Jily One Shots 2

autumn

disclaimer: written by discombobulated-chum-bucket on fanficiton.net

September 1981 (present).

I stare out the window at the golden brown autumn leaves being blown around by the wind, trying to restrain the howl of misery trying to escape me. I look back at your sleeping form lying helplessly on the hospital bed. I extend my hand and stroke the side of your once handsome face.

There had been a time where just the smile on your face could brighten up the room. When you smiled your eyes would twinkle mischievously and now there is no smile left at all. Your face is lined and careworn. A scar from that battle runs down the side of your face. A tear escapes the corner of my eye. The terrible fight to revive you from your state of comatose has been long and painful. And it feels like we're losing. Now all I can do is just sit by you and watch your body slowly be drained of life. I bury my head in my hands and let out a muffled scream of anguish. Tears fall thick and fast out of my eyes as I wail lamenting for our loss.

I think of our son, oblivious to all the horrible goings-on and a new wave of grief washes over me. I cry even harder, my sobs echoing throughout the room. I wish I could turn back time. I wish I could forget all about this...

Then I feel a hand on my shoulder. I turn around and see you standing behind me, a mischievous grin lighting up your handsome features. An eerie, yellow glow surrounds you. You offer me your hand and I take it without speaking.
We walk out of the hospital room and into the Hogwarts grounds. Children are crowded around a sobbing girl trying to in vain to recover her underwear that has been levitated 2 metres into the air. A boy around the same age as the girl is laughing at her.

An impish grin is playing around the boy's mouth; a grin not unlike the one you are wearing now.

Then I realize where we are. It is autumn of 1971 and we are both in our first year at Hogwarts. I am the weeping girl trying to retrieve her underwear and you are the good-looking boy that hung them up there in the first place.
I remember how much I hated you at the time.

If someone then had told me that I would be married to you, I would have attempted to gouge out their eyes. I playfully punch you in the arm as we stand there watching the commotion from afar.

I never fully understood why you had chosen me to be the target of all your pranks or where you managed to find my underwear. I suspect you might have stolen it from my school bag. My dear mother always forced me to keep a spare pair in case of "accidents". I'm not sure I want to know exactly how you found out about that though.

You laugh softly and push your hand through your dark hair. Once again you take my hand and we walk together through the school door.

We walk into a large, brightly lit classroom full of adolescents. A harassed looking Professor Binns is standing at the front of the room trying to bring the class to attention.

An attractive youth with dark hair and familiar hazel eyes has created quite a scene in the centre of the classroom by kneeling down on one knee and belting out "When I'm Sixty Four" (by the Beatles) at the top of his lungs to an embarrassed looking girl. A girl with vivid red hair not unlike mine.

The girl looks stonily out the window at the golden brown leaves frisking about in the wind, trying to ignore him. I laugh out loud at the sight, fondly remembering how our hatred towards each other in primary school had transformed (even though I had hated to admit it at the time) into something quite the opposite as we progressed through high school. I look up at you and smile sadly.

I don't know if I will ever be able to hear your atrocious singing and make fun of it. You smile at me, the strange yellowy glow still lighting up your hair and tug on my hand. I let you lead me out of the classroom door of Autumn 1975.