White Tulips by Mandalina

Disclaimer:  I only own the plot and the characters that you don’t recognize.  I’m not making money for this story, and I don’t intend on stealing credit from Ms. J.K. Rowling.

Chapter One: White Tulips and Autumn Colors
(Chapter’s Song: ‘Somewhere Only We Know’ by Keane)

I sat in the cool, autumn air, idly twirling my pen in my hand as I contemplated the latest situation that life has thrown at me.  Merely minutes ago, I had left the stuffy library after a tedious Prefect meeting with my feathers slightly ruffled and my nerves were rather on edge, a turmoil of emotions bubbling beneath the surface.

Well, it’s not really a situation of sorts.  More like an obstacle to overcome.  You see, Remus Lupin, my cohort if you will—mostly because he’s the other Gryffindor Prefect—had told me that James Potter wants to talk to me.  It may not seem like the worst scenario that you can get yourself into (especially since James is practically Hogwarts royalty), but whenever James and I plan on having a discussion… well, it never really ends pleasantly with both parties calm and at peace.  I vaguely recall James ending up covered from head to toe with some unknown substance that must’ve been invented from my mad dash to hex him after one of our ‘planned encounters’.  As a result, it stayed in his hair for days and the absolutely horrid smell for even longer.  But this was back in third year.  We’ve gotten more inventive as the years got on.

On the other hand, whenever we happen to stumble into each other in the common room… well, that’s a completely different story.  But that’s something that we’ll get to later on.

So anyway, Remus had told me that James wanted to talk to me.  Naturally, I was a little shocked to hear this, because everyone, and I mean everyone, knows that something almost always goes wrong by the end of our little meetings.  I think that if I really thought about it, I could count the number of civil conversations between James and myself on one hand.  I have to confess that the disasters are mostly all on my part, so I took the opportunity to suggest meeting in the stands at the Quidditch pitch instead of the couches in the common room, since I find the pitch to be more neutral ground.  Plus there’s the added bonus of not having anyone there to witness a fight, which is an occurrence that is completely possible.

For various reasons, the Quidditch pitch has always been a place that I go to when I need peace.  For one, the view of the Forbidden Forest from here is absolutely breathtaking.  There are treetops as far as the eye can see and occasionally a flock of birds take flight.  The Forest has always been my favourite during the fall and winter.  During the autumnal months, the trees blaze vibrant shades of red, yellow, gold and orange, making the Forest appear to be on fire as the leaves slowly succumb to nature’s course.  If everything was really quiet and you listened hard enough, sometimes a zephyr from the trees would bring with it the faint ethereal melodies of the centaurs’ flutes.

When I first discovered this perch, I heard the centaurs’ music and I was completely enraptured.  The notes that they played were filled with the secrets of ageless wisdom that sent inspiration and awe through my veins while I became enchanted by its spell.  You see, I’ve always considered myself as a romantic and more importantly, an artist.  I’ve been known to draw portraits that shockingly resemble my subject, but my main foil is writing.  Ever since I was little, I would write small short stories about whatever tickled my fancy.  At first, it was stories about princesses and knights and ogres and fairy godmothers and all of them fairytale folk because I was fascinated with the idea of magic, with the concept of being able to make something spectacular happen just because you willed it.  My mum used to say that magic made my eyes sparkle and that it filled me to the core and erupted onto the page in bursts of magic wands and fire-breathing dragons (ironic how that turned out, eh?).  But as I grew older, I began to focus on writing about life and music and romance.  The centaurs’ music was actually the subject of my very first story here at Hogwarts and it’s one of my best pieces yet.  Hogwarts gave my life a breath of fresh air, taking me away from all the worries at home…

Ah, and here he is now.  James Potter.  An extensive list of adjectives and nouns will never be able to portray the whirlwind of thought and energy and that that boy radiates.   Every idea is a prank to be carried out, every sound must be turned into laughter, and every person a tool in his Great Plan.

“Hello, Lily Flower,” said James, climbing the stairs two at a time and seating his body next to mine.

“Hullo, James,” I said, marking my page in my notebook.  I cocked my head to the side and looked at him.  “What can I do for you today?”

“Well,” said James, stretching his legs out in front him, which happen to be remarkably long, athletic legs.  “I wanted to ask a favor from you.”

“Oh?  And what’s that?”

“I want us to get along this year, Lily,” said James, looking up into my eyes.  “We’re already sixth years and we’ve barely had any notable conversations.  I want to change that.

I blinked at him stupidly, not really registering what he’s implying.

“In other words, I want to be friends.”

I frowned at him, openly showing my confusion.  “But we are friends, James.  What are you talking about?”

James sighed.  “No Lily, we’re acquaintances.  That’s something different.”

“Well then, I guess that that means that I have to tell you about myself, doesn’t it?” I said wryly.  “I’m Lily Marie Evans, born on March 24, 1964.  I’m addicted to cheesecake, writing is my passion and my friends like to party like it’s 1999.”

“Well, that’s a start,” grinned James.

I looked at him intently for a moment, searching for something in his eyes as a thought suddenly sprang up in my mind.  “Why are you doing this?  Did you just wake up this morning and go, ‘Oh, hey, I should go find Lily Evans today and impress her with a remarkable show of civility,’ or something?”

James quirked an eyebrow.  “Am I impressing you with a ‘remarkable show of civility’?  Because honestly, Lily, I’m not trying to do anything like that.  It’s just natural,” he said and grinned at me cheekily as he ruffled his hair.  Seems like old habits die hard.

I rolled my eyes.  “No, Potter.  I was just trying to make a point.  But really, why are you doing this?”

“What?  Trying to be your friend?  Well, for one, you’ve always struck me as a person worth knowing.  Remus comes back from patrols with a smirk on his face because of something you said or did.  Georgina raves about you and Kate von Strassberg at practices, always babbling on and on about something that the three of you did or are planning to do.  The general consensus seems to show that you, Lily, are a pretty amazing person.  And for another, I don’t intend on having the limb dismemberment scenario repeat itself.”

Oh right.  I had forgotten about that.  I felt the blood rush into my ears and neck as I blushed uncomfortably.  “Sorry,” I quickly muttered with a careless laugh.

James shrugged.  “It was my fault.  I was being a prat.  Anyway, Lily Flower, I have to go,” said James, getting up.  He conjured a perfect white tulip, my favorite flower and handed it to me.  He kissed my cheek and went down the stairs to exit the pitch.

“Oh and by the way,” said James, turning around halfway down the stairs.  “When I woke up this morning, my first thought was, ‘Oh, hey, I should go and find Lily Evans today, that brilliant sophisticated witch and talk to her for once because she’s absolutely spiffing.”  With a wink and a flippant wave, James exited the pitch.

I rolled my eyes at James’s display, but nevertheless smiled because of his gesture of friendship, of his unique way of offering me the olive branch.  I mean, you have to admit, the boy’s got style, as well as a way of mixing the proper words and the accompanying body language to lure someone into his captivating personality.  Plus that kiss on the cheek helped to seal the deal on our brand new friendship.  My cheek tingled where his lips brushed my skin and I was kind of dazzled by it.  Like a deer caught in the headlights.  You see, James has always been a rather touchy-feely person and he’s propositioned me numerous times for the vast majority of fifth year, but he’s never actually outright kissed me.  For some reason, it caught me completely off guard and I began to feel a little bit dizzy.

I clutched the flower to my chest and touched my cheek with my fingers as the flutter of his lips against my skin was whisked away by the breeze.  I put the tulip on the seat next to me and looked down at my lap at the invitingly blank page, waiting for me to fill it with some new tale.

I looked at the tulip and thought for a moment, and then began writing.

A/n:  As you may have noticed, the story’s in Lily’s point of view, detailing her life, her thoughts, and everything.  As you might also have noticed, the timeline’s a bit skewed, but I’ll just say that I’m putting my story into the ‘slightly AU category’.  Also, major thank you to Kristin, my new beta reader, and to Miranda, for reading the newly revised chapter one as well, and for flooding my inbox with reviews for the story.  Hee.  Anyway, each chapter will have an accompanying song, which I think fits the mood of the latest installment.  I hope that you enjoyed and please review!

For the old timers:  Firstly, hallo!  Yay!  White Tulips now has a permanent home.  So very excited.  Anyway, as you can see from this chapter, I’ve changed some things around, adding sentences here and changing words there.  Basically, the entire story’s pretty much revamped (but nothing too drastic—most of the original stuff’s still there), hopefully to make it better than before.  So yeah.  I’ll probably update like once a week or something until we’re up to speed and maybe post a couple of chapter twelve teasers on my El Jay every now and then.  Oh, and reviews would make me smile.  Or send me into a rage blackout.  Whatever’s your preference.

xox,
Mands