and I missed October 1st by almost an hour but it’s still the 1st in America so have a little drabble thing.
James Potter is fifteen and his girlfriend is gorgeous.
That’s the first thing he would say about her, were he ever pressed to describe her to a layman, because she is gorgeous and he likes pointing it out. Winifred Barnes is universally gorgeous. Famous person gorgeous. She’s the kind of gorgeous he sees on posters flogging cosmetics when he ventures into Muggle London, the kind that most objective observers couldn’t possibly deny.
Empirical, is the word for it. Winnie’s beauty is empirical, not to be dissected or debated by differing opinions, but simply there, as undeniable as the ebb and flow of the tides.
She’s small and slender and perfectly put together, and her dark brown hair always feels soft between his fingers when they’re snogging in whatever abandoned classroom is closest (the map he’s making with his mates, whenever they finally crack it, will be immensely helpful in such endeavours). Her lips are full, her fingernails always prettily painted, and he can never remember the colour of her eyes, but her lashes are long and curly, and she has a certain way of looking at him that makes him feel all funny.
Winifred Barnes is easily the fittest girl in school, and of all the blokes at Hogwarts, she has settled upon James. She adores him, in fact. Follows him around like a lovesick puppy. Gets jealous of the other girls in his house. Loves him, obviously, though he barely has to try to hold her affections. That has given him a certain distinction amongst his peers.
James Potter is fifteen, and his girlfriend is gorgeous, and it makes other blokes jealous.
Girlfriends don’t get much better than that.
James Potter is eighteen and his girlfriend is beautiful.
That’s not the first thing he would say about her, were he ever pressed to describe her to a layman, because it would give the wrong impression, though it’s certainly true and covers an immensely broad spectrum of wonderful things. A sharp, observant, and brilliantly clever mind is beautiful. Strength of character and courage of conviction is beautiful. A bottomless capacity for kindness, loyalty and friendship is beautiful. A wickedly dry sense of humour is beautiful, as is a surprising penchant for silliness.
And yes, there’s always the obvious.
There’s always her hair, a dark, rich red that gives warmth to her pale skin. There’s the pretty trail of freckles that dust across her nose. There’s her smile and her voice and the way she laughs, and her eyes, of course, which are bright and brilliant and magical. Lily Evans has eyes the colour of emeralds, dark irises pooling into a lighter green, whole constellations swirling through one clever, curious gaze.
Those eyes of hers see everything.
Those eyes of hers see James. They see him for who he really is. They saw him, bore no bullshit and recognised the truth of him, even when the reality of who he was lay concealed behind a conceited, posturing idiot. They see those things because she pays attention.
She always pays attention, to their teachers, to her surroundings, and to the world outside the bubble (soon to burst) that she and her classmates live in. Lily pays attention to her friends, anticipating their needs, validating their feelings, offering support when it’s needed and even (especially) when it isn’t. Her humanity never takes a day off, it’s simply there, inarguable. Undeniable. Constant.
Lily Evans is easily the most remarkable woman he knows, and of all the paths her life could have taken, she has chosen to align hers with his. Chosen to love him. Chosen to smile whenever he holds her hand, and for that, he will never not be grateful. He will never take her for granted. Never stop trying. Never let her down.
James Potter is eighteen, and his girlfriend is beautiful. In her skin. In her bones. In her heart.
Love doesn’t get any better than that.
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