voice harsh, “You thought I would flaunt her in front of you, as some sort of a parade?  I thought you knew me better than that.”  Those last words are flung out angrily, bitterly.

 

I gasp, stunned at this blow, and drop my gaze to our intertwined hands, shaking my head and feeling completely lost.  “No, no, no, no.”  These seem to be the only words that can come out of my mouth.

 

One of his hands leaves mine, cold, as again his fingers force mine to face him.  He sighs, using his thumb to trace my cheek and jawline tenderly. Tenderly? I can’t hope, can I? “She never could have fit me like you do, Lil.”

 

Those words again…I am suddenly filled with bitterness again, as I am reminded that I am to be the mold, not the finished product, for what James has in mind.  Before I can temper any of my words, I close my eyes and spit out, “No one fits you like I do, James.”

 

Silence.

 

Oh hell.  Oh Bloody Hell, what have I done?  I cringe, knowing I’ve spilled my secret.

 

I chance a look at him, opening my eyes carefully, and find a gaze so intense, so loaded with emotion and frustration and hope, that I gasp at the sight of it.  I could look into that gaze for days, and never be tired of it.  I feel myself drowning in those blue depths that I’ve never imagined existed before this moment.  I feel weightless with hope and exhilarated with the thought that he might just be as insane for me as I am for him.

 

“Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to say that?” the quiet words come from him as if yearning to be released.

 

Now I’m confused.  How long he’s been waiting?  I tell him this, and he chuckles.

 

“Have you any idea how hard it was, letting you be pushed around by Amos Diggory?  He could never have been a good match for you, Lil.”  His words are playing arpeggios on my backbone, thrilling me to progressively higher heights of silent jubilation.

 

Now I feel angry.  “Why did you not say something!”  Why did he put me through such useless agony?  I might have gotten some sleep!

 

“And risk our friendship?  Not bloody likely,” he retorts. “I had to wait until you saw that no one fit me like you did, and that,” his voice becomes very soft, almost hesitant, “no one fits you like I do.”

 

Melting Mode: Commenced.

 

“Oh, James.”

 

With his fingers still on my chin, he takes his other hand and traces my face, seemingly memorizing every line of me, as if he’ll never see me again.  I feel strangely secure under his scrutiny, and I take this time to take a look a him as well, finding myself amazed to have missed his feelings for me for such a long time.  Indeed, if he had been waiting since last year’s Yule Ball, he must have been waiting for me … wow.

 

My eyes widen as I think about it, and as I reason what this must mean, James kisses me and I can think no more.  My eyes fall shut, as every fiber of my being concentrates on the lips that are on mine, releasing pent-up energies that I didn’t know I had. 

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

Once we were finished snogging, for this is what we did for several minutes, we talked until Madame Pince threw us out of the Library.  We walked hand-in-hand back to the Tower, bathing in the glow of each other’s company.

 

Now, you might think that this changed my relationship with the Marauders, but they all just grinned, and teased, and after a few pranks where James and I ended up locked in broom closets or with little cupids flying around us all day, things were back to normal.  And now, James and I are together.  We still talk about everything, including our love lives, but usually we’re not complaining about our failed attempts at romance…and…usually…we’re not talking.

 

Still, there is Quidditch to cheer for, and pranks to play.  I have a chess rematch with Peter in fifteen minutes, so I must be going.  My name is Lily Evans, and I am in love.

 

 

~~~~~~~

 

A/N:  If you enjoyed this story, please read the companion piece, which is in progress.  It’s called “Outrunning Our Shadows,” and it is written from the viewpoint of James during sixth year.  Events that will occur focus on the death of Lily’s parents, her battle with grief, James’s journey from friendship to quiet adoration, and the Yule Ball with Amos Diggory.  After that, it’s anyone’s guess.

 

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