I shut the bathroom door behind me, and locked it. It was important that no-one interrupted me. I went over to the cabinet and retrieved my razor. Slowly, carefully, I drew it across my skin. A red line across my left forearm. I leaned over the sink and stared at my arm, transfixed. I stayed like that, losing track of time, just swept away in my own pain.

This was my secret. My own private ritual. I kept it hidden from the world, from everyone around me. Nobody could take this ritual away from me.

If you asked me what was wrong, I couldn't answer. What on earth did I have to be upset about? Darling Lily Evans, head girl of Hogwarts, popular, top of all her classes. Guys loved me, teachers worshipped me, my friends adored me. Everyone thought I was perfect.

But I hated myself. Behind the cool, calm facade I presented to the world, I was rotting inside. I felt like I was standing in a crowded room, screaming, and no-one noticed. No-one cared. Too numb to cry, too weak to fight. Hurting myself was the only control I had. By hurting myself physically, I could drive away the emotional hurt for a while. The pain I caused myself was the only barrier I had to a worse pain, one that would engulf me if I gave it a chance. I thought if anyone found out about me, they'd reject me. I'd be labelled a tragic attention seeker and a freak, and I'd be left all alone. So I never told anyone.

I needed someone, anyone, to be there. To pull me back from the cliff I was standing on, to make me feel as though I mattered.

I was sitting by the fire in the common room, working on an essay for potions. I had just finished and was just about to go back to my dormitory, when I heard the portrait swing open behind me. It was around midnight, well after curfew. I sighed. Only one person would be out this late. Well actually there were four I could think of, but I knew for a fact that three of them were already asleep in their dormitory. So it had to be...

"Hey, Evans" said James Potter.

Great. The one person I really didn't want to talk to right now. Or any other time. James Potter had had this weird fixation with me since first grade. He asked me out almost every day, and my answer never changed. Honestly, I never understood why he didn't just give up. Maybe this was his own little ritual. That I could understand.

It never occured to me he actually meant it. I couldn't imagine anyone genuinely caring about me.

"Evening Potter," I replied briskly. "I was just going to bed."

"Really? Can I come too?"

I just glared at him. He was such an arrogant prat.

"Fine, point taken. Wanna come to Hogsmeade with me sometime?"

Point taken, he says.

"How many times are you planning on asking me that?" I demanded.

"Until I get the right answer." he replied calmly.

"Yeah, like that'll ever happen" I retorted, throwing my hands up in the air in irritation.

Big mistake. The sleeves of my robes slipped down a couple of inches, exposing the cuts on my arms. I yanked my sleeves back up, praying he didn't notice.

He did.

"Lily?" He said, "What happened to your arm?" In his voice was a combination of shock, confusion and something else...concern. He was actually worried about me. I wanted to run, to leave and lock myself in my room. But my legs wouldn't obey me.

Then, I did something that even I wasn't expecting. Without warning, I began to cry. Salty tears flowed down my face, and I couldn't stop them. And he was there, holding me in his arms, telling me it would be ok.

"It won't be ok," I found myself saying. "It's never been ok."

"Well, I'll make it ok." He said. Then, he bent his head and kissed me. And I kissed him back passionately, losing myself in the sensation. For the first time in years, I felt truly happy.

I glanced in the mirror for the hundredth time, fixed my hair for the hundredth time, smoothed my dress for the hundredth time. I was so nervous. I just wanted this day to be perfect.

My mother looked at me with watery eyes and smiled proudly. "Oh Lily, I'm so happy for you!" she sobbed for the hundredth time. "It feels like only yesterday you were just a little girl, and now you're all grown up and getting married! Oh, darling , you look so perfect!"

I admired myself once again. In doing so I caught sight of the marks on my arm. Several pale, thin scars on my inner left forearm. I sighed. Time still hadn't made them fade.

Maybe I wasn't quite perfect. But I didn't want to be. Perfection comes at a heavy price. All those years, I had spent comparing myself to my idea of perfection. It took me so long to realise the perfect Lily I aspired to would never be me.

James didn't care that I wasn't perfect. He saw through my mask of perfection, and still loved what he saw. He taught me to accept who I am. And I wouldn't change myself for anything.

A/N Did you like it? This was my first attempt at writing fanfiction. Any feedback would be appreciated, so please review!