Dear James,
Isn't it funny, that you'd be dear anything to me? No one would believe it, would they, if someone told them Lily Evans addressed her letter to a certain Mr. Potter "Dear James." Most of them wouldn't believe that she would actually write to him at all.
Isn't it funny, how things change? Who'd have believed that James Potter could ever be Head Boy? And such a good Head Boy, too.
I'm sorry if I'm crying, James, I'm sorry if the ink is a bit smeared.
No one's perfect, are they? I'm not, you know. You always used to say I was, do you remember? You'd tell me I was perfect, and I'd scoff at you, but I believed it, you know. I believed you, but you were lying. I'm not perfect, James, anymore than you are.
How odd, that it used to be you who were so imperfect, and I so pure. Things change, don't they? We are neither of us pure, are we?
I was arrogant, wasn't I, James? Just as arrogant as you were, and at least you knew it. You knew, and you changed it, James, because the truth is that you aren't that arrogant boy anymore. But I wouldn't admit it to myself, that I could be anything less than perfect. It's hard to change if you won't admit anything's wrong.
Funny how things turn out. If we were back in fifth year and I was saying this to you, you'd laugh and insult me, and I'd get angry with you. Because I was conceited like that. If it was last year and I was saying this, you'd smile and tell me that low self-esteem is bad, and I'd get angry with you. Because I was a snob like that. If it were last year or the year before, I wouldn't be telling you this, though, would I?
But things change, and now it's this year, and here I sit, penning this letter to you. And I have no idea what you'll do when I say this to you.
You probably think I'm still working on my Transfiguration essay. I'm not that bad at Transfiguration, James, even if I'm not as good as you. You're brilliant, all of you, you know. I know you still wish I'd never found out, but I didn't tell anyone, did I? I kept my promise, James.
You always kept your promises, do you remember? Even when you were so busy hexing anything that moved, you never broke a promise, did you? I've broken so many of my promises, James, and I'm not sorry. I promised I would always hate you, I promised you would never make me cry. And I don't ever want to kiss the Giant Squid, or throw myself off the Astronomy Tower, or snap my wand in half. I lied, James, you know. Perfect Lily the Good is a lie. I never was that pure, was I? I was always so vain, so self-righteous. I'm sorry, James, I lied.
I said once that I would never love you. I haven't broken that promise, James. I don't believe in love at seventeen. What scares me, James, is how easy that promise would be to break, someday. It was so easy to keep when you were just Potter the marauding fool.
Potter was an arrogant arse, do you remember? James isn't, and he probably never was. How do we do that, James, conceal ourselves like that? We're playing hide-and-go-seek, but the game ended long ago. We're both still hiding, I think, though you've found yourself a new cover to hide behind. What other explanation is there for all of this?
This is Lily, coming out of hiding for the first time in a long while, James. Do you want to meet her? What a silly question. You don't have much choice left, do you? You've heard what Lily's had to say, and hopefully you listened. Just humor me a bit longer, would you?
If you were still pretending to be Potter, you'd be laughing at me, wouldn't you be? And if you were James, I don't know what you'd do, because James is unpredictable like that. But the Head Boy will just give me that look of his, and smile politely, and change the subject, because it's not important.
But it is, James, it is important, don't you understand? We're lost, both of us, aren't we? Terrible, isn't it, for the Head Boy and Girl to be so confused. To be such liars. We're supposed to be setting a good example for the rest of the school, not sitting in the middle off the Common Room crying over a letter. If I have something to say to you I should just walk over and say it, shouldn't I? But I can't. I'm still too much of a coward. I'm still scared you'll just smile politely at me and change the subject. And then I'll smile politely back, and then none of this will ever get said.
But this is important, James, I promise.
Once, you would have been at my side instantly, offering a handkerchief or sleeve or anything that happened to be handy, if my eyes so much as watered. Now, you're too busy working on homework to notice that I'm crying my eyes out. Remember how I used to get all annoyed at you for being so annoyingly attentive? Well, the sad thing, James, is that right now, I miss that. I miss your hopeful smile and pleading tone, and I know now you were just trying to help. It used to drive me insane.
Once upon a time, I knew this boy, and his name was James Potter, and he was the funniest person I've ever met. He used to call me Lillian, even after I explained that my name was Lily, not Just Lily, or Lilith, or Lillian, or anything like that. Do you know what he told me, though? He said it could be my nickname, and I told him that nicknames were supposed to be shorter than a person's actual name. But he called me Lillian anyway. He never did do what everyone else did. He always had to be different.
I never used to think that all those thing he did were funny. It never used to be amusing when he called me Lillian. I didn't used to laugh at his jokes, even though they were always brilliant. Even the Sirius joke was funny when he said it, because he always knew exactly when to use it and he never overused it like some people.
He was obsessed with Quidditch, and it always used to drive me crazy. He had this Snitch that he used to carry around with him, and he'd be tossing it around, and it always got on my nerves. Do you remember that, James? I never used to like Quidditch, you know, before I met him. But it was always entertaining to watch when he was playing, and even more so when he wasn't. He always used to sit right behind me in the bleachers and whisper comments about the players and the game in my ear. It never failed to annoy me then, but now that he is silent, I miss his commentary.
One of the things I hated the most about him was the way he would always sneak out of the tower in the middle of the night and go down to the kitchens. If I was still awake, he always brought something back for me, even though I always told him I didn't want it. I ate it all anyway, you know.
And he'd always have something interesting in his pockets. We'd just be sitting in class, and he'd reach into one of his pockets and pull out a Chocolate Frog, or a chess piece, or an enchanted paper airplane. Or we'd all be sitting in the Common Room, and he'd reach into one of his other pockets and produce a firecracker, or an oddly shaped rock, or even just a marble. I always used to yell at him for keeping some of that stuff in his pockets, but his pockets are empty now, and I find I liked it better when they only looked that way.
I used to know this boy, and he used to like this girl, but the girl was too blind to see that he just wanted to impress her, and was just going about it the wrong way. I used to know this boy, and his hair never lay flat, and his tie was always loose, and he always had something interesting to say. What happened to him, James? Where did he disappear? Is he really dead?
I'm selfish, aren't I? I always wanted you to change, but now that you have, here I am, missing the old you. The irony is painful.
I never would have dreamed that I could miss any of who you used to be, James, but I do. I don't miss the hexing and the arrogance and pranks, but now, looking back, you never were truly horrible to anyone but Snape, were you? It's hard for me to say this, even now, but really, it's probably just as much my fault as yours. My fault for reacting so violently, even when the crime wasn't so terrible. I'm not saying you were blameless, or that you should have done any of those things you did, but I'm saying that maybe it wasn't all as terrible as I acted like it was.
This is all a bit confused in my mind, James. I know its wrong for me to wish the old you back, the you who hexed and tormented and hit on me shamelessly. Can't I have the best of both worlds? Is it possible for you to be the individual you used to be and still keep some of that maturity you've gained? I wish it were, James.
There's a boy sitting at that table over there, James. We're the last ones left in the Common Room. Everyone else has gone off to bed, but here we sit, me still laboring over this letter and he slaving over his schoolwork. You always used to do your homework during breakfast, remember, James? And you still got brilliant marks, and I was always so mad. I was jealous, I think. I'm not jealous anymore, James, because we're both in the same position now, aren't we?
And look at that boy, working so hard. He's probably finishing the Potions essay that's due next week. You never used to do your homework until the day before it was due, remember, James?
He looks a lot like you, James, but his hair is tidy and his tie is neat. I'm almost done with this letter, James, and then I'll fold it up into an airplane like you always used to, and it'll glide over and land on the table in front of you. You'll pick it up and unfold it with that puzzled look on your face. And then you'll read it, and then, I don't know. There're so many scenarios playing through my head. Maybe you toss it into the fire. Maybe you push it away, ignore it so it'll disappear. Maybe you'll smile politely and try to change the subject.
But you can't, not this time. Because that boy sitting in that chair, he's not James. And though I never thought I'd say this, I miss James. The game's over, James, you can come out now. Stop trying to be someone you're not.
Is it arrogant of me to accuse you of adopting personas to try to please me? Is it conceited for me to say that it is mostly my fault that you ever became Potter or this Head Boy I barely even know? Is it vain for me to say that if I had paid more attention to James, if I had shown a bit more appreciation for who you are underneath it all, a lot of things would be different now?
Come out of wherever you're hiding, James, and we'll talk, just James and Lily. I promise I won't get mad if you'll promise you won't hex anything. So what do you think, James? Shall we stop hiding? Because, James, it would be so easy to break that promise. Because, James, I miss you.
Love,
Lillian
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