LILY'S POV

At that time I was not going to tell her.

It was hardly up to me to let her know. I'd been asked several times whether I was deaf or simply a coward. I am neither I assure you. I also am not a liar, not even close.

But alas, there comes a time where even the most perfect of people must divulge in a little deception. I am no exception to this rule. I have told many white lies, as I'm sure every single witch or wizard has. After all, each of us carries a grand lie, as masquerade flawlessly conceived to fool all Muggles. And it's no fault of ours. Even Muggles themselves do it.

Have you ever heard of Santa Claus? I'm sure you have. It's probably the second biggest lie to ever been told, next - of course - to the presence of magic. Every single mother and father around the world has played into the scheme. Though I don't know the exact statistics, I'd guess that there are very few who have told the truth in this area.

There are many reasons to this.

Imagine if you told your ten year old boy that Santa Claus did not exist, would he not go and tell all his friends? It would only make sense to a young boy. So of course, you as a parent owe it to all the other kids not to tell your kids, as I'm sure you might have an angry mob of overprotective mothers on your back side.

This means my reasons for lying to Cady are just as commendable.

All three of us have discussed the matter thoroughly, I promise. We've even had our share arguments over it all. But really, in the end, it's just like the moment your mother asks if she looks fat in her new gown. You answer, of course, with a 'no, you look fine' because you want to receive a good birthday present that year and a healthy allowance. But it's still a lie, even if only a small one.

So in hindsight, I have perfectly justified reasons for telling her she can sing.

I'm only too aware of the fact that if I did tell her she sang like an old lady with a very large and prickly Quaffle down her throat, she'd only be severely crushed. I came to this conclusion as I saw the light light up on her face as she scribbled on her notepad, completely differing from her usual solemn obliviousness. But alas, all the words she came up with, and the tune she thought up in her head, would only sound highly disturbing and excruciating to the ear if she were the one to sing them. It's a sad truth, and an even sadder lie to tell.

Shellie was the first to warn us of this. You see, we weren't always friends. From first through second year, Eva and I had no particular like for the two girls. They were odd, Cady quiet and Shellie eccentric. We were, of course, the epitome of cool being two of the prettiest girls in the castle. We had friends in almost every other house, and admirers in all of them. We were living the life of the elites, the one girls like Cady and Shellie only dreamed of.

It was in January of our third year when we first heard Cady 'sing'. Though we didn't know it at the time, this was the very stepping stone to a grand friendship.

We were sitting on our beds when it happened.

"And then he said that he couldn't possibly spend another minute with me," it was Eva's much younger self who said this, and as usual, she sat cross legged on her four poster with an arrangement of nail polishes displayed in front of her. "Can you believe that? He couldn't spend another minute snogging! Snogging me!" even at the ripe age of thirteen, Eva was the thrill of the school, or at least the male population. "You don't think he's daft, do you?"

"Most definitely," or at least that's what I think happened. This was usually how most of our conversations went though. I was usually sitting on my own four-poster, spread out and reading my latest romance novel. I'd taken a liking to them back at home during one of my many summers in Surrey. I had nicked one of my mother's books from her massive shelf as I was bored and restless. Petunia had been refusing to play with me, and I could only think of one way to cure my boredom.

And from then on, I was hooked.

"I really do have a knack for picking them, don't I?" her voice was most likely laden with sarcasm and dread as she said this, while simultaneously layering on the black nail polish. Always the one for dramatics.

"That you do," this part, I remember quite nicely, however. The words had been stolen from my very lips by our very own black haired Shellie, muttered as if to the perfume soiled air. I clearly recall Eva's neck cracking up so fast it made a distinct whip noise and I was worried she'd possibly gotten whiplash. And as her perfectly pink glossed lips opened to release what I was sure would be a terrifying scream, the sound of grinds against copper rang through the dormitory.

That is a very nice way of putting the dreadful sounds that came out of that young girl's mouth. I'd say it is more of a mixture between a broken airplane engine and one of those completely wooden carts they used once in the country. I've always wondered what it sounds like to her, in her head I mean. By her facial expressions, I don't think she hears what we do.

"What in Merlin's saggy Y-fronts is that?" Eva had shrieked, hands covering her ears and looking at Shellie with wild eyes. I remember being exceedingly pleased that Cady was in the shower and that there was almost no chance she could hear any of us. Or so I hoped.

"Shhh," Shellie had practically read my mind as she looked back in forth – as if it was only moments before Grindewald himself popped up from the shadows – and rushed to our beds. She looked weary and solemn as her eyes pleaded mercy. "You mustn't tell a soul," this was the point where both me and Eva looked at each other in fear, wondering what type of monstrosity this girl could possibly be hiding in our bathroom. "Promise me."

"We promise," it seemed scarily like a horror film, as both Eva and I looked like we were about to come face to face with a mass murderer.

"That's Cady," it was only natural to frown, but the short girl silenced us both with a finger to her lips. "And no, she isn't being attacked," our frowns faded a bit. "Nor is she some half-werewolf, half-vampire," Eva's frown was completely washed off her face and I felt the sudden need to giggle childishly. "That's Cady… singing."

And the rest, as you would say, is history.

It's been four years since third year and we are now going into our final year at Hogwarts. If we could, we would get the award for best white lie ever told. I say it's a white lie because we've never actually told Cady she was a good singer. No, we've simply never told her she was a horrid singer. But over the years, we'd come very good at leaving the room discretely when she begins her humming, or making up some excuse when she pulls out her guitar.

But I can't take all the credit. We were infinitely lucky that Cady had always been a rather contained personality. She was never one to brag about her 'musical abilities' or even dare to hum a tune in public.

Luck had definitely been on our side.

I only bring this up, as I'm listening to her right now. She does this quite often, randomly starts humming or muttering lyrics. It's become routine though, and I flawlessly close my textbook, making as little noise as possible. I slide off my four-poster without even making enough disturbance to make her aware of my presence. I then exit the dormitory, gesturing up to the door as I pass Eva on the way down. She looks a bit crest fallen – most likely do to what I'm sure would have been a rather vigorous nail polish session – but nonetheless follows me back down the stairs and into the common room.

"Evans!" and that one word, just ruined my day. Really, Hogwarts should start up an awards ceremony as Potter would definitely win every single one in the 'prat' category.

"What Potter, what?" I was only slightly ashamed of how rude I was, as my mother and father would most surely be disappointed in me. "What pre tell, is so important that you must act like a fool infront of the entire common room? Uncomfortable itch, I presume?" I could not, however, deny how much selfish pleasure I got from just the pained look that crossed the boy's face. He would get over it, in less than five seconds surely. He'd be right back on his high horse soon, back to making 'witty' remarks in a desperate attempt to impress me.

And almost right on time, a grin spread across his face.

"It is if you're playing doctor," I simply rolled my eyes and swept past him, not giving a care if all he and his friends were exchanging exuberant high fives at this very moment.

I joined the other two at our usual common room table, Shellie staring at a piece of parchment with a quizzical expression on her face and Eva leaning on the back two legs of her chair and winking somewhere over my shoulder.

"You should give him a chance," I feel as though it's almost pointless to state it, but it was Shellie who brought it up. Eva of course, was much too busy snogging the bloke across the room with her eyes. "He does try."

"I know very well that he tries," I couldn't help but defend myself as I felt like it was a direct attack at me, whether intentional or not. "It's that he's so bloody annoying in his attempt that puts me off so much… He's a right git is what he is," the only confirmation I got was a low grunt from the black haired girl as she continued her uninterrupted stare at the seemingly important sheet of parchment. I huffed in annoyance, trying to make my discontent apparent.

I find it a bit frustrating at times, trying to string honest conversation with these girls. It's not that they're unintelligent, simply that we are all too different to really understand one another. Eva loves to talk about boys, next to of course her favorite subject, herself. Shellie was always babbling off about something, usually to do with her latest 'masterpiece' or something oddly mysterious. She was also known to stray off topic and almost never finished a conversation she'd started. And Cady didn't speak much at all. And even when she did, you usually had little clue how to respond. Everything was in riddles, secret messages that you were sure you needed to know in order to even consider understanding it at all.

That's not to say we didn't have our good times, no we had several of them. There were times where I couldn't imagine not having friends like them, as it seemed rather like it wouldn't be complete. But needless to say, there were times. Friendship isn't perfect, and even the smartest of minds could admit that.

I suppose, though, that it's rather selfish of me to think this way. They are good to me; never hurt me in all our times as friends. But there's a certain give and take aspect that I find I'm missing. I give them so much; do their homework, comfort them, gossip with them. And yet, I've found myself more than once at the but of their jokes.

I'd like to say I have a sense of humor, but I'd be lying.

And as I've said, I am not a liar.

Since I can remember I've always had a certain spot of annoyance for small jokes. Maybe I'm simply insecure, or maybe it's that I'm highly evolved. Either way, I've never been fond of 'friendly teasing'. It hurts, no matter how innocent it may be. A small sarcastic remark that 'yes Lily, you look dreadful in that jumper' always seemed to pick at that last nerve of mine. Even I knew that it was highly unreasonable to take any offense to these, but still I did. It was like my mind just didn't want to listen to me. I'd tried many times to get the jokes, to really laugh, but all my head wanted to do was put on a smile and nod.

It worked, but it always played on my conscience.

As a girl of many morals, my conscience does like to make its appearance. Usually on quite juvenile things such as this. It's very rare for me to think hard on my own actions, but the actions of others, seem to be the best seller in my theatre. Even those simple jokes will play around in my head for weeks, months. The worst - I would say - are not the jokes however.

It's the embarrassment.

For some unknown reason, I am not ordinary. It's not my embarrassment that eats at me, no, it's everyone else's. For example, when I read a book about a young girl going through secondary education, only to fall madly in love with the school's most wanted bloke, then proceeds to humiliate herself in every way possible; falling at his feet, spilling her soda on his lap in the dining hall. These moments I always find myself mortified. I'm always sitting there trying not to shut out 'why'd you do it?' over and over at the poor innocent novel. This happens most frequently in the halls of Hogwarts as well, though it is almost always some poor first year. The moment where his trousers fall to his ankles or when he suddenly is wearing a wig I always feel the need to burst into tears for them.

Yes, I'm almost certain I need to see Madame Pomfrey for it.

I'm not quite sure if it's the irrational fear of my own embarrassment, or simply that I'm quite bonkers, but it's always been like this. Even when I'm the one on the other end, hexing Potter's 'gorgeous' face to sprout boils, I feel horrendously bad for the boy. And it's not pity, I'd like to clarify. Not in this - or any other universe - shall I ever feel pity for one James Potter, but rather I feel as if I'm in his shoes.

It's not as if I've never been embarrassed myself either, I've had my turn several times actually. But for some reason, when it's me standing there, I have a much cooler head. This might be the reason why I'm often dubbed the 'Snow Queen' by many of our Slytherin friends plus Sirius Black. And I don't argue their judgment either, I'm sure that's exactly how I seem. But I'm not heartless, not like they suggest.

My odd tendencies confirm that fact.

"You know, Astor McLaggen is quite charming," the comment was posed in an almost question as Eva store at the boy in question, a look of sheer curiosity stretched across her features. She looked almost like she was an eager philosopher, examining an old object of history that'd be lost for thousands of years.

"I suppose," there was a certain time where you gained a routine in your responses to 'Eva moments' as we called them. It was only too easy to nod and agree to whatever she was saying, as most every time she was simply looking for someone to approve of whatever scheme she'd hatched up for the next victim that morning.

"So you think I should ask him out?" at this I tore my eyes away from the engravings on the table top and looked up at the blonde, wondering what had gotten into her. This was a severely different Evangeline than I'd come to know, and frankly, I was a bit worried.

"Since when do you ask a bloke out?" her blue eyes turned to me and a slight hint of a smirk pulled at the corners of her lips.

She was mocking me.

"Good, you were listening," she barely flinched at the glare I sent her, putting all my hatred to the world and Potter into that stare. She knew, much too well, which buttons and strings would throw me off the edge, and she seemed to just love taking chances. "Now, do you think I should take him up?"

"Take him up as your snogging partner you mean?" the manner in which she spoke of the boys of Hogwarts even managed to amaze me at some times. No matter all the words I'd wasted trying to defend her honor, claiming she wasn't the person the rumors said she was, she went and proved me wrong. Sometimes I wondered what she said of me when I wasn't around.

"Yes, what else would I mean?" her eyes flicked back over my shoulders, and she swiped her tongue over her perfectly white teeth. If I knew her well enough, I would guess that she'd spent many hours in front of the mirror perfecting such a performance, as it was all part of her grand appeal.

"No, I don't think so," I'd turned to look at him at this point, examining him almost identically to the way she'd done only moments before. "He doesn't seem your type."

"And what type is that?" her eyes were accusatory as she looked at me after a moment's pause, and I tore my eyes away from our subject to roll my eyes dramatically at her. Sometimes she could be as daft as Lucius Malfoy the Slytherin Prince… Well truthfully, it was more than sometimes.

"He's got morals," I responded. I knew perfectly well that she'd take it the way she was meant to: as an insult.

Her jaw dropped and she looked almost as if she'd just been slapped across the face by McGonagall herself, her eyes wide in astonishment. "I'm perfectly adequate enough to snog a bloke with morals, thank you very much," I bit down the laugh that made its way to surface. "And he'd be only thrilled to know I even looked at him, let alone spared him a thought." Typical Eva and her perspective on who she was, no matter how tilted it may be.

"Well, then go for it," this I knew, was not a matter up for discussion. I only ever debated for the sheer fun of argument, as it was really the only time I got for interesting conversation with any of them. Even if these thoughts were harsh, they were shockingling true.

They were no Ravenclaws, that was for certain.

"Yes, I think I will," and there ended the conversation, me returning to my desk engraving and Eva to her staring. Both of us remained none the wiser to the quiet Shellie, sitting at the table along with us and taking in our every word, soaking in the information like a forgotten sponge in the sink.

AN- So I lied. Yep, I lied pretty big. Cady never sounded like Norah Jones, but it was worth the trick, right? No hard feelings? I only did it because it was absolutely necessary to make this chapter a surprise. And I'm being nice here, I'd planned this chapter to be way later on, but I decided that it was best to be put in here. I needed to show that my characters aren't just a ton of Mary-Sues, at least not to the outside world. My whole idea behind this story was to show how individual perceptions differ for each person, which is why I chose the first person and switching POVs. I assure you, there is a reason for everything I write, no matter how much it seems like there isn't.

And yes, this author's note is most probably longer than the chapter. I apologize.

Reviews get you cookies!

~Katie xoxo