The underlined parts are supposed to be strikethroughs, but whatever. Also, I'll work on less crappy chapter titles. And shoutout to for reviewing already and for asking about the format of the story. It's all gonna be Lily's diary! But as you'll see, there's potential for other diaries to be read.


September 2, 1977

Dear Diary,

Dear Professor,

Professor Malek,

Hullo. My name is Lily Evans. I am a Muggleborn at Hogwarts. I am a seventh year Gryffindor, as well the Head Girl. My favorite class is Charms, and I find this to be utterly ridiculous.

I'm sorry, Professor, but how in the world is one supposed to perform this assignment? I can't "open my heart" to my Defense Against the Dark Arts professor whom I met only once, and I don't even know how one begins this type of thing. Except… Well, you did say to be honest.

So, Professor Malek, if I'm being honest, this is the dumbest project I've ever been assigned. I'm trying not to judge you on it, but I'm failing, meaning right now I think you're mad, and this is the one of the worst ideas anyone has had this school year. Except Dumbledore's idea to make Potter Head Boy. Yours is almost as bad. Almost.

I suppose I should start at the beginning.

It was one of those slow, draining kinds of days. I had about three weeks left of my summer holiday, and I was lying in the grass in my backyard reading, feeling hot and sticky, but too lazy to get up and do anything about it. I was torn between wanting to stay in that moment forever, sweat dripping down my neck with grass prickling my arms, and wanting to speed up time, to fast forward to a point where things were fun and exciting.

Dad was inside—doing what, I don't know. He had said he needed to work, but that usually meant he would grab a handful of papers and pens to throw on the couch beside him while he watched whatever program was on the television set. Petunia, my older sister, was out with one of her friends. I think it was Harriet that time, but I would have no way of truly knowing because my sister and I communicate as little as possible.

There's a garden in our yard, if you can call it that anymore. It's a square patch of brown lined against our picket white fence with bursts of used-to-be-colorful flowers in six rows. It was my mum's project before she died (my mum is dead, Professor), taking care of that garden, and she was always trying to get her flowers to grow bigger, taller, and brighter. She had always wanted to find new flowers to add to her garden, too. Not regular flowers, though, like roses and daisies. No, she wanted exotic ones. Mum said, "What's the purpose of trying to keep this garden flourishing when all the neighbors have one just like it? Uniqueness never hurt anyone." Petunia would just scoff.

While I am at school, Petunia and Dad pay enough attention to the garden to keep the flowers alive, but in the summertime, the garden is my responsibility. It's still only a fraction of what Mum's garden was, but it's still there. The sweltering heat of this summer made maintaining it early impossible. I was debating whether I wanted to buy new flowers, extravagant ones that Mum would like, when I heard screeches. I assumed they belonged to my owl, Terry, and never mind the reason she was screeching, because she would eventually close her beak. Except she didn't. Her screeches kept coming. And coming. And coming.

I closed my eyes and tried to will her to be quiet, but no such luck. Only when a second screeching joined Terry's to create an atrocious owl choir did I somehow manage to pull the giant lump that is my body off the ground and inside my house.

I passed my dad in the living room, and he was oblivious to the noise, bless his heart.

I walked into my room and—surprise, surprise—there were two owls waiting for me, neither one looking happy. When I saw the unfamiliar, large black owl holding a letter with the Hogwarts' crest on the front, I glared at Terry.

"He's just an owl from Hogwarts bringing my school list, Terry. It's not like he's carrying something bad."

That, Professor, is irony at its finest.

I took the envelope from the owl and gave him one of Terry's treats. Terry hooted in a way that sounded as if she was angry with me for doing said act, and the strange owl clucked his beak almost gloatingly. Either birds are more talented than I thought, or I was going mad.

Have you ever gotten a feeling in your heart, Professor Malek, that tells you something big is about to happen, and even though there is absolutely no reasoning behind that feeling, you believe it without a doubt? Well, I got that feeling as I held my letter from Hogwarts in my hand. My heart was beating as fast as a train and got the irrational urge to sit on my bed. (I did.)

Like every year, the envelope slid open easily. Unlike five of the past six years, it was heavy.

Impersonating a little kid at Christmas, I ripped open the envelope, and a moment later, resting in my palm, was a shiny silver badge branded with the Hogwarts crest. Two solid letters were inscribed on the badge: H.G.

H.G. H.G. means Head Girl. I am Head Girl!

"Yes!" I screamed. I hopped up on my bed, clutching my badge and letter to my chest. The aged springs of my bed squeaked as I jumped up and down saying, "I'm Head Girl! I'm Head Girl!"

I lunged off my bed with a THUD, and sprinted out of my room and down the stairs. "Dad, Dad, Dad!"

"Lily? Oof!" In my eagerness to tell him my news and his concern to know why I was screaming, we collided in the hall, but I practically bounced off, my newfound achievement acting as a bubble-like shield.

"Dad! I'm Head Girl! Me! Head Girl!"

Dad's entire face broke into a smile. His brown eyes lit up and even the stubble on his chin seemed to stand more joyously. Or maybe I just thought so because, suddenly and irrationally, everything seemed more wonderful and worth celebrating. My entire body was buzzing with excitement. "Congratulations, Lily! I knew you would get it!" He wrapped me up in one of his pretend-to-hate-them-but-secretly-love-them hugs that make you feel like a little kid due to his huge frame.

"Thanks, Dad," I said. I huffed my breath to try to move some strands of hair out of my face, but it was useless. "Can you hold these?" I handed my letter and badge to my dad, and took my hair out of its ponytail. "Ever since Emmeline Mordrake tutored me in Transfiguration second year, being Head Girl was always a dream of mine. When I was a Prefect in fifth year, I thought, 'You know, maybe I could really become Head Girl,' then I thought I totally blew it, and then last year, I still really wanted to be Head Girl," I rambled as I wrapped my tie around my hair twice, "but I began to think I couldn't. People were saying all of this stuff, and I don't believe one bit of what they say—it's all rubbish—but a lot of people take into consideration what they say. Blood should have absolutely nothing to do with who are Head Boy and Girl, because Head Boy and Girl should be hardworking, kind, caring, brave leaders. Not that I'm saying that I'm the epitome of that! But I do think—"

"Who's James Potter?" Dad asked, looking at my Head Girl letter I assumed was from Dumbledore, considering I hadn't actually read it yet.

"Potter? Prat in my year. Why?"

"He's Head Boy."

I laughed. "Good one, Dad. But really, who's Head Boy? I think Edward Brinley from Ravenclaw would be a decent choice. His brother, Damien, was Head Boy my fourth year at Hogwarts, and he was pretty good."

Dad just stared at me, an eyebrow raised.

"Sorry!" I exclaimed, weakly laughing. "I'm just happy!"

Dad chuckled and said, "Me too, Lily, but it's not Edward. It's James Potter."

I rolled my eyes. "Come on, Dad, he's not Head Boy. He wasn't even a Prefect." Potter couldn't be Head Boy. There was just no way. He was probably the definition of someone who shouldn't be Head Boy. The bloke and his mates got into more trouble than the rest of the kids in our year combined. Head Boys don't get in trouble.

I took the letter from my dad and quickly scanned it.

Congratulations, Miss Evans!...huge responsibility…I feel that you will perform admirably…All the professors and I believe that you…You and Hogwarts' new Head Boy, James Potter…

Head Boy, James Potter. James Potter, Head Boy.

My esophagus felt as if it had closed up, and my previously lightweight limbs were now full of lead. "This is—this is a joke, right?" I croaked.

"I don't see how it could be," Dad said. "Is it hard to believe James Potter is Head Boy?"

I weakly laughed. "Yes, Dad. It is very difficult to believe James Potter became Head Boy without everyone who had a hand in appointing him Head Boy going completely mad." I leaned against the wall, feeling as if I needed extra support to remain standing.

"Why," Dad said, incredulous, "what could possibly be wrong with James Potter?"

What could be wrong with James Potter? What an easy question. I could have gone on for ages. In fact, I have gone on for ages! I've had six years to know just exactly what is wrong with Potter, and I summed it all up in one word.

"Everything."


Dad took Petunia and I out to dinner to celebrate at Sorrento's, an Italian restaurant a few blocks from his car sales lot. To put it plainly, dinner was painful. The only way I can describe it is to say it was similar to when I was working with two Slytherins and two Hufflepuffs on a two-week long Ancient Runes project. The Slytherin boys sat there, silent and repulsed, while the Hufflepuffs animatedly chattered like a pair of bloody parakeets. At first, I had simply been there, mouth agape, eyes disbelieving, that my luck would actually get me into a situation like that. After only one week of that, though, I wanted to personally hex off my own ears. I've never been able to bring myself to like Professor Radford after that.

At dinner, Dad was the Hufflepuff. He kept trying to make conversation, asking Petunia questions about her friends and her plans, but there wasn't much to discuss since we had talked about the same topics the night before. And the night before that. And the night before that. Petunia was the Slytherin. She did not want to be there. When Dad had told her we were going to Sorrento's, she was cheerful. When he told her to celebrate my becoming Head Girl of Hogwarts, her mood plummeted faster than the number of supporters of the Chudley Cannons. I will admit: I was also a Slytherin at dinner. I sort of tried, though. I saw my dad try to make conversation with Petunia and me, and when it failed spectacularly, he gulped down his water and then fiddled with his wedding band. My heart broke when I saw that, so I said, "What game were you watching today, Dad? Do you think we'll do well this year?"

That did the trick, and talk of sports lasted throughout our spaghetti dinners. However, I am ashamed to say that I did very little listening. My mind was on constant repeat, focused solely on Potter and his Head Boy status.

How? How could Potter have gotten Head Boy? It makes no sense. James Potter is the boy who hangs kids upside down by their ankles, never completes his work, and frequently wrecks havoc upon the Hogwarts body. Or…he used to.

Professor, I'm going to give you a brief history on the body of destruction known as James Potter.

James Potter was once a skinny, arrogant little boy simply trying to find his place in Hogwarts. He began a rivalry with Slytherin Severus Snape (my ex-best friend), as well as a friendship with Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew (fellow Gryffindors). In our first year, he teased Snape with Black, and that was about as bad as it got. I like to call this the Honeymoon Period. Like with everything, though, the Honeymoon period ended—and fast.

Something changed with the four Gryffindor second years. They were closer, more mischievous, and more rebellious. Pranks started happening, and at first, the professors expected it to be some of the older students—fifth and sixth years. After all, what second years would manage to charm the knights to trip only the Slytherins that walked by? Potter, Black, Lupin, and Pettigrew would, that's who. Unfortunately, people liked them. When we were allowed to go on Hogsmeade trips, people only paid the blokes more attention. Half of the time they spent the days with themselves, but the other half they took girls, which for some barmy reason made girls like them more. (Don't ask—I don't understand.) Potter and Black are—unfortunately—mildly attractive, talented, and witty, and eventually they (along with Remus and Pettigrew) just became the definition of cool. Their heads got larger than the Hogwarts castle itself. Potter was Quidditch captain by our fourth year and ruffled his hair, and, God, he was a bully. He teased so many kids, I was surprised they hadn't banded together and started a revolution.

Severus was my best friend and Potter and his friends—or the Marauders, as the weird nicknames led to—hated him. They frequently dueled and about sixty percent of Potter's detentions those five years revolved around Snape. Potter and I argued more and more, especially our fifth year. We yelled. We bantered. Half the time Potter seemed amused, the other half he looked as if he seriously wanted to hex me. (I was the latter all of the time.) Potter and I had the worst relationship in the entire school. Even worse than the erratic relationship between Melanie Whitaker and William Quincy, which is five out of six times the new gossip topic. It was almost as if we couldn't be in the room for more than an hour without a disagreement erupting. At the end of the year, though, right after our D.A.D.A. O.W.L., everything changed. There was an…incident centered around Potter, and, ultimately, I cut Severus out of my life, and Potter was dead to me.

Potter became mildly more tolerable over that summer, and he was the same, but less so. Less egotistical, less of a bully. and his friends still pulled pranks, threw Quidditch victory parties, and messed with the Slytherins. We even only had one screaming match that year. It was as good as life was ever going to get with Potter around.

But do you see, Professor, what the problem is? Potter is Head Boy! The most prestigious student position in all of Hogwarts and it was given to a self-proclaimed Marauder. Even worse, I am his partner. I thought about everything that we would have to do together: rounds, meetings, reports, schedules, organizing clubs and Hogsmeade trips. Potter and I would have to spend time together. The most abhorrent human being and I are companions.

I waited for Potter's letter. Surely, he would have gotten his congratulatory letter at the same time as I did, so where was his bragging letter? Where was the letter that told me I would surely fall in love with him now that we would be working together? Where was it?

One week passed.

I went to Diagon Alley to get new books, supplies, and robes. I continued to work the phones at Dad's lot.

No letter.

Another week flew by.

Packed and repacked trunk. Bonded with Dad. Faked it with Petunia. Went back to Diagon Alley to go shopping with Diana. Visited Mary. Wrote to Eileen.

No letter.

August 31.

No. Damn. Letter.

(Am I allowed to swear, Professor? Oh well, I will. Not too often, promise.)

I decided it was time to stop fooling around. I needed to strategize. Potter was going to invade and ruin my Head Girl territory, and I would have none of that. I went to bed with a fully formulated plan for the next day, smirking in my sleep and thinking that Potter would have no idea what he got himself into.

September 1 finally arrived. Dad came with me to Platform 9 ¾ this year again, and we arrived late—again. Dad is late to everything. Mum used to say she was the one waiting for him at the altar.

After we ran through the wall between Platforms Nine and Ten, I realized just how late we were. Usually, there are a number of students loitering on the platform when we arrive, but this time I saw a couple students finishing their goodbyes, and not a single cart stacked with trunks and owl cages. The clock said 10:57. Well, bollocks.

"We are so late," I mumbled.

"Sorry, pumpkin," Dad said.

I pushed my cart to the closest door and heaved my trunk and Terry's cage onto the train. I opened the first compartment, which contained a gaggle of what looked like second years. "Can I leave my stuff here for just one second?" I asked. They nodded, most of their eyes wide. Honestly. I don't look that scary.

Hopefully.

"Give me a hug and you'll be on your way, yeah?" Dad said when I walked back off the train. He opened his arms up as wide as he could.

It happened when I went back to school for my fifth and sixth year, and it happened again then. Whenever I'm hugging my dad goodbye, I feel as if someone is squeezing my lungs, making it hard to breathe. My feet are glued to the floor, and the very last thing I want to do is get on that train and leave my dad.

Think about all the things waiting for you this year, I thought to myself as I smelled the clean scent of my dad's shirt. It'll be a good year.

Only when I heard the train whistle blow do I let go of him. "Bye, Dad," I said as I quickly made my way to the closing door.

My dad smiled at me. "Make sure to write!" he said.

"Every day," I promised, although we both know it will be more like every other week. As I watched the doors close and the parents wave, the train began to slowly glide away. I retrieved my belongings and walked down the hall to find my friends.

What I wasn't hoping to find was one of the blokes in my year. Correction: What I wasn't hoping to slam into was one of the blokes in my year.

A tall boy swiftly walked out of the compartment I was just about to pass, muttering, "Wankers." He turned to walk down the hall, and as my luck would have it, he ran directly into me. Full-on collision on the first day of school? Check.

"Oh, bugger! Sorry, I was—Evans?"

I looked up from where I was on the floor, having tripped over my trunk in an effort to keep hold of my owl's cage. It was Potter. So far that day, I was having some bad luck, and not one bit of it surprised me. Not one bit.

"Evans, sorry, I didn't see you there. Sirius was saying—Well, never mind. Here, let me—" He extended his hand towards me.

I ignored it and picked myself up off the ground. I glared at him while I did so, but then I remembered my plan.

"Are you all right?" Potter asked. He picked up my trunk for me.

I nodded.

"Congratulations on becoming Head Girl," Potter said. "It's not a surprise you got it, considering you're—"

Oh, Merlin. I did not want to hear another one of his meaningless compliments.

"Potter," I said sharply, "I expect you to be in the Prefects' carriage in exactly ten minutes. I hope you have at least thought about what you hope to accomplish as Head Boy, as well as a fraction of an idea of what you would like to say to the Prefects. If you have not, which I expect from you, I made a list of everything we need to cover." I took my trunk from Potter's hand. "See you in ten minutes." I curtly nodded and began to walk down the hall, head held high.

Courteous and professional with a clear goal of communicating with him as little as possible. Well done, Lily, truly, I thought. You just might make it through the year alongside Potter.

"Actually," Potter said from behind me, "I was hoping we could meet a few minutes earlier, since I've never been to a Prefects meeting. Maybe you can teach me your ways." He smirked. "And I can add what I want, too."

My mouth hung open for a few moments, but then I quickly regained composure. Fine, if he's going to pretend like he actually cares about this, I'll pretend that I actually believe him.

"Right. Meet in the Prefects' carriage in five minutes then." Before he could utter another word, I quickly made my way down the hall in search of the same carriage Eileen Turpine, Mary MacDonald, Diana Lockheed, and I have been sitting in since second year. (They're my roommates. Jane Wildswith is our fifth, but she doesn't sit with us.)

"Bloody hell," I said when I entered the compartment a few minutes later. "When will this nightmare that is today end?"

"Lily!" shrieked Eileen. She jumped up and knocked her body into mine. I hugged her back and smiled at Diana and Mary, who also stood at my appearance.

"Hi, Eileen." I held her back and looked her up and down, pretending to evaluate her. She struck a pose. "You look good," I said. "I see a summer in Greece treated you well."

Eileen winked. "Very well. But you! You look stunning! What'd you do over the summer?"

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't stop my laugh. She always says that, and nothing is ever different about me. Or stunning. "Unless you think a few extra freckles are sexy, then I am exactly the same."

"You, my dear, are always sexy," she said with a grin. Before I could object, she said, "Have you seen Evelyn? She wrote to me and said she has something big to tell me."

"No, I haven't, but she usually sits at the very front of the train, doesn't she?"

"No surprise that you're right. I'll see you guys later!"

As Eileen left, Dianna said, "Make sure to tell us her secret later!" Eileen just laughed. There was no way she would tell us what Evelyn said. One of the reasons everyone likes Eileen is because she's so above the gossip of Hogwarts, and when someone tells her something, that secret is locked up tighter than the deepest vaults of Gringotts. When people confide in her, it's because they want her advice or her reaction. She's genuinely happy for people when something good happens to them and devastated when something tragic occurs. Not only is she actually one of those authentically happy, friendly people, but she even looks like one of those happy, friendly people! She's got shiny brown hair and a wide smile that says, "I love you. Let's be friends." Not to mention, her face is covered with freckles. On me, I hate freckles. I have a few on my nose and cheeks, but they're random, and not attractive. On Eileen, they're like a million beauty spots. You'll be waiting for the day, Professor, when she turns human like the rest of us, with flaws and all, but trust me, it's not coming.

The door slid shut and Diana, Mary, and I looked at each other.

"Well…," I said.

"I missed you two!" Diana wrapped an arm each around my neck and Mary's, pulling us in for a hug. Mary gagged a little at Diana's grasp, but she didn't say anything. We stood there for a moment, arms around each other, and then Diana pushed us away. "All right, enough mushiness for today. Mary was just saying that—"

"You look fit, Diana," I said. "Still keeping up that diet?" When we went to Diagon Alley, she refused to eat ice cream with me at Florean's, which made me look like a total pig eating a large ice cream with three different toppings all by myself. Didn't stop me, of course.

"I lost nearly six and a half kilos over the holiday," Diana said proudly. I looked her up and down. I could tell—she looked good. It made me want another ice cream.

"Now all you have to worry about are the never-ending Hogwarts feasts."

"That'll be as easy as Caroline Klent."

I laughed; Mary snorted. Caroline Klent… what a girl.

"So why's today a nightmare?" Mary asked me as we sat down.

"Potter committed serious moral misdemeanors to convince the professors to appoint him Head Boy, and I can't bear to leave in five minutes to meet the partner who probably won't even blink at the thought of abandoning all ethics." I began to rifle through my trunk to find my robes and badge.

"Now?" Diana made a pouty face.

"You just got here!" Mary exclaimed.

"I know, but apparently Potter wants to talk strategy before the meeting." I rolled my eyes again.

Pause.

"Sorry, I must have heard incorrectly," said Mary, rubbing her ears. "It sounded like you said Potter cares about something other than his mates, Quidditch, and girls."

"He's pretending to care about this," I corrected, trying to pin my badge on my robes without pricking myself.

Diana scoffed. I turned to look at her. "What was that?"

"What?" She examined the ends of a section of her long blonde hair. "All I'm saying is maybe he does want to be a good Head Boy."

I stared at her. Potter wants to be a good Head Boy? Sure, I suppose it's possible, but there would have to be an ulterior motive. "How about I nod my head and pretend like that makes sense, and then afterwards I can tell you all about how he goofed off the whole meeting?"

Diana shrugged her shoulders. "Go right ahead, Head Girl. I look forward to saying I told you so."

"I look forward to you never saying that," I replied. "I'll see you guys later. Can one of you get me some chocolate frogs when the trolley stops by?"

Diana and Mary simultaneously nodded. As I walked out the door, Diana whispered, "She's in so much trouble."

"I heard that!" I hollered.

As I walked down the hall, list in my pocket, I thought about what Diana said. I couldn't believe that she basically told me I was wrong, Potter is a good person. I'm sorry, but where has she been the past six years? Did she miss all the tricks, jokes, arguments, and bullying sessions Potter caused? Because I sure didn't. She was there by the lake that day in fifth year! She saw what he's like! A person like that cannot be a good Head Boy. Period.

So what Dumbledore was thinking the day he decided to appoint Potter Head Boy, I will never understand. I'm tempted to march up to Dumbledore, grab him by his beard and demand to know what on earth could posses him to choose Potter. The only problem is that I think Dumbledore's a brilliant mad man, and I'm kind of frightened of him, so grabbing scary brilliantly mad men by their facial hair probably isn't the brightest idea.

I walked into the Prefect's compartment with the expectation of finding it empty, but I was surprised. Again. Potter was sitting at the head of the table, a scrap of parchment in front of him. A shimmer of blue sparks shot out of his wand underneath the table, and I saw that he was tapping his wand against his right knee. His head was bent, eyes scanning the parchment.

"Hello, Potter," I said. I sat in a chair on the other side of the table, not a chair intended for the Head Girl, but it put an adequate amount of distance between us.

"Evans." He nodded.

There was an awkward silence.

I cleared my throat. "Care to begin? The Prefects will be here in a few minutes."

Potter looked down at his parchment, then back at me. He smiled. "Ladies first."

I held in my huff and pulled out my own paper. "We should just stick to the very basics for now. No one likes these meetings to last long. We can discuss clubs and Quidditch and things like that at the next meeting." Without waiting for a potential comment, I began to read down the list, outlining what we needed to cover during the meeting.

"…We'll then finish off with patrols and curfew, clarifying what exactly constitutes breaking curfew and the punishment, things like that." I looked up at Potter. "Anything you'd like to add?"

Potter was intently looking at me, but when I focused my gaze on him, he glanced back down to his own parchment. He ran a hand through his perpetually messy black hair. "Er…points?"

"Sorry?"

"The system of House Points? Did you mention that?"

I stared at him.

"I just thought," he said almost forcefully, "that since there are new Prefects, we should explain to them how Prefects can control points. There's usually some confusion about it at the beginning of the year. In fifth year, Snape thought he could take points from us, but Remus said he couldn't take any from Remus because he was a Prefect as well, and there was a huge row about it because no one really knew."

"Yes, well, I mentioned the points system right after…" I scanned my own list. I didn't see the points system written anywhere. I searched it again, and then a third time. Bollocks. I hadn't written down that we needed to explain the power Prefects had regarding points. Potter was…right.

For a brief moment, I considered lying, saying that it was perfectly positioned between patrols and the Prefects' bathroom, but he would know. Potter's not stupid; he knew I hadn't said it, and he was correcting me.

"You're right," I said, though it felt as if the words physically pained me. "I left it out. Thank you." I scribbled it off in the corner and drew an arrow to where it should have been written.

"The Head Boy's got to do something, right?" He grinned.

I rolled my eyes. "I'll cover everything this meeting, okay?" And the next. And the next. And the next…

Potter shrugged and then returned to tapping his wand against his knee. Thankfully, the first of the Prefects chose to walk in at that moment. I stood up and welcomed everyone that entered the carriage and gestured for them to sit. I was suddenly very nervous. But why should I be nervous? I had sat in on this type of meeting twice before. I knew how the Head Girl was supposed to act. I was on good terms with almost all of the Prefects, so there wasn't anything to sweat about.

Except I was. Sweating, that is. The compartment suddenly felt much too full and the air got harder to breathe in. I eyed Potter chatting with Remus, who had snagged the seat on Potter's right. If only I had a competent Head Boy… then it wouldn't be all depending on me. No one would care if Potter screwed up being Head Boy. It was probably expected, but he was on such a high pedestal for so many other things that failing at this one thing wouldn't even bother him or anyone else. I tried not to think of what it would be like if I failed as I made my way to the seat on Potter's left—the Head Girl's. I began twisting my index finger around the gold chain of my necklace. It's a rotten habit I do when I get nervous or irritated, something I'm sure Mum didn't intend when she bought the jewelry for me.

Once everyone was seated, I stood up. I smiled at all of the Prefects, who peered up at me for one second before turning their attention to Potter. I looked down to my right to see Potter not only seated, but completely oblivious to the meeting, choosing instead to animatedly describe something to Remus. I glared at him, hoping he could feel the beams of hate I was shooting at his ridiculous hair. It was only when a few seconds later, after Remus noticed the silence and stifled giggles, did he nudge Potter, who then turned to look at me.

I coldly raised an eyebrow at him. "Care to join us?" I muttered.

"Sorry, Evans," he said easily, pushing his glasses back up his nose. He grinned at the girl Gryffindor fifth year on the other side of the table.

I turned away from him. I didn't need him as a partner. I could do just fine without him. "Hello, everyone," I said, "and welcome back to another year at Hogwarts. To our new Prefects, congratulations. To our returning Prefects, it's good to see you." I don't need Potter to help me succeed. Despite what my pounding heart thought, I was perfectly capable of conducting the meeting all on my own.

And I did. It went smoothly enough, too. Sure, I may have stumbled over a few of my words, and granted, not all of the girls listened since two of them chose to stare at Potter instead. I managed to glance at Severus only the minimal amount to pass as normal, and yes, his fixed stare on me was unnerving, but I ignored him. I covered everything I was supposed to, even the House Points system, and Potter kept quiet, which itself was a success.

"That's it for now," I said at the end of the meeting. "We'll have another meeting in the next few days, but until then, go patrol, and make sure to set a good example. After all…" After all what? "Prefect is like perfect, just with the letters rearranged!"

Jim Crintiff, a sixth year Ravenclaw, visibly cringed. Why? Why would I say that? That wasn't funny. I'm not even funny! That's something my dad would say, and he's really not funny! I "slid" my paper off the table and onto the floor so that I would have a reason to duck out of sight for a moment. Prefect is like perfect? Really? Guess what? Prefect is like perfect! And card is like car with a 'd'! I slapped my hand against my forehead. That was bad. Some people actually looked embarrassed for me. I don't blame them. Why would I say that? My sad attempts at humor never work out.

Deep breath, Lily. It wasn't that bad. I was just about to stand up when I heard Potter say, "Try not to embarrass me while you're out there! I've worked hard for this position!"

The Prefects within hearing range all laughed. "We'll try, Potter," said a male's voice. One girl cooed, "Wouldn't dream of it, James."

I ripped my list in half. Potter didn't do a single bloody thing the whole meeting, but as soon as he makes a joke referring to the ludicrousness that is his title of Head Boy, everyone would start talking. They'd talk about how Potter was oh-so-funny while Lily Evans told everyone Prefect is spelled like perfect, how he sat there during the meeting looking attractive while Lily Evans had beads of sweat on her forehead, how Potter could really do anything since he, troublemaker extraordinaire, managed to become Head Boy.

My dignity seemed to have run away, because I stayed on the floor until all but two of the voices were gone. Don't judge me, Professor. My paper was difficult to locate.

Slowly, I emerged. Chocolate frogs. All I had to do was leave the cabin and then I could drown my sorrows in the wonder that is chocolate frogs. It was just Potter and Remus talking about something Potter's mother had said to him, and they would be easy to avoid. Well, Remus would. I gathered the halves of my list and began to stride out the compartment when I noticed someone waiting outside of the door. The head was covered with long black hair, slightly greasy, and I knew exactly who was standing in the hall. I froze in my tracks.

Severus Snape and I used to be best mates, Professor Malek. He lives in the not-so-nice part of our Muggle neighborhood, and he was actually the one who first told me about Hogwarts, magic, and everything else. We stopped being friends in fifth year, though. He had changed into a person I did not want to associate myself with, and we both knew we were just fooling ourselves trying to think we could still be friends considering…well, considering. Usually, we ignored each other, but every once in a while Severus would make a futile attempt at reconciling our friendship. And I would let him.

"Hey, Evans," Potter said, and I turned to look at him, slightly grateful at the excuse of putting off my exit, "good job today. I definitely didn't know Prefect could be rearranged to perfect."

My cheeks pooled with color and I suddenly felt very hot. How dare he! He hadn't done a single thing, yet there he was, mocking me at my stupid mistake. He just couldn't wait, could he? He couldn't wait to infuriate me.

"Thank you, Potter," I said, trying to keep my voice even. "You also did well at… I'm sorry? Did you do anything? Or are you as sorry of an excuse as a Head Boy in addition to a Gryffindor?"

Potter spluttered, and his face turned a bright red. Good. It wasn't true, but it got him mad. In all honesty, Potter is probably a pretty good definition of a Gryffindor, but I know how much he values his living up to Godric Gryffindor's standards, and desperate times call for desperate measures. "How was your summer, Remus?" I asked, blatantly ignoring Potter.

The boy in question looked pale as usual, and he had a few scars on his face, but he looked well. His light brown hair was longer. It fit him. He had glared at Potter when he had made that remark, so I'm glad to know that Remus also understands the inanity that is Potter. He smiled and said, "Good, and yours?"

"Very nice, thank you for asking. Now, excuse me, but I'm on my way to my compartment. A nap would be nice. Preparing everything on my own was so exhausting." I faked a yawn. "Proper Heads work hard, though, so I don't really mind."

Remus smirked. "Really."

"Yes, really." Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Potter look up the ceiling and mouth, 'Unbelievable.' Even better. "See you later, Remus. Potter."

As I was leaving, Potter said, "It's good that we talked about the points, don't you think, Remus? Leaving that out surely would have confused everyone, and probably would've damaged the reputations of all the Prefects!"

My back stiffened. Did he just say…? I kept walking, head held high. Potter was not worth it.

"Lily," someone said as soon as I exited the compartment.

I shrieked and jumped back, forgetting that Severus had been waiting for me. At the sight of the familiar black eyes, I relaxed. "Oh, sorry, you scared me, Sev…Severus, you scared me, Severus." I cringed inside. I hate it when I slipup like that.

"Sorry, Lily," he said. His eyes brightened when I called him the name only I called him when we were friends. "How was your summer?"

"Fine," I said tersely. I did not want to be talking to him. I tried to step around Severus, but he made to follow me, and I stopped. I didn't want to give him any reason to accompany me.

"I saw you at the grocer's with your dad one day. He looked well."

"Mmm." I saw him, too, but I made Dad check out as soon as I saw him, even though we didn't have everything on the list.

"What were you doing there?"

I stopped and turned to look at the Slytherin. "Getting food. My family and I tend to like to eat."

Severus's eyebrows met in the middle. He would have laughed before, but that was before. Before everything had changed.

"Congratulations on getting Head Girl," he said, obviously trying to change tactics.

"Thank you."

"I'm glad you—"

"Look, Severus," I said, cutting him off, already dreading what I knew I was going to say, "nothing has changed. At least, nothing has changed that would allow us to become friends again. Unless, you've…" I trailed off. He knew what I was going to say.

Since I've already written this nonsense down, I might as well explain what really happened. The reason Severus and I split was that he was traveling deeper and deeper into the Dark Arts with his Slytherin cronies, and I wanted nothing to do with it. I had been pushing him to make a choice, and on that day by the lake, he did.

I might as well tell you the story—"write about my heartbreak."

We had just taken our written Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. A majority of people headed out to the lake afterwards, as it was a gorgeous day. Mary and I needed some extra practice for our Transfiguration O.W.L., which was next, so we asked Marlene McKinnon, a Hufflepuff, to quiz us. She is the top girl in our year in that subject, and she is always willing to help others, never bragging. (To be honest, most people don't really understand how good she is in school. Sometimes we're too prejudiced to be able to comprehend that a Hufflepuff could be the best academically.) Marlene, Mary, Diana, and I ended up sitting by the lake and gossiping, but after a few minutes, my mood completely changed as I saw Potter and Black messing with Severus.

I had stormed over there, fuming. Severus was frozen on the ground with pink bubbles oozing from his mouth. "Leave him ALONE!"

Potter's hand had shot up to his jet-black hair. "All right, Evans?" he said smoothly like the hundreds of times he had said it before.

I ignored his question, instead telling him, "Leave him alone. What's he done to you?" There wasn't a right answer to that question, and I knew that, as I witnessed the rivalry of Potter and Black between Severus probably more than anyone else.

"Well, it's more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean…"

The other students who had gathered for their show snickered, because everything that comes out of Potter's mouth is just so. Bloody. Funny.

"You think you're funny," I had said, my anger rising. "But you're just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone." I probably shouldn't have targeted his character. It was nothing unusual, though, and I was already feeling irrationally miffed with Potter due to an argument Severus and I had gotten into just the day before.

"I will if you got out with me," Potter said without missing a beat. "Go on… Go out with me, and I'll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again."

I was surprised that he had asked me out. Sometimes he implied I was secretly in love with him, but he never put himself out there like that. Hiding my surprise was easy, though. Refuting Potter in any way, shape, or form was second nature at that point.

"I wouldn't go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid."

"Bad luck, Prongs," Black said, and I remembered that everyone else was there. "OY!" He whipped back around to Severus, who had regained movement and pointed his wand at Potter. A cut on Potter's face appeared, not fatal, but deep enough that blood splattered. I was shocked that Severus would react that way, but before I could think more of it, he was upside down exposing his skinny legs and underpants.

I almost laughed, only because I felt that he deserved that after the way he had been acting lately. Almost, but didn't. I should have.

"Let him down!" I tried again.

"Certainly." Potter let Snape fall to the floor only to allow Black to say, "Petrificus Totalus."

If I wasn't upset before, I was then. The crowd was still there, only growing, never shrinking, and all I wanted was for Potter and Black to conjure up some decency and leave Severus alone so that I could go back to my friends. "LEAVE HIM ALONE!" I whipped out my wand and pointed it at Black and Potter. Enough was enough.

"Ah, Evans, don't make me hex you," Potter said as if his puppy dog face would make me drop my wand.

"Take the curse off him, then!"

Potter did, making a show of his reluctance. "There you go," he said, "you're lucky Evans was here, Snivellus—"

Severus didn't let him finish, though. "I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her."

I felt like someone had poured a bucket of water on my head. And there it was. Yet again, one moment, one decision ended something. One word, an utterance of a sound, ended my relationship with Severus. "Fine," I said, struggling to remember how to breathe. "I won't bother in the future. And I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus." It was as low as I could have currently gone, yet it was still not enough.

I began to walk off, but Potter rounded on Severus, again, and took the opportunity to bully him and impress me, again. He ordered Severus to apologize, and I exploded. How dare he act as if he were any better than Severus? How dare he try to raise himself in my eyes by making Severus out to be the bad bloke? I thought. I shouted at Potter, "I don't want you to make him apologize. You're as bad as he is…"

"What?" Now Potter looked like he had been slapped. "I'd NEVER call you a—you-know-what!"

"Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can—I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK." I had screamed to cover the hurt in my voice, but then I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran off after that.

Potter had called after me, but he did not follow. Fortunately.

Really, I expected Potter to be a git. It's his nature. A git is a git, no surprises or pretending. Severus, though…that wasn't just being a git. And that wasn't supposed to come from him. Not Sev, my best friend, the one who always stuck by my side. It wasn't supposed to be him.

I got a bad case of denial. I blamed it all on Potter, and I considered forgiving Severus. When the time came, though, as he stood outside the Fat Lady's portrait to beg for forgiveness, I knew in my heart, somewhere deep in my stupid, pitiful heart, that we weren't working anymore. He chose one way, I chose mine, and I could never accept his decision. Eventually, I took Potter out of the equation. I couldn't stand him and what he did, but he didn't make Severus say that.

"I…" Severus trailed off in the hall of the train, his eyes searching my face. I wondered for a fleeting moment if he was going to say, Yes, yes it changed.

"Severus! Are you done?" a voice said from behind me. I turned to look and saw the burly figure that is known as Corvus Mulciber, a Slytherin in our year and a bastard if you've ever met one. I've always disliked him, but when he performed some nasty magic on Mary in fifth year, a deep hatred formed for him. (Severus defended Mulciber when I brought up the topic. Another strike on the never-ending list.) When he saw me looking at him, his entire facial expression changed. His girlishly thin eyebrows rose up in surprise, but then his whole face twisted into a sneer. "Do you mind moving, Mudblood? A dirty person like you really shouldn't be getting in the way of superior students."

My mouth dropped open. Sure, Mulciber is an arse, and he's never once tried to hide his blood prejudice, but he's never been so blunt about my blood status in front of me before, especially when there was really no reason for it.

Mulciber made a pouty face. "Oh, I'm sorry, did no one tell you that you don't belong here with us wizards?"

My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth, and while my mind was definitely not blank, I didn't speak. Son of a bitch. How I wanted to strike him across the face. I turned back to Severus. His face had an expression I've seen on it before: an expression that said he was torn, he didn't know what to do. He was torn between siding with the bloke that hated and bullied people like me or defending me, his once best friend. "Severus…?" I couldn't help it. I had asked if anything changed. Did it?

I saw my reflection in his black eyes, and they were full of some emotion, but then they turned flat. My shoulders slumped. There was my answer.

"Come on, Snape," Mulciber said. "She's not worth ridiculing at this point. She'll realize the truth soon enough."

"Mulciber." Potter stepped out of the compartment with Remus. He looked at me for a few seconds, his eyes asking a question, but I just looked back to Mulciber. Potter easily concluded what I didn't want to tell him. "Can't say I'm glad to see you," Potter said. "I enjoyed the holidays where I didn't have to see your brutish face every day, but I guess I've gotten used to looking at a rhino's backside after all these years."

Mulciber whipped out his wand, directing it at Potter. In an instant, Remus and I had ours out as well. Severus stepped forward, his wand pointed at Potter. Potter didn't pull his wand out. He just smiled at Mulciber. "I heard you talking to Evans earlier, so I think I'll take…twenty points from Slytherin?" He looked to Remus as if asking him.

"Ten points for every remark would be good," Remus said, his voice easygoing but his eyes flashing. Mulciber's jaw dropped.

"Right, so forty points from Slytherin, gentlemen. Looks like you guys aren't off to a very good start this year. No worries. No one's ever expected anything good to come from Slytherin before, though."

"You can't take points, Potter!"

I must admit that this might've been the first time I really appreciated Potter's arrogant smirk. It was so wonderfully confident, certainty radiating off it, that I wondered if he practiced it so that it would be so amazing in situations like these. "Oh, but I can, Mulciber. See, I'm Head Boy." He pointed to the badge on his robes. "That means that the only people higher than me are the professors and Dumbledore. So if you want to discuss this with Dumbledore when we return to the school…" He shrugged, as if he didn't care. "Or we could go see Slughorn. Explain what you said to his favorite student."

It's true—I probably am Professor Slughorn's favorite student. Potions is my best subject, and I'm one of his favorites. Repeating to Slughorn what Mulciber said to me would probably be worse for him than losing forty points. Mulciber seemed to realize this, and his face turned to pure anger, but he lowered his wand.

"When you're done, Severus," he said in a tone that said he better be done now, "we're in this compartment." He pointed to the door he was standing in front of, and then walked off in the other direction. Severus paused and hastily walked towards me.

"We don't have to change everything else for us to be friends, Lily. We don't have to act like we're opposites with no chance to be friends."

"Except we are, Severus. To prove it, you've even chosen your side, and I've chosen mine. There's no point."

"Just because I'm friends with blokes who think—"

"Don't act like it's just your friends who think those things."

Before Severus could even attempt to deny it (which I know he would have tried to do), Potter said, "You can go now, Snape."

Severus glared at Potter with a deep hatred, but he walked down the hall and into his compartment, not sparing me another glance. Normally, I would've been mad at Potter for chasing Severus away, but I had gotten my answer, and I didn't want him around a second longer.

"Nice to see Mulciber got more pleasant this year," said Remus.

Potter snorted. "Good change of pace, right?" He shook his head. "He was acting different, though. He doesn't seem to care now if everyone knows just how racist of a berk he is."

"Wonder why," I muttered. Potter and Remus looked at me as if they had forgotten I was there.

"You all right, Evans?" Potter asked. I nodded and waited for his attack on Severus, but it didn't come. Instead, he said, "Merlin, I hate them all," almost as if he wished he didn't.

We were silent for a moment. "Well, thank you," I said. I looked at Potter for a moment, but I felt that I couldn't look at his face for very long—it was a mixture of concern and caution and other things I couldn't place. I felt that if I looked at him any longer, I would snap at him and start another row, and even my thick self knew you didn't yell at someone who just helped you. I directed my gaze to Remus. I smiled at him. He gave me a half-smile back. "I will, er, see you two back at school," I said before walking down the hall.

Mary and Diana were furious when I told them about Mulciber when I returned. Diana started ranting about how much she hated him and what we should do to get him back and how she'd really, really, really like to just punch him.

"Don't we all," I said.

As Diana got louder, though, Mary got quieter. She never really liked talking about Mulciber, and I can see why. I told Diana to change the subject, so she started to talk about how nice it was of Potter to come out and defend me and how he didn't bully Mulciber and Snape. I told her to shove it.

I got my chocolate frogs and the ride passed relatively quickly. The Prefects did their rounds on the train, the feast was unbelievably delicious, and the Sorting Hat sang a song that was probably meant to make people think, but I'm pretty sure everyone forgot about it. He talked about how we are separated into Houses based on the talents and gifts we have—basically who we are—and we need to use that in these times, because we are all still humans despite Houses. It was somber, but it's true.

I even discovered that while I'll miss my roommates (Diana, Mary, Eileen, and Jane—who is nice, but doesn't really associate with the rest of us), I love my new room.

I never noticed it before, but on the girls' side of the Gryffindor tower, there are stairs that pass all the dormitories of the first through seventh years and lead to the Head Girl's room. It's a nice room. My bed's twice as large as my previous one was, but it has the same red bed hangings, pillows, and covers. I have a desk, my own loo, and a nook under a window with a decent view, all of which make my room entirely splendid. I saw that there was another door opposite to the one I came through by the stairs, so I opened it to find my own personal Common Room. It's about an eighth the size of Gryffindor's Common Room, but it's just as nice. There's a fireplace, a couch, a desk with two chairs placed around it, and four large but different armchairs that seriously look like you could sink into them and never come out.

Just as I was stepping forward to test out the armchair closest to the fireplace, a door I hadn't noticed (even though it was directly across from me) clanged opened and out stepped Potter.

I looked at him. He looked at me. I didn't move forward to the arm chair I had already mentally claimed as my own, but I did glance past Potter to see that the doorway he was standing in led to a room that looked just like mine.

So I realized it's not my own personal Common Room. I'm sharing it with Potter.

Awesome.

"Well this will be fun," Potter said. Even he sounded slightly annoyed that we were being forced together. I made a noncommittal noise and then turned and strode back into my room, shutting the door behind me.

I have to spend enough time with him for the next year, and I would prefer to minimize it as much as possible.

Besides, I had to prepare for my first day of classes, during which I would find myself meeting my brand new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.


"I only ask for two qualifications for this professor: fit and young," Diana said the next morning.

We were walking into the DADA classroom for the very first class of the school year. Surprisingly, many students continued on to the NEWT level. I guess everyone else realized the need for the subject, too.

"You have a boyfriend," Mary said.

"Vaughn and I went on two dates, and so? It's nice to have a little something to stare at during classes. Besides, the past six professors we've had for this class have been old geezers. I figure the probability of getting an attractive teacher now has to at least be one out of seven."

Mary rolled her eyes, but I could tell she agreed, even though she has an actual boyfriend. "Hey, Professor Day wasn't that bad. She was nice, and she rarely gave us homework," I said as I set my bag and books at one of the desks in the back. Diana placed her belongings on the one beside it, and Mary snagged the two seats directly in front. One for her, the other for Ben Mylne, her boyfriend.

"She didn't give us homework because she could barely see a meter in front of her, let alone read one of our papers," Diana countered.

"Remember Professor Hollis?" Mary asked.

"Oh my god," I said. "I can't even look at biscuits anymore without feeling freaked out."

You can't do anything, Professor, to make you weirder than Professor Hollis. He looked like a relatively normal wizard. He was in his late thirties and had a nice smile. All you had to do was ignore the giant parrot that he always kept no more than five feet away from him.

No, seriously. After the first month, we asked Professor McGonagall (our Transfiguration teacher and Head of Gryffindor House, I'm sure you've met her by the time you read this, so you know you don't want to cross her) about it. She said that when he was doing some research in the Amazon or somewhere, he had an "accident," and the bird supposedly helped him. After that, Professor Hollis never wanted to leave his bird, which he named Louis. It went even further, though, because he was always there for our classes, too. Professor Hollis was feeding him biscuit after biscuit or talking to the parrot and having it repeat the lessons back to us. There were days where we were taught by a parrot.

You think I'm kidding, but it's nowhere near funny enough to be a joke.

He ended up leaving because Louis died. I don't think he knew how to function without him, and he ended up saying that because Louis left him, it was symbolically required of him to leave us. Personally, I think the poor bird had one too many biscuits.

"Hey, Lily, Diana," said Ben as he walked down the aisle to the seat Mary saved for him. He kissed her cheek. "Have a good summer?"

"Yup."

"Uh-huh. You?"

"It was good, too long of a time to be away from this pretty girl, though." He smiled at Mary. She rolled her eyes, but I saw her fighting a smile, and she ended up leaning forward to kiss him. Which I'm pretty sure he was going for. Diana and I looked at each other out of the corners of our eyes. They started whispering and giggling, fooling with the other's hands, so we took our seats.

"So you haven't heard anything about who the mystery professor is?" Diana asked me. For some reason you weren't at the feast yesterday.

"No, why would I?"

"You're Head Girl."

"Oh. Right. Well, no, I haven't. I expect Dumbledore is too busy mulling over the fact that his brain left him long enough for him to declare Potter Head Boy."

Diana grimaced, but I know she thought it was funny. She's only Potter's spokesperson because her mum's a Pureblood, so she grew up knowing Potter's mum, also a Pureblood. You know how those blood ties are… Joking, because Diana's mum is really nice and often asks me about my family because she's genuinely curious, and the Potters are some of the decent Purebloods. Anyway, Potter and Diana are like cousins, I guess you could say. She usually has no problem poking fun at him because it's almost always spot-on, but apparently this year she does.

Potter, Black, Remus, and Pettigrew all walked into class and scanned the room for seats. Since they had about thirty seconds to spare before they were late, almost all of the seats in the back of the room were taken, and no four were grouped together. Black clapped his hand on Potter's shoulder and muttered something to him. He strutted over to Caroline Klent, who actually readjusted her breasts when she thought no one was looking. He leaned down to her and started whispering to her as if she was the most important girl in the world. He nodded over to Potter, Remus, and Pettigrew, giving her a pleading look. She hesitated, but he said something that caused her face to flush and her to pull her best friend, Holly Reicht, to a set of seats at the front of the room. Black turned to his mates and grinned, throwing himself down in Caroline's old seat.

I shook my head. I'm truly ashamed for my gender.

Just as I was about to lean over and say something to Diana, you, Professor, stepped out of your office. Your round, golden spectacles glinted in the light and you smiled at us. Your tall, thin frame told us you were young, but the lines on your face said older. Everyone sat up straighter, preparing to evaluate who our new professor is.

Like your glasses, your robes were golden. You'd think that golden robes would be really showy and flamboyant, something someone would wear to get attention, but they weren't. If gold could somehow be subtle, yours were. You walked gracefully, even though you looked to be in your early forties. (If I'm wrong, my sincerest apologies.) When you stood at the front of the room, you opened your arms and said, "Hello, I am Professor Malek."

"Damn," Diana whispered. Mary heard and turned around, grinning, and we had to stifle our giggles.

(Sorry, Professor.)

"Professor Dumbledore asked me to fulfill the teaching position of Defense Against the Dark Arts. This subject is an especially crucial one in today's situation, and I hope to pass to you all the knowledge you will need to know for what I hope you will never have to face, all the while knowing you more than likely will." I wondered what your job was before you were offered to teach here. "I have a variety of spells, dueling techniques, and strategies planned for you, in addition to a special long-term project."

Most of the students casually looked around the room trying to see if everyone else was just in the dark as them; they were. What could this special project be? Why, I bet it will be something exciting and useful and challenging, I wrongly thought.

You raised your wand and summoned a brown box forward. You placed it on the desk of Holly, who was looking especially resentful towards Caroline, and reached into the box to take out a thick blue journal. "This," you said, holding it up to the class, "will be your project."

You could have heard a quill drop to the floor.

"What's that supposed to mean?" grunted Mulciber, ever the intellect.

"Each and every one of you will receive a journal that you will need to fill with a record of your life."

About three-fourths of the class groaned, protested, or made noises of disgust. You weren't starting out on the right foot.

"Why?" Philippe Aubert, a Hufflepuff, asked.

You appeared to have been waiting for this question. "Good question…"

"Philippe Aubert."

"Good question, Mr. Aubert. I'm sure none of you have been oblivious to the danger that surrounds us. It's everywhere. It seems that even if you declare yourself neutral, you are still in the war." It was weird to hear you say that, that this was a war. Had it really gotten to that point? "During this time, there is one thing you need to keep close to you." You paused, like you expected one of us to supply the answer. "Your heart. You need to keep your heart close." Someone snorted. "Your heart holds the key to you, does it not? Doesn't it hold everything about you that could be used against you and for you? Your heart holds your weaknesses, your fears, and your secrets. If an enemy attacks your heart, you are in a tragic situation. They'll use it against you. The question of a specific person's safety could drive you to do anything, and if your enemy knows that, that person's life and your own could be in grave danger. But does your heart not also hold your strengths? It holds your talents, your loves, your ambitions, and your reasons to keep going. Simultaneously, your heart can be your downfall and your victory. You will record everything in this journal. You will write your hopes, heartbreaks, dreams, fears, and worries—you will write your life. In doing so, I hope you will learn something new about yourselves. With so many things going on in our lives, it's easy to forget to stop to think about how we really feel. I expect this project will give you a nice, long look at your hearts."

Seriously? I looked around incredulously. I wasn't the only one.

"This journal must be filled by the time I collect it. I haven't decided when that will be, but expect to have it for at least six months. We'll see how well everyone is doing by that point, yes?" No one said anything. There's not even an official deadline for this thing! "It will be one-third of your final grade. I will add, though," you said with a critical countenance, "that while I do not encourage thievery, you are expected to protect this journal like you would protect your heart, and if someone steals your journal, then I will do nothing."

What? How, in any way, shape, or form, is that a good idea? Yes, kids, I am making you write everything about your lives down, but go ahead and try to steal other people's secrets and personal belongings! It is the real world after all!

How about not, Professor.

"Now, one by one, come up to my desk and I will give you your journal. Let's start with you," he said with a nod towards Caroline.

She got up to receive her journal. You asked her for her name, and she told you. The process continued for the next almost forty people. As I walked up, I passed Black and Potter. "He must be joking," Black said. "There's no way I'm going to sit around and write my feelings." He had a particular tone of disgust on the word feelings.

When I reached the front, you said, "Your name, Miss?"

"Lily Evans," I said.

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Evans," you said while digging through his box. "I think that this"—you pulled out a dark green journal—"will be fitting for you, don't you think?"

Green. Of course. Not that I don't like my eyes. I do. In fact, not to be arrogant or anything, but I love my eyes. Everyone tells me I have the prettiest eyes they've seen. Emerald green is a rarity, after all, and I admit that it's probably the only striking thing about me. I forced a smile and went back to my seat.

"Nice," Mary said, turning around in her seat to look at my green journal. "At least it's not red for your hair."

I nodded. At least there was that.

After everyone got his or her journal, you stepped forward again. "I have a few points I would like to clarify before we go on with class. First, I will read your journals when you complete them. Doing this will allow me to see if you took this project seriously and how you have evolved throughout this semester. Owners of journals filled with scribbled rubbish will not pass, I can guarantee that." You looked menacingly down on the students over his glasses. "Second, nothing you write in your journals will ever be revealed to anyone besides you and me—unless you misplace your journal. If that does happen, I'm afraid you are on your own. I will not grade you on what you write, as long as you write honestly. You can write anything you want, and it will have no affect on your grade. Everything you tell me is completely confidential, unless it endangers your life, endangers someone else's life, or breaks any of the Ministry of Magic's laws. Yes, this means you can write all about how you skipped class and never got caught or how you were the one to set my papers on fire—I will be unable to act upon it." Potter and Black were smirking. "If you got away with it then, nothing you write can change what happened."

The two boys' grins got even wider, and some other students joined in. I can almost ensure that you will regret saying that one, Professor.

"Other than those two things, I have no other qualifications other than to simply open your hearts and be honest. Write honestly about how you feel, what you fear, and what you love. While honesty may cause some trouble, it will allow you to learn things about yourself and others that you would never have before. Any questions?" No one responded, but I could feel a single question buzzing through the minds of almost everyone in the room: Do we really have to do this?

"No? All right," you continued, "now, can someone give me a brief overview of what you learned last year? It is my understanding that you covered…"

The class continued with us really only reviewing what we learned as sixth years. My other classes that day—Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, Herbology—passed relatively quickly. I received no other projects like in DADA, but there were a lot of lectures about how important N.E.W.T.s are and how difficult this year will be.

That is how I ended up in my room late at night, Professor, scribbling away, summing up how I think all of the professors at my school have gone mad. Between your assignment of keeping a diary and Dumbledore's and the other professors' appointment of Potter as Head Boy, I'm not quite sure how I will make it through the year.

Then again, I've already taken up a decent sized chunk of pages in this journal, and Potter has stayed off of my radar, so maybe this won't be too hard after all…