It was just after breakfast when the letter came.
My father frowned when an owl swooped down through the open window and landed on the table in front of me. I recognized it immediately as one of the school owls, but I didn't recognize this particular bird.
"What's this?" My father looked suspiciously at the letter tied to the bird's leg.
"It's a letter," I said slowly, looking at the bird. It looked back at me, unblinkingly, and I wondered if it were a he or a she. What was I supposed to call it if I didn't know?
My father gave me a look that said quite clearly that he thought I were daft. "Yes, I can see that it's a letter, Lily. I mean, who's it from?"
I hesitated, looking at the bird. I didn't want to seem rude, but I had no idea how to open the letter. "Um, would you mind?" I asked, pointing at the letter. The bird blinked, and I thought I saw a flicker of... something in its eyes. I couldn't tell what it was, though.
My father sighed and took the letter. "Watch carefully, Lily, so you know how to do it next time."
The bird gave me a look that seemed to say, "Yeah right" and flew out the open window. I watched it go, wondering who the letter was from.
When I turned back, my father was holding the letter out to me. "Here. You open it, since you seem to know the proper way to address a letter."
I took the letter, wondering if I should be worried. My father didn't give me things without a reason, especially not when he thought I were daft. I looked at the letter, and my name, written in neat, flowing script, caught my eye. I knew that handwriting.
"James?" I looked up at my father, who was watching me rather warily. "This is from James."
My mother dropped the cup she was washing. It shattered on the floor, but she didn't seem to notice. "James who?"
"Potter," my father said shortly. "Dear Lily," he read. My mother gasped.
"He's actually writing you politely," my father said in awe. "And he used your name."
I took the letter from him and opened it. It was short, but I could tell that it took a lot of effort to not seem like the git he was.
Dear Lily,
I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did.
Sincerely, James Potter.
"He's apologizing," I said slowly, looking up at my parents. They were staring at me, stunned.
"Well, when did this happen?" My mother asked.
"He wrote me the night I left. That's why the owl was here so soon."
"Let me see that." My father snatched the letter from my hands.
I'm sorry.
I shouldn't have said what I did.
Sincerely, James Potter.
"Well, at least he didn't try to excuse himself," my mother muttered.
"But he did say sorry," my father said, sounding stunned. "He actually said sorry."
"Not only that, but he wrote a full sentence," my mother breathed.
My father looked at her, then at me. "When did this git become such a goody-two-shoes?"
I shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe he's just gotten better."
"That's not possible," my mother said. "He's always been an obnoxious, inconsiderate git."
"And now he's apologizing," my father said. "I don't know what's going on, but I don't like it." He looked at me. "Don't you go getting any ideas, Lily. He's still a git."
I nodded, but I was smiling. Maybe James wasn't as despicable as I had thought.
* * *
The letter came after breakfast the next morning. I opened it immediately, because I couldn't wait to see what James had to say.
Dear Lily,
I'm writing this because my mother made me. She said if I don't apologize properly, she'll stop letting me eat. I don't think that's fair, because I didn't just insult you, I insulted her too.
I'm sorry.
Sincerely, James Potter.
"He's apologizing again," I told my parents, who were sitting at the table with me. They looked at me as if I were insane.
"Don't you dare get any ideas, Lily," my father warned me.
I just smiled and tucked the letter into my pocket.
* * *
I was sitting in the garden when the bird came. I was reading, but I could hear my parents laughing inside. My sister was home for the summer too, and she was so much fun to be around. It made me wish I could be home more often.
The bird landed on the table in front of me. I looked up at it and smiled. "Hello, there."
The bird just stared at me.
"Are you hungry?" I asked, pulling out a piece of bread. "Or do you just want company?"
The bird cocked its head and stared at me.
I sighed and broke off a piece of bread. "Fine, be that way." I held the bread out to the bird. "Here. You can have this if you want."
The bird took the bread from me and flew off. I watched it go, wondering who the letter was from.
When I turned back, my father was holding the letter out to me. "Here. You open it, since you seem to know the proper way to address a letter."
I took the letter, wondering if I should be worried. My father didn't give me things without a reason, especially not when he thought I were daft. I looked at the letter, and my name, written in neat, flowing script, caught my eye. I knew that handwriting.
"James?" I looked up at my father, who was watching me rather warily. "This is from James."
My mother dropped the cup she was washing. It shattered on the floor, but she didn't seem to notice. "James who?"
"Potter," my father said shortly. "Dear Lily," he read. My mother gasped.
"He's actually writing you politely," my father said in awe. "And he used your name."
I took the letter from him and opened it. It was short, but I could tell that it took a lot of effort to not seem like the git he was.
Dear Lily,
I'm sorry again. My mother made me write a new letter, and I didn't want to.
Sincerely, James Potter.
"He's apologizing again," I told my parents, who were sitting at the table with me. They looked at me as if I were insane.
"Don't you dare get any ideas, Lily," my father warned me.
I just smiled and tucked the letter into my pocket.