“James Potter.”
“Prat.” I didn’t hesitate for a moment. Kara, my friend, and I were sitting in the common room playing a word association game. One of us would say a word and the other would respond with the first word that came to mind.
Kara laughed. “Do you really think that?” Her look was doubtful and her eyes were suggestive.
“Yes,” I said, a little too quickly.
“You have to admit, he is dreamy,” she said, causing us to burst out into laughter.
“Dreamy?” I chuckled.
She laughed in response. “It was the first word I thought of.
“And if you ever use it again, it’d be my job, as your friend, to make it your last.”
“It’d be appreciated. But if I ever use it again, I’ll do it to myself.”
My father once told me that my biggest personality flaw was my pride. When he said it, I didn’t believe him. Me? Proud? I scoffed. That definitely wasn’t true. For a psychologist, it certainly was a poor diagnosis.
The notion was ridiculous. I wasn’t proud. Now, James Potter, he was the proud one. But me? Never. Or that’s what I thought. But his words had been playing in my mind lately. I had a sickening feeling that he could be right.
I’ll never forget the conversation we had that day. It had been last year, sixth year.
I had just ranted about James Potter’s latest antics. Instead of sympathising, my father merely let out a half-laugh, half-sigh, and shook his head.
“Oh Lily.”
“What?” I asked, bewildered by his reaction.
He chuckled. “One day, you will bend, I promise you that.”
“How so?” I questioned.
“You, proud girl, will swallow your pride. It’s your worst attribute, just like your grandmother, and one day, it’ll be time for you to overcome it.”
My face hardened at his insult. He laughed once again.
“Now there is a familiar face,” my father smiled. But when my eyes stayed angry, he patted my knee lovingly. “Don’t worry,” he consoled. “Pride isn’t all bad.”
I didn’t speak to him for the rest of the day. I wanted to a few times; I had gotten over if after about a minute, but something prevented me from doing so. I wasn’t quite sure what it was. My father said it was stubbornness. “As stubborn as a mule,” he muttered.
What did he know?
*
My friend Amy once told me that she didn’t think I ever hated James Potter, which was utter and complete rubbish.
I definitely hated Potter with every ounce of my being. And if I didn’t now, I did at one point. He made me so mad. I’ll admit that I have a quick temper. But I always get over it quickly. As soon as I cool off, I’m fine. But with Potter, I never was. When he did something, the anger bubbled inside of me for hours. I couldn’t shake it. I just kept thinking about it, my fists clenched.
Amy said that the contempt never reached my eyes and that, sometimes, there was even mirth in them. What was she, some sort of eye-reader?
But for some reason, all the things that people have said to me in the past seven years have run through my mind lately.
“You don’t really hate me,” Potter informed me last year. His eyes were challenging, testy…and positive. They were completely assured that he was right. I was going to prove that they were not.
“You don’t know what I think,” I replied coldly. I didn’t hate him? He wished!
The smirk on his face made me irritated. Maybe it was because I knew what he said was somewhat true, or maybe because I knew that he knew I didn’t hate him. I would never admit it though.
“I think I do,” James said, his eyes glowing. Did he like confrontation or something?
“I really dislike you.”
“Is that so?” he questioned, leaning in a little bit. Was he trying to flirt with me? Hah! Like that would work.
“Yes!” I almost yelled, agitated and impatient. He was so thick!
He chuckled, still unconvinced. My eyes squinted with wrath. “You know what, Potter?” He looked at me with mild interest. “You’re a “ a dopher-head!”
James began to laugh. “A… dopher-head? Is that even a word?”
I knew it wasn’t. And to this day, I have no idea what I meant to say. It was just the first derogatory-sounding word I could think of. Maybe I meant to say gopher-head. Not like that wouldn’t have sounded equally ridiculous…
“Yes, of course it is!” I lied. “Just because your vocabulary isn’t up to par, it doesn’t mean I make up words!”
So I stormed up to my room and spent the rest of the afternoon charming the definition of ‘dopher’ into my dictionary. I made it a noun, meaning ‘something of minimal intelligence’, which also didn’t really fit into my sentence, but figured he wouldn’t be intelligent enough to notice.
Then I shoved the dictionary into James, who looked at it with suspicion. He examined the page somewhat sceptically, but then actually apologised. I didn’t expect him to. In fact, it was the last thing I expected. It was Potter. He never apologised for anything. So when he said he was sorry, it was both refreshing and satisfying.
I’ve heard him use the word ever since, and I always laugh guiltily. I wanted to tell him that he has been using a made-up word, but I couldn’t admit that he was right and I lied. It wasn’t even just lying. I actually spent hours to make it seem as though I hadn’t lie.
It’s not as though he would have listened anyway. He had declared me greedy.
It all started in December of seventh year with ice-skating. I know. I was an idiot. If I just hadn’t decided to go ice-skating by myself, none of this would have happened.
Anyway, I was at Hogwarts for the winter holiday. It was my last year and I really wanted to spend as much time as I could at the castle. So I stayed, even though none of my friends did. I didn’t care much. I wanted some personal time for myself “ get some reading and thinking done.
James Potter told me he was staying, too. It wasn’t a big deal though. He hadn’t bothered me much all year. In fact, we got on quite well. Now that I think of it, I should have seen that something was different. He barely talked to me, rarely looked at me and kept to himself and his friends. He wasn’t obnoxious or annoying. He just lurked in the shadows. We patrolled, but he was always in his own world.
I didn’t think this was strange. I didn’t think anything of it, in fact. I was busy and didn’t have much time to spend worrying and thinking about Potter. He was out of my hair.
I was sitting in the windowsill watching the layer of ice coating the lake shine in the early sunlight, when I had a sudden, unexplained urge to go ice-skating. I was never very good and didn’t even like it much. The ice was always too cold on my fallen body; it left my fingers frozen stiff and nose raw. But I went.
I grabbed the ice skates my aunt had bought me for Christmas last year and trudged to the pond.
Before I knew it, my blades were cutting through the ice, leaving trails of where they once lingered. At first, I was a bit wobbly. But after a few minutes, I was a skating machine. It was a nice feeling, the cold wind on my face, the flecks of snow caught in my eyelashes, the warmth in my cheeks.
That was, until I found myself submerged in the cold water. I guess there must have been a weak spot in the ice, because I fell through. One moment I was skating, feeling very good about myself, for I hadn’t fallen yet, and the next, my stomach dropped. It was like I was watching myself fall in slow motion. I knew what was happening but could do nothing to stop it.
I thought I was going to die. The water cut me like knives. The heavy skates on my feet made it impossible to kick. I struggled for a moment, flailing my numb arms. But I couldn’t for long. The water was too cold. I was too tired. I sunk deeper into the water.
That was it. I knew it was the end. I was going to die alone in the lake, water thrashing above my head. I was going to die because of a stupid whim to relive my childhood by skating. I found myself wondering whether I would drown or freeze to death first. I wondered who would find me, or if I would just sink to the bottom, my body disappearing. Would some poor child find my decaying body in ten years?
My lungs burned, and I figured I’d drown first. But, then again, I couldn’t feel any part of my body. Maybe it really would be painless… I was numb.
The last thing I remember thinking was that I wished I told my parents, Kara, and Amy that I loved them, and maybe they were right about it all. And it all went black. It was all over. Unconsciousness overtook.
I didn’t expect to wake up. I really didn’t. I was sure that death by drowning would follow. But I woke up. I woke up in a warm bed, although my skin was still chalk white, an improvement from the blue that was there previously, Madam Pomfrey ensured.
“I don’t know what you were thinking. Ice-skating, alone? To think, what would have happened if he hadn’t been there…” she grumbled, almost to herself, as she prepared for my release.
“What do you mean? If who wasn’t there? What happened?” I asked curiously, my chest constricting painfully. No one would tell me anything! How was I still alive? What happened in the lake?
Madam Pomfrey sighed and set down a potion. “He didn’t want you to know. I told him that you’d want to thank him. But he insisted.”
“Who didn’t want me to know what?” I asked aggressively, getting aggravated.
“I guess it can’t hurt,” she answered apprehensively. I nodded eagerly, urging her to tell. “James Potter jumped in after you. He saved your life.”
My eyes widened. James Potter saved my life? And he didn’t want me to know? He jumped into the lake after me? And pulled me out? That couldn’t be…
“James Potter?” I repeated sceptically.
“Yes, dear. Almost froze to death doing so.”
“Are you sure? I mean, Potter?” I asked slowly, gaping.
Madam Pomfrey’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, Miss Evans, I’m quite sure. He does create more than his share of havoc, but he is Head Boy.”
I never liked Madam Pomfrey, which was why I was easily convinced that she wasn’t telling the truth. “Then why didn’t he want me to know?” I asked under my breath, looking down and thinking. That was what I didn’t understand.
“Just take this and you can go.” She handed me a potion, which radiated warmth down to my toes. It was a nice feeling.
With a last reprimand, she sent me off. I was surprised that I got to leave in the same day. Usually Madam Pomfrey would insist that I stay the night, but I supposed that I was there for quite a few hours, and I got the feeling she didn’t like me much either.
In the distance, a clock struck eight. I didn’t really hear it though. I couldn’t get over the fact that James saved my life. Did it mean I was indebted to him now? Did it mean that I would have to face the reality that he wasn’t so bad?
He wasn’t bad. I couldn’t think anything bad about him. Not when, without him, I would have been dead. He risked his life to save me.
I never gave him any credit for anything before that day. And it hit me hard. I always saw the bad in him, because it was easy to. It was easy to pick out all his negative attributes. I never cared to look for anything more. I never realised that, at heart, he was a Gryffindor. That he was brave, courageous, and loyal. Not just that, but funny and optimistic.
It wasn’t until that walk from the Hospital Wing did I realise that, while I saw all the unpleasant in him, he never did that to me. He overlooked or forgot all my terrible qualities. He didn’t seem to care about them, while I lingered over his forever.
Maybe James wasn’t as bad as I thought he was, but still, I knew him a little bit. He would have wanted me to know that it was him who saved me. Or he would have before. Maybe he really had changed more than I thought.
Before, James would have come in bragging gleefully. He would have dramatically retold his heroic quest at least ten times. Then he would have told me that a kiss would be a good repayment for now, but to really get out of debt, I’d have to marry him. What happened to that James? Beyond my gratitude to be alive, something was up, and I was going to find out what it was.
Swallow Your Pride by KASK
Chapter Notes: Thank you to my beta, Fresca (Colores)! And a special thank you to those who helped me with this in my Skele-Gro Plot thread, giving me the idea of a fundamental part of this story! You're all great!