30.4.1979
Jogging was for masochists and monks looking to adopt modern methods of mortification of the flesh, Lily decided as she struggled to keep what she believed to be the back of Fabian Prewett’s head within eyesight. The whole endeavor was vastly overrated, it was difficult to believe the endorphins were worth it.
Fabian turned a corner and she consequently did the same moments after, very nearly colliding with a student walking in the opposite direction. With a hasty “Sorry!” thrown over her shoulder, she continued on her run (athletes would call it a brisk walk, she would demand to differ).
This was all her own fault, she had left things until the last minute. Putting her name up for Prefect had been straightforward with McGonagall, the Professor’s no-nonsense attitude left little room for overthinking. Telling Alice had been easy. Well, easier. Lily’s aspirations had come up in a previous conversation, so there was precedent there. It was submitting her name to Head Boy that had her dragging her feet. Admitting you wanted something was hard enough; it meant opening yourself up to rejection and disappointment. The exercise was made all the more difficult by having to declare your hopes to someone you didn’t know.
Finally, she was close enough to confirm it was him and to grab his attention without causing a scene. She seized the opportunity and called out, “Fabian!”
With a spurt of energy that only the jammy muffin she had for breakfast could provide, she picked up her run (still a brisk walk, really) stopping short, mildly breathless, at the wizard’s side.
@fabiansacharmer