Brigitte took shot after shot until the room spun in a haze of flashing colors and faraway voices. She'd completely lost control, her mind hopelessly grieving. Because no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, no matter how deep she tried to bury her emotions, she knew of one thing.
She wanted to be Lily Evans.
It wasn't a new realization, in fact, she'd dabbled with the possibility quite a bit since Lily's Hogsmeade date. But this feeling had only grown in certainty, as true as one knew the sun would rise again tomorrow in the east, and retire in the west. She wanted to be the one James Potter kissed and cradled. She didn't want to be happy for the two, despite her obligation now that she was willing to call Lily a friend.
She didn't remember much as the evening dragged on, many male classmates came up for a dance, and she obliged, but her main focus, every sneaking gaze was trained on James Potter and Lily Evans, his girlfriend.
It was a turmoil like no other, how quickly these feelings managed to grasp her. Love was supposed to be slow and beautiful, not erratic and sudden, so jarring she cpuld feel the ground move out from beneath her feet. It was like someone had flicked a switch, the images of James and Lily together so brightly burned into her eyes it made her sick. And no (small) amount of firewhiskey could erase the raw pain that settled within every inch of her body, flowing through her bloodstream in a whirlwind of hurt.
She stared at the toilet bowl, the cold flooring bruising her knees as her eyes adjusted to the flourescent light, and the calm, steady ache tore itself open, gently and then all at once.
Then she wondered how out-of-the-blue the sensation truly was, if maybe, deep down, she'd known all along.
She'd never cried harder.
There was something so surreal about going to the loo during parties. Inside housed the heartbroken, fixing their mascara, ready to put their facade back together. Outside, it would be back to pretending as if you didn't have a care in the world, but in the restroom, under the bright lights and stomach-turning nausea, you felt everything.
Music played, distorted to her ears and she sobbed forcefully because the Brigitte she needed to protect her wasn't there. She needed the Brigitte who didn't feel, the Brigitte who could brush off the most terrible of pains with a sneer and some red lipstick.
But she was gone, replaced with the girl bitterly weeping, blonde hair out of place, perfection thousands of eons away. How could one go from feeling nothing to everything in a matter of seconds?
James Potter made her feel.
He made her feel everything all at once, strobe lights at midnight, headaches and heartbreaks. Now, she wanted it all. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, hear his voice in her ear.
He'd given her a taste and now, she was addicted. But no one ever told her how much you risked, giving your heart away. Especially when he loved someone else.
No, she couldn't dwell on this. The man had a girlfriend, for Godric's sake. She'd live, like so many others who smiled through shattered hearts, and wished more than anything that the boy who danced with his hands on her hips was James Fleamont Potter.
********
There was nothing worse than being hungover.
Even worse yet was being hungover whilst you listened to your newly appointed friend talk about a boy you discovered you might be in love with.
Regardless, Brigitte smiled and accepted Lily's self-made hangover cure. It worked as well as to be expected, clearing her head, removing the throbbing of her temple, loosening the pit in her stomach, but it did nothing for her urge to cry, for the pull she felt towards the firewhiskey bottle, the one that doubled as a portal for her escape.
And so she listened numbly as Lily talked about his hair, how it used to be infuriating but it's actually quite soft, how he laughed, how they danced, how they talked in his dorm room after.
"You're perfect for each other!" Mary exclaimed, eyes growing excitedly.
And Brigitte agreed. They were perfect.
"What about you, Brigitte?" Lily asked, her kind essence coming back to life. Because friends include each other, even when one finally got with the boy who's been pining for her since first year. Why couldn't she be mean again? Why did Lily Evans have to be so nice? "Did you meet any people worth mentioning?"
"No," she said quietly, hugging a stray pillow close to her chest. "You and James are such an amazing pairing. Congratulations!"
She wondered if her words sounded as dull as she felt, and cursed herself. She was supposed to be happy for Lily, not bitter over a boy. Lily Evans deserved to be happy, and she wasn't going to spoil it due to jealousy.
Happy endings were never a guarantee. As human beings, our job was to muddle through heartbreak after heartbreak, convinced we were searching for "the one". The person who could right our wrongs, bring some meaning into a universe devoid of feeling.
James Potter made her feel. Oh, he made her feel marvelous things. He made her smile when she didn't want to smile, made her eat when she convinced herself she wasn't hungry, made her love when she believed she wasn't deserving of love.
The brain is a marvelously terrible thing, able to convince ourselves that they are the one when really, they are far from it. Able to blind their shortcomings, create attachments with empty promises, pinky promises with fingers crossed behind their backs, the joy that acts as a mascarade for all the emptiness we try to fill.
There is no true soulmate, just people, people who you once loved, maybe still love. And you trust them with bits of our heart, some quickly, generously giving, loving big and loud and brilliantly. Some trust with a different fervor, gently handing pieces, so small you could hardly see until one day, you'll look up and see a mountain, made from all the little things, notes signed with the alias 'nobody', and glasses that never sit right on the bridge of his nose.
Some people can take everything away from you and not know it.
Because it would be James Potter that loved Lily Evans, as true as we know that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, as certain as the sky is blue, as beautiful as love can be.
See, falling in love is particularly dangerous, harrowing at times, maybe worth the pain. But my darling, remember that everything that falls, breaks.
It's just a matter of when.
Our hearts are not meant to withstand that constant pressure. And someday, we must recognize that our love, scientific or incomprehensible, cataclysmically intrinsic, is a destructive force. Because you gave your heart away, and our body, on instinct, will do anything to make the hurt lessen. We want them to love us back so badly, to fill the void we brought upon ourselves unknowingly.
But sometimes, it's just not meant to be.
********
From the moment he saw her, James Potter had never once doubted that he loved Lily Evans. Her name leaped from his tongue on instinct, whenever he caught her familiar flash of ginger hair. She was captivating from the very beginning, stealing his breaths. The Juliet to his Romeo.
Sure, he'd never bothered to read this particular Shakespeare novel, but he was almost positive they ended up with their happily ever after. That's what love was, right? A release from all the pain that came as a side effect from living.
He'd never, not even once doubted that it was meant to be. The first emotion he'd felt as she had her lips against his, burning, fiery passion in his chest had been elation. But as his euphoria began to wear off, as his mind cleared, his unwavering devotion turned into confusion.
He loved Lily Evans... right?
He hated himself for thinking that, for doubting, even for a second that Lily was the one. Merlin, so many aspects of his life had been centered around her. To not love her was to collapse all the buildings that once stood firmly, keeping his life grounded.
And yet, as the party progressed, and as Lily remained increasingly more intoxicated, as he sobered by the minute, he found himself staring at Brigitte. He'd never seen her so loose, so carefree as she exhaled, the smoke tendrils curling up as they dissipated into the disco lights. Her hair hung loosely at her shoulders, each strand defined and oh-so blonde.
What was he even talking about? He was into gingers.
That was enough. He felt such a terrible, burning shame as he tore his eyes away from her seductive smile, clutching Lily's warm hand as he led her away from all the commotion. Lily Evans kissed him. Merlin, she'd kissed him!
And she was beautiful, gorgeous, bloody exquisite. And she was funny and brilliant and everything he'd dreamed of.
Lily was everything he'd ever wanted. The two lay on his four-poster bed, him twisting her ginger curls around her finger as she leaned in closer, and closer. And it was perfect. So perfectly surreal.
That was how Sirius Black would find them the next morning, asleep and spooning horizontally on James's bed.
He had everything he'd ever wanted.
So why did it all feel wrong?
*******
Few words were needed to describe how Sirius Black felt after waking up with Emmeline Vance in his arms.
In fact, one could summarize them all in an instant:
1) Moony?
2) Oh Merlin, Moony.
3) Son of a witch.
4) My head hurts.
His memory was quite fragmented, consisting of a lot of garbled David Bowie lyrics, a certain werewolf with substance abuse issues, and the absence of Regulus.
Looking back, the latter was probably the cause for his indulgent drinking that night. Although, he drank with such voracity bi-monthly.
After the initial shock wore off, followed by the deep-set regret as he fumbled around for his wand and instead grabbed a small vial of Hangover Cure Remus had produced with Lily pre-party. There, printed neatly on a note attached came his curt (if Remus could convey any emotion through this note, it would be pure, unwavering curtness) words.
There was something so very passive-aggressive about the way he crossed his Ts. Not to mention the fact that the minuscule vial Remus supplied him with was only enough to take the edge off his ever-mounting headache.
He was almost certain Lily and Remus had made three cauldrons full before the party.
Okay, so maybe he was overthinking things now, but Remus rarely used the words I congratulate you. That was eerily formal. And, now that he thought about it, Remus wasn't partial to ending his notes with periods, either.
Or maybe this was just the sinking guilt that was beginning to grow in the pit of his stomach manifesting itself. He was probably just paranoid.
Emmeline was a nice girl, he wasn't sure about girlfriend (those words sure sounded daunting), and she hadn't minded the rather abrupt waking, nor Sirius's panicked frenzy that followed.
Besides, as far as Sirius could remember (and this wasn't much), she was a good kisser. And she liked Quidditch, playing for the Ravenclaw Quidditch Team. She'd get along great with James.
Speaking of James... what was he- oh, bloody hell.
And there, sprawled across James's bed lay a familiar ginger, and a tosspot who was about to be woken up with a jet of water.
Due to popular requests, we are speeding things up!
Literally thank you to everyone for your input! Please tell me if I'm dragging things on because I tend to do that!
Sooo... introducing Jily! How do y'all feel about everyone's favorite beard couple?? (Jkjkjk... unless? I'm contemplating making Lily a lesbian goddess, and by contemplating I mean obsessing over)
So I wrote a bunch of deep stuff about love and heartbreak, then ended it with Sirius Black and his douchebag tendencies. Oh, and Remus Lupin being a petty smartass.
Hope y'all enjoyed it! Leave your thoughts in the comments, please!