Disclaimer: Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K, I am just borrowing it.

31st August, 1977

Dear Mary,

It was all Jane's fault, this. Well, not this this, as in my life, but the fact that I have begun writing these letters to you. Because I know you may be thinking that this is all a little belated, mostly on account of the fact that you've been gone for months, so why have I started writing to you now?

It all started when Jane Meldrum, my Mothers best friend and family physiatrist, told me to start writing these letters to you in order to express my feelings or something mad like that. I refused to for months and told her straight out that it was the maddest thing I'd ever heard, so the informed me that I was apparently in 'shock and denial'. I asked her (snappishly) whether writing letters to you as if expecting an answer was an example of denial. I had hoped that being a cow to her would get her to lay off of me for a bit but oh no, this just encouraged her.

Anyway, that's not why I've begun writing to you, although I do, of course, miss you quite a lot.

I just need to know that you are out there, and that you care. And just because you may not be doesn't mean that it doesn't make me feel less alone.

And yes, I do know that its highly improbable that you're expressing your feelings of confusion at the belatedness and madness that is this letter, on account of the very real and very unavoidable fact that you are, after all, no longer living.

I'm not mad, you know.

It's not like I'm living in denial or anything; I know that you're gone. No one ever lets me forget it, I can assure you, and, of course, I don't want to forget it, because I don't want to forget you. You were my best friend.

So, this is my life. Of course, you know this as well as I do, or knew, at least. It's weird to think that you're not here anymore, being alive and appreciating what that means. I don't think I ever did, until you left me all those weeks ago.

I want you to know that I neither happy nor sad and am still trying to figure out an alternative. Maybe there isn't, no one seems to understand when I explain to them. You would have, though. I know it. "Happy and sad are too simple for girls like us, Lily," you'd say, "We are a whole new biosphere of describing words, my love." I would have laughed while you smiled that sad little smile that I was so used to receiving within those last months of your life.

The hardest time so far was the day that Pepper and Lisa came around to visit, and Jane had popped out from my parents' room with my mother in tow, asking us to share our feelings. Pepper who is, as you know, ridiculously whimsical stated the usual shoddiness about how you are in a better place and that at least you will be happy there as you weren't in life. Lisa was much the same saying that it was very sad but at least you are with god now.

I wasn't too sure though, and when Jane turned to me expectantly I was caught off guard with the suddenness of it all. I didn't know what I felt; it had only been two weeks, after all. I felt like any minute now you were going to walk in my front door to join your three best friends and proclaim your sudden urge for ice-cream. That was really the moment that I realised that you were gone, and, distracted as I was at the sudden realisation, I blurted out the first thing that I thought and also the thing that I knew, spat out in disjointed sentences and riddled with sniffs and sobs.

"I think that Mary was really nice," I had sobbed as Jane looked at me sympathetically and tears poured down my (now only two) best friend's faces. "And I don't know why she did it, and that's what bothers me."

And as disjointed and thoughtless my outpouring was, I knew that this was exactly how I felt. And it hurt. It hurt because my best friend killed herself and I have absolutely no idea why.

I think that I would really like to find out why, and I feel like writing these letters to you is a way that I can be closer to you.

Another reason I've decided to write to you is that it's the first day of term tomorrow, you see, and I'm very worried and nervous about the coming year for many reasons, including and mostly because I know that I'm going to have to face Hogwarts without you for the first time in my life, and I'm not sure if I can do that. I think that I agree with Jane when she says that worry and nervousness is a symptom of grieving.

So this is why I've written this letter to you. It's not too bad now, but earlier on in the night I was a lot less partial to the whole affair. I was begging mum to let me stay home for the year, you see. I know how silly that is, and how mad you would have been at me for missing my seventh year of Hogwarts and would have reminded me that it is, after all, my favourite place in the world. I know all this, of course, and a part of me knows I could never miss my seventh year, but that didn't stop me from begging mum to let me stay home. So, naturally, as I sat on the couch watching the Sunday night episode of Doctor Who with mum, I began my attack.

Me: "Please let me stay home for the year, mother. I don't think I can face it."

Mum: "One of the symptoms of depression is disinterest in the things you love."

Me: "I am not depressed, and, incidentally, Doctor Who is a thing that I love, and I am very interested."

Mum: "Doctor Who doesn't count."

Me: "Mum, please?"

Mum: "You need to get out of the house, Lily, and see all of your friends again. You are going to school this year and that is final."

Me: "UGHHHHHHHH."

And that is pretty much how it went down, including the part where I proceeded to stomp up to my room, muttering obscenities and begginning to pack my trunk for the school year.

After a little while of my stomping and muttering, my mother then appeared at my doorway, looking wary of the prospect of facing the snarling dragon (i.e me). She was very nice about it all, though. I think that this may be another symptom of grieving; the fact that people will always be that little bit nicer to you than usual. My mother smiled at me and sat on my bed, watching as I threw transfiguration books into my trunk while Casper, my owl, hooted from his cage in the corner.

"I'm sorry, my love." My mother had said, while I turned to her in surprise, a jumper dangling from my left hand. "This must be so hard for you."

I looked at her in surprise and assured her that I was fine. Pity from others, I then realised, is another of the many symptoms of grieving.

That was when my mother spotted the shiny new Head Girl badge upon my desk and, picking it up, said, "I'm so proud of you for this. Aren't you excited to be Head Girl?"

I made a show of folding my jumper as I tried to think of an appropriate response. No, I realised then, I wasn't excited. And I know you would be mad at me for this, Mary, because I had always wanted to be Head Girl, and in another universe I know it would be easy to find it within myself to be excited about it. But as I thought about it then, I realised that there was too much to be nervous about. What if I mess up? What if I can't handle the work on top of my NEWTS? What if the Head Boy is someone horrible?

I didn't voice any of this to my mother, of course. I couldn't stand having to listen to her go on about how I'm the perfect choice for the role and that I'd do great et cetera et cetera. So I just turned back to her after neatly placing my folded jumper into my trunk and said, "Yes, mum. I'm very excited."

It was a mark of my mother's newfound symptom of kindness that she ignored the falseness of my grin and smiled back, stating that she had to get my robes from the washing and leaving the room.

I then collapsed on my bed, pulling out the red leather journal that Jane had given to me and begun my first letter to you.

So I should probably go to sleep now, but I hope you know that I miss you and love you. All in all, I really don't know why it is am writing to you, excuses and all, but I do know that I feel a tiny bit better after all. Thank you.

Lots of love,
Lily.

Hi! so this is my new story. As you can probably tell, I've decided to do something different - something that (I at least) have never seen before in the Jily fanfiction world. the whole story (which will go up to around 60 000 to 100 000 words) is going to be in the format of letters to Mary; I have the whole thing planned out and a few chapters written already. please please tell me what you think of the idea, so I know whether I should continue on this path or change it.

thankyou!