Letters From A Stranger || James and Lily ||

Turn Of Events

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, the marauders and Lily in the movies would be played by actors appropriate to their age.

Here's a little gift for you because it's my birthday!

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Chapter 51

It had been almost an hour since Lily had left the castle. She was sat on a bench by the Black Lake, the letter crumpled in her fist. Thankfully, it was a Saturday so there were no classes to worry about. Lily was also glad none of her friends had come in search of her.

It was peaceful, serene, she felt like she could cry till her heart's content. Until she felt someone take the seat next to her. Gentle hands extricated the letter that was clutched tightly between her fingers.

She let him take the letter, let him read about her sister's engagement, about the wedding she was not invited to.

"Unrequited love?" he asked.

She nodded. "Kind of."

He looked like he had a personal experience of it. She almost asked him how. Then remembered that nobody would know about it better than him.

"Why do people still love others even when they know they won't get the love back?" she asked, looking at the crumpled paper in his hand. The ink was smudged in places from saline tears.

He smiled sadly, making her heart ache. Somehow the wistful longing in his eyes hurt her more than her sister's denied love.

"That's how it is, Lily. Unrequited love is like a book with a sad ending. You read it even when you know it has a tragic ending. Even when you know it's only going to hurt you and leave you in tears. Because after all, it's not the end that matters. It's the story."

She remembered something similar her mother had once told her.

"It will be alright, Lily." James said, handing the letter back to her, "She's your sister. She loves you. She just doesn't know how to show it."

"Thank you." she said, truthfully.

He looked like he wanted to say something more but decided against, then smiled that soft smile she had begun to adore, and walked away.

Right there, sitting under the birch tree, looking at him walk away, she realised that if anybody deserves to be loved, it was him. There was the familiar warmth in her chest and tugging in her stomach, along with the twinge of guilt at having turned him down all this while.

Why were you so oblivious to all that love, Lily? How did you not realize?

She took a deep breath and made a silent promise to let him have the one thing that he had always wanted.

As he walked away, she found herself envisioning something she was too scared to think of. She could see them, not her and him, but them.

She could see herself spending the rest of her life figuring out each colour that swirled in the palette that his eyes were. She could spend eons watching his eyes shift from the lush green to the rich brown of desire as he stared at her.

She could think of lazy evenings spent curled up in each other's arms, a book between them that he would read aloud as she fell asleep to the rhythm of his voice.

She could hear the sweet nothings they exchanged over the space of a pillow, letting him tangle his fingers in her hair like he always does. She saw the moments of affection, of passion, of unadulterated love.