Friday, 5pm – May 17th
My life is over.
OVER.
If anyone ever tells you Hogwarts is the best Wizarding School in all of Britain, THEY ARE WRONG.
I'm telling you this right now, just in case you're planning to send your children here, or maybe by some chance you're a poor eleven year old who's just gotten your letter (both are which are highly implausible because you are just a book). They'll lure you in with their fancy hats and robes and wands and such, and for Muggleborns like me, it can be very hard to resist, I know. But trust me on this - this place is a loony bin.
Full of annoying nutters.
Stay in the Muggle world if you know what's good for you.
And I know you're thinking, well, she must be a loony as well because she's talking to this book as if it can actually understand her and isn't, in fact, just an inanimate object. Well, I'll have you know, dear book, I'm not writing in you of my own free will. It was suggested to me (more like forced upon me, actually) by my best friend Molly.
You see, Molly is under the impression that I have a lot of repressed anger. Me! Anger! What utter nonsense. She likes to say things like that, Molly does. She's a bit like one of those therapists that try to make you work out your problems on your own.
"But Lily, don't you think this would look better over there?" She'll suggest.
Or: "Lily, I know you're really tired, so I won't bother you. I just hope you're ready for that disappointed look Slughorn will give you tomorrow when you don't turn in your homework."
Small comments like that that work deep into your cerebellum and bug you until you succumb to her wishes. Molly has a very innocent face (big brown eyes, curly brown hair, long eyelashes, the works) but she can be very manipulative. Really. It's how she got on to the Quidditch team, I suspect, because she's really not all that good. Don't worry, she knows it, too. I think she's going to quit soon because she's always coming back from practice grumbling.
Anyway, so Molly somehow convinced me to start writing in this stupid journal my foul sister, Petunia, got me for Christmas last year. I suppose she only got it because she suspected I would never use it. Well boo for her because here I am, writing in it. Although I don't intend to write much because I don't really have the time. It's getting really close to our final exams (two weeks, bloody hell) and even though we don't have any major exams in Sixth Year, it's still sure to be a real pain. Especially considering I'm sure to get a Troll in Transfiguration.
I am a hundred percent serious when I tell you that I am six marks away from failing Transfiguration (I still need to tell you the reason why this school is full of annoying nutters but let me get this out first). I simply don't understand the subject and it's a complete mystery anyone else does. It's exactly like one of those classes where you sit down and tell yourself that you WILL pay attention and you WILL understand everything Professor McGonagall is saying, but then within the first five minutes you're already thinking about whether to have carrots or peas for lunch.
And then when it comes to actually performing the spells, I'm so awfully terrible that I set the classroom on fire at one point. I really did. People had to go to the Hospital Wing and everything. No one ever wants to be my partner since then. Not even MOLLY. I don't even know why I call her my best friend, she's such a traitor. Maybe I should start being best friends with another girl from my dorm, like Alice Prewett. She's very nice. Or Mary McDonald, though she's always prattling on about some boy or the other. I suppose Keira Dane would also make a fine best friend. She's got to be the most insecure person on the entire planet but on the positive side, she's almost as bad at Transfiguration as I am.
It really sucks being so terrible at such a crucial subject because, for some reason or the other, Transfiguration is one of the subjects students are required to pass if they want to be an Auror. Which brings me back to why I'm so annoyed with Hogwarts tonight.
See, I've always wanted to be an Auror. Always meaning, ever since I found out what they were, which was about three months ago, but that is beside the point. I mean, how brilliant would that be? You get to run around and put a stop to evil and all that. And you don't get into trouble for hexing people who get on your nerves. It's a win-win situation. And naturally, when Professor Harigan (our Defense against the Dark Arts teacher) described the job to us (he used to be one before he got so old he could barely even jump over a log) I knew it was what I wanted to do.
I talked to him about it today, and he said it was a very taxing job, and I told him I could handle it, but right then he got distracted because... lo, and behold, James Potter had walked into the room.
James Potter.
His name makes me want to break my quill.
See, James Potter is very... infuriating. Infuriating in every way possible. Infuriating because he is probably the luckiest goddamn person in the world. He's rich, he's bloody brilliant without even trying, he's good looking (if you can see past his FAT head) and he's apparently the best Quidditch player Hogwarts has seen in years. Not to mention the entire school population is in love with him (a fact that only strengthens my belief that everyone in this school is mad).
They all think he's so damn clever and funny and, here's the catch: so does he. In James Potter's mind, he's a gift to all the women of Hogwarts. He struts around... ruffling his hair like an idiot... hexing people because he thinks it's funny (alright sometimes it is, but it can also be very mean!)... being an all round prat... and what really gets me the most is how he seems to have developed this weird obsession with me.
If it was any other person, literally anyone else, it might have been flattering. Sweet even. But it's Potter and he's a git. He thinks making fun of me is some big joke. I mean, how awful is that? Molly thinks he actually does like me, and that he really wants me to go out with him, but I tell her to bugger off because, really. He's James Potter. He could have literally any girl at Hogwarts. Why me? Aside from the fact that I hate his guts, I am nothing special. Just your slightly below average, green eyed, redhead that tends to overreact on occasion. It's not like I'm gorgeous or anything, like Patty Hancox, the fifth member of our dorm.
They used to go out, you know. Patty and James, I mean. They were pretty much the most disgusting couple at Hogwarts last year. Everywhere I went, I would see them grabbing each other and shoving their tongues down each other's throats; the train, outside classes, on the grounds, even at lunch when the rest of us poor kids were trying to push down some nutrition. Ew. They've broken up now, but that really shows you the type of girl James is after. Because I would never. I like to keep my snogging sessions private, thank you very much.
Not that I've had very many snogging sessions, to be honest. I haven't had that many boyfriends, mostly due to the fact that I'm a walking, talking Christmas tree with weird freckles and a horrible temper. But more on that later.
Anyway, so James Potter walked into the room Professor Harigan uses as his office, where I'm already speaking to him, mind you, and said all casually:
"Could I have a word, Professor?"
No, you bloody can't, I'm having a word, I wanted to say, but of course Professor Harigan gestured him forward jovially. He does everything jovially, that man. It's a little unsettling; surely, no one can be that happy all the time. I suspect he has some deep, dark secret that he attempts to hide behind a cheerful manner. Maybe he secretly hates us all (I wouldn't blame him) and has formulated a diabolical plot to destroy the school.
Hmm.
"Certainly, dear boy," he beamed at James. "I was just talking to Lily here about future career choices, but I think we're just about done-"
"Actually," James interrupted quickly, glancing at my reddening face, "that's what I came to talk to you about. See, I heard something from Professor McGonagall about some Auror training program in the summer, and as you know, I'm really looking into that for when I leave Hogwarts. She said to talk to you about it, that you'll be in charge of it?"
I don't know what made me more upset; the fact that Professor Harigan had pretty much blown me off to talk to James (we were nowhere near done) or the fact that Professor McGonagall was talking to that twit about important things like Auror training programs. Alright, so I guess it's no secret that she is in love with him – he's some sort of Transfiguration genius – but, hey! I'm the bloody Prefect. Not a very good one, I'll give you that, but still. You try having to walk around this massive castle at night and risk being hexed by highly libidinous teens because you're trying to interrupt their broom-closet sex. It's a very taxing job. We Prefects are highly depreciated.
"Oh yes, she already talked to me about that," Harigan nodded, pulling out some papers from his desk drawer. "Already had your name put down and everything. I assume you talked to your father about this?"
"Oh yes," James nodded in return. "He's very pleased. He's an Auror too, you know."
Who doesn't bloody know? Henry Potter is basically the most mentioned Auror in the Daily Prophet. I was thinking this too, when James glanced at me again. He is constantly glancing at me for a reason unbeknownst to me, and it makes me very uncomfortable. I glared back at him and he immediately said, "You're in the program too, Evans?"
I really didn't want to say "I don't know what program you're talking about, but it sounds like something I would be interested in," because that was an admission that James knew something I didn't, but that's exactly what I said. Apparently, my mouth has decided to severe its connection to my brain and make decisions on its own.
"Oh, you didn't hear?" Harigan asked, surprised. "That's strange. You friend, Miss Winslet, signed up for the program weeks ago."
Miss Winslet. Molly. She signed up and didn't tell me about it.
See. Traitor.
"What program?" I pressed.
"It's being sponsored by the Ministry," Harigan huffed, shuffling through the papers again. "They need a lot of recruits next year and so they're holding training sessions for Sixth Years interested in the Auror field. It's being held out of school for the first couple of weeks of summer, sort of like a camp. It's all on the pamphlet, though I can't seem to find it anywhere…"
And just then, when he was pulling out papers and stuff, looking for that evasive pamphlet, I started to get really excited. He'd said, sort of like a camp. If there's one thing I love, it's camping. My pap used to take me all the time when I was younger, and, granted we returned with countless insect bites and even one time a potentially life-threatening disease, those camping days had been some of the best of my life. We don't do it much now what with me going to Hogwarts and Petunia being a right bitch and all, but I miss it terribly.
And a magic camp! With Auror training! I was so excited I could barely stop myself from bouncing on my toes. I started thinking about how much fun I would have with Molly and any other Sixth Years going and how wonderful everything would be, when –
"Sorry, Miss Evans… it doesn't look like we have any spots left."
I blinked at him.
"What do you mean they're no spots left?" I asked him, a little more loudly than I intended to. "How many spots are there? Who signed up for it?"
Mr. Harigan smiled and told me in a very calm voice, as if my life wasn't falling to pieces around me, "Well, like I said before, Miss Winslet applied earlier. In fact, it seems every Sixth Year Gryffindor applied already – except you, of course. There can be only eleven people from each house, you see. Six boys and five girls. And all the other girls in your dorm… Misses Winslet, Prewett, McDonald, Hancox and Dane all applied, leaving no more available room for another female applicant."
"But there are only five male Sixth Year Gryffindors!" I insisted. "That means there's one spot left-"
"Yes, one spot left for a male. Are you a male, Miss Evans?" He was still smiling. I'm almost positive he was imagining himself stabbing me in the chest repeatedly with a rusty fork.
I could hear James laughing under his breath, but I really tried to ignore him. "Does it really matter?"
"Actually, it does matter, because for a while now I've been referring to you as MISS Evans-"
"No! No, I'm a girl, I'm asking if it matters if there are six guys and five girls! Couldn't it be… I dunno, six girls and five blokes?"
"I'm afraid not," Harigan said cheerfully. He rose from his seat and returned all the papers into his drawer. "Extended surveys by the Ministry concluded that males are much more likely to pursue an Auror career. So now they invest more deeply in them. Doubt there's much more you can do! Now if you'll just excuse me… have places to dash to, you know!"
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the world we live in. A world where women have unequal rights and can't pursue their dreams because of some stupid survey. A world where annoying teachers make secret ploys to destroy their school. A world where BEST FRIENDS DON'T TELL EACH OTHER THINGS.
I'm royally pissed at Molly right now. Maybe if she'd told me on time, I would've been able to sign up before Patty, who is not exactly big on punctually. But now it's too late, and my summer will consist of pointless rows with Petunia instead of exciting new experiences with my friends. I mean, really. Every other Gryffindor except me. Every. Other. Gryffindor.
You know what that means?
Two words.
Amos Diggory.
Who is Amos Diggory, you ask? Only the boy I've been in love with for just about FOREVER.
He's the fifth and final Sixth Year Gryffindor, and the best-looking, as well as the nicest and the overall best. Alright, perhaps not the nicest (he is nice, though I think Remus takes the prize for that category), but he really is everything else.
Thing is, I'm pretty sure he doesn't know I exist. Like, he knows I literally exist, as in he knows I am alive and the Sixth Year Gryffindor Prefect and everything, but other than that, he knows nothing about me. We've been in the same house for SIX years, but he still forgets my name. It's heartbreaking. You try having the love of your life refer to you as "Lola." Unless of course, your name is actually Lola, then that would be nice, I suppose.
He doesn't really hang around us Gryffindors much, so I guess that could be a reason. He mostly tags along with the Hufflepuffs, which is totally mystifying, but I don't really blame him. Having James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter in one dorm could make anyone feel excluded. Like peas in a pod, those four.
Still, for those split seconds where I imagined going to this training, I imagined myself and Amos sitting under the moonlight by the fire after a particularly draining exercise… he wrapped his arms around me and I looked into those blue eyes (his eyes are SO blue. Like the Circassian sea.) and then he leaned in and I leaned in and we were so close and then – POOF.
Just like that. Gone. Along with my chances of ever kissing Amos Diggory.
I imagine it to be very nice. Kissing him, I mean. He has very soft-looking lips.
Sigh.
I just talked to Professor Harigan about an hour ago so I haven't seen Molly yet (I think she might be sending an owl to her parents), but as soon as I do, I'm giving her a real talking to. It's time for dinner now anyways so I'll probably see her there.
So.
It's been real, book, but I honestly don't think I'll be writing in you anymore. Hopefully, the little I've written will keep Molly off my back.
This wasn't that bad actually. I might still use you for notes and such.
Xxx L
UPDATE:
I saw Molly at dinner. This is how our conversation went:
Me: (taking a seat at the table) Why didn't you tell me about the Auror training?
Molly: (spooning in some rice) Oh. I forgot.
Me: You forgot. Oh. Okay. Just like I forgot to tell you I'm terminating our friendship. Alice is my new best friend now.
Molly: Don't you think you're being a little bit overdramatic, Lily?
Me: NO, ACTUALLY. I DON'T.
Molly: I didn't think you'd want to do it.
Me: What on earth would make you think that!?
Molly: Well, you've only really been interested in a career as an Auror for about two months. You can be a bit indecisive. I didn't think you really wanted to do it.
Me: Three months! And it doesn't mean you should've kept it from me. Besides, just the fact that Amos is going should have been enough reason for you to let me know. It was your duty as former ex-best friend.
Molly: I'm sorry! I honestly didn't think you'd be interested. And I didn't even know Amos signed up for it.
Me: Whatever.
Molly: Please don't be angry, Lils. If you really want to, we could go after dinner and try convincing Professor Dumbledore to let you go. He's sure to have some say in this.
As it turns out, Professor Dumbledore has no say in any of this. He told us he wasn't involved and to talk to Professor Harigan, which was obviously no help at all.
So that's it.
No more advancement in my pursuits of a career as an Auror. No more camping with magic. No more snuggling with Amos under the pale moonlight.
I wish Professor Harigan would get on with murdering me. My life sucks.
A/N: I have about half of this story written. I'll update in a few days if I get some feedback on this!