Through the Bespectacled Eyes of a Teenage Wizard by Atlantis Forester

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance, Humor
Relationships: Lily & James
Book: Lily & James, Books 1 - 5
Published: 13/05/2003
Last Updated: 13/05/2003
Status: In Progress

5th year: James Potter, an irresistably charming egomaniac, finds himself falling for the most
unlikely of people - spirited, Muggle wallflower Lily Evans. (Formerly called "It's Enough
Just to Breathe")




1. Prologue
-----------

It's Enough Just to Breathe

By Atlantis Forester

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm sure I don't have to precise. (I
hate these things! J.K. Rowling, I hope you know how lucky you are! Not only this, but you also own
a bloody castle! *pout* Wish I could create a personal Hogwarts, too. DARN.)

A.N. Remember that this is only a prologue!





Prologue:


I love to irritate people so very, very much.

It's just so entertaining to see them going through the different stages of anger: the first
time, they frown, but wave it away; the second, they get slightly riled, glare, but still brush it
off; the third... of course, my favourite of them all.

Naturally, I get into loads of trouble. For some odd reason, some people I tease don't find
it a laugh when I nettle them. It'll always remain a mystery to me...

For instance, Lily Evans. There's a girl who really can't take a joke. After an
encounter with her, my friends and I always end up laughing ourselves to sleep. I remember one time
in which I transfigured her quill into a carrot. After all, it was Divination, so I needed
something to while the time away. Really, considering that it's me, that was an utterly trivial
matter. However, Evans... evidently, in her opinion, no such thing is trivial.




Now, Evans is really a one-in-a-million case (the workings of a girl's mind are beyond me).
She's a riddle, really. For her, it's everything or nothing. I'll never get that girl.
Evans has an abstruse character that absolutely no one can puzzle out. Arabella once admitted to me
in a weak moment that, at times, even she, Evans's best friend, could not gather her. However,
she did not elaborate and never spoke of it again.

Mundungus was even less clear. 'We'll only be masters of the world when we are masters
of ourselves. That's her goal: the impossible. She's extraordinary, really. A rare one,
Lily. She's admitted all the truth to herself that was possible for any human being, and
that's something almost no one will do. She's past the first steps of finding out about
herself, and that's far ahead of anyone else I've ever seen.' Do you see what I mean?
Riddles, riddles, riddles. That's all that comes out of anyone's mouth when they speak of
her. Even me.




Sometimes, Evans is so different that you can't help seeing her apart from everyone else. And,
at others, she is so human that you wonder why you thought otherwise in the first place.




That early afternoon, in Divination, was one such time where she felt palpable... *human*. I
never lose an opportunity at such a time where I feel I am actually able to reach her. Thus, I
turned her quill into a shrivelled carrot.

Evans swivelled to me, the acerbity of her character now fully apparent in her state of anger
and disdain. I couldn't help but notice that these were one of the rare moments when she
actually seemed alive. That set me slightly off course, so I then did something I most
*definitely* should not have done. I laughed.

Yes, right at her face. Sirius reckons I wasn't in my right mind back then. I agree. Perhaps
her sudden vivacity triggered some inborn insanity?

Of course, that landed me straight in the hospital wing for two weeks with Madam *Fusspot*
Pomfrey. She was able to cure some of my, er, 'illnesses', but had to do quite a bit of
research with the help of Professor Flitwick to reverse some of the more severe hexes the batty
red-headed monster had presented me with. (After a few days, Sirius gave up trying to visit me in
the infirmary; every time he saw my face, he would mumble and rush out the door, his laughter
echoing behind him. Remus told me that after each visit, Sirius would be rolling around with
laughter in the Gryffindor common room for hours. It was a little hard to understand through
Remus's chuckles, though.)




Now, it may sound like I deserved it--the hexes and all--but that would be untrue. Sirius, Remus,
Peter and I pull pranks on everyone. We do tend to have particular favourite victims singled out,
but everyone enjoys our larks except for some Slytherins. Oh, and Evans. It's all harmless fun,
and it's a regular cycle that almost everyone's come to enjoy. It's only those
conservative stiff-necks who are unable to relax or those who are just born being bloody
thickheaded and insufferable who can't appreciate the fun in life.




Up till here, you might still be a slight bit confused about what's going on. Well, I'll
try and clear things up a little. My name is James Potter. I am an underage wizard of fifteen years
and am attending my fifth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Welcome into my life
and hear my story.

Hold on! Is it just me, or do I sound like some form of advertisement?

I'm sure it's just me.






A.N. Not a brilliant beginning, I must admit. The first chapter is already done, and waiting to
come out, as soon as I deem it time. Well, in other words, when I have enough reviews!

I'll have to remind you that this is only a prologue. The real story begins only starting
from the first chapter, and each chapter will be FAR longer than this teeny thing.

I will be devoting the first chapter to James's beginning at Hogwarts, then, in the second
chapter, will be taking it back to his fifth year.

Happy reading!

Cheers,

~Lanti~

P.S. I only just figured out how to code my fics, so... BLEARGH.



2. The Beginning
----------------

It's Enough Just to Breathe

By Atlantis Forester

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. I'm sure I don't have to precise.
It's bad enough having to write this thing.

A.N. Remember that this is only a prologue!





Chapter 1: The Beginning


I suppose the best place to start is at the beginning; and for me, my life only truly began when
Hogwarts made its way into my cosmopolitan life.




When I first received my Hogwarts letter, I was ecstatic. Being from the family I am generated
from, I lived and breathed the legacy of my pureblood primogenitors. For as long as anyone can
recall, the Potters have always been accepted into the illustrious academy that inspired the stuff
of dreams--one of the many reasons for the prestige of my kin. Thus, I had lived being perpetually
reminded of my obligations to the family, seeing that I was their brightest star yet.




Let me elaborate upon their image of me. Everyone saw me as a brilliant though mercurial and
recalcitrant boy with a source of startlingly strong powers and an almost inconceivable potential
for the benefit of the Potters. Beside all of that, I was also extremely athletic and possessed an
incredibly adept innate ability to fly (a most treasured talent in the young of the wizarding
world), accompanied by a charismatic personality and unusually good looks. To sum it all up, a
perfect child, and an even more well-rounded-to-be adult. I lived more than up to my parents'
expectations, outdoing myself each and every time, and at every family reunion, I was inevitably
the main subject of discussions.

(A.N. Modest, isn't he?)

So, when I received my letter, there was a big hullabaloo despite the knowledge that it had been
inevitable that I would get it. I myself had been excited; had I not heard over a thousand times
the daring exploits of my predecessors in Hogwarts? I was determined to outdo them all and did not
hesitate to inform others so, my father especially. He scolded me, of course, but I could tell that
he was secretly pleased and would have congratulated me had my mother not been scowling fearsomely
at him from behind me.

Both my parents had been in Gryffindor, as any good Potter would be, and had become Aurors as
soon as they graduated. Considering their bloodline and top scores, it must have not been that hard
to achieve this goal. Their example had set a strong sense of patriotism and righteousness in me
ever since I was very young despite my love of brewing trouble and my unruly principles.




That very evening, I had been invited to Sirius's house. Sirius Black is my best friend--beside
Remus, of course, but he comes into the picture later on--and came from a well-to-do family of
pureblooded wizards. Often are the times we were mistaken for brothers for our likeness and
fraternal nexus. Sirius has dark hair, chocolate eyes set under highly arched brows, a lissom build
and a personality just as larkish as mine. We were the best of companions and were hardly ever seen
apart.

'James! Blimey, I haven't heard from you for yonks*!' Sirius beamed as I climbed out
of his fireplace, dusting myself off. 'Guess what!'

I grinned at him happily. 'Brilliant! You got your acceptance letter!'

Sirius sulked. 'Bloody hell, James, how did you guess?'

'Great minds think alike,' I said impishly. 'With the two of us, Hogwarts won't
stand a chance! Listen, I've been thinking--'

'You've been thinking?!' mock-gasped Sirius, all drama, 'How simply spectacular!
Why, you jammy beggar*! You've gone and gained yourself a brain!'

I shot him a nasty glare. 'Shut your flapping clanghole*. Anyhow, I was thinking that we
should create a pseudonym.'

'A sudo-what?'

'A PSEUDONYM. Honestly, don't you have a bloody dictionary?'

'Really, James, who doesn't? Oh! Smashing! As a matter of fact, mine happens to be
standing right in front of me.'

I raised my eyes to the ceiling. 'Never mind. A pseudonym is a false identity. We--'

'An iden-tee-what?'

'SIRIUS!'

'OY! Calm! *Sorry*, I was just joking.'

'Well, let me finish!' I said peevishly. 'Alright, if we create a pseudonym, we can
play as many pranks as we like--as long as we don't get caught--and not get into
trouble!'

'Er, James? If we don't get caught, *we won't get into trouble*.'

'You know what I mean, you dipstick*! The other students would probably realise it's us
after a while, but without proof, the teachers can't punish us! We'd leave some sort of
message--using our pseudonyms, of course--behind so they know it's us, yet we would leave them
no evidence the way we usually do.'

Sirius made an absurd pout. 'But I wanted to beat the record of detentions my pater set! How
can I do that if I don't get into trouble?'

I rolled my eyes again. 'You can very blooming well get into trouble without being caught in
the middle of a prank," I said acidly. "You've done it countless times. I'm sure
that after a period of time, just *glancing* at your face would incite them give you a whole
set of detentions.'

'Do you really think so?'

I ignored him.

'Oy, James?'

'What?'

'How about� "the Troublemakers"?'

'I was rather thinking along the lines of *"the Marauders"*�'

There was a pause. Then:

'Oy, James?'

'What?'

'Bloody brilliant.'

'Thanks.'


Thus, besides finding out that my best friend would come with me to Hogwarts, there was also the
very beginning of *the Marauders*. I knew instantly that my years in Hogwarts would most
likely be my best. So far, I have not been proven wrong.




We left for Diagon Alley by Floo powder the next morning with our parents. Sirius and I were left
to worship the newest arrivals in Quality Quidditch Supplies in peace while our elders hurried from
shop to shop, buying our things for school. Eventually, though, our parents dragged us away to get
our wands.

I had passed by *Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC* many times, and had not
been too impressed at its appearance, with its dusty windows, peeling gold letters, and overall
shabby appearance. Yet procuring oneself a wand is one of the most important moments in a
wizard's life, and Ollivanders was universally voted the best.

I heard the tinkling of a bell somewhere in the depths of the shop as we entered. It was really
a tiny shop, empty except for a rather frail-looking chair and rows upon rows (there were
thousands, I'm sure!) of narrow boxes which I assumed held wands. It was very silent, so Sirius
and I waited, tense, our parents standing stock still behind us; I realised that this whole place
was filled to the brim with powerful magic.

A soft voice sounded in my left ear. 'Good evening, Mr. Potter, Mr. Black. I've been
waiting for you.'

I jumped, startled (Sirius did, too), and turned around. I saw an old man--who seemingly
appeared out of nowhere; maybe he Apparated--with wide, pale eyes that shone like moons through the
gloom of the shop. His eyes were very unnerving. I deduced that this was Mr. Ollivander
himself.

'As usual, the male Potter gene seems to hold true,' he mused aloud in a soft, whispery
voice, looking at my untidy hair. He turned his gaze (and a rather creepy one at that) to my
mother. 'Cherry wood and dragon heartstring. Ten inches. Nice and flexible.' Mr. Ollivander
then approached my father and Sirius's. 'Elm and unicorn hair--twelve inches--and ebony and
phoenix feather--nine and a half inches, that one. Very whippy. Those were quite effective
wands.' He finally turned to Sirius and his mother. 'He has your face,' he observed
before saying, 'Birchwood and a hair from the mane of a Thestral--rather unusual--eleven
inches. A little on the temperamental side.' Mr. Ollivanders fixed his silvery eyes on Sirius
and me. 'Now let us see what wands will chose you.'

We gulped and turned to our parents, who gave us watery smiles. Mr. Ollivander took Sirius by
the arm and sat him on the spindly chair. 'We shall start with you. Which is your wand arm?
Right? Yes� Now, let's see�' After the tape measure--it was enchanted, I guessed, as it
moved by itself in the air--finished its work, Mr. Ollivander examined the rows of boxes and pulled
out one. 'How about this one? Ebony--like your father--and griffin feather. Quite bendy. Give
it a wave.'

Apprehensively, Sirius cautiously waved the wand. Mr. Ollivander grabbed it from him,
exclaiming, 'No, no, no, not that one. Perhaps this?' He handed him another wand. 'Oak,
Augurey feather, nine and a quarter inches. Springy. Try it.'

Again, Sirius waved the wand, looking positively embarrassed. Mr. Ollivander almost instantly
snatched it away. 'No, no! Definitely not! Remember, the wand chooses the wizard! This might
do: rowan, unicorn hair, eleven inches.'

After trying at least five other wands, Mr. Ollivander searched in the very back of a shelf and
pulled out another box. By now, Sirius looked absolutely miserable. 'Ebony, nine inches. Dragon
heartstring,' he said happily, though a slightly dubious expression crossed his face.

As soon as Sirius grasped the handle, the wand started to glow red and gold. Mr. Ollivander
looked a little surprised, but shook his head murmuring to himself, 'Ah well, the Blacks were
always known for their unpredictability.'

Sirius grinned at me weakly. He clutched his new wand tightly, looking very relieved as he got
off the chair.

Mr. Ollivander rounded on me. 'Now we shall see,' he said, his eyes shining with an
eerie light, ' what wand chooses you. Wand arm?'

'Right,' I answered quickly. The tape then stretched out in the air and measured me.

Mr. Ollivander stroked his chin as he looked about the shop. 'Ah, yes,' he said.
'Perhaps you shall favour� fir? Hmm, maybe this will do.' He handed me a wand. 'Fir and
the hair from a tail of a centaur. Eight and three and a half inches. Quite displeased with me, the
centaur, when I pulled the hair out. Oh, well. Have a try.'

I barely lifted my hand up to wave the wand when Mr. Ollivander confiscated me of it. 'No!
Absolutely not! Why not rosewood? Yes: rosewood, phoenix feather, thirteen inches.
Pliable.'

A bit foolishly, I waved the wand. Nothing. Again, Mr. Ollivander grabbed it from me. 'Ah,
another selective customer, eh? Not to worry, not to worry.'

As the pile of ineffective wands climbed to the ceiling, I started to get frightened. Glancing
at Sirius mid-wave, I saw him bite his lip and look at me with concern as did our parents. Mr.
Ollivander, on the other hand, looked more and more ecstatic the more wands failed. At the time, it
seemed most unkind of him.

Finally, Mr. Ollivander pulled out two dusty boxes. One he glanced at momentarily before
discreetly storing it in the drawer of a desk and opened the other, pulling out a shiny wand.
'Pliable. Mahogany, eleven inches. Excellent for transfiguration, though I think it might be a
little too powerful for you.' He murmured the last part softly to himself, but I had heard
anyways. I couldn't help but notice that he had not taken the effort to name the core of the
wand. Mr. Ollivander handed me the wand.

When my hand closed around the handle, blood rushed up my ears, and every vein in my body was
thrumming. A headrush of euphoria flashed through me as a thick stream of red and gold light shot
from my wand as I swished it through the air.

'Oh, bravo, we've found it!' cheered my father. I smiled, albeit shakily.

We paid for our wands and exited the small shop. I was the last to go out. Just as I stepped
over the threshold, I could not help hearing Mr. Ollivander say softly to himself, 'How
curious. Now, for the next generation, I think I'll save this one.'

Afterwards, Sirius and I left Diagon Alley clutching a brand new broom each (the newest model).
My father and Mr. Black--Sirius's father, or pater, as he calls him--forbade us from bringing
them to Hogwarts as first-years aren't allowed. Their faces were stern and forbidding. However,
when our mothers turned around, they started to make frantic signs at us with surreptitious
glances. Of course, when our mothers turned back, they put on benign expressions and chucked our
heads fondly. Sirius and I had to excuse ourselves to go laugh in the loo.




On September 1st, Sirius and I boarded the Hogwarts Express for the very first time. Billows of
light smoke blew about the roof of the gleaming scarlet train, students and their parents hustling
about the immaculate station. Extricating ourselves from our parents' clinging arms, we gaped
around ourselves with growing excitement. Grinning, I gripped my hand tighter on my shrunken broom
(courtesy of my father; he showed me the countercurse) and Sirius's, both tightly cocooned in
my Invisibility Cloak.




Ah, yes. The Invisibility Cloak. It is, as a matter of fact, one of my many priceless family
heirlooms. I was normally supposed to receive it after my sixteenth year of existence in this
world; however, my father found me worthy to bear it earlier--call it a father and son agreement.
It's proven to be an endlessly useful asset in my little excursions. Ahem. Well, back to the
telling of the tale.




Being the impish, impulsive boys that we were, we set a couple dozen Dungbombs here and there as we
swept by, making sure we would go unnoticed. After saying our final farewells to our fathers--who
were mouthing 'Go for Gryffindor!'--and tearful mothers, we sauntered into the whistling
train, dragging along our heavy trunks--most of the weight contributing to new gadgets we had
procured from Zonko's--and proceeded to search for an empty compartment.

Soon, we came across a compartment that was devoid of students with the exception of one. Sirius
and I could not help observing him with interest. He was sitting quietly in the corner right by the
window, staring outside at the peaceful Scottish countryside, an open book resting on his lap and
an atmosphere of repose and serenity surrounding his personage. His light brown hair was cut neatly
in a schoolboy manner and fell over clear grey eyes, part of an attractive face. He was above
average height and was wearing clean clothes that were evidently of excellent quality. Despite all
this normalcy, there was something striking about him, a certain quality and a certain weariness
cloaking his being; a weariness that, somehow, seemed to set him apart and made him much older than
he seemed. Though we did not know him, Sirius and I already had taken a liking for the boy.

I slid open the compartment door and pushed back my messy jet-black hair from my eyes. The boy
was startled from his reverie. I smiled amicably at him. 'Hullo! Can we sit here? All the other
ones are full.'

He smiled shyly and nodded softly. 'It's fine. Make yourselves comfortable.'

'Thanks,' said Sirius.

We heaved our trunks into the overhead shelves and took seat at the opposite.

'I'm James,' I said, pointing at myself. 'James Potter. This bloke here is
Sirius Black.' I jabbed my thumb at Sirius, who grinned and waved cheerily.

The boy glanced at me for a moment with surprise and some trepidation at the mention of my name.
He got over it quickly, though, and smiled timidly. 'My name is Remus Lupin.' Although
douceur and shyness laced his voice, his grip on my hand was strong and firm as we shook hands.

'Are you a first-year, too?' asked Sirius, making himself at home on the seat.

Remus nodded. 'I still can't believe they'd accept *me*, though,' he added,
as if to himself.

'Why not? Is there something wrong with you?' Sirius joked. I could not help but notice
that Remus looked exceedingly uncomfortable.

'N-no. There's nothing *wrong* with me--' Remus was flustered. I had a feeling
that it was something personal and of an abstruse nature, so I interrupted and adroitly turned the
conversation to Quidditch.

The more we conversed, the more Sirius and I took a shine to him. As the chitchat progressed, we
realised what a perfect addition Remus would be to *the Marauders*. He possessed a great
intellectual acumen (I was the judge of that) and was just as down-to-earth as Sirius was
airy-fairy. An aesthete and gifted in the athletic department, it only improved the conclusion
immensely when we found out that he was a veritable mastermind prankster with a keen sense of
humour. We had found our third Marauder.

Sirius, being his usual blatant self, simply asked right out. It startled Remus, being as
we'd only known him for a few hours. We found ourselves explaining the whole deal, from
beginning to end, and he gladly accepted. Our offer seemed to touch him a great deal; later on,
during a game of wizard's chess, he confessed that he had never had any friends. This
flabbergasted us, as we'd never met anyone as gentle and pleasant as Remus.




Evidently, now we know he's a werewolf, so we understand, but at the time, we were completely
nonplussed. You might be wondering how one can become good friends on such short notice. Don't
rely on me to elaborate; I have no idea. Anyhow, back to the story.




After we finished all the sweets we procured from the lady with the food cart and donned our school
robes, we were overcome by a sense of slight *ennui*. Boredom leads to restlessness.
Restlessness leads to need of activity. And our definition of activity is a tad bit different from
that of others.

Needing no encouragement, Sirius dove into his trunks--take notice of the plural form; he had
too many things to fit into one� notably all his things from Zonko's--and produced a
mind-blowing amount of Filibuster Fireworks and Dungbombs. Deciding to save the rest for later, we
only grabbed several bunches of the evil-reeking Dungbombs and a packet of brightly coloured
fireworks. I then untangled my Invisibility Cloak from the brooms. After a few moments of gasps and
delighted exclamations over the shiny brooms and silvery cloak, we huddled under the Invisibility
Cloak with our packs and snuck out of the compartment, sniggering from behind muffling hands.

Our first stop was the compartment of some greasy-haired, sallow-skinned git and his friend (a
pale, pointy sort with white-blond hair--too big for his britches, that one).

*Coincidentally*, they happened to be Severus Snape, an old enemy of ours (Sirius and I
discovered that Remus had met him separately as well; it made sense, as both came from old
wizarding lines), and Lucius Malfoy, who came from a family that lived to soil the name of the
Potters and take our place.




Oh, I assure you that we acted *entirely* on the behalf of those poor muggle-born first-years
they bullied.

Don't look at me like that! FINE. It might have also had a *little* to do with us. Only
a *little*, though. I *promise*.




Anyhow, Remus was deputised to light and throw in the first Filibuster Fireworks. Sirius followed
suit with a bunch of Dungbombs. Covered in foul-smelling muck, choking and half-blinded by the
thick smoke, the two burst their way out of their compartment.

Now, it so happened that while in Diagon Alley, my father had snuck me a spellbook called
'101 Ways to Curse Your Worst Enemy'. That night, I read it from front to back twice and
memorised the most interesting curses. At that moment, one of those spells happened to pop into my
mind. I didn't remember what exactly its effect was, but I clearly recalled that I'd wanted
to test it. It was quite convenient that I happened to have two perfect test subjects right before
me. Aren't I simply loaded with good fortune?

I pulled out my wand and pointed at Snape and Malfoy as I muttered the incantation. A wisp of
sparkling yellow light shot from my wand, split into two, and disappeared on their skin. Almost
instantaneously, a peaceful and beate expression placed itself on their faces. For a few seconds, I
was enormously disappointed. However, Disappointment packed her bags and bid farewell when Malfoy
suddenly sported an enormous backside and Snape's hooked nose grew larger and larger, a lovely,
huge, hairy wart at the tip for effect. Slowly, the daze faded from them, and they abruptly
realised their unfortunate state.

A sort of ecstatic elation settled on Sirius's face as he stared at the two yelping and
skip-hopping boys. He clapped a hand on my shoulder, shaking his head. 'James,' he
announced solemnly, 'you are my new role model.'

Remus looked at me with awe. 'James,' he exclaimed in a strangled voice, 'that's
a *really* difficult curse! Casting a spell like that is of a very advanced level! I doubt
most third-years would be able to manage it!'

Sirius was curious. 'Why?' he asked. 'What does it do, exactly?'

'It's a Fault-Enhancing curse,' said Remus. 'How did you do it, James?'

'And how do you know that?' My voice was tinged with suspicious amusement.

Remus went slightly pink. 'I was going through Dad's library� maybe without some
permission.'

Sirius snorted. 'Right,' he said, looking highly entertained. 'Though, I *do*
wonder why Malfoy grew such an oversized arse. I understand Snape's nose, but--'

Remus made a face. 'I prefer remaining in the dark on that subject,' he informed Sirius
tartly.

Throughout our conversation, we had shuffled away as quickly as we could from the 'scene of
the crime'. By now, we were well distanced from Snape and Malfoy, so we slid out from
underneath the Invisibility Cloak and popped the rest of the Dungbombs and Filibuster Fireworks
into random compartments, making sure all the while that no one saw us and leaving a
higgledy-piggledy mess in our trail.

I paused to answer Remus a few compartments away from our last target. 'I've always had
unusual capabilities.' I tried to think of a way to explain without sounding too self-centered.
'I think it has to do with my bloodline. I reckon I discovered this around the age of four.
Sirius knows already, as does his family and mine.' As the conversation was becoming too
serious for my taste, I decided to add a dip of humour. 'Which means that I'm far superior
to everyone else, naturally.'

Sirius snorted and elbowed Remus; both were stifling peals of laughter. Being the brilliant
mates that they were, they actually managed to catch the humour in my, er, slightly odd and
misplaced remark.




Alright. I *understand* that I'm a bit� *arrogant* and that the last statement was
completely uncalled for (anyhow, I wasn't *serious*!)--and even though it *would*
sound smug and stuck-up coming out of my mouth to anyone else--, but that was NO reason for Evans
to *look* at me like *that*! Hold on, I'll explain.

Wait. I just wanted to add that that girl is bloody *INFURIATING*. Did I mention that
she's also simply� infuriating? You do realise that's the *only* adjective I can best
describe her with other than completely� infuriating. Er, never mind. Anyhow, she always tries to
surpass me. What's even *more* infuriating is that we're nearly always tied on the
top. Except in Transfiguration and Quidditch, where I excel her. Oh� yeah. And Charms. Where she�
where she beats me. I don't want to talk about it. It's too humiliating and absolutely
degrading. HONESTLY. Being *under* Evans. It makes everything in my world achromatic. Ad
nauseam. *Imagine* just how she can *utterly* ruin your day by� forget it. Just the
*thought* of her *infuriatingly* smug expression when she gets a better grade by *half
a point* can acerbate even the worst situations. Argh. Never mind.

HOLD ON! Am I *rambling*?




Anyhow, as soon as I uttered my last sentence, two girls and a boy stepped out of the compartment
closest to us. One of the girls had short dark hair cut into a bob right below her ear and equally
dark eyes sparkling with the mischievous curiosity of a cat set in an elfin face. She was tall,
athletically built, and was already draped out in her school robes.

'Really, Mundungus,' she was saying to the boy, shaking her head. 'You shouldn't
have done that.'

'Ah, geroff, Arabella,' answered the boy good-humouredly. 'I just bunged him some,
er, special treats I've been saving up for a while. He was an insufferable prat
anyways.'

The boy was a likeable-looking sort and looked somewhat familiar. He had neatly trimmed, fine
sandy brown hair and mild light brown eyes. His build and height were average, albeit on the
slender side. He, on the other hand, was comfortably outfitted in Muggle clothes.

The girl Arabella turned to their last companion. 'Lily!' she said crossly. 'Help me
out a little here with this mule-headed arse!' She received no answer. 'Lily?'

The second girl was the one that caught my attention. It's hard to miss her, really, with
her mass of long, dark red, loose curls. She had pale skin--as have the majority of redheads--with
a light dusting of barely visible freckles across the bridge of her nose and a short, slender
physique. It was her eyes, though, that really set her apart from everyone else. They were huge and
*unnaturally* green. Bright emerald green. At least, mainly. There were only green shadings in
her irises, I can promise you that. Lime green lining her pupils, lots of emerald green in her
irises, forest green on the outer rim, etc. I can name at least ten different shades of green in
her eyes. I felt myself in a state of an almost dreamlike ataxia as I stared.




I'll admit that there is one thing I like about Evans: her eyes. I hate her, but I'm in
love with her eyes. You just can't help it. Look at her eyes yourself; you'll find that you
can't tear yourself off them. Everyone at Hogwarts loves her eyes, from Gryffindors to
Slytherins to teachers. Although, I don't think Lily knows that. Mundungus told me that she
doesn't know that it's abnormal to have everyone constantly staring fixedly at your eyes
wherever you go. Since she's likely always been surrounded by this kind of behaviour, I suppose
it's only logical. Of course, no one tells her. It's far too convenient to have her not
notice or care that your eyes are always stuck to her face. Right now, we're in our fifth year,
so it's cooled down a little. At least people don't double up the corridor anymore just to
get a second glance. Well, only first-years to third-years to that now. She owes loads to her eyes;
if it weren't for them and her odd character, I doubt she'd ever be noticed at all. Even
though she has red hair.

Alright, I might be overcolouring it a little. Not *everyone* constantly glue their eyes on
hers. They *do* double up the corridors, though.

Er, alright. No more interruptions. Ahem.




Anyhow, the redheaded girl, like her dark-haired friend, was dressed in her school robes as well.
She, however, had heard my last addition and was staring back at me as if I'd sprouted venomous
fungi out of my ears. She looked positively amazed� in a bad way.

It was extremely offending.





*'Blimey, I haven't heard from you for yonks!': Brit. expression that is equivalent
to-->'I haven't heard from you for ages!'
*jammy beggar: Brit. expression that could be equivalent to 'lucky bastard'
*'Shut your flapping clanghole.': This is not a very nice expression to use. Avoid it. It
means 'Shut up', naturally.
*dipstick: in other words... idiot





A.N. Well! That's the first chapter done with! Review please! E-mails also appreciated! Oh, and
I've got pictures for this fic, if anyone'd like to take a peek. Just e-mail me!

Credits:

~Padfoot, my old gel, you're a real treasure! My best friend here was most of my inspiration
for Sirius Black. Of course, that *is* why her nickname is Padfoot (even though she's a
girl--and blonde). Most of our conversations are recorded--by *moi*, naturally--for me to use
in the fic. Thanks! Cheers! (You can check out her fics under the name
'Padfootgirl'.)
~My reviewers: you give me strength! ^_^ I read each and every single one of them... at least three
times each! Special thanks to those who actually bothered to give me a lovely, long review that
pointed out to me what they thought!