The Book of Lost Spells
An intriguing narrative by three fabulous witches:
Miss Emmeline Vance
Miss Marlene McKinnon
Miss Lily Evans
Law 1. Thou shalt not allow anyone but Marlene McKinnon, Emmeline Vance, and Lily Evans to read the book.
Law 2. Thou shalt not utter but the truth in this book. Avoidance is permitted, if absolutely necessary, but lies are not.
Law 3. Thou shalt not read that which another has written
Law 4. Thou shalt not spill any manner of food or beverage on the book.
Law 5. Thou shalt write neatly
Law 6. Thou shalt not get the book confiscated. Idea: carry a decoy.
Law 7. Thou shalt not take the book to the Prefects Bathroom where it is likely to be ruined by any one of the excessive number of taps in that ruddy place ("But I'll use a Waterproofing Spell!"
Signed: Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, Emmeline Vance
A Dull Evening, 14 August 1977
Merlin knows why I volunteered to start this thing.
Actually, I do know – it's because I lead a sodding dreary life and Lily and Mar were kind enough to give me something to do with myself. Other than irk my parents for the fun of it, or send owls to the Marauders and try to get in on their escapades.
Yeah, that's how bad my life is. I have to resort to the Marauders. I'm not even part of the Marauders. Not that I'd want to be. I, for one, wouldn't fancy having such a ridiculous nickname.
... but those boys are much better fun than Lily or Mar, most of the time. Plus they'll be more than willing to come visit me in Ireland, I'm sure (getting the subtle hint, so-called mates?)... if I bribed them, that is.
Yeah, bribery.
And naive reader, who I dare say supposes that I merely joke about bribery, let me assure you that it is firmly within my reach. You heard me, bribery. With the prospect of Quidditch, there's no blooming way Black and Potter'll resist, and you never know, they might bring company.
Not that I'll need company, though, right? Because Lily's coming to Ireland, aren't you Lil? Aren't you? Which reminds me, I'd better go send an owl.
Anyway. Where was I.
Company. Company. Those were the days, when poor old me wasn't cooped up at home, packing for flipping Ireland. What in the bloody name of all things magical even is Ireland. Well, okay, a country, so I hear, but it's downright dull, especially for a sprightly witch of almost-seventeen, such as yours truly.
I remember the days when I had company. Rotten company, mind you, but company nonetheless. My two (then) best mates, Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon. I detest them awfully now, of course, on account of them having abandoned me.
Oh sod, I keep forgetting that they won't actually read this till it's much too late. Actually, it'll be almost next summer, won't it? Perfect. And so, I speak directly to Lily Evans and Marlene when I say (ahem):
Marlene, if you even dare abandon me again, I'll hex everyone and everything dear to you. And you know I'm not joking. Lily, I don't know yet whether you swallowed your pride and went with the whole Potter Plan, but if not, same goes for you. Consider yourself warned, witches. Clear?
*Crystal*, you're thinking. I know you are. Or else.
...
Er, so anyway, on with the task at hand. Of course I know what I'm doing, and so do you, Lily and Mar, but I have been expressly ordered by a certain one of you (oh who am I kidding, whoever reads this knows it was you, Lily, obviously) that we need a proper introduction to this thing. A preface, if you will.
Personally I reckon that's utter bollocks (no offence, Lily dear). But you made me swear to write one (and threatened that I'd never be able to raid your book collection ever again) and I haven't anything better to do (sad, no?) so I'll humour you, just this once.
Dear Diary (Yeah, see? Getting right into this!),
You may be wondering from whence you came, and in whose care you presently reside. I tell you, old battered book of mine, that this is a tale just begging to be told (preface-y enough for ya, Lil?). The story begins on a fine summer's day in Diagon Alley, an alley whose whereabouts shall not be herein described as, reader, if you don't know where Diagon is, I haven't the foggiest why you're reading this at all. Ahem, I digress.
Anyway, I, Emmeline Louise Vance of 15 Perch Avenue, Richmond, happily flooed into Diagon on the 12th of August, 1977, a day that shall be remembered forever more as The Day We Got the Book of Lost Spells (and no, that name does not have a ring to it, and yes, Marlene McKinnon is completely loopy). Argh, I digress, AGAIN. Merlin, this is going to take forever.
Moving along swiftly, then, I arrived gracefully in the Leaky Cauldron - not the fireplace of my preference, naturally, but it was necessary, for whom was I to meet but Marlene McKinnon, a dashing young witch with lashings of dark brown hair (honestly, woman, when will you believe me when I say that I would hex you in your sleep for those. Watch out.) a stern expression and a slight limp.
Okay, sorry Mar, that was harsh – you aren't nearly as sinister as the description suggests, but it wasn't your finest moment, I'm not going to lie. And besides, I believe it was you who inked the 2nd Law (again, why do they have to be laws?), which means that whether I like it or not, I'm simply bound to telling the truth.
But I'll amend that last bit – she was only looking stern because I was some thirteen minutes late, and she was only limping because – wait, I'll explain that soon.
"Hello, Marly," I said jovially, brushing fine cinders out of my hair.
"Took your time, Vance," she grumbled, though she looked terribly relieved as she unknotted the back of her apron and ducked behind the counter, presumably to find Tom. Don't know why she still works there, but hey, she does.
"Ready to get crackalackin?" I grinned as she emerged once more, a wispy red scarf around her neck replacing the apron.
"I forget how mad you are, sometimes," she muttered, but I could tell she was pleased to see me too (you were, Mar, admit it), "although, not nearly as mad as Terrifying Tom, that's for sure."
"Oh come on, Mar," I laughed, "I'm sure he isn't as –"
"Don't even go there, Emmeline Vance," she said threateningly, "today, he started yelling and making a bloody racket about blooming nargles for Merlin's sake –"
"Each to their own," I chuckled, "just because –"
"No, no, no," she seethed, "not each to their own when the bloke drops the whole tray of butterbeer mugs on my flipping foot!"
"Oh," I winced. (Hence the foot – see?)
"Oh's right," agreed Marlene. By this time we were already halfway up Diagon Alley. In spite of the glorious weather it was empty, of course. You don't have to be a genius Lily Evans to work out why (heheh). "Shame about Gambol and Japes'."
"Yeah," I agreed. The streetscape was becoming increasingly foreboding – it was gradual, of course, the disappearance of shopkeepers and peddlers, but it was starkly noticeable, too.
"Where're we meeting Lily?"
"Flourish and Blotts," I replied, steering her to the right and walking into the aforementioned shop. Luckily (or unluckily, perhaps, come to think of it) for us, Blotts was still decidedly open, which meant we were able to stock up on our schoolbooks. "Got your list?"
"Mhmm," nodded Marlene, pulling a crumpled sheet of parchment from her jeans pocket, her eyes skimming quickly over it, "you've just got Divination different to me, right?"
"Yeah," I snorted, unable to suppress my distaste for the subject.
Marlene rolled her eyes, and said, "It is a subject, Em, don't be superior."
Superior? Me? I gaped in mock disbelief. Divination is a complete joke of a subject, reader, don't let Marlene convince you otherwise. Besides, Lily agrees with me on this one. Yeah.
"Okay, agree to disagree," said Marlene quickly, sensing (all too rightly) that I was about to argue (I always win these arguments), "right, then you take the top half, I'll take the bottom, and then I'll get Divination and you get, er –"
"Arithmancy," I reminded her. Marlene rolled her eyes, but didn't say anything. What could she have said, anyway? Arithmancy is a proper subject, unlike Divination, "last one back buys the winner an icecream-go!"
With that I dashed away, congratulating myself on such a brilliant idea – Marlene had our Potions books to find, which were stored in the notoriously untidy back corner of Blotts. I cackled manically to myself as I ran my hands along the History of Magic bookshelf, looking out for my textbook – Factual Recollections of the First Goblin Intervention – er, no - Goblins of Greenland –no – Goblins of Holland – no – Goblins of New Zealand – enough with the bloody goblins! – A History of Magic – yes!
I grabbed two copies and ran on to the Herbology section, where, lo and behold, there was a whole stand of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi – brilliant – and then to the Transfig section, where Guide to Advanced Transfiguration stood gleaming in all of its lacquered bogey-coloured glory directly at head height. And now – I checked down my list for the Arithmancy book – "quick, quick, quick," I muttered to myself, staring down the list.
"Oh stupid, stupid, stupid!" I cried, remembering that Professor Vector wrote her own problems for the class – so I spun around and – oomph.
"Vance!" Cried Peter Pettigrew in surprise.
"Pettigrew!" I cried, sprinting past him toward the front of the shop. Weaving my way between disgruntled customers, I reached the front of the shop where, to my enormous, overwhelming, unpleasant surprise, Marlene stood, chatting to Lily.
"How in the name of bloody Merlin did –" I began.
"Nice to see you, too," smiled Lily. I rolled my eyes at her.
"Oh," said Marlene lightly, "you mean how did I beat you?"
"You did not beat me," I snarled, "I'm – I'm –"
"Blimey, Vance," said a familiar voice from behind me, "training for the new season already, are we?"
James Potter. I'd know that voice anywhere. I grinned, whipping round to find three of the famed Marauders standing in the queue to be served. James Potter was leaning easily against a bookshelf, one eyebrow cocked, and a wide grin on his face, Peter Pettigrew was carrying what looked to be more than his fair share of books, and Sirius was intently reading a book (I didn't know he could read).
"You can never start too early, Cap'n," I grinned.
"Too right," he agreed, "and how are we, ladies?" When he asked this he looked at each of us in turn, his eyes lingering a little on Lily, who was determinedly studying the back of her Potions textbook.
"Been better," said Marlene noncommittally. Lily didn't respond, and Potter looked like someone had told him Christmas wasn't coming this year. I smirked slightly, and he probably saw me because he shot me a withering glare.
"Want to jump the queue?" He offered, more so to Marlene than me or Lily.
"We'll wait," said Lily with a small smile. Potter, who clearly hadn't realised Lily was even listening to the conversation, seemed startled. His hand flew to his hair and he nodded quickly.
"Okay, yeah," he swallowed.
"We shouldn't let you out in public," said Sirius – it appeared that he too had lost interest in whatever he was 'reading', "A right embarrassment to the Marauders' honour, you are."
"Lay off, Padfoot," said Peter, rolling his eyes. I raised my eyebrows inquisitively.
"Prongs still claims to be a Marauder, Vance," Sirius joked to me under his breath, "bloody incredible, isn't it? First off he gets marks as good as Lupin, then he sounds like a blithering baboon when he's talking to -" he jerked his thumb in Lily's general direction, "and thirdly he's the bleeding –"
"Padfoot," said James sharply. I doubt he could hear what Sirius was saying, but those boys seem to have some inherent ability to know what the others are thinking. It's wicked, really.
"Yes, Prongs?" Asked Sirius innocently. James rolled his eyes and stepped up to the counter to purchase his books. Even so, Sirius stopped talking about whatever was third on the list, and merely smiled easily at me, rocking back on his heels.
"Evans," he said after a moment, "you're Head Girl, right?"
Lily eyed him with some sort of apprehension (Merlin, I'll have to have a word to her about friendly body language), and then nodded.
"Congratulations!" Cried Sirius. This was clearly not what Lily was expecting (the poor, poor naive lass), nor was the smothering hug that followed.
"Thanks," she smiled when he had released her, and she seemed to be biting back a laugh. Sometimes I wish Lily would just let her guard down around people, you know? Instead of acting like such a stuck up little arse (sorry, Lil, but it's true), "Where's Remus, by the way?"
"He's coming later," said Peter. By this time James had purchased his books, and a stout lady wearing an assortment of lively looking furs was at the counter.
"Where're you off to next?" Asked James.
"Dunno," I said truthfully, "we don't have much of a plan, do we?"
"Except for icecream," grinned Marlene. I hit her on the arm with my heaviest textbook. She winced slightly, but her grin didn't fade.
"How did you win, anyway?"
"I found Lily in the Potions section," smirked Marlene, "and she helped me out from there."
"Blooming cheaters," I muttered under my breath. The fur-wearing lady had finished her transaction, apparently, so I moved up the queue, bought my books, and waited out the front with James.
"Where're you lot off to, then?" I asked.
"I think Sirius wants to go down to Knockturn, but after that we might head back for icecream, I s'pose."
"Wait – Knockturn? What in the devils name are you doing there?"
"Nothing," smirked James, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"Nothing?" I repeated incredulously, "I sometimes wish I were a boy. Then you could have five Marauders, and –"
"Who says we'd accept you, Vance?" James asked seriously. I hit him on the arm.
"But honestly, Lily and Mar would never go to Knockturn Alley," I grumbled.
"And so they shouldn't," he remarked.
"Well that's just sexist," I retorted.
"Sexist?" Laughed James. "How?"
"You think that because we're girls we couldn't handle it."
"No," said James, "I just don't think you three would enjoy yourselves there, s'all."
"Why not?" I cried, becoming increasingly indignant, "We can be rebellious, we just choose otherwise – hey, Lily, we're going to Knockturn, okay?"
"Knockturn?" Said Lily, raising her eyebrows as she came to stand next to me, "That's a daft idea, Em, why would we –"
"Because James doesn't think we have it in us," I said, looking challengingly at Lily.
"Well bully for him," said Lily, looking directly at me and disregarding James, "and perhaps he should consider the possibility that we have better things to do than follow him and his friends into an alleyway renowned for dark magic."
James swallowed, and then muttered, "Of course you do."
Lily surveyed him calmly, with a mixture of condescension and distaste, and then turned to me again, and said, "Florean and Fortescues, then?"
"Sure," I sighed. Just then, Marlene, Sirius and Peter emerged from the bookshop. "Icecream?"
"On you!" Said Marlene happily, slinging her arm joyfully around me. I wriggled away, wrinkling my nose in mock disgust. Meanwhile, the three Marauders were conferring between one another.
"Cheerio, then," I called, as we walked up Diagon Alley away from them.
"Wait up," called James. To my surprise, they followed behind us, Sirius looking thoroughly displeased, Peter looking quietly relieved, and James smiling broadly. "Hey."
"Hi," I smirked, "no Knockturn today, then?"
"It was a stupid idea," said James, and after receiving my pointed look, he said, "honestly, it was. A truly stupid idea."
"Daft, even?" I asked. James gave me a pretend whack over the head.
"Watch it, Vance," he said.
"I wonder when you'll give up," I pondered aloud, "you know, if ever. You'll tell me, won't you? So I can announce to the rest of the female population that James Potter is finally free, no strings at-"
"Not funny, Em," he said, his jaw set.
"Sorry," I replied, biting my lip. Perhaps making light of the situation wasn't the best way to get around it. But honestly, the boy had to face facts, "you're still trying, then?"
"Evidently," he muttered, "don't know why I bother, though."
"I... yeah," I admitted, "you never know, though. Lily's just..."
"Complicated?" James guessed, raising an eyebrow.
"Something like that," I smiled.
"Yeah, thought as much," he muttered.
"D'you want me to talk to her for you?" I offered. Merlin, the boy looked sad.
"No," he laughed, "Vance, if I can't talk to the girl myself there's something bloody well wrong with me."
"Fair point," I conceded, feeling slightly relieved. Yes, Lily's one of my best mates, but she has a completely one tracked mind when it comes to James Potter.
"After you," said Potter. I looked up, realised we were at the icecream parlour, and walked ahead of him inside. It was busy, but not as busy as it should've been. Still, everyone needs icecream, no matter what the political climate.
"Vanilla with strawberry sauce, caramel fudge and apple pie crumble," I said, handing my money over the counter, "and she'll have..."
"Same but with half a mango, and without the apple pie crumble," said Marlene. After we'd paid (no, I'd paid), we went and sat down. Soon we were joined by the others, minus Remus, of course.
"Blimey, Lily," said Marlene, as Lily sat down, triumphantly holding a large double chocolate icecream with lashings of hot chocolate fudge sauce (double serve, I reckon) and a waffle, all sprinkled with cinnamon.
"Mmm," she grinned, running a finger around the rim of her glass and licking it dramatically clean of the hot chocolate fudge sauce. I saw James staring vacantly at Lily out of the corner of my eye, and I smirked slightly.
Sirius was smirking too. The poor boy had no moral support. We all sat there eating contentedly for a moment, without speaking.
"Going down to Ireland, Vance?" Asked Sirius between mouthfuls.
"Yes," I said curtly, "and anyone who wishes to join me may volunteer to do so right about now. Lily, Mar, looking at you."
"You know I can't, Em," said Marlene apologetically, "I promised I'd work at the Cauldron until school starts." I nodded, and looked at Lily.
"Don't look at me like that!" Cried Lily, attempting to hide behind her icecream.
"What, don't like the pervading feeling of guilt?"
"Em you know I can't," Lily said, "I'd love to, honestly, but –"
Sirius snorted, "You'd love to go to Ireland with the Vances?"
I hit him smartly across the hand. Yes, he has a point, but no reason to put it so bloody bluntly.
"Yes," said Lily, "as a matter of fact I would," see? There is a reason we're mates, "but I have so much work, and besides which, I'm not allowed."
"Why not?" I whinged.
"You know why," Lily said. She's right, I did know. And I probably shouldn't have asked, particularly in present company. But still. I was annoyed, alright?
I sighted heavily. "You could still ask again, right?"
"I'll try," she said coolly, taking another bite of her icecream.
"Just tell 'em you're coming to stay with us," suggested Sirius, "then floo from our place to Ems."
Lily obviously saw one flaw in this plan – the fact that she'd have to go to the Potters' house, but chose to mention the other flaw, "I doubt they'd believe I was going to stay with you, Sirius."
"Well, it'd be Prongs' house, technically, but –"
"Which would be even more unlikely," said Lily.
"They don't know that," said James, suddenly snapping out of his daze to participate in the conversation, "do they?"
"They know we aren't good enough mates for me to have ever mentioned you," said Lily, "which would make staying with you seem –"
"Unless you're dating?" Said Peter. Everyone looked at him like he was a squib performing an extraordinary feat of magic, "I mean, you know, obviously you aren't, but –"
"Wormy's right," broke in Sirius, "tell your parents you want to go stay with your boyfriend for a week, meet his parents and such."
Lily had turned bright red at the very thought of James Potter being her boyfriend, and looked completely unimpressed by the plan, "That won't work."
"Why not?" Said Sirius.
"Why – why – Sirius," said Lily exasperatedly, "firstly, if my parents thought I had a boyfriend, would they not want to meet him before letting me stay with him?"
"That can be arra-"
"And secondly, would they even let me stay with him?"
"If there was a reas-"
"And thirdly, Potter would have to lie for me."
"Er –"
"Which he should not have to do," finished Lily. Satisfied with her argument, she dug her spoon once more into her icecream.
"Lily," began Peter, "firstly, all you need to do is introduce James to your parents, show them he's not an overly hormonal nutcase –"
Sirius snorted.
"Then you'd need to tell them that there was a reason for you two to be staying together," he said, "like, I dunno, a family function in James' family. Easy."
All of us, except Lily maybe, seemed taken aback by the apparent ingenuity of Peter. "But Pete, none of that works unless –"
"I'm willing to do it," said James. But, dear reader, both you and I knew this already.
"You –" began Lily, her eyes widening with something close to panic. Clearly she had been counting on one of the aspects of the plan failing. She looked desperately to me.
"There's still one problem," I said evenly. Yes, I know, I'm a great mate. "Why would you be allowed to his place any more than to mine?"
Of course, Sirius, James and Peter wouldn't have understood this comment, but Marlene and Lily did. Marlene became pensive, clearly trying to overcome the problem, whilst Lily looked positively thrilled.
"Damn it," she said, failing dismally to hide her relief, "there's that plan out the window."
"Just say he's Muggle," said Marlene quietly. Then she turned to Lily, "James can be a Muggle, Lily! It's brilliant!"
"N-no he-"
"Why would James need to be a Muggle?" It was Sirius.
Oh bother.
"My parents don't want me to be spending time with any of you lot over the holidays. I'm meant to be fully Muggle during the school breaks. It's a sort of compromise for being able to go to Hogwarts. I'm currently in the company of Sally and Mary, two Muggle friends, in a Muggle shopping centre, supposedly."
There was a bit of an awkward silence. Sirius and James looked puzzled, but seemed to have gathered enough to know that this was a sore subject for Lily. Just like Lily knew not to delve too far into the inexplicable psyche of pureblood families, we purebloods also had a certain degree of sensitivity toward Muggleborns.
"Right," said Sirius slowly, "so... he's a Muggle, then."
Lily looked at Sirius with an expression of complete awe then. It seemed, perhaps, to dawn on her that Sirius Black was actually human. That he could understand – or if not understand, accept, at least – her Muggle born situation.
"You're a Muggle, then?" asked Lily. James looked shocked, and seemed to do a double take, clearly doubting whether it had been, in fact, Lily who had agreed to the plan. The plan that involved him and her – dating.
"I'm a Muggle, then," he said. Why do I get the feeling this'll end badly?
After we'd finished our icecreams, the boys left us to go and meet Remus. (Yes, Lily, I am skipping some bits. I'm hardly going to write the whole day, am I?). As soon as they'd gone, I noticed that Lily was glaring ferociously at both of us.
"Er, Lil," I said.
"Don't 'er, Lil' me," she cried, "what in Merlin's name was that?"
"What?" I asked, genuinely dumbstruck.
"That – that- plan," she wailed, "you-I can't-"
"Lily," broke in Marlene calmly, "calm down. Okay? Okay." I nodded gratefully at her, and she took a deep breath, then said, "Lily, there is nothing wrong with this plan. Okay?"
"Nothing wrong?" Lily all but shrieked (honestly, this is making the girl sound like a raving lunatic. She isn't usually, honest. Well, maybe, but...), "Nothing wrong with the fact that I have just agreed to pretend that James Potter, first class immature prat of the school, is my boyfriend? And nothing wrong with the fact that I'm going to have to introduce him to my parents and my sister and possibly my sister's boyfriend while I'm at it, and then possibly have to meet his parents and how on earth is Potter going to act like a Muggle? He's conspicuous enough as a wizard let alone –"
"SHUT UP," I yelled. A family of young witches jumped, all three of them simultaneously. It was amusing, actually. Marlene looked alarmed, but thankfully Lily stopped talking. Yes, I know, I'm clever. "Lily Evans, you are the biggest git I have ever known."
"Thankyou?" She asked, looking at me like I was a true nutcase. She's right, I reckon.
"No worries. I need to get stationery. Let's go," I said simply, and I led the way out of the shop, Marlene and Lily following mutely behind, onto the street.
There we turned left, and entered Scribbulus Writing Instruments, a small but fully stocked stationery shop. A tall lady at the counter, who towered over the tottering piles of assorted parchments and trays of quills, cleared her throat as we walked in, placing the owl on her arm delicately on its perch.
"How may I help you?" She asked. She reminded me oddly of McGonagall – perhaps it was the stern manner, and the tightly drawn hair.
"Some parchment, please," I requested, "third grade, preferably, stone."
"Certainly," she replied, "Hogwarts students, I presume? How much will you be requiring?"
"Say, er," I looked inquiringly at the other two, "twelve yards each?"
"Seventh year?" She guessed, as she began to measure out lengths of parchment from a heavy scroll behind the counter. We laughed and nodded, "it's amazing how much one can learn from a customer's choice of parchment."
I'm sure it was.
"Excuse me, do you have any notebooks?" Asked Lily.
"No!" Marlene and I cried in unison. Last year, Lily had kept a diary. And by kept, I mean tended to above and beyond the extent of her care toward her owl, or us, for that matter. Every night it'd be, "So what'd we do today?" or "What happened at the start of Potions?" or "Was there pumpkin pie for lunch?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," smiled the shop owner, and pointed over towards a cabinet in the corner, "you're welcome to browse that cabinet there."
"Thankyou," said Lily, flashing an impertinent smile at Marlene and I before flouncing off to check the cabinet.
"Lily, come on," I began.
"This is hardly fair," said Marlene.
"It's our last year," I added.
"Ever," contributed Marlene. I shot her a look.
"Please?" We said in unison. Sometimes I'm so proud of us.
Lily looked up from the stack of notebooks she was browsing, and shook her head at us, eyebrows raised.
"Is it really that bad?" She asked. We nodded quickly. "But it's my last year at Hogwarts!"
"Exactly!"
"So I need to record it, obviously," she sighed.
"Lily Evans, if you write another diary I can guarantee you that by the end of the year, you will have zero mates left to write about."
"Firstly, I don't just write about you two, and secondly, will you ever stop threatening me, Em?" Lily laughed, and continued to sift through the cabinet of notebooks.
"Together!" Cried Marlene. Lily and I stared at her. This girl needed to learn how to string together sentences. (Sorry Mar).
"Together what?" Repeated Lily coaxingly.
"We'll write one together!" Said Marlene, "It'll be our record of the year, you know, from the perspective of each of us. We'll owl it to eachother when we aren't at school, and when we are, we'll swap it round."
"Then Lily won't be writing all the time –" Said I.
"And I'll still have mates by the end of the year –" Said Lily (see, threats work).
"Marlene you're a bloody genius!" I cried. The shopkeeper was looking perplexedly amused by this point. She must've thought we were absolutely bonkers.
"Let's pick a pretty one," said Marlene, sitting down beside Lily in front of the cabinet.
"Not pretty, Mar," I scoffed, "we are in seventh year, not second. I think it has to be old-looking, y'know, vintage-y."
"Vintage-y? Ew," said Marlene, wrinkling up her nose.
"Okay, take your pick," said Lily, interrupting our banter. These were the options.
A fabric covered dark green book. Simple, thin lined parchment, not particularly sturdy. Looked like it'd be cheap. Rather thin and long, rather than wide and fat.
A smooth black leather-bound book with gold lettering on it, "Notes", and swirly stuff on the pages, which were thickly lined. It was fairly fat, but fairly robust, too, by the looks, with a stiff spine and a glossy ribbon down the middle of the pages.
Another leather-bound book, dark maroon in colour, with a thin gold border around it, thickish parchment and with thin, slightly uneven lines. Quite battered – perhaps second hand? But there was no writing, so maybe not.
"I like the black one," I decided, "It looks official."
"I think the green one," said Marlene.
"The green one?" I asked, "I thought you wanted a pretty one, Mar."
"I think the maroon one's nice," said Lily.
"Urgh, maroon," said Marlene.
Lily rolled her eyes, "We're in Gryffindor, Mar."
"Yeah, doesn't mean I have to like the colour."
"No, but –"
"Do you girls need any help with the notebooks?" Said the shopkeeper, her prim voice cutting over our bickering ones. Lily blushed slightly.
"Yes, please, how much is each of these?" She asked.
"That one there," she said, pointing to the one Lily was holding, "is two galleons and twelve sickles."
"And this one?" I proffered the cool black one.
"Three galleons, two sickles and a knut," she recited. Merlin, if I had a memory like that, "And that green one will be one galleon and three knuts."
"Thankyou," said Lily. The woman smiled bemusedly and went back to her counter, where another witch was patiently waiting.
"Right," I said firmly, taking charge, "I believe this one is the classiest of the three, the most robust, and the one which will hold the most of our future rantings. Marlene, state your case."
"This one is the cheapest, far cheaper than that one. I don't know about you, but the Cauldron is tedious work, and I don't exactly want to be splashing my money about. It's also the least poncy," said Marlene.
"Lily?"
"I agree with the classiness of yours, Em, but it does have a certain ponce factor. I like yours, Mar, but it's much too thin and not sturdy enough for us not to ruin," she looked at me at that point, the git, "which is why I prefer this one – it is leather and sturdy, and fairly thick."
"And it isn't too expensive," conceded Marlene, nodding.
"Alright," I agreed. The shop was starting to become stuffy, anyway. So with that, we pooled our money, and bought our parchment and book. Then we walked back down to the Leaky Cauldron; it was near five, and Lily had to be home by five thirty. Once at the Leaky Cauldron, we stopped for a quick butterbeer.
"On the house," grinned a tall boy, as he delivered our steaming mugs of the delicious beverage.
"Cheers, Adam," smiled Marlene.
"Is he at Hogwarts?" I asked. The kid seemed familiar – he was tall and rather lanky, with a generous smattering of freckles and nice hair.
"Mhm," nodded Marlene, taking a sip of butterbeer, "Hufflepuff, our year."
"Our year?" I asked, incredulously, "Never even seen the bloke!"
"Really, Em?" Asked Lily, "He's in History of Magic, with us, and Charms too."
"I sleep in those classes, Lily dear."
"Right," she agreed, "that'll be why."
"So, is he –nice, Marlene?" I asked (all innocence, honestly).
"Yes, perfectly nice," said Marlene coolly. She so knew what I was up to.
"Snog-worthy-nice?" I asked.
"Emmeline," she said icily, with a complementary death stare on the side.
"Point taken," I smiled, slurping down a bit of butterbeer, "right, so, book?"
"Diary time," said Lily, clapping her hands delightedly and fetching the maroon book from her bag.
"It isn't a diary," I said, "it's a book. Emmeline Vance does not write diaries."
"Emmeline, must you have views on everything?" sighed Marlene.
"Yes," I said. Sometimes I wonder if she doesn't know me at all. Honestly, woman.
"Right then, book time," said Lily, folding the cover open to reveal the first, marvellously clean page of parchment, "what'll we call it?"
"Call it?" I repeated.
"Yes, Em," said Marlene impatiently, "I reckon 'The Book of Three Witches".'
"That's too like "The Tale of the Three Brothers'," I protested. Blank looks all round. Lily I expect this from, but not Marlene. Isn't her father a wizard? "Never mind," I sighed, "but no, I don't like it."
"The Book of Lost Spells," said Lily, her eyes gleaming.
"Oh yes!" Squealed Marlene, "that sounds like the title of one of my books!"
"And that's a good thing? But – we haven't lost any spells!" I said incredulously. Marlene reads the most ridiculous novels. They're magical, unlike Lily's, but they're completely fanciful and utterly ridiculous.
"Perfect," said Lily, grinning at my incredulity, and she wrote, in her familiar, looping writing, "The Book of Lost Spells."
"It has such a ring to it!" Marlene squeaked eagerly, and then said, clearing her throat and putting on a dramatic voice, "An intriguing narrative –"
"By three fabulous witches," grinned Lily, "and then: names. Em?"
Sometimes I wonder about this lot. Under that witty blurb, we each wrote our names, me first, then Marlene, then Lily.
"We need rules," said Marlene, her eyes gleaming with excitement. I didn't even bother trying to argue, so Lily and her set about outlining guidelines for the book, printing them neatly on the first page. They were as follows:
Law 1- Proposed by: Lily Evans
Thou shalt not allow anyone but Marlene McKinnon, Emmeline Vance, and Lily Evans to read the book.
Law 2 – Proposed by: Marlene McKinnon
Thou shalt not utter but the truth in this book. Avoidance is permitted, if absolutely necessary (that was Lily's input, the consummate avoider), but lies are not.
Law 3- Proposed by: Emmeline Vance
Thou shalt not read that which another has written (until the appropriate time).
Law 4- Proposed by: Lily Evans
Thou shalt not spill any manner of food or beverage on the book. ("I didn't mean it," protested Marlene – it was her butterbeer on the front page)
Law 5- Proposed by: Marlene McKinnon
Thou shalt write neatly (I have a feeling this was for my particular benefit. Honestly, it isn't that bad, is it?).
Law 6- Proposed by: Lily Evans
Thou shalt not get the book confiscated. Idea: carry a decoy.
Law 7-Proposed by: Emmeline Vance
Thou shalt not take the book to the Prefects Bathroom where it is likely to be ruined by any one of the excessive number of taps in that ruddy place ("But I'll use a Waterproofing Spell!" Said Lily).
"Okay, that's enough, I think," said Lily. Pshh, she just didn't like where that was going. After that, we all signed our names – Marlene tried to make hers pretty and flourishing and failed dismally of course, Lily's was utterly perfect, and mine was scrawly but genuine, in my opinion.
"So who starts it?" Asked Marlene, draining the dregs of her butterbeer.
"I think you should," I said, "that way Lily won't claim it as her own."
"I'm busy though," said Marlene, "- work. Why don't you, Em?"
"I'd rather not," I said. Writing has never been my forte. Honestly, the idea of putting honest feelings onto paper has never been appealing to me. At all.
"Why not?"
"... Fine, I'll start," I said, rather than having to voice my pathetic insecurities about writing, "but only for a bit."
"You can give it to me in Ireland," said Lily. I knew she'd get protective of this thing.
"We'll see," I said simply, my nose in the air, as I neatly closed the cover of the book, tucked it safely inside my canvas bag, and hopped off the bench.
And that's it. The Tale of The Book of the Lost Spells. That certainly does not have a ring to it.
So here I am, in the House of Vance (now that has a ring to it. I hope it'll catch on one day), in my sodding gloomy excuse for a room, on my sodding uncomfortable excuse for a bed, holding this sodding maroon excuse for a book.
Okay, okay, exaggeration, I know. Does exaggerating count as lying? Hope not. I'm very prone to it, Book.
Okay did I seriously just call you Book? DID I SERIOUSLY JUST CALL YOU YOU?
I need Quidditch, or food, or something, now. Later.
Later that Very Same Dull Evening, 14 August 1977
Evening, Book.
Yeah, you heard me, I'm not even going to stop myself calling you that. Nor will I stop addressing you as though you're a real person. Because, guess what, you sort of are. You're Lily-in-a-year and Marly-in-a-year, and probably Me-in-a-year. So, hello Us-in-a-year. Hope we're still mates. Hope you're alive. God, imagine if you weren't.
Why am I so morbid? Anyway, you're reading this, which means you're alive, right? I'd be bloody crushed if you weren't.
Just by the way.
So, I hope you are reading this.
Please be reading this.
Later that Very Same Dull Evening, 14 August 1977
Sorry about that last entry. I'm not starting this off too well, am I? You know, what with asking my two best mates if they're alive or not. I'll assume you are, okay? Cool. And if you're ghosts by the time you're reading this, that's cool too. Yeah.
Later that Very Same Dull Evening, 14 August 1977
I think I'll send an owl. I don't know who to though. Somewhere not too far away, I s'pose... Yvonne isn't particularly fond of me at the moment.
Then again, I wouldn't be too fond of anyone if I was an owl with a name like Yvonne. Owls are meant to have bird-y names, like, I dunno, Wings.
Whatever. I'm going to write a letter. Write to someone who'll actually respond. Yeah, you heard me, now I'm actually angry with a book. Deal with it.