Doomsday Scenario
Hello, everyone. Is my eyesight getting worse? The text looks smaller than it used to but maybe that's because I've stared at too many mini-aqueous notations on chemistry equations. Ah life as a mushroom's seed can be so restrictive but enjoyable in its own way. So this is a new fic, its L/J and I'm using it as a way to quit fanfiction because it saps my life. Do you find it that way? You just read. And read. And read. And before you know it, you're at the last, newest chapter and 2 hours has passed. Your butt aches and you want to nap. But then you realize, there's still that blasted (insert swearword) project on chemistry you need to complete by two days, and your head feels like its filled with iron (II) nitrate. You tell yourself to wake-up, maybe watch that grade, study, file, but there's an uncanny and disturbing magnetism so strong that the first thing you do after the necessaries when switching on, logging on, is to flip to someone's favourite list and devour the next fanfic. I am so disturbed, but writing shows me how terrible my English really is, and how hopeless fanfiction is in general. Great a fly landed on my screen. Blogging is so self-centered that maybe, just maybe, writing fanfiction is a better way to improve one's English standard. Or so says the witty English teacher, she's leaving on a year-long sabbatical, lucky girl.
Summary: Divination class, and Professor Balaistock gives them a performance task titled doomsday scenario. Instead of lousy old dreams, you've got to come up with one every lesson! And guess who features in every single one of Lily's?
Divination never was a Potter subject, in every sense of the word. First of all no self-respecting potter will actually turn to divination to determine the next pattern on the next vase. No way! And similarly, Potters never did take to divination. Not the younger second, nor the older first. Yet, the latter chooses, weekly, to skip arithmetic instead of divination. Why?
The reason would be a pretty-ful Griffindory that James Potter just has to chase. If you ask him, he'll answer, ruffling his hair with a hand (especially if you're not into organic jewelry), "She's a challenge, and James Potter never backs down from one." Trademark smirk, check. Arrogant attitude, check. Swooning females, check.
And so our story begins.
"Biscuits or cookies? Do they call these biscuits or cookies?" A totally random question drifts over from the group of munching 7th year witches. Yes, we're back at our favouritest place of all, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts! And one of Lily's more eccentric best friends, Eleanor, has just asked a very crucial question. As she goes on to elaborate her own views to this puzzling question, her fellow Griffindories soon find out, to their extreme disinterest, that cookies must, absolutely have, to be vaguely round. And that things with layers could be called biscuits. Creamed biscuits went to the thighs.
Lily thinks for a moment, and replies, "No, Eleanor. Cookies come with chips. Speaking of which, Mary, when do we have to leave for class?"
The latter raises an enchanted left wrist on which a magical clock face can be found. This witch fits right into the bustling atmosphere of the Great Hall. And while no one quite understands how chips go with time, except that they get soggy, Mary answers in a clockwork manner, 15 minutes to Divination. After all, this is all part of the girls' morning routine. And now we discover a more irritating part of this routine.
The doors of the Great Hall slam open, very noisily, and everyone turns their heads to look, just out of habit. It is always good to keep an eye on your enemy, or just any dangerous person-thing(s) that delight in flinging projectiles your way. If you're not looking, how do you dodge? So everyone turns, and again Lily wonders, mundanely, how one manages to slam open such huge oak doors with that much sound without the strength of a giant.
Coming in, apparently unarmed, are four cocky male specimens that, according to most girls in the school, belong in a zoo. Well at least to Lily, the zoo part holds, the others just prefer sexy cages for some fantasies that are meant to be kept strictly in the locker room. Lily thinks, you find she does this a lot, Head Rooster: James Potter. Vice Cock: Sirius Black. Intelligent Fowl: Remus Lupin. Sneaky Poultry: Peter Pettigrew.
Once people see the lack of Dungbombs or similar, they go back to eating, happily. No need to change robes today, yippee, seems to be the general sentiment. As the four cocks swagger into the Great Hall looking like they own the place, girls try desperately to attract some attention. Simpering, fainting, but even the old and mostly reliable stuck-out leg (creamy and skirt hiked up) are ignored. Popularity has done something odd to these boys.
And now Lily's friends get to endure another tirade fitting from this fiery-haired, green-eyed Griffindory. Oh, joy.
"Oh I cannot stand these prats another moment. I don't get it, how is it physically possible to stick one's head so far up one's arse? Just look at them! Or, maybe not, you'll inflate your own head due to the close 10 yard proximity which is entirely insufficient to ward off their egos. Attention-grabbing, heat-seeki-, coughs, dolts! Treating everyone around them not interested in their undergarments like manure, stepping all over the school rules regardless of his badge, asking me out everyday, sabotaging my potions, ignoring his head duties, copying my notes, acting like a sex god! The nerve!..."
And she goes on, but her friends look at each other and snigger quietly. No one has missed the sudden switch from all around scolding to that pinpointing a particular rooster. Bella decides that Lily won't want to waste all that saliva, so she gets up and motions to the door, conveniently cutting said flower off.
"Time for our exit! We don't want to be late for Divination, do we?"
"Oh remind me again why we took that pointless subject!" Complains Eleanor. Yes, why?
"Lily thought it was interesting the way wizards have their superstitions. You do remember her report about comparisons between muggles and wizards?" Supplies Mary, faithfully. This is, after all, a varied form of an oft repeated conversation.
There is a collective groan, but ever optimistic Lily tells them, excitedly, that Divination Professor Balaistock had a new project in store for them, and that she couldn't wait. Now don't go getting the idea that Lily was any good at Divination at all. In fact, she only took the subject to observe the divining and the divine, but mostly she has yet to find the latter group, unless you count the self-proclaimed James Potter, but of course not.
And so they troop out of the hall, chattering animatedly about different topics that they doubtedly fully understand, climbing stone steps to a dusty room that hasn't really changed that much. Each 7th year Griffindory, proud of her own capabilities, and beautiful in her own right.
Lily Evans, curvaceous Head Girl, juggles studies, a flourishing social life, and playing muggle games admirably. Friend to all (except one, and no, he's not a Slytherin), angel to junior generations, and of course, out-of-reach to James Potter. A lesser known fact, but she had actually managed to lobby for a basketball court in an indoor room, on which she thrives and shoots baskets and laughs at the goggling magicians completely boggled by her sport. But that court is gone, now, burnt in a fire that you'll soon learn about. Proud of her non-magic heritage and eager for inter-blood cohesion, she nearly overturned James Potter's Quidditch in favour of her own Basketball. Ah, now you see the genius this girl is hiding behind those emerald orbs. No one can call her a dork, yet she aces every subject, the only exception being transfiguration.
Mary Senire, black hair and violet eyes. Don't ask her if she's wearing contacts, you'll get hexed immediately. Always calm and collected, she is the epitome of cucumbers, providing a restraint to the ground that her friends always end up thanking her for when she stops them from doing something so incredibly stupid you wonder exactly what is it that they've been smoking. Most tech-savvy, also muggleborn, she researches on magic-tech in her spare time and has so far come up with superb hand phones that Arabella promptly decorates. Now working on a wiz-computer, but currently having difficulty obtaining parts. The chic-geek.
Then you get the dumb blonde who's not really so dumb. Eleanor Retling, beautiful hair and classic looks, body that belongs in the fantasy world (not the one with make-up, the one made up of quaffles and footballs!). Always high, walking entertainment, but with some secrets that the attitude is meant to hide, which it does very well. Pink is her favourite colour, but she's a very loyal friend. Fashion magazines galore!
Last, but not least, yet certainly the shortest, Arabella Figg, the most normal and sane of the lot. A great confidant, a sweet girl-next-door, delights in protecting her friends with some hot self-defense moves she learnt over the holidays. When she's mad, she's a volcano, so anybody with sense would stay away. Sharp as a spear, she has a sense of humour that is appealing in its resultant laughter, ever-present in the Griffindor common room and infectious on its own.
So now we know our Grifiindories, self-christened that way because dories were cute blue fish, a better option compared to bespectacled freaks living in the library. But what they don't know is that their Divination professor actually has something up her sleeve. Not literally, for no one likes crystal balls smelling like pungent body odour. But something longterm, that over this school year, will make up a story. One of love, disappointment, ambition, greed, lust, growing up, and many others besides. One of Lily, her friends, and James, as well as his friends. One of life and death, birth and mirth, ashes and dust.
TBC