James Potter was many things.
A good athlete, a loyal friend, and Gryffindor's golden boy.
For Victoria Atkinson, he was everything she hated in others. He embodied the values that have been impressed on her since she was little. And that's exactl...
I just wish to know, is it what my heart speaks - that's true?
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The hall was dark, yet somewhat warmth by the different blue tones that usually left their own kind of cold. Dancing lights cast a soft glow over everyone. It made each student look enchanting somehow. More attractive.
Especially him. Especially her.
Victoria didn't knew the girl in his arms. Maybe a year above them, maybe one under, or even in their year, even if she thought she knew everyone. But what she knew was that her hair felt soft, almost silk-like, in waves, long enough to reach her waist, and shining enough to make you want to run your hand through it. It matched the black of his dress robes perfectly as if black was a color only invented for them. The dress was tight, but not the provocative kind - it was the classy kind, one the blond without any curve could never pull of. It was blue, like the kind you saw in Professor Flitwick's bow-tie and her eyes. Hers were brown, barely with specks of green in them.
She never had a problem with them. Almost everyone in their family had them; her father, uncle, grandparents, great grandparents. Of course, there were times in which she would pull her hair in frustration just because they weren't her brother's and mother's clear blue, Lily's magical green, Dorca's astonishing blue that seamed more violet than blue or Marlene's mysterious dark brown.
Victoria knew that she was pretty, as narcissistic this may appear, but features she proved to have inherited from both of her parents made her know she wasn't the ugliest. High cheek bones, a defined jaw line and somewhat full lips. But then, when you look at beauty, you sometimes forget your own. And so Victoria hated her eyebrows, which were too bushy; her skin, which wasn't and never had been tan or even; her shoulders, which seemed broader and broader with every second she looked at those delicate ones.
Hersmile was a little crooked, one corner usually moved higher than the other, there was a gap between her two front teeth, and her hands usually held bruises from quidditch.
Her smile was perfect when she offered it James under the light of illuminated snowflakes.
His hair, which had gone through obvious attempts to stay combed, swung in its messy ways along with his movements. The dress robes fit him perfectly, as they defined every muscle and every perfection she was now left to admire from afar. From time to time, she would catch him stumble or step on her toe, but their eyes shone when they laughed the never existing awkwardness away.
Was her next thought bad?
Because she thought that he would only ever offer that smile to her. Where his eye crinkled at the corners, his nose scrunched a little, and his eyes became bright. No, now they were brighter.
