Happy New Year, everyone! I hope everyone had an awesome Christmas and New Year. I've actually spent a LOT of time writing over my break, and lemme just say that I am super excited for this fic now! In the beginning I might have seemed all meh but I've really got solid direction for this and I just wanna have it all magically written and post it now, haha. Anyway, if you are reading this, please review and tell me what you think, positive or negative feedback! When I posted the last chapter there was a little bit where I thought no one was reading it anymore and that's not a fun feeling. So please please review!

September 7, 1977

Do you know what happened, Professor? Probably not. But do you know whose fault it is? It's yours. Because you came up with this silly idea to keep journals and write down all our thoughts and feelings and actions. All right, fine, you want us to experience life and come to terms with ourselves through the forced action of writing everything down and being "honest with whom we are," or whatever you said. Okay, I get it. I'm not a fan, but fine. The part that riles me is that you told the entire student body to go ahead and steal another person's personal belongings! When I say personal belongings, I don't mean like their favorite pair of shoes. No, I mean personal. Because you have required us to actually record our feelings and while I'm not barmy enough to put anything down I wouldn't care if the whole student body read, some people are thick enough to actually write down secrets about themselves and leave the journal lying around. People like Melanie Whitaker.

Merlin help that child.

I've heard quite a few variations, but the most credible story came from Mary, who was in the library when she heard Evelyn Alban and another girl—student currently unidentified—talking about how upset Melanie is that her whole journal got around. What they said… Well, it's got the best of all the other stories, but Evelyn is a good friend of Melanie, so… I'll simply relay what I heard from Mary.

Aforementioned, Melanie Whitaker and William Wenlock are an interesting couple. They started dating Valentine's day third year, and they've been in love and in hate regularly since then. (I know specifically because Valentine's Day is always miserable with them.) Typically, this is how it goes: Some petty argument erupts, the two break up, Melanie publicly snogs a bloke, William gets with a fit girl for revenge, it goes on for a bit, but in the end, they end up back together. And repeat. This time, however, something big happened. Don't ask me, I don't know what. Usually they'll tell anyone they can what the horrible, terrible thing the other did, but this time, no one knows. All anyone knows is that they broke up before sixth year ended, and they still aren't together again. That's why Mary said William doesn't care about Quidditch, only Melanie, and that's why William was doing some heavy snogging that night I caught him and What's-Her-Face.

Onto the gossip: Melanie had been working on something in the library, but when she finished, she left behind her journal. Enter a nosy, inconsiderate fifth year boy who picked it up…and read it. He then passed it on to his friends. They passed it on. Those people passed it on. Eventually, the book made its way through a lot of people. No one really knows where it is now, but this did happen only this morning, and it's now two o'clock in the afternoon.

It turns out, Melanie is actually really daft, because she wrote everything she could have possibly written that she really shouldn't have. She wrote about her relationship with William. This includes where they've…defiled the castle, and how much she misses him, and what exactly she misses about him. (Was she planning to turn that in to you? Circe almighty, what if she did?) Luckily, desperation has not been listed in the adjectives of Melanie. While she clearly still loves him, she also hates him. She wrote about how much she hates him, all of the things he does that irks her, and all the people she's snogged to get back at him, with detailed comparisons. Rumor has it that Sirius Black is a fierce competitor. I knew he was sneaking around to meet a girl.

But she also recorded some of his secrets she was the only to know about. Even though they clearly have some issues, she never told a soul his secrets. But now everyone knows. They were big ones, too. They were secrets you would never want going around the school. For example, Melanie wrote about how occasionally William's father would actually hit William sometimes.

To give her some credit, Melanie didn't write all this down in a list titled 'William's Secrets'. She wrote about that secret because sometimes late at night she got so scared for William, but she didn't know what to do for him. And the not knowing and not being able to help broke her heart.

I barely know Melanie and I feel my heart breaking for her.

You should feel bad, too, sir. That little boy may have looked at the diary and maybe he would have shown his friends, but it would not have gotten to this proportion if you hadn't told everyone that you could do nothing to protect their journals, and you wouldn't stop anyone from snatching another's. This is your fault, and if Melanie and/or William personally check themselves out of Hogwarts, we'll know whom to blame.

Later

I'm sorry. I'm having a bad day. I don't want to write about it.

Later

You wouldn't believe what happened. As Diana and I were walking down to dinner (Mary was with Ben—again), we saw a large group of boys snickering in the corner of the Common Room, their heads bent over something. Thinking it was a banned item or something of the sort, I marched over with the clear intention of taking it away with a stern look. Turns out, it was Melanie's journal.

One boy pointed his dirty finger at one particular sentence, and the others nearly keeled over with laughter.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded, towering over them. They looked up at me, fear in their faces. I scanned the group to see it was a mixture of fourth, fifth, and sixth years. Luckily, not one of them was a prefect. Good. They would've really had it.

"Nothing," said a skinny boy quickly.

I raised my eyebrows.

"We're reading," said a second boy. His name's Turner Wash, a Beater for the Quidditch team. He's certainly a stocky fellow. "Something wrong with that?"

"Unless it's your property, then yes, there is. Hand it over right now." They didn't. "Twenty points from Gryffindor!" I barked. A mixture of groans came from those still in the Common Room.

"Twenty!" said the boy. "Professor Malek said—"

"He said we are to protect these journals and that anything could happen to them. He didn't say he encourages thievery, nor did he say he encourages blatant mockery of others. If you disagree, though, I can take you to see Dumbledore. I'm not quite sure he'd like to be disturbed with the fact that insolent students are refusing to comply to the Head Girl and bullying fellow students, but if we must—"

The boy shoved the book into my outstretched hand as fast as he could. He didn't look happy about it, but he did it. I nodded and then said loud enough for the rest of the Common Room to hear, "If I find out that Gryffindors are discussing this journal and its contents, I will give them a detention—without question." I pulled Diana out of the Common Room through the deafening silence. Potter wasn't there. I wish he had been.

"Blimey, Lily, who knew you were so badass?"

I grimaced. "Can you imagine having all of that displayed to the world? God, people can be so rude."

"I think I would die," said Diana.

I peered at her. "Why? Have you written really personal stuff?"

She shrugged and pulled her hair into a bun. "Sort of. Isn't that what we're supposed to do? Have you?"

"We're just supposed to fill it. And no, I haven't written about anything important. Just my burning dislike for Potter."

I purposefully didn't look at her, but I know she rolled her eyes at me. "You have got to get over that."

"Not very likely," I muttered.

When we entered the Great Hall, Mary was nowhere to be found, but then again, neither was Ben. We sat down (I put Melanie's journal in my lap) and my stomach grumbled. I had slept in and skipped breakfast this morning. I gave myself a generous helping of mashed potatoes and chicken. Diana filled her plate with lettuce and began to eat it—with minimal dressing. I looked at her with disgust.

"What?" she said, taking small bites of her 'food'.

"Why are you eating your salad like that? It's disgusting."

"It is not. It's healthy."

"Healthy does not mean good. Here, have some more dressing." I reached to grab the dish so she could have something on her salad, but she swatted my hand away.

"No. This is good."

I rolled my eyes. "It's gross and you know it."

"I am being healthy, Lily. Some people tend to try out that lifestyle." She rudely eyed my plate.

I purposefully put more potatoes on it. "Some people enjoy food. Besides, what's the point?"

"The point is that three different boys have asked me out since we've started school."

"What!" I yelped. Three? Merlin…three! No boy has even tried to flirt with me…not even Potter. I shoved a forkful of potatoes in my mouth. Mary is off gallivanting with her boyfriend, Diana is being adored by the male population, and not even Potter is interested in speaking to me. My mood plummeted even more.

Diana nodded proudly, her blue eyes sparkling. "Yup. Edward asked me to go to the first Hogsmeade trip this morning, but I told him—"

"Has Alex-?"

"No." Alex is a sixth year Gryffindor. Diana doesn't like to discuss him and his feelings for her. Mary and I love to discuss him.

"And what happened to Vaughn?"

"Oh, he was nice, but I just think—"

"What do you mean this is my fault?" a high-pitched voice screamed. "You…you…selfish prick!"

I looked towards the source of the sound—the entrance of the Great Hall—as did everyone else in the room. As if the screamer had been waiting for the attention of all the students, a great crack then erupted. Assuming who I thought it was, Melanie had really just given it to William. A few people jumped out of their seats to witness the event, but I was already hurrying out of the room, barking at them to sit back down.

I made it to the entryway just in time to see Melanie burst into tears and run away. William appeared to crumble.

"Melanie, wait!" He started to hurry after her, but Evelyn and Victoria (another seventh year Ravenclaw), who had followed me out, rounded on him.

"You stay away from her," hissed Victoria. They ran after their crying friend, and William stood there, helpless and unsure, before storming off into the other direction.

When I walked back into the Great Hall, everyone was chattering about what had happened. The professors at the front of the room looked unsure of what to do. You weren't there, Professor Malek. If you were, I probably would have given you a very dirty look—one I would end up regretting.

I slumped back down into my seat across from Diana. "I knew these journals were a terrible idea."

Later

I haven't seen Melanie yet to return her journal. I expect she's hiding out in her dormitory. (That's what I would do.) I could always give her journal to a fellow Ravenclaw to give to her, but at this point, even I don't know who would be trusted with it.

Later

I wonder what's in it, anyway…

Later

No, no, no, no. I will not look.

Later

So I might have accidentally flipped to a random page, and it might have been about how "yummy" William is. (I feel that I need a douse of water just from writing that word.) That's what I get for spying.

No judging, though, Professor. You're the one who started this madness.

Later

Mary came back from her pseudo date with Ben after dinner, gushing about how much she loved being with him. She got a bit fidgety then, and she started to ask our advice on what we thought about love and all that other rubbish. She wanted to know stuff like how someone knew she was in love, what did love really mean, how did you show your love—those kinds of questions. To be frank, I really didn't want to talk about that stuff, let alone listen to it. So I, being the horrible mate I am, told her I had some homework I needed to finish and skirted off into my dormitory, where I currently am, not doing homework. Instead, I am writing in this dumb thing and feeling just a tad guilty. (Yet not guilty enough to return to Mary—oops.)

I didn't even come up here with the intention to write in this stupid thing. Speaking of stupid, I don't think love is stupid, and I don't think marriage and such are overrated and usually I would love to gush with Mary about blokes, love, marriage, romance, a family, but…

I guess I'll just spit it out: Petunia is getting married.

Not officially yet. I got a letter from Dad today. It said:

Dear Lily,

I am so glad to hear that you are enjoying your classes! Congratulations on winning that competition in your Potions class. I'm not surprised you won, however, since you are the best!

How have your Head Girl duties been? Has Transfiguration been giving you trouble? If so, I know you'll be able to work it out.

Things have been going well here. The business is going fine. We were selling more cars than average last month, but so far September hasn't been a great selling month. I'm sure that will change. Margaret says hello. Maybe you should write to her? She hasn't been doing too well lately.

Your sister has been going out a lot and working more, but that's not new behavior for Petunia. There is something I wanted to tell you, though. Do you promise not to tell your sister in your next letter? Vernon rang the other day, and when I told him Petunia was out with her friends, he said he was there to speak to me. He told me he loved Petunia very much, and he thought she would make a lovely wife. He asked me for her hand in marriage, Lily! Can you believe that? He doesn't have a ring yet, but I believe he's planning on asking her relatively soon. I'm sure when he does ask, she will say yes. Your mum would have been so ecstatic.

Tell Diana and Mary I wish them well.

With love,

Dad

There are a number of things wrong with that letter, Professor. To start, Margaret. Dad didn't have a very good home life as a boy, so he was pretty much on his own as a kid. When he turned of age, instead of going to university, he asked for a job at an automobile lot, Carr's Lot. Margaret ran the place with her husband Stephen, who saw that Dad was a hard worker down on his luck, and gave him a job. Stephen and Margaret became like Dad's parents. Stephen died when I was really little, so Margaret, without kids, eventually gave the business to him. She still works there, but Dad runs it. She was especially there for my dad, Petunia, and I after Mum died. Margaret's like my grandmother, since I don't know my dad's parents, which is fine by me, I suppose. To hear that Margaret is "not doing well" puts me in a—well—completely awful mood. I refuse to think anything is wrong other than a common autumn cold.

Also, why does my father say things like, 'Don't tell your sister in your next letter to her'? It's almost as if he is oblivious to the fact that Petunia does not like me, nor does she wish to communicate with me. Sorry, Dad, but have you even been around for the past seven years? Open your eyes and take a look at all the lovely resentment and prejudice bubbling beneath the surface between your kids.

She's getting married. Petunia, that is. Granted, she hasn't been asked yet, but I know she will say yes. Vernon will wait the sensible amount of time to ask her, and then she will say yes, and then she will wait the sensible amount of time to actually get married, and then they will wait the sensible amount of time to have a child, and then they will go on with their sensible lives and I will not be a part of them. It's not that I don't like Vernon. I haven't seen much of him, honestly, to make a decision. I know he makes Petunia happy, so that's one positive thing about him, but I also know he's very serious about being proper and order, which is quite the negative.

Petunia's marriage to someone like Vernon, someone who scoffs at the "loons" of today (Muggle hippies), could really only drive us farther apart. But then if I married a wizard, would she be thinking the same thing?

I guess I haven't really explained why Petunia and I are the way we are. Really, it all comes down to the fact that I'm a witch and she's not. When we were younger, it didn't bother Petunia that I was different. Once I met Severus, though, and he told me all about this world, she couldn't stand it. In hindsight, I did nearly abandon her, choosing to spend all my time with Severus learning about witches and wizards instead of with my sister. And even though she probably felt lonely, Petunia was jealous, too. Maybe not anymore, but she had wanted to go to Hogwarts. Severus and I found a letter from Dumbledore addressed to her. She had written and begged to go to Hogwarts with me. I didn't stop to think about it then. It just sounded so good: me and my two best friends (my sister and Severus) at a school for magic together. Petunia realized sooner than I did that, no matter what, she simply couldn't go to Hogwarts.

I think when she realized that it was impossible for her to truly be included in my world, she chose to keep herself out of it. I tried to show her that just because she wasn't a witch didn't mean we couldn't keep each other in our lives. I wrote to her, with no responses; I didn't talk about school with her around; I limited my time with Severus on the holidays. It didn't matter to Petunia, though, and she kept her distance, saying she didn't want a freak for a sister. By third year, I had enough of it, and I stopped trying. Kind of.

Anyway. Back to the letter. Can you believe what Vernon said to my dad? I'm sure Dad didn't write it word for word, but Vernon is the type of responsible, business-like man to say "Sir, I love your daughter, and she would make a lovely wife. May I have your permission to marry her?" There's nothing wrong with that, per say, but how bland does it sound? My future husband must do better than that. Vernon also likes normalcy as much as Petunia, and he doesn't know I'm a witch. Petunia refuses to tell him. Again, I don't know much about Vernon—maybe he has multiple layers to him?—but I feel like once Petunia marries Vernon—poof! There goes any hope for us. I really won't fit into her life anymore.

She loves Vernon, he loves her, and they are going to get married. It's that simple.

But you know what, Professor? I don't think I'll get to be a part of the wedding.

September 9, 1977

After you assigned this journal project, no one thought Defense Against the Dark Arts class would be good. It would be reasonable to say people even dreaded having to return to that class. Yet by class five, nearly everyone was enjoying DADA.

In the past, we did a lot of discussing and lecturing, and we picked up our wands not nearly as often. You have a different approach. Every class involves the students getting out of their desks and practicing what we learned. Sometimes, the spells are so challenging, no one can get it. Other times, we're practicing jinxes and charms we learned ages ago. Either way, there's little written homework, only to practice what we learned in class that day. If anything, you expect us to grasp the spells and concepts more quickly.

When the mixture of seventh years walked into your classroom today, the chairs and desks were still in the room, but they were sporadically placed. It seemed that if they had been arranged, it was with one purpose: make it hard to get through the room. Easy enough, since I'm pretty sure you added more desks than normal to the mix. You stood at the front, smiling at us. To be honest, most of us still think you're loony, and a few are resentful that you actually meant it when you said we had to fill the journals (me), but you really are a nice professor.

(I'm not just saying this to get a good grade.)

(But it shouldn't hurt, right?)

A few seventh years tried to make their way to the desks. Their bags were swinging into the desks and one bloke even tripped. Mary snickered next to me. Diana was too busy talking to Philippe to notice or care.

"No, no," you said. "Everyone please just stand near the door. I'll explain the lesson today when the entire class is here."

"I wonder what we're doing today," said Mary as we waited. We shuffled to the side as the Ravenclaws entered the room. Ben appeared so suddenly he might as well have Apparated. He put his hand around Mary's shoulders.

"I'm betting it's pointless," he said, his brown hair falling in his eyes. "We'll probably have to try to run through the desks while he shoots sparks at us."

I didn't miss the contempt in his voice. Neither did Mary. She nudged him. "Malek's good."

He shrugged. "I guess, if you like learning everything we learned in fifth year again. I want to be challenged. My father said he was learning way more advanced magic at Durmstrang when he was our age."

I don't know why, but there's something about Ben that sets me off. I think it's the way that while yes, he is nice, it's usually only to your face and if he genuinely likes you. He's got a habit of complaining about others, as if they are personally weighing him down. Mary says it's not that bad, but that he just likes to share his opinions. Diana and I disagree.

To be honest, I didn't like how he talked about you, Professor. He made it seem like you're inept as a teacher. Maybe I was even feeling a little guilty since I had already complained about you in regards to your project. Maybe I just thought Ben was being a giant git. Whatever the reason, I had a smart remark on the tip of my tongue, when Potter called out, "Oi! Wormtail!" What he was calling for, I don't know, but I turned to look at him. When I did, I remembered all the attacks I had made on him, and I swallowed my comment. I turned back to Ben. "Agree to disagree," I said sweetly, almost too much so. I angled my back away from them and moved towards the side.

I stood by myself, waiting for class to begin, secretly trying to guess what the lesson was. Would we have to use a spell that projected ourselves over the desks? I looked around the room again, but this time I caught Potter's eye.

His smile didn't get any bigger, and he didn't ruffle his hair. Thank Merlin he didn't even wink. He just looked at me for a moment, my eyes meeting his. His smile started to fade. I felt myself flush, and then I looked away. Just because I was standing by myself for practically ten seconds did not mean I was going to make silent conversation with Potter. If that could even be considered a conversation.

And what if it was? What was he saying? Probably something along the lines of, Merlin's beard, Evans have you always looked like that? You could stow your Potions supplies in the bags under your eyes.

Which, granted, is true, as every time I fell asleep last night, I woke up after dreaming horrible scenes of me being smothered at the stake with flowers and lace.

I moved to stand next to Marlene, Josceline, Kara, and Jane. They were talking about Josceline's Care of Magical Creatures class. (I think. They said "horrendous" and "beast" a lot, so maybe they were just talking about Potter.) Before I had time to see what (or whom) specifically they were discussing, you clapped your hands together and everyone fell silent.

"How many of you have ever attempted to cast a Disillusionment Charm?" you asked, peering at us as if your whole day depended on this answer.

All the students raised their hands. We started practicing them last year. You nodded. "Good, good. So then I don't need to ask someone to tell me what the spell does?" No one said anything. "I have another question then. Does anyone in here plan to become an Auror?" My breath caught. It wasn't that I wanted to be an Auror, per se, but after that night McGonagall came in… I wasn't sure. A Potions expert of some sort seemed like a fine job before, but now… Now I wasn't too sure. I didn't let anyone else catch on to my indecisiveness then, though. I was not about to let the whole castle know my personal conflicts. I was no Melanie.

I was surprised, however, when Marlene McKinnon raised her hand. Marlene an Auror. Huh. She's a pretty girl, with shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and a perfect nose, and she's always so kind and helpful, I pictured her working as a professor, getting married and becoming a mum. I looked around. No one else's hand followed hers. My stomach twisted. I don't know why.

"Marlene!" you said. "Yes, I can see you as an Auror, quick as you are." She blushed. "Do you know of the training tests witches and wizards go through to become an Auror?"

"A little."

"Can you name any particular area that one must excel in that would perhaps pertain to what we seem to be doing today?"

Marlene looked at the jumble of chairs and tabletops behind you before smiling. "Stealth and Tracking."

"Very good! Thank you." Looking at the entire class again, you said, "Yes, Stealth and Tracking is a very important aspect of being an Auror. We will not be learning about tracking today, but we will test our abilities to be stealthy." You started to pace, your robes awkwardly swishing at your feet as you walked in the small space before the mass of desks. "In Defense Against the Dark Arts, our goal is to learn how to defend ourselves. We consistently think of defending ourselves by various jinxes, hexes, charms—essentially anything that will allow you to engage in a duel with your opponent. Yet there are times where you do not stay to duel. In some instances, the only thing you must do is get out of the situation alive."

I shifted the strap of my bag against my shoulder. How…creepy. I bet we would have paid a bit more attention in class if all our professors told us we would be fighting for our lives after school.

"Today, we will be working in pairs, one at a time. One person will be standing in the middle of the room"—you pointed to a perfect circle with enough space for a grown man to stand in between all the clutter—"while another person will stand precisely where I am. The witch or wizard standing where I am must cast the Disillusionment Charm on himself or herself. The goal is then to get to the other side of the room, directly across from where we are, and cast a jet of red sparks at the student in the middle. The ones standing in the middle, obviously, do not want to get hit. Their goal is to see if they can determine where their opponent is and shoot him with sparks before he reaches the other side. Disillusionment Charms are not perfect, but they are close, depending on the caster. You will need to look carefully, use your ears, and be just as cunning as the hidden one."

I grinned. What a good lesson. It sounds simple, and maybe slightly childish, but still. Yes, we've all snuck around the castle, and yes, we can all cast a Disillusionment Charm, but have we ever been taught to use those abilities in this way? No. If you just collected these journals today, you would very well be my favorite teacher.

"Who wants to go first?"

Philippe and Bobby went first, with Bobby trying to reach the other side. He got close, but he accidentally kicked one of the desks, and Philippe got him. Marlene went against Jane, which was great fun to watch, as Jane is competitive at everything, but Marlene is so…good at Defense. Jane is also quite lean, so she wove between the desks skillfully. I never heard nor saw any part of Jane, but somehow Marlene did, because after nearly a minute of complete silence, she shot Jane directly in the chest. It was quite impressive. Potter and Remus went up next. Remus stood in the middle, his eyes carefully roaming the area for even the slightest shimmer of Potter's outline. It was dead silent and then crack! Potter shot Remus right in the back. I was even more impressed. Jane avoided Marlene so well because she had the stealth and agility; Potter avoided Remus because his Disillusionment was so strong, he might as well have been invisible.

More pairs went. Those trying to prevent their partner from reaching the other side were doing better than those trying to maneuver their way around the desks.

Eventually, it was my turn with Diana as my partner. I stood in front of my classmates and raised my wand to my head, putting every ounce of my being into the charm. I'm hardly lithe and slender; the least I can do is try to be invisible. The feeling of cold water trickling down my neck occurred, and then I disappeared. Sort of.

After pausing for a moment, I slowly made my way to the right. Diana stared at the open spaces like I was getting ready to personally rip out her hair. Fantastic. Considering, well, me, I decided to go with the slow and steady option. This worked out fine, until Diana started shooting sparks at random spaces in the air. I decided to hurry up. Yet when I tried to pass through a group of particularly close desks and chairs at awkward angles, my hip bumped into one of the corners of a table. Let me just say, Professor, that while I do apologize for saying, "Bloody-!" right after, it hurt enough for me to say worse than that. Who designed these desks? We're a school for children. Someone could lose an appendage on those things!

Diana heard my curse and whipped around. (Her back had been to me, giving me false confidence that I could pass through that labyrinth.) A jet of purple light shot itself toward me. Instinctively, I threw myself to the ground, shoving a multitude of desks away from me with my head, elbows, and left leg. Ow.

Another round of sparks raced towards where the desk I shoved with my head had gone, but above. She thought I was still standing. Perfect, I thought. But then she kept casting sparks directly above where I was, so any attempt at standing would surely get me hit. Even though I was only a few meters away from where I needed to be, I needed to stand.

Think, think, think.

I looked around, and just as I was about to make a sad attempt at kicking one of the desks behind me, I caught Potter looking at me. Not at me in that paranoid is-he-staring? way, and not at me as in the general vicinity. He was looking right at me, eye to eye. I was about to roll my eyes in the hopes that he would see it, but he looked at the desks on the other side of the room and then glanced back at me meaningfully.

Was he trying to tell me my Disillusionment Charm was so bad that-? Oh.

Angling my wand to the side of Diana, I made one desk slam into another, which slammed into another, creating a domino affect as they awkwardly piled on top of each other. In the time span of the ten seconds that all happened, there was no way I could get over there. On instinct, though, Diana turned to look. That was all I needed.

Feeling an unusual rush in my heart and pain in my hip, I sprinted my way through the desks. By the time Diana had shot sparks all along the other side where the noise was coming from, I was where I needed to be, and she had been shot by my red jet of light.

She scowled and turned to face me, and I lifted the Disillusionment Charm. The class was clapping. You looked very amused, Professor.

Diana walked over to me. "Well done, Lils. Knew I couldn't stop you from getting around me."

"You nearly did."

"I did have your gracefulness on my side, didn't I?" She smirked.

"Well done, Miss Evans!" you said, stepping forward. "Very creative, and certainly not what I was looking for. I am afraid that's all we have time for today." Everyone who hadn't participated groaned. "Your homework is to practice Disillusionment charms on yourselves. Have a good day!"

Everyone left the room with varying tones; some were pleased, others disgruntled, a few bitter. (Ben was one of the bitter ones. He didn't make it to the other side.) Most were excited.

"I was this close to getting you!" said Diana as she, Mary, and I gathered our stuff.

"And I've got the marks to prove it." I inspected my arms. No marks then, but I'm definitely going to have some bruises tomorrow.

"Miss Evans?" you called from behind just as we were leaving the room. "May I speak to you for a moment?"

Uh-oh. I'm going to get in trouble for breaking the rules, aren't I? How grand.

You were sitting at your desk again, and some of the furniture had been Vanished. I told Diana and Mary to go on without me. Walking back, I passed Potter. Don't ask why I did it, because I don't know, but I smiled at him. I think he saw it, since I was looking at him for a few extra moments, hoping he would feel me looking at him and chance another glance at me, even if in the past he usually earned a scowl. This time, I smiled at him. It was a tiny smile, so maybe he saw it, but maybe he didn't. Either way, I thanked him for his help, and that was all he was going to get.

"Yes, Professor Malek?" I said.

"What are you planning to do after Hogwarts?" you said, your long, spindly hands folded in front of you on your desk. A gold ring glinted on the fourth finger of your left hand. Huh.

"I'm sorry?" I understood what you said; I just didn't know how to answer.

"I know it may seem a ways off, but after school, what career path are you interested in taking? From what I've seen so far, you seem to have everything kept together very well."

Me? Lily Evans has everything kept together? How hilarious, Professor, but tell me, really, what do you want? Because certainly, you can't really think I have it all together! I'm constantly fighting with the Head Boy, my sister isn't speaking to me, I can't sleep at night, Transfiguration is already being bloody difficult, and… Oh, what else? Yes, that's right: I have no idea any more what I want to do when I finish school, but I am leaning towards fighting a murderer. Yet I am so glad that at least you think I have my life put together.

"I…don't know what I want to do," I admitted. No point in telling you all the other flaws of my life. You'll figure it out when you read this disaster.

Your eyebrows raised slightly, but other than that, you kept your composure. I'm glad your disappointment wasn't more prevalent. "Have you ever thought about being an Auror?"

An Auror? No, not me. That's for the people like…Marlene and Frank Longbottom, Head Boy a couple years ago. Not me. "No, I haven't." Even as I said it, though, this picture flashed behind my eyes: Me, with Auror robes, going on missions, learning the best spells and defenses, saving lives… "No, I'm not Auror material," I said firmly.

"That was an Auror move you pulled today. It was sneaky and unexpected. That's the type of things they're looking for."

I flushed. I didn't even think of it on my own. James Bloody Potter did. All I was going to do was kick a desk. That certainly would've gotten me hit. Potter should be the Auror, not me. "I guess it was just luck," I said. "I'm not fit to be an Auror."

You weren't convinced. Something tells me you're not a very good listener to reason. "At least think about it."

I nodded. "Yes, Professor. Goodbye."

Can you imagine me as an Auror? (Well, obviously you can, since you just said so, but can anyone else?) Am I even capable of becoming one? I had saved a bunch of pamphlets from fifth year on potential careers (don't judge me), and an Auror was one. I thought I'd be a good fit at first, but then I realized it only sounded nice because I was feeling particularly hateful towards the current prejudices. I checked before I started writing this, and I am enrolled in all the courses necessary to become an Auror. It wouldn't be a long shot for me to become one…

No, no, no. It would never happen. I just need to stick to the plan. I'm going to get an O on my Potions N.E.W.T. and find a job in that field. Changing everything now will not do me any good, and that's that.

Later

Oh, and I gave Melanie back her journal. She nearly cried when I handed it to her. I told her some good charms to prevent it from being stolen or opened by anyone else. I seriously hope she uses them.

September 13, 1977

Sirius joined me on my rounds again tonight. I'm (usually) doing them on my own. Potter and I meet in the Prefect's Room at the appropriate time, divvy up who will be patrolling what areas, and then we're off. I do not try to make conversation with him, nor he with me. At first, it really bothered me. He is practically ignoring me. It's almost as if he is mad at me. But I suppose the quiet is nice.

It was nearing close to midnight, and I wasn't expecting to see Sirius again. He hadn't shown up the last three patrols, and I couldn't help but think that he knew I wasn't going to let him slide the next time. So when I was rounding a corner near the dungeons and nearly collided into someone's chest, needless to say, I was more than a tad surprised.

I screamed, one of those high-pitched screams. At least I kept some of my dignity, because as I was screaming, I pulled my wand out of my robe pocket and pointed it directly at the supposed killer's heart.

Sirius threw his hand forward and covered my mouth. For how much the girls rave of his dreaminess, you'd think his hands would smell a bit cleaner. I paused, thinking there really was a murderer. Sirius looked around, eyes wide, ear cocked to where he just came from.

A few more seconds passed, and the only dangerous aspect of the situation was that it was getting harder and harder for me to breathe. I ripped his disgusting hand away from me.

"Black! What is wrong with you? And why does your hand smell like you've been lying in a pile of dust for the past hour?"

He ignored my questions. What a shock. Truly. I was flabbergasted. "What are you doing screaming like that, Evans? You're going to give a man a heart attack."

"Me? Why are you sneaking around again? I told you, you can't be out after curfew!"

"You and every professor here. Are you saying you don't enjoy my company?" He dared to try to look hurt.

"No, I'm saying I don't enjoy you making me think I was about to be attacked any second."

"So you do enjoy my company?" Sirius grinned.

I rolled me eyes. "Go back to the Tower, Black." I quickly walked around the corner Sirius had come around. (I still had to finish patrolling all of the dungeons. You'd think they wouldn't be very big because yes, this is a castle, but no, it's a school. You're wrong. They're enormous.)

"Only joking, Evans," he said. "You look like you could use some company, though."

"No I don't."

"Sure you do."

"Only if you tell me what you're doing down here."

Nothing.

"I wouldn't have pegged this as a place Melanie would meet up with a bloke."

"Melanie?" He wrinkled his nose. "What does Melanie have to do with anything?"

Nice try, Black. "That's who you're meeting up with late at night. I heard you snogged her."

He looked at me, his grey eyes confused. "Melanie Whitaker? Definitely not. That bird is too much drama and not enough… Actually, I don't think any bird is worth what she causes."

"I heard you two kissed."

"Not since fifth year. You know how gossip travels here, Evans. You can't believe everything you hear." He sounded much too pretentious given the situation.

I was about to take five points from Gryffindor and tell him to leave when we rounded another corner and I saw a flash of brown near the back of his trousers. I stopped walking, and when he was a couple of paces ahead of me, I saw a scrap of parchment in his pocket. I snatched it from him.

He whirled around. "Evans, please. I'm not your type."

Idiot. "What's this?" I waved the parchment. "A love letter? I knew you were meeting a girl!"

"No," he scoffed. "I don't do love…or letters. It's blank. See for yourself."

I did. There wasn't even the smallest hint of ink anywhere, but it was rather crumpled, as if it had been opened, folded, and stuffed in small spots numerous times. "Why's it so worn like it's always being carried around?"

He shrugged.

"What, is it something valuable? Is Sirius Black sentimental? Was this the first parchment your mummy ever purchased for you?" I teased, not at all thinking about what I was saying. Or to whom I was saying it. Clearly.

"No," he said easily but with a hint of bitterness. "I would have burned anything she gave me ages ago."

Of course he wouldn't have anything sentimental from his mother. Sirius is a Black, and Blacks are Purebloods, nasty, horrible ones with prejudices as plentiful as their money. Oh, there are the exceptions, of course. There always are. Sirius is one of them. If he ever mentioned his family, it was never positively. He has a brother, Regulus, who is one year behind us, but he's a Slytherin. Diana told me that at first, Sirius tried to get Regulus to see the right way to things, but Regulus wanted nothing to do with it. In the five years that Regulus has been here, I've never seen the two brothers communicate. From what I've heard, his relationship with his parents is even worse.

"Oh." Good one, Lily. Really. Five points for tact and consideration. "Sorry."

"For what?" He seemed genuinely surprised. We started walking again.

"Er, you know, saying that. And…for your family." Too much, too much. "You may be a giant arse, but you don't deserve a family of even bigger arses."

Sirius laughed. "I'm touched, Lily. Tell me: Do you plan to go into counseling after school? You certainly have a way with words."

Ha-bloody-ha. I shoved him. "Revel in it, Black. That's the last time I'll ever be nice to you."

"Not even if I sit in a chair and tell you all about my sad home life?"

Sad home life? It's bad enough for me with Petunia, I can't imagine knowing that no one in your family wants you around. I bite my lip.

He looks over at me. "It was a joke, Evans. Lighten up."

I can't help but ask, "Is it really bad?"

"What? My parents?"

I nod.

"Yeah, but so are all the other gits in the world. You just stay away from them."

"But they're your family! How do you just forget about them?"

"You just do. I don't go home for any of the holidays, and when I did have to leave the school, I would stay at the Potters'. During the summer, I'd talk about how dreadfully Slytherin the house was and how we should redecorate and make it more like my Muggle-loving room."

"Muggle-loving? What, did you…?"

He smiled proudly. "I did. I had Gryffindor posters and pictures of Muggle women and bicycles and everything you could think of that they would hate."

I didn't miss the past tense. "Had?"

"I left. Summer before sixth year. One day it got too bad, so I left."

My curiosity had piqued; my manners had vanished. "What happened?"

He paused, perhaps trying to find his words. "My mum and dad were talking about how proud they are of Regulus, my brother, because he announced he wants to join You-Know-Who." I gasped. "Can you believe it? He was a fifth year, and he'd already signed himself up to be a murderer. I told him if he did, I would be the one he'd eventually have to duel, and I wouldn't be nice about it. They started screaming how I was a disgrace and Regulus was doing the right thing, all that nonsense, and then they spouted idiocy about my mates, about the Potters, Remus, and Peter. I had enough of it, then. I said a giant, 'Fuck you all,' and I've been living with the Potters ever since."

At the time, it seemed so natural for Sirius to be telling me this. I was shocked into oblivion, but not because he was telling me. Shocked because of what he was telling me. Looking back now, I have no idea why he ended up telling me that. It gets odder.

"Do you miss them?" I asked.

"No." I think he said it far too quickly. But that's just my opinion.

"Not even a little? They are your family, after all."

"They aren't my family, Evans," he scoffed. "I just look like them and have their name, and that's bad enough. In the real world, you get to choose your family. I would choose a thousand detentions with McGonagall, who's more of a mum to me than the prig whose blood I share, than a cup of tea with my real mother."

If Sirius really doesn't consider the Blacks his family, I don't have to think long to wonder whom he does consider. Definitely the Potters, especially when I hear Potter and Sirius rave about Mr. and Mrs. Potter. Remus and Peter for sure. Those four blokes are like brothers. They're just fortunate enough to not all belong under one roof, because they surely would have driven any mother barmy by now.

"If it makes you feel any better, my sister hates me, too."

Obviously he hadn't heard this one before. I knew he didn't. I didn't tell anyone about it. "You? Nah, she doesn't hate you."

"Oh, she does. Ever since I turned eleven and got my letter to Hogwarts, she can't even handle being in the same room as me. Because I'm a witch and she's not. She thinks that's my fault. She's more mature about it now, just ignoring me altogether, but at first, she'd tell me how she hated me and how I was a giant freak. It makes a difference when you're the one that's chosen to be forgotten."

Sirius was quiet. Our footsteps echoed against the empty corridors. We had passed through all of the dungeons and, just like I expected, we ran into no one else.

"If she can't accept you for the brilliantly annoying witch you are," he said, "then she's too frigid of a prig to deserve to be your sister."

I laughed. "So eloquent, Sirius. Maybe we should start up a counseling business together."

"Black and Evans Disastrous Therapy does have a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"It's terrible! Evans and Black would be much better."

He waved a hand through the air. "Details, details. What I want to know is, will we have to share a flat above our business? Because I think I would be okay with that." He slyly grinned at me. He even managed to make it look charming.

"You're disgusting, Black. I don't know why I haven't taken points from you yet—for being out past curfew and for being a git."

"Because believe it or not, Evans, you've just now realized that you do, in fact, enjoy my company. Bask in this revelation, because your life is going to get a lot better with me around."

"Never," I say solemnly. We walk up the stairs, and I muse how pleasant it is to be around Sirius when he's not with his mates. Besides all the little comments and smart remarks, he's kind of… (dare I say it) great.

"Sirius?" I said quietly, feeling the unexplainable need to say one last thing. "I think you were right to tell your family to shove it. I'm sorry you have a family like that."

"Thanks, Evans. It's not so bad, really. I've got the Potters and the other blokes. They're the only family I'll ever really need." And then we walked all the way back to the Tower without saying another word.

"Remembrall," said Sirius to the portrait of the Fat Lady, the opening to our Common Room, before walking in first. Always a gentleman, isn't he? I followed him.

"Hey, Padfoot, we were just thinking that tomorrow we should skiv off—"

Sirius cleared his throat as I walked around him to face Potter, Pettigrew, and Remus. I glared at Potter, the one who had been speaking. He didn't even bother to mask his surprise at me coming in with Sirius.

"Er…" Remus looked just as at a loss for words.

"Skiv off lunch tomorrow so we could go to the Quidditch Pitch," lied Pettigrew hesitantly.

My gaze flickered to him. Nice try, Pettigrew. He shrunk down in his armchair. I looked back at Potter. "Did you even do your patrols?"

"Yes!" he exclaimed indignantly. "It's twelve-thirty, Evans. I finished all of patrols a few minutes after midnight and then came back here. What was taking you so long to finish?" Slightly hidden behind his glasses, his eyes were accusingly trained on me. How dare he insinuate anything happened between Sirius and I. But if it riled him up…

"Whatever I did on patrols and whom I did it with is none of your business," I said haughtily. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think I've had enough of you, Potter, for the day."

His eyes flashed from me then to Sirius, focusing back on me. "If anyone has had enough of someone, it would be-!" Potter started to say, but Remus shushed him. That boy is a wise one.

I walked towards the girls' staircases. With my foot on the first step, I turned around. "Goodnight, Sirius, Remus. I will see all of you in class tomorrow." I did not further acknowledge Potter because he is Potter, and not Pettigrew because he tried to lie to cover their misdemeanors.

Maybe that was a bit petty, but what can I say? Potter brings out the worst in me. It's like every time I see him say or do something, I get the biggest urge to just yell at and hex him. I don't, though. Which is an improvement. Only because maybe he's marginally improved, too. Anyway, instead of yelling and hexing, I'll just respond in a rude fashion, which I'm sure you've seen from our documented interactions. I probably shouldn't instigate. Old habits do die hard, though.

I didn't realize I had been calling Sirius 'Sirius' until about halfway through writing this. I'm not sure how I feel about this.

September 15, 1977

Transfiguration is going bloody horrible. I can't seem to understand anything. How, exactly, does one make inanimate objects come to life? How do you make them do your bidding? How do you make sure they do exactly what you want them to do? What if they don't? You mean because it's magic they have to do what you want? But didn't you just say that you brought an inanimate object to life? If it has life, doesn't that mean it can do whatever it wants? Or is it more of a puppet?

McGonagall has answered all of these questions, and they've all gone right over my head. I would have asked more, but Potter shouted out, "It's not that difficult."

Git.

I Charmed one of my teacups to fly at him. McGonagall looked like she was going to breathe fire when it actually hit Potter and cracked. When I said, "Shut up, you toerag," her expression only got worse. I don't know why I did and said those things. It was very second-year of me.

Why Potter then made my remaining teacups incinerate, on the other hand, accompanied by a smirking, "They weren't being put to good use anyway," is not a mystery at all.

McGonagall didn't give us detention, but she did take fifteen points and said as Heads we better start getting our act together and cooperating, or else we would be the first Heads since 1817 to have the positions taken away from them. Mind you, she said this during class, in front of everyone.

I wanted to die. But only after personally strangling Potter. If I'm forced to suffer because of whatever predicament he has caused, you can bet your entire Gringotts vault I'm dragging his skinny arse down with me.

Later

I've managed to find a good secrecy charm to prevent anyone from opening my journal and reading it. That way what happened to Melanie will not ever happen to me.

Not that I would actually write personal stuff in here.

This is purely precautionary.

September 18, 1977

We had another Prefect meeting yesterday. Potter and I are being respectful to one another, mostly on my account. I won't let him ruffle my feathers, not after what McGonagall said to us last week in Transfiguration.

Granted, I rarely give him the chance to. I don't sit near him in class, and I never make eye contact. I don't even talk to Remus when he is with Potter, and I act indifferent to Sirius, whom I've become rather fond of as he finds me more and more on patrol nights. To be honest, the main reason I have been able to avoid interaction with Potter is that he hasn't done anything. All the previous years, our communication was primarily limited to us arguing, usually started by his wrongdoing and my criticism. But now…he hasn't done anything wrong, not really.

Yes, he will make snide comments to the Slytherins every once in a while or goof off in class with his mates, but those are hardly worth inducing a fight. Most of the time, I really appreciate the occasional crack at the expense of the Slytherins. I've seen him aim a kick or two at Tudor, the cat of the school's caretaker, Filch, but who doesn't?

It's a bit unnerving, really, but I guess it's because I have distanced myself from him so well. With us not doing patrols together and me leaving brief letters in the Common Room dividing all the Head duties (giving Potter the easiest tasks, of course, like sorting through the detentions), I practically never even see him.

Prefect meetings are only every other week, so this was only our second one. It went swimmingly, if I do say so myself. We did the same method as last time: I take charge, then let Potter feel important by saying whatever dimwitted nonsense he comes up with. At least we didn't argue. (Vocally, at least. I had to shoot him a nasty glare when he told everyone to keep doing what they were doing, which was pretending to care about this, and he—of course—shrugged off my look.)

Even our rude banter has fallen flat. Overall, life is quieter than I had expected it to be with Potter as Head Boy. The only problem is, without Potter to write about, I'll have to find another way to mindlessly fill this journal.

September 19, 1977

Would you believe that I actually have to patrol with Potter now? I barely can, and I was there to receive the devastating news! And I was doing so well at avoiding him!

I went to the Prefects room to start our patrols feeling less than chipper (patrolling on Saturday nights are awful, and I could already feel the homework weighing me down). Potter was already there, waiting for me. The other prefects were leaving to do the top three floors.

"I'll do the dungeon and the first floor," he said.

"Okay, I'll get the rest," I said pretending to scan the papers on the table so I wouldn't have to make eye contact with him.

He sighed heavily as if he knew what I was doing and it personally offended him before leaving the room. I waited a few moments before doing the same, feeling a bit guilty. It would be nice to have Potter to talk and complain about Head duties with. As I headed down the corridor to the unused classrooms, I hoped Sirius would show up tonight.

I know, I know. It's terrible, but true. He had surprised me four times now, and patrols always went by more quickly with him around. I had given up on trying to figure out what he was doing before he joined me. It's not like he would tell me. But we did talk about other things. Our classes, the Quidditch team, Muggle life, and Sirius always had fascinating stories about the wizarding world. We never talked about our families again, and that I enjoyed.

Thirty minutes into patrols and Sirius had yet to show up, and I figured he wouldn't. He doesn't every time, so it wasn't any different. I didn't really mind, I suppose. My thoughts drifted to Bobby and our assignment and the first Hogsmeade visit of the year…

"Oi, Evans! Wait up. You're almost making it hard for me to find you."

I turned to see Sirius strolling towards me, not the least bit in a hurry. I resisted the urge to smile and waited for him to catch up to me. "It's not my fault you're so bloody slow. I guess your secret methods of finding me aren't as powerful as you thought."

He shook his head in a patronizing way. "Afraid not, Lily. I just had things to do before coming to find you." I gave him a suspicious look, but he just smiled in return. "You don't really want to know. What would you do without the mystery I provide in your life?"

"Stop you from causing mischief."

"You could try, I suppose."

"And succeed."

Sirius chuckled. "You're good, Evans, but not that good. You can't really think that you'll be able to reign me in, can you?"

"A girl can surely dream."

"You dream about me? How sweet. Unless they aren't the sweet kind, but in that case…"

A laugh forced its way out of my mouth. Merlin's beard. I shoved him to the side. "Don't be a tosser, Black."

"But now I'm interested! Tell me, how was it? Obviously good, because—"

I squealed like a little girl. "Stop, Sirius! That's not what I meant!" The idea of what he was saying was ludicrous, but the mere thought made my face heat up.

Sirius laughed at my obvious blush. "Don't be shy, Evans. You're not the only one. In fact, Caroline Klent just told me the other day—"

I put my hands over my ears. "La, la, la, la," I said loudly, drowning out the arrogant sound of Sirius's voice. He was still talking and grinning wildly, but I didn't remove my hands. Not until McGonagall walked out of a door on our right, that is.

"What is going on out here?"

I instantly removed my hands and closed my mouth. Sirius shut up, too, but he, unlike myself, looked mildly amused. "I…Professor, we're sorry, we didn't mean to—"

"Miss Evans," said McGonagall sternly, her arms crossed over her black robe. "Where is Mr. Potter?"

"Er…"

"Is he not doing patrols? Because if he was been shirking his duties, I assure you a complaint to Dumbledore will be made and a new Head Boy may be—"

All right, I admit: a part of me was tempted to let McGonagall realize just how bad of a Head Boy Potter is, even if in an incorrect sense. Would it even be that bad if she thought Potter was skipping patrols? I mean, for all we know, he could be! There's no proof he actually does anything! But I felt Sirius stir beside me, and I knew that no matter how infuriating Potter was, if he was going to get kicked out of the Head Boy position, it was going to be for the right reason.

"No, Professor, he is doing his patrols. He's just doing them separately."

McGonagall eyed me behind her glasses. "Separately? I thought I told you everyone must patrol together."

I visibly gulped. "Well, I thought that rule just applied to prefects and since Potter and I are twice as responsible, I assumed that…" My voice died at McGonagall's look. Nice try, Lily. Except not really, because it didn't even soften McGonagall or make her even the least bit understanding.

"That rule, which came from the Headmaster himself, applies to everyone, Miss Evans. And if you feel that you are above that rule, then I suggest you—"

My entire body broke out into a cold sweat. "No, no! I don't think I'm above it. I'm sorry, that was a terrible judgment made on my part. Po—James and I will perform our patrols exactly the way everyone else does. I'll go tell him of the change right away."

McGonagall nodded. She was about to turn back into her room before barking, "Black! What in Merlin's name are you doing out here with Miss Evans?"

"I couldn't stay away from her, Professor. She's a pretty witch, isn't she?" He put his arm around me.

It felt like a dead weight on my shoulders, dragging me down to the depths of hell where I would surely suffer from my dismissal as Head Girl.

McGonagall didn't know what to make of that statement. Hell, I didn't know what to make of it, when I stopped thinking about my impending doom. Because clearly he was not being serious, but how do you object to something like that? In all honestly, I thought it was a kind of brilliant way to turn the situation around.

Unfortunately, McGonagall is more brilliant.

"I can't imagine how Mr. Potter feels with your newfound affection for Miss Evans. Five points from Gryffindor."

My jaw dropped. Excuse me? Did she…did she just…? Why would she say something like that? I didn't even get a good look at her face to see if she was serious or not before she whipped back into her classroom without another glance.

I ripped Sirius's arm off me. I turned to him, his upper lip twitching despite his serious expression. "I don't…why would she…," I muttered. "Bloody hell. Now I have to patrol with Potter!" I started to walk again, this time more angrily than before. This would happen. I was doing so well at having nothing to do with Potter, and now I'm stuck with him for an hour every other night! A part of me couldn't help but also feel bitter because now I don't want to see Sirius on our patrols anymore. Not when he's with Potter.

"What's so bad about doing patrols with Prongs?" asked Sirius from beside me.

"He's so…ugh, you know? Like…ugh. Why would anyone want to spend extra time with him?"

"Don't ask me, I'm forced into it," joked Sirius. I rolled my eyes.

"He's not all that bad, actually," he later said.

"Yes he is. He's so cocky and rude. I feel like I'm about to explode whenever I'm in his presence for more than two minutes."

"Didn't you think the same thing about me, though?"

"What?"

"Admit it: you hated me before school started this year."

I tried not to look too guilty. "I didn't hate you."

"But you equally despised me as much as Prongs. Now look. You actually like it when I crash your patrols, don't you?"

"No," I lied.

"That's a lie straight from the grave of Salazar Slytherin, Lily Evans. I make your nights when I show up on patrol."

It's true, but I do have some dignity. I wasn't about to admit Sirius Black could brighten my mood. I might as well have just checked myself into the 'We Love You Sirius' club with those other girls.

"Okay, whatever, I'll pretend that's true. But you're Sirius! And he's….Potter!"

Sirius actually pondered that for a moment. "While I do get what you mean, Evans, since I am more handsome, roguish, and charming, I'm failing to see the problem here."

I angrily sighed. Was he really asking what my problem with Potter was?

"What's your problem with him, Lily?"

Merlin's beard. I tugged at the chain of my necklace. "You're a prat, Sirius, but at least you acknowledge that you're a prat. There's no games with you, no promises that you're actually a genuinely loving bloke, because you're not. You're Sirius Black and you have no problem showing the entire castle who exactly that is. But Potter…Potter would use his dying breath trying to convince someone he's not a prat. He'd honestly expect me to go out with him while he's harassing my mate. God forbid if he doesn't instantly wow a person, because then he will spend the rest of his life throwing himself on you, painting this image that he's this great bloke. He does all these arse-like things, and then expects everyone to think that he's not an arse. But he is."

"Maybe he's not," suggested Sirius as if he didn't even care.

"What do you mean maybe he's not? You were there all the times when he bullied those kids, we got in those arguments, and he showed off. He's awful."

"No more awful than me." He shrugged. "Definitely less than me, come to think of it. Besides, that was ages ago. You should look at him now. He grew up some since fifth year. Bit annoying really. I liked him much better as a thick, immature fifteen year old. It's much easier and more fun to be a git when all your mates are gits, too."

I suppressed a laugh.

"Most of that arse-ness came from being around you, anyway."

I stopped walking and looked into Sirius's grey eyes. "It's still impossible for us to not get in a fight. Explain that."

With another easy shrug of his shoulders and his long black hair casually falling in his face, Sirius looked like we were discussing the weather (which I do, for all intents and purposes, find more interesting to talk about than Potter). This was all a disposable conversation Sirius would forget before he woke up tomorrow morning. "Personally, I think it's all the tension between you two. You need to get it out of your system. I've been saying it for years: you haven't shagged yet, so you've got to resort to yelling. Just one-"

"Sirius!"

He innocently held his hands up. "Only joking. Sort of." I glared at him. "I don't know why you hate Prongs, considering I think he's the greatest bloke you'll ever meet," he said, sounding frank, "and I don't know why his knickers get twisted around you. You're an intimidating bird, I suppose. I think it's the hair. Reminds people of fire."

I scoffed and started walking again. "My hair does not remind people of fire!" Honestly, I hated it when they said things like that. Has anyone even seen a real fire before?

We spent the rest of patrols debating my hair's likeness to fire. We didn't mention Potter anymore, which was good, because it surely would've caused a row since Sirius is so very wrong about everything he says about him.

There are plenty of differences between Potter and Sirius. The largest is that I can tolerate Sirius; I cannot, however, tolerate Potter. Not for extended periods of time, at least. Certainly not for an hour at a time, just me and him alone in the halls.

Is a witch's seventh year really supposed to be this difficult?

I know I'm sorry that the whole James/Lily actually interacting is taking foreverrrr but (spoiler alert) that all changes next chapter.

Please review!

MG