It was bright and hazy, with just a small amount of blurriness. Birds were singing all around me, and I closed my eyes to absorb the scene like a sponge. Water in the form of a slowly stirring stream was to my left and trees surrounded me. Oak trees, I recognized them from the neighborhood where Petunia’s boyfriend lives. A gazebo was in front of me, shingles on the roof chipping slightly but not completely condemned.
I watched as a small flower, perhaps a rose, wilted and then bloomed repeatedly in front of my eyes. The water paused every few moments but continued at the same steady and slow pace as before. I got goose bumps momentarily from the chilly air.
Despite the amazingly beautiful scene that was playing out before me, I felt my mind travel to Arithmancy, which was the class I should be taking notes in right now. I really couldn’t care less if the numbers from the letters in my name matched my personality. I groaned and felt my hand twitch, roughly hitting the desk in front of my reality-based body. It hurt.
I walked forward, turning towards the stream that hadn’t paused since a few minutes ago. No matter where I looked I couldn’t find the dreamer. It was irksome. Why would someone dream about a place and not an event? What a waste of such an amazing gift. I began to walk faster, towards the pergola near the river’s edge. No one was in sight.
There was an extremely loud thud and suddenly my vision was slowly fading forward. I looked up and saw that the professor was standing in front of James Potter, who was rubbing his hand—his very swollen hand. In front of him, a scowling Grigg Ole was rubbing his shoulder and glaring intensely at the boy in question.
So Grigg was the one who was dreaming. Figures—his dreams would be as existential as he is.
“Mr. Potter, violence will not be tolerated on this campus. I’m afraid I’m going to have to give you detention,” the professor said, writing on an imaginary piece of paper with a very interesting looking quill. James took the slip and grimaced, walking over to his seat. Before he could reach it though, Professor Blorn said, “Not just yet, Mr. Potter; seeing as both you and Mr. Ole have injuries, I suggest you travel to the hospital wing—now.”
The two boys groaned and grabbed their bags. As they were leaving, Potter turned to Grigg and said, “Say, Grigg, have you ever been to the hospital wing?”
I laughed inwardly, a small smile spreading across my face. Then I suddenly remembered why they were leaving and I felt an insanely huge need to express my small scrap of gratitude towards Potter. I looked behind me again and saw the door closing, their fleeting shadows moving against the stone wall until I could no longer see. I sighed and turned around, aware that the professor had begun class once more.
“Professor?” I raised my hand. Blorn turned around and stared at me. “I don’t feel well.”
“You must be joking?” Blorn said incredulously. I shook my head, doing my best to look ill. “Well, Miss Evans, you’re possibly the best student, so I’m going to trust that you are ready for the exam tomorrow, that you don’t need the review that we’re engaging in?”
“Then off you go.”
I rushed down the hall, as quietly as possible, and hurried to catch up to them. I turned the corner to the Grand Staircase and nearly screamed when a hand caught my wrist as I raced forward. I plunged backwards, my breath escaping me quite quickly.
“Shh,” Potter smirked.
He didn’t answer, but merely held up a piece of parchment that looked like a drawing of Hogwarts. I let my eyes widen as I realized it was a map—the map they were always obnoxiously referring to.
I glared after a few moments, “I should cuff you, you git, you made me almost scream!”
“Calm down,” he mumbled, scooting back away from me and my temper.
I took a few deep breaths and started to walk towards the window, looking out at the Lake and the grounds. I could see the Quidditch Pitch about less than a mile away. I turned back around, staring in the hazel eyes of Potter.
“I wanted to say thanks. Without you hitting poor Grigg—“
“Poor Grigg?” Potter interjected. “Prat had it coming. He’s been asking everyone all week, ‘have you been to the quidditch pitch?’ trying to get a bloody date to Hogsmeade. The git doesn’t even process that that’s not how you woo someone.”
“Woo, Potter? Really? I think if Grigg is to take advice from anyone on how to woo someone, you’re the last person he should seek,” I referred to all the annoyingly persistent attempts of Potter to get me to go to Hogsmeade with him.
“You wound my pride, Evans.”
“Yes, well, that’s not all apparently. How’s your hand?” I looked down and saw that it was red and puffy. He cradled it in his other hand and tsked.
“Let’s just say Ole has one hell of a rough shoulder,” then he added under his breath, “git.”
“Okay,” I suppressed a smile, trying to remain as unemotional as possible. “Well, thanks.”
I started walking away, but he once more caught onto my wrist with his good hand and pulled me back. I stumbled a little, all the while glaring at him.
“You look really freaky when you hop,” he said. “I’ve never noticed before, and others probably don’t either, because even though you’re like having a seizure, you stay completely still. Your eyes roll into the back of your head and your hands twitch a lot. It’s scary.”
He winced as though recalling a painful memory. I sighed, nodding.
“When I hop? Is that the new term?” I asked while looking down at the ground.
“I just figured it’s a bit more subtle than ‘when you invade other people’s dreams and privacy’,” he smirked.
“Touché,” I saluted him, taking a few steps back.
“Lily, let me go with you again,” he said in a rushed, desperate voice. I shook my head, again backing away from him. He ruffled his hair with his hand and stepped forward, attempting to gain back the distance I’d put between us.
“No,” I said. “There’s no way. I don’t know why you think you and me are good mates Potter—I still hate you. Don’t you go forgetting anything just because blackmail in your mind means life-long friendship.”
“Hey, hey,” he held up a hand with a smirk on his face. “I haven’t exactly blackmailed you. I never said anything to that effect, if you recall.”
“Potter,” I shifted my weight onto my back foot. “Don’t fool yourself with any disillusionment that you’re suffering from—this is blackmail.”
“No, Evans,” he scoffed. “I never threatened to tell anyone. You assumed.”
“Did not,” I said childishly. “You wanted to come with me, or else.”
“What is with all you girls and your assumptions? I’m so tired of you thinking one thing and then foolishly finding out that I’m not the horrible guy you think I am. I never once threatened to tell anyone else. I haven’t even shared this with Sirius,” he added, as though the last edition was insanely important.
“I don’t care, Potter. The point is, you’re not coming with me again, ever,” I started to turn but he coughed. I turned, thoroughly annoyed by this point.
“Lily, please. I just want to go again, it was really fun and…yeah,” he gave me a smile, but it still didn’t sway me. I felt as though he was pathetic, but I can’t really say that I felt sorry or bad.
“Please? I’ll be good! You can choose when—as long as it’s tonight—and you can choose who—as long as it’s not me!” He begged. I was two seconds away from telling him to get on his knees when the thought crossed my mind that it was actually a bit enjoyable to have James in the dream with me.
I coughed a bit and looked down at my hands, which were wringing.
He raised an eyebrow and waited.
“Fine!” I collapsed and rolled my eyes. “Tonight. I’ll let you come along again, once more, but if you do anything to screw it up, Merlin help me, I’ll strangle you!”
“Strangling is an act of passion!”
“Yeah—hatred,” I told him, walking away.
He called from behind me, “So long as there’s passion, I’m perfectly content!”
Ack! I know it was super short, so I'll make it up to you never chapter! I hope you enjoyed this all the same, please review!