You may not know me for me

But through all the constant doubt

I've got you to lean on, to turn to in my mind

I've got nothing else worth dreaming about

Subtlety has no place in love

Letters from Stag

Prologue

Part Five — Girls

Section One – Dating and Dealing with Inter-School Relationships

Sub-section One – Gryffindors

Division One – Lily Evans

Division Two – Others

Sub-section Two – Ravenclaws

Sub-section Three – Hufflepuffs

Sub-section Four – Slytherins

Division One – The Good

Division Two – The Evil

Section Two – On Flirting

Sub-section One – Lily Evans

Sub-section Two – Others

Sub-section Three – Class Flirt Getaway

Division One – Slughorn

Division Two – McGonagall

Division Three – Flitwick

Division Four – Sprout

Division Five – Flaggot

Division Six – Dumbledore

Section Three – On Snogging

Sub-section One – The Rules of Snogging

Division One – Off Limits

Sub-division One – Lily Evans

Sub-division Two – Others

Sub-section Two – The Off Limits

Division One – Remus Lupin

Division Two – James Potter

Sub-division One – Lily Evans

Division Three – Sirius Black

Division Four – Peter Pettigrew

Section Four – On Lily Evans

Sub-section One – Assisting James in the Struggle

Division One – Throwing in a Good Word

Division Two – Puncturing the Ego

Division Three – The Guide to Subtle Flirting

Sub-section Two – Dating Lily Evans

Division One – Dealing with the Unfortunate Bloke

Division Two – The Art of Asking Out

Sub-section Three – Keeping the Eyes Away

Division One – Keeping Others from Flirting with Lily Evans

Division Two – Keeping Others from Snogging Lily Evans

Division Three – Keeping Others from Asking Out Lily Evans

Day One

To Lily Evans

Lily Evans flipped over the envelope curiously. Who'd be writing to her during Easter break, and by typewriter?

Her mother insisted on only handwritten letters for her daughter, her father added his two bits at the end of her mother's letters, and Lily's sister, Petunia, refused to be in contact with her younger sister, whom she despised.

It couldn't be from Professor Slughorn; he had students deliver his letters and they were always tied with a brightly colored ribbon.

The other teachers always had their personal stationary for notes (detentions, most likely) to their students, and always wrote in long-hand.

That left only her fellow students, who could've just as well walked up to her and said what was needed while she fought her way through the corridors to her next class.

Her curiosity got the better of her and she broke the seal (which was nothing more than navy blue wax pressed into a circle, no family or group seals present). She pulled out the letter with a hint of nervousness. Who knows who this letter could be from? It was best to be cautious.

"A letter, eh, Evans? Who's it from?" came the (rather obnoxious, in Lily's opinion) voice of Sirius Black.

"That would be none of your business, Black," said Lily, stuffing the letter back into the envelope, away from prying eyes (not to mention fingers).

"Hiding a secret love affair in there, are you?" he shot back, grinning arrogantly and pointing a now empty fork at the envelope. You'd think lasting six years at school with Lily would've wizened him up, but then….

"Of course, Black, what else could it possibly be?" she said sarcastically, now stuffing the letter into her pants' pocket.

He lowered his fork to his plate.

"You're not serious, are you?" he said, drinking up every word she uttered.

"How could she be, Padfoot, I thought you were?" said James Potter, sliding onto the bench next to Sirius. He pulled a plateful of eggs toward himself while continuing on, "Now, why're you not serious, Evans?"

"Once again," she said, now starting to get annoyed with their meddling, "it is in neither your nor Black's place to know if I receive letters or if I'm in a secret love affair, neither of which effects either of you, meaning you have no reason to know (not that I would ever tell you)."

James brought another forkful of eggs to his lips and, chewing slowly, seemed to be processing her words delicately. He seemed to find something disturbing for his brow furrowed and he swallowed thickly.

"Secret love affair?" he said coyly, pronouncing each word with savored distaste.

Lily had to hide her smirk at his flustered expression. "Did I stutter?"

He puckered his lips and turned back to his plate.

"I thought so," Lily said, and picked herself up off of the bench and marched out of the doors of the Great Hall and into the deserted corridor. The door shut behind her with a light click that reverberated in the long hall.

With a furtive glance around, Lily tore off to her dormitory, where she was hoping to find the privacy she wished for.

She slid to a stop in front of a portrait of a rather large woman wearing a pink silk dress seven floors later.

"Password?" the Fat Lady (as she was called) inquired.

Lily, gasping for breath, managed to utter between huffs, "Fairy… feet…"

The Fat Lady nodded at her with a small smile and the portrait swung open, revealing a large, circular hole in the wall. Lily ambled through and, taking a deep breath, took the steps two at a time.

She pushed open a door with a small plaque reading "Seventh Years" above it, revealing a comfortably large room with five four-poster beds all lined up in a single row. She shuffled to the bed farthest away and landed on it with a loud "humph." She drew her feet under her legs and pulled a pillow toward herself, pulling the letter from deep within her pants' pocket and smoothing it out over the pillow. She pressed out a crease in the corner before setting it on the pillow and taking a moment to study the envelope.

It was made of a thick, sky blue parchment, folded in half and magically sealed at the side seams. It had been folded over at the top and sealed with the dark blue circular seal, which had broken when Lily had opened it in the Great Hall. She slipped her thin fingers into the envelope and pulled out a pale green piece of parchment. She unfolded it with slightly baited breath.

Dear Lily Evans,

For long have I yearned to muster the courage to do as I am. For months on end have I thought this through, unconsciously wording this very letter in my mind's eye. For years have I ached to say what I am about to say.

But before I begin, there are a few things I would like to clarify, as I am sure you are more than wondering who this letter is from, and why it is that I am writing to you.

Lily, you know who I am, you have met me, you have grown up with me. You have seen me in class, you have seen me in the corridors, you have seen me with my friends. But can you really claim knowing me?

To you, I shall be nothing more than anonyme, anonymous, though to my friends I am known as Cerf. Call me as you wish.

Lily, I am writing you to tell you something that I have told no one, not even my best of friends. They would hardly be able to understand what you put me through on a daily basis. I intend on telling you and you alone. I am only hoping this confession will ease the ache of my lonely heart.

Lily Evans, every morning I wake with your face impressed on my eyes; I see your face engrained in my mind. I lie in my bed, trying to draw warmth from your image rather than my bedding; my blankets can do me no good to warm my heart and make it swell as the thought of you does.

I force myself out of bed with the only thought of being able to see your shining face again as I prepare for the day ahead. As I make my way to eat with my chatting friends, I think only of how I could show you the real me, not the me you perceive every time you draw your eyes to my face (rare as that may be). I shiver every time your eyes rest on me, for I can always tell.

I eat my meal as I always do; chatting with my friends and cracking jokes, but my eyes always seem to drift to where you are seated with your friends, glowing with pleasure at the coming day.

We walk to our first class, I drifting far behind you. You never notice me. You never have, despite all I do to draw your attention. Sometimes I fear I might die from the pain; it is far worse than any physical pain I have ever felt. It tears at my soul.

I have to do all but have my friends restrain me from sitting next to you. I am forced to control myself or you will never learn about me. Instead, I sit in class, watching you take your notes, "drooling over Evans again," as my friends have so kindly coined it. I do not mind it as I first did.

I may get scolded in class for daydreaming, but my mind is only focused on you. I have nothing else worth dreaming about. I may try to concentrate on the class, but the words issuing from the professor's mouth never seem to make it to my ears.

One of my friends will shake me from my trace when the class is over (I think they have alternating days), and we will make our way on to lunch.

During this time one of my friends will remind me of all the things that have happened in class, and somehow I manage to absorb this information when you are only a mere ten feet away from me. We will then move on for our afternoon classes, I still following in your wake. You will branch off for Charms, and I Transfiguration. I feel my heart leave me, following you along the winding trail, farther and farther away from me. And because I have "no Evans to drool over" in Transfiguration, I am forced to work, though you never leave my mind the whole time.

Class is over and I pass you in the corridor, and I let out a breath I seemed to have been holding for the past forty-five minutes (though my friends say that is physically impossible and that they have indeed seen me breathing the whole time).

We move on to Potions, and I watch you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The tips are beginning to curl from the heat of your cauldron. You look enchanting. I manage to scrape by a decent potion and I trudge off to the library to begin my looming mountain of homework. Though it may not seem it, this requires my full attention.

Once the homework has been tamed, we make our way to eat once again, and with you on my mind all day, I believe I have finally plucked up enough courage to talk to you. My heart beats painfully against my chest and blood rushes past my ears, and I fear I won't be able to stand much longer on my legs reduced to jam, but I press on. My breath comes out in rasps now, and as I am about to tap you on the shoulder, a friend calls your name. I am both relieved and disappointed at the same time to see you go. I fear I would not be able to face you.

I trudge on through my day, my thoughts completely encumbered with you, a "Lily Overload," as my friends say. And that much is indeed true.

I lie in my bed, thinking today's failure over. Am I that much of a coward? Why should I be afraid to speak to a girl?

Because, Lily, you are so much more than a "girl" to me. You make me want to cry and laugh at the same time, to scream and shout, to conquer the world and hide in a corner. You make me feel like I have never felt before. It is as if Bonfire Night has exploded inside of me. It amazes me every time it happens, and it most likely always will. I never want that feeling to die.

For you see, Lily Evans, I love you, and I always will.

Yours, forever and for always,

Votre l'amant pas-si secret, cerf anonyme

P. S. If you feel the need to respond, give the letter to Strix; she knows who I am and where to find me.

Lily quirked an eyebrow. Who was this person? Thoughts flashed through Lily's mind like wildfire, but if anything, Lily was slightly disturbed. Whoever he was, he sounded very stalker-ish as she reread the letter.

"I have to do all but have my friends restrain me from sitting next to you…" Lily shuddered. Whoever this was, Lily would have a few words for him.

Still, though, some of the things he wrote were very sweet… Lily thought, her eyes flitting across the page again. "Sometimes I fear I might die from the pain… It tears at my soul…."

Stalker-ish: "I sit in class, watching you take your notes, "drooling over Evans again,"as my friends have so kindly coined it."

Sweet (very sweet): "I have nothing else worth dreaming about."

But, thought Lily, he's also rather funny, too. "One of my friends will shake me from my trace when the class is over (I think they have alternating days)…. I pass you in the corridor, and I let out a breath I seemed to have been holding for the past forty-five minutes (though my friends say that is physically impossible and that they have indeed seen me breathing the whole time)."

Lily giggled at this despite herself.

"…my thoughts completely encumbered with you, a "Lily Overload," as my friends say."

Creepy, yet oddly flattering…. Lily thought.

"Yours, forever and for always, Votre l'amant pas-si secret, cerf anonyme…"

Lily squinted her eyes shut. That's French… she thought.

And as strange as it may seem, Lily had been educated in French for more than half of her life. Growing up, her childhood friend had been a pretty French girl, who knew only how to speak her native tongue. Because of this hindrance, Lily was forced to pick up the French language, and it was not something easily forgotten; she still wrote to her friend regularly.

Thinking hard, Lily was able to construct most of her stalker's signature. Your not-so-secret…

She frowned, and then shook her head. She pulled out a small French dictionary from deep within her trunk, just in case her friend slipped up and used a slang word Lily had yet to learn. After flipping through for a moment, she came upon the word she was looking for.

L'amant means… lover? Her frown increased. Your not-so-secret lover. Brilliant, Einstein, she thought. Not so secret anymore, eh?

Cerf… hmm… stag or deer…. Stag, of course, what male wants to be called a deer? She snorted, then frowned. Where've I heard that before?

She remembered a faceless male tripping to the ground in front of her, and another person saying in a falsely exasperated voice, "Merlin, it's a shame you're not more stag-like, isn't it?" The voice had dragged out the words carefully, placing special enunciation on 'shame' and 'stag-like' as it smirked.

Lily shook her head to clear it, dying to see those faces, but she drew nothing from it. Instead she stood and took to pacing. Now, who did she know that fancied her?

Her immediate thought was that of James Potter. She gave a derisive laugh. Him, feel that way? Hah! If he'd have written me a letter, it would've been, "Hey Evans, you wanna go out with me? Your adoring Quidditch connoisseur, James Potter"

The thought made her want to gag, which she nearly did.

Lily had always had somewhat of a crush on James Potter, but no living soul knew of this with the exception of Lily (and Strix, her owl, if she counted). To her surprise, James asked her out on the first day of their fifth year, but Lily declined coldly. She didn't understand why James Potter could make her feel this way when he was just an "arrogant bullying toerag." She knew he only continued asking her out to irk her (which he was successfully doing) and to try and "win her over," as people regularly said. She knew the second she would said yes, he'd drop her like a hot potato, and Lily wasn't one you just dropped like a hot potato and expected to get away with it.

As she constantly told herself, she was saving herself the disappointment and pain that would inevitably ensue, so she masked her feelings quite expertly by showing nothing but dislike towards James Potter.

Who could it be then? Lily asked herself, and racked her brain. Her mind flew to Dirk Cresswell, a sixth year Gryffindor who seemed to have a little thing for Lily, but this idea was quickly quashed when she realized this "Stag" was in her year. How else could he've gotten into my Potions class?

Lily was at a loss. She didn't know if any other boys fancied her. She instead turned to her trunk and pulled out a crumpled bit of parchment and found a quill in one of her trainers.

Mr. Stag,

Who are you? And why're you stalking me, because, Merlin help me, I'll go straight to Dumbledore if you don't stop!

Satisfied that her letter was complete, she folded it up four times until it was the size of her thumb and pulled a string from the hem of her skirt. Tying up the note, she began the walk to the owlry, mulling over the contents of the letter she'd received (which she'd stuffed into her pocket).

Walking into the owlry, she found a strange sight: James Potter with her owl, Strix, on his outstretched arm, facing the glassless windows. He was muttering to the bird under his breath as he stroked the bird's tawny feathers absentmindedly.

"What're you doing to my bird, Potter?" Lily said coolly, entering the owlry. "Trying to train her so she won't deliver any of my letters?"

He turned to her slowly, looking as if he was struggling not to grin cockily at her. "Precisely. I do hope you don't mind," he said, his grin finally breaking through.

"Then I suppose I'll just have to use yours," she said, scanning the rows on rows of owls. "Where is he?"

"Hibou's not here, he's delivering a letter," he said, turning back to Strix. He muttered something, and Strix nibbled his ear affectionately.

"Hey, no fraternizing with the enemy, Strix. C'mere," Lily said, patting her shoulder. The owl flew over after taking a gentle tug at James's hair.

He rubbed his head where the owl had tugged at his hair and grinned (rather stupidly) at Lily and Strix.

Lily began tying the small note to Strix's leg as she said, "You do know you named your bird "owl," don't you?"

His grin grew. "All the easier to remember his name."

Lily's lips twitched upward as she finished off the knot. "There you are, Strix, off you go," she said, holding out her arm.

Strix merely shifted her weight from one leg to the other and hooted curiously at James.

He quirked an eyebrow and waved a hand at her. "Go on, you know where to find me when you're done."

Lily tutted as Strix flew away. "I don't know if I approve of my bird hanging around you. Who knows what habits she could pick up."

James shrugged and said, "I can't help it if she likes me."

Lily snorted. "And I'm a hippogriff."

James ran a hand through his hair, looking pleasantly surprised. "I never would have assumed. You just look… so much more human to me."

She frowned. "You take everything too literally."

"I'm a very literal person. But then, I do tend to use metaphors sometimes…." He lapsed into silence as he donned an inquisitive, thoughtful expression. .

Lily rolled her eyes and headed out the owlry door. Surprisingly, James didn't follow. Lily felt a tinge of disappointment. Sometimes I wish he really did like me….

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Strix tapped on the window with her beak, drawing the attention of a figure in the shadows. The figure stepped into the glowing daylight and the window swung open; Strix flew into the darkness. Her glowing amber eyes were instantly accustomed to the darkness as she took in the familiar surroundings.

She perched on the post of a four-poster and began preening her feathers, waiting for her accomplice to finish writing. After a few minutes, she bored of this and instead swooped from her perch to the bed across from her, hooting hopefully as she dug through a pile of used parchment in hopes for food.

"There's nothing there," the figure said, smiling down at her fondly. "But I brought you this from breakfast." He tossed a strip of bacon onto the bed next to her and she hooted in thanks.

Nibbling happily, she turned her amber eyes on him with curiosity. He was still scribbling away furiously, the ink creeping up to his fingers as he wrote. She cocked her head at him as she swallowed. He was different from her owner.

He wrote furiously fast, crossing out and scribbling over things. He'd pause occasionally, tickling his nose with the tip of his quill, apparently thinking, and then would continue with renewed energy.

Her owner, on the other hand, wrote slowly, as if contemplating her every word before putting it on her parchment. Her hand would hover above the parchment for a moment, and then she'd continue on with a full sentence, writing slowly but surely.

Strix turned her attention back to the grind of bacon she had left, pulling off a small strip with her beak. Maybe there were a few spiders lurking in the corners to wash it down with….

She hooted loudly, startled.

"Sorry, sorry Strix," the figure quickly apologized, casting an anxious glance her way. He had set a typewriter on his desk with a loud clunk. She hooted reproachfully.

"I'm almost done," he said, and motioned for her to perch on his shoulder. "See here, Strix, we put the parchment in here" — he loaded the parchment into the typewriter— "and then we tap it with my wand" — he poked the typewriter and said an incantation— "and then I read off what I have written and it will copy it for me. Easy," the figure finished off, and stiffened his original copy to begin.

Strix gave a light hoot and landed on her original landing place before: the four-poster closest to the window. Cool air was wafting in, the smell of spring with it. She started at the sound of the typewriter, but the figure said a word and the typewriter was silenced.

She watched with detached interest as the figure's lips moved softly, forming words unknown to her. She cleaned one feather and looked up. He was folding the original copy into a small square.

She preened another. He was now pulling the new copy from the machine, waving it in the air to make the ink dry faster.

She pulled the last of the bacon into her beak and swallowed happily. He was now placing the green parchment inside of a pale blue envelope. Now was her cue.

She perched on the arm of his chair and stuck out her leg expectantly. He smiled at her and gave her head a pat. "Give this to Lily before dinner, alright? When she responds, wait up in the owlry for me, and I will come and find you, understand?"

She hooted.

"Good," he said with a confidant smile, tying the letter to her leg and sending her off.

Strix flew out the window gracefully, circling the dormitory tower a few times before heading to the owlry to settle for a few hours before dinner.

Lily looked up, startled. Strix had just landed in front of her, in the middle of dinner, in her potato salad. Several heads popped up at the odd occurrence, including Lily's giggling group of friends.

Raising an eyebrow, she took the letter that Strix was presenting her. Strix adjusted her weight from one leg to the other, and then stuck her beak in Lily's goblet.

"Another, Evans?" said the shocked voice of Sirius Black, who was leaning over a steaming pot of potato soup. (Today was Potato Day at Hogwarts, in memory of the Marauders' very first major prank on Severus Snape.)

She flashed the envelope in front of his face. "I believe" —she looked at the letter as if for confirmation— "it is."

She pulled her bag over her shoulder and stood up. "C'mon, Strix, let's go," she said, but as she looked down at her plate for her bird, she wasn't there.

Looking down the table, both James Potter and Remus Lupin were stoking Strix, feeding her bits of baked potato off of their forks.

Lily sighed exasperatedly. "Strix, what did we talk about before?" she said accusingly, hands on her hips.

James laughed. "Strix, you know you're not to fraternize with the enemy!" he said, pointing at himself and Lupin with his fork.

Lupin raised his eyebrows. "Now I'm the enemy as well?"

James smiled and said proudly, "Once a Marauder, always a Marauder!"

"And that means if Evans hates Prongs, she hates us all!" piped in Sirius, slopping some soup onto his plate.

Lily sighed. "Firstly, I do not hate Potter. Secondly, just because I'm less than friendly with Potter does not mean I dislike you all. I don't dislike Remus," she added after a moment of thought, and patted her shoulder. Strix landed on her and they walked off.

Hearing the doors shut behind her with a satisfactory click, Lily took off down the corridor and up the stairs, Strix hooting questioningly and flying down the corridor after her.

Lily gave the password to the Fat Lady, and she and Strix bolted up to the dormitory. Slamming the door shut behind her, Lily threw herself on her bed and ripped open the letter.

Dear Lily Evans,

Who am I? You know who I am, Lily Evans, you saw me today. You looked at me. Did you not you notice me? I noticed you.

Lily, I am offended that you would call me a stalker. I prefer to know it as watching you closely. I wish you only the best, and that can only be achieved by watching you carefully. No harm shall befall you. I will not let it happen.

Lily Evans, I long to meet you, I truly do. I yearn to see your enchanting smile, your glowing face. I wish to hold your hand in mine, to meet my lips with yours.

But as my friend oft reminds me, flattery shall do me no good. 'Even if it is the truth?' I ask him, but he merely shakes his head at me. I fear I shall never learn of what he speaks. Who cannot appreciate a compliment? But then, I remind myself, he has little experience himself, so he shan't be instructing me anytime soon.

The English language is a petty language, Lily. It has merely one word for the connection two people share, whereas languages such as French and Latin brush up against the emotion you invoke within me. Love can mean so many separate things, though this word cannot express what I feel for you. It is beyond our English love, so much stronger than any English word could portray. As I try again and again to convey you this, I can only pray one day the concept will sink in.

I can only wait.

I hope I have answered your questions, Lily, and I await further contact from you.

Yours, always and forever,

Votre Cerf

Lily fingered the parchment, frowning. Not only stalker-ish, sweet, and funny, he's also smart, she thought. Brilliant. Next he'll be serenading me in Latin, and then Greek, and then Spanish….

She sifted through papers in her bag, pulling out a clean piece and a bent quill. She straightened the quill out, wording her thoughts in something Messer. Stag would understand… she hoped.

My dearest Stag,

Who put you up to this?

Lily smiled down at the letter; short, sweet, and to the point. She rolled it up and held it out to Strix, who was now tapping on the window expectantly.

Turning from the window, Strix landed on Lily's knee and nipped the letter from Lily's fingers with her beak. She managed a muffled hoot and waited on the windowsill as Lily opened the window.

Strix flew out into the fresh spring air.

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A lone figure crept up the owlry stairs, quill and ink in hand, walking as quietly as his clumsy feet would permit. He was taking the indirect approach to the owlry, as not to be spotted, but it was too late.

"Oy, Stag, where you off to?" called a voice from behind the figure, who paused.

The figure turned on his heel. "Off to the owlry, why?"

"No reason, just wond'ring," said the other, his brown hair bouncing against his head as he jogged up to the figure.

The brown-haired one broke a smile as he spotted the quill and ink. "Another letter to Evans, I see," he said, his eyes lighting up. "Just let it go, Stag, she'll never notice you."

"Never say never," said the figure sagely. "She just needs time."

"Which we don' have much a these days," commented the figure's companion.

"Like an hourglass, life is," said the figure. "We think we have all the time in the world until the last grains slip through and we're gone…."

The other nodded somberly. "I'll leave ya to your courting, then. Don' want to waste too much time, eh?" he said, and walked away, chuckling.

The figure shook his head and continued his way to the owlry. On entry, Strix gave an overjoyed hoot and landed on his shoulder.

"I've missed you too," he said, stroking her head. "Now, you've got a letter for me, don't you?"

Strix extended her wing towards a note curled around a perch. The figure pulled it off and petted Strix, obviously pleased.

"Well done, love," he said. "You've turned out to be quite the delivery bird, eh?" Strix hooted.

The figure laughed and uncurled the letter. His eyes flew across it, a disappointed look breaking out.

"Looks like she's not warming up to me too quickly, eh Strix?" he said, and sighed.

He pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment from his cloak pocket and uncorked his ink bottle. Dipping his quill in, he furrowed his brow and began.

Author's Notes: Yo.

-looks pointedly at review button-

Have fun!

--alisa