Disclaimer: not mine, blah blah blah.

A/N: Just a quick little thing I wrote when I was supposed to be doing my college work :)

Reviews make me happy *winknudge*

Enjoy!

i.

When he met her for the first time, she smelt of strawberries.

Or perhaps I should say when he saw her, as he didn't meet her until the sixth or seventh time, and by then she had changed. It wasn't too noticeable, but it was there. But let's get back to the strawberries.

He was hiding behind a tree, watching her play with another girl, who, incidentally, did not smell of anything at all. He had been drawn to the place by the scent, hypnotized by it almost, following his nose as his nose followed the smell, as the smell wafted about in the summer breeze. He had followed it all the way to the edge of a small park, where the two girls were playing on the swings and laughing, oozing the sort of carefree attitude he had always been so desperately jealous of and so determined to one day achieve. But he had never had anything to feel carefree about, and so he remained jealous (and perhaps always would). He only stayed for a minute or two before running away, afraid of discovery.

He had not meant to find her the second time, but had been wandering the woods when his nose caught the strawberries once more. He watched again, watched her laugh and smile and play and be happy. And he found that though he was so very, very jealous of her, he could not resent her for it. For she seemed to him to be exactly the sort of girl who should be happy, who deserved it. And so he stayed longer this time, already beginning to treasure the glimpses he could catch of her around the tree, and through his hair which hung in strands across his face.

He didn't notice straightaway that she had changed when he finally dredged up the courage to talk to her. But by the time she had run away from him, following her fleeing sister, he had realised. It wasn't strawberries anymore, but some other fruit. He couldn't quite place it, but the change was there, and he wondered if that meant that the carefree girl he had watched was gone completely, and he wondered whether he could love this new version the same as he had the old.

ii.

It was lavender when he met her at the train station. It hadn't been lavender when he had said goodbye to her the day before, but now, standing next to her in the midst of the crowd with the Hogwarts Express before them, it was most definitely lavender.

Her eyes were wide and sparkling with excitement, making them seem far greener and more beautiful than usual. She was his, at that moment. His first friend, his best friend. She would enter Hogwarts at his side, and be truly and irrevocably his. When she had been carefree and happy she had been amazing, but she had also been terribly unreachable; a girl like she was would never have cared one whit for a boy like him. No, he would always love strawberry, but, he thought to himself as he stood by the train and watched her, he loved lavender more.

Eventually, when she had drunk her fill of the sights at the station, and he had drunk enough of her image to keep him going for a good few minutes, they boarded the train, settling down in a compartment by themselves. He closed the door behind him so as to trap the smell of lavender in the small space, and they sat in silence for a few minutes; he revelling in the remarkable scent, and she staring out the window at the families saying goodbye.

"You're certain it doesn't matter that I'm muggleborn then, Sev?" she asked, in a quiet, shy voice which she almost never used around him these days.

"Of course not, Lily, you are amazing, muggleborn or not," he replied, delighting in the happy smile she rewarded him with. Happier now, she forced him to tell her all about Hogwarts, about magic and about himself. He had told her before, of course, but she always did like a story, and Sev told her the best stories.

When he looked back, he would remember that train ride as his best memory, when she had been his, and his alone. Because when they reached Hogwarts an obstacle came between them and she didn't smell of lavender anymore.

iii.

She smelt of roses when he called her that name, yelling it out in a fit of anger and madness. The calm, flowery scent floated from her, invading his nostrils and mocking him even as she yelled at him. He had truly lost her, now. She hadn't been lavender in years, but she had still been there, been his friend even if she had not been solely his anymore. But now she was nothing, nothing but roses, and he found himself wondering if he could love all of these new Lily's that kept appearing. Perhaps there just wasn't room in his heart anymore (or perhaps there was never room in hers to begin with).

But then she walked away, and the wrenching feeling he got in his gut told him that yes, he could love them all and he would, until the day he died.

iv.

The next thing he knew, she was with James, and she smelt of lilies. She barely glanced his way as she passed him in the street, just walked straight past, leaving a lingering smell of lilies in her wake. He hated that perhaps this new change was because she was complete; like she was finally herself, exactly where she belonged. He hated that her home wasn't with him, and he hated that she had found love with his enemy. It was a sign that he would never get her back again, and he found that he hated the smell of lilies from that day on.

If only for the pain the scent always brought with it.

v.

He knelt before her grave, knees soaked from the snow which covered the ground, but he did not notice or care. The scent of lavender surrounded him (though whether it was memory or real, or wishful thinking, he never would find out) as he stared, unblinking, at the names carved upon the gravestone. James and Lily Potter. His worst school enemy and the love of his life. She had not been his, had anything to do with him, for years, and yet seeing their names carved together seemed like a final severance. They were together in death, she had chosen James over him, and he was left in life, alone and cold and scared and guilty.

And always, always, surrounded by the scent of lavender.