A/N: I've suddenly realised that I'm being an oxymoron. Or whatever you call it. I mean, I totally said that preteens do not mix with the opposite gender and then in the first chapter, Sirius was being one heck of a ladies' man on the train. Oops. Big blooper there. Well, sorry about that and just ignore it, will you?

Thanks reviewers, and yes, Birdie, I do know you're being very sparing with your kind reviews and really, I appreciate it all! Just…don't say anything about the big blooper I've just mentioned. Thanks you all who have actually agreed with my comment that preteens don't mix…I'm sorry if you don't, Satan's Little Princess, but maybe we all grew up in different places with different cultures, different situations and stuff like that.

Anyway, enough of my useless rambling since most people don't even bother reading A/Ns.

Disclaimer: The Marauders, Lily, Hogwarts, teachers, and fellow students whom you recognise belong to JK Rowling.

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            The term passed by without much to talk about. Or at least as far as I could see. I had been receiving letters once or twice a week from Mum and occasionally, Petunia. (Actually very rarely but Petunia being Petunia, it was quite creditable.) Dad was starting to get better apparently. But I know they were just saying because they didn't want me worried. I wish they would just tell me the truth.

            Petunia did drop me a hint here and there in her scarce letters. (So she had a use in life after all.) In one of her letters, she wrote, "Dad looks better. ('Looks' being the keyword)".

I was worried. I tried researching leukaemia but the library had nothing about the illness. Not even in the thick volume of "Muggles' Troubles" or "Ailments Of All Sorts". I expect I was quite a sight, stomping around in the library with a scowl on my face, slamming shut books that had nothing that could aid my curiosity. Madam Pince, the young, extremely strict librarian, had to tell me off several times, adding that I was not myself and I should try to keep my troubles to myself and if I wanted to let out my feelings, I had better do it somewhere else.

When at last her fiery temper got the better of her, she politely but firmly kicked me out. I was offended but I guessed I was being a pain in the neck, and so I just wandered off, deciding whether to start on a big Potions assignment or to get started on my Astronomy homework that had been left to collect dust in my bag.

I couldn't tell my friends about my troubles. Mum had told me very strictly that nobody was to be told. I had yet to find out why. But until that day, when I finally realise why, I shall listen to her grave words and not breathe a word. Yet, my friends did catch wind of ripples in the water because of my odd behaviour (word of students being sent away from the library spread like wildfire in Hogwarts).

 Finally, when I couldn't stand it anymore, I did tell someone (two people in fact) of my problem. Oddly, even up to the day Dad passed away peacefully and the years beyond, Zoe, who by far was my best friend and for a fair few years after that, didn't even know anything other than Dad was sick. And even so, she heard of it along with the whole Gryffindor class when Professor Flitwick asked if Dad was all right.

Actually, it was Nicky and Ashley upon whom I bestowed the knowledge. They had been getting real close lately, having known each other for so long. One fine sunny day, Ashley happened to chance upon a letter from Mum, which I had carelessly left lying on the dorm floor after I had flung it down and stormed out of the room, furious at Mum for blabbering on and on about how rosy Dad's cheeks were.

Ashley, being a curious person, picked up the piece of paper and read it. Later that day, she recited most of the letter to Nicky who was more concerned that Ashley had intruded my privacy than she was about Dad. They later asked me what it was all about and I gave in. I made them swear upon their lives that they would not tell anyone. They were sorry. After that, we became pretty much good friends. At least for the next few months.

Other than them, I think no one else knew about it besides most of the professors. I had absolutely no idea how they found out but then again, I didn't know a lot of things at that time…like there was no cure for leukaemia.

"There is no possible way to cure it," Dumbledore explained to me gravely in his office. "In the future, there might be a way…I think the Muggles call it 'surgery' or 'operation'. But for now, there is nothing they can do. And nothing we can do. Your father is in a very bad condition, we cannot do anything except probably stretch his life for a month or two, and your mother will not allow us to interfere, no doubt wary of what we would do.

"I just hope you will understand. Your mother wrote to me, asking me to explain this to you. She is in no fit condition to tell you, and she feels that I can probably do a better job than she. I just hope my words help."

My throat was dry. I gripped the edge of the seat tightly. Dumbledore was smiling sadly at me, the twinkle in his eye gone.

"There is no use in dwelling on what ifs and dreams. I suggest you go home this Easter holiday and spend time with your father."

I nodded, speechless. In a way, I was glad in a bittersweet kind of way that I finally knew what was really going on. But curiously, the pain and misery I thought would follow (like in those soap operas) didn't exactly come. I just felt strangely numb and light-headed.

Unfortunately, that feeling lasted for a few good weeks. The professors all told me not to dwell on the problem and concentrate on my studies, saying that I really needed to buck up as I was really behind. As the Easter holiday neared, I began to get really nervous. I couldn't wait to see Dad again but somehow, I was afraid of what I would see. In my mind, I pictured a ghostly figure dressed all in white lying unconscious on a hospital bed, face drawn and hands icy cold; hair matted and breathing heavy.

Well, it was quite close to the truth. Dad wasn't unconscious (yet) and he could still talk in a hoarse throaty voice.

"Don't worry, Lily. Don't…" he started, but was cut off by a seizure of dry coughs. Mum pushed me aside and Petunia made me sit down on a bench outside the room. She then rushed inside to aid Mum. I felt so useless. Even the cheery-faced nurse who passed by and smiled a toothy smile at me didn't make me feel any better.

Again, the holiday passed by like the Christmas one. In a blur. I spent more time at Dad's side, reading him fairy-tales I loved (like Sleeping Beauty) and telling him all about Hogwarts. Mum was always nearby, bags under her eyes and face weary. Petunia was there on and off, but most of the time, she just came by to say a few words and then she rushed off again. Mum said she had lots of homework to complete.

So did I to come to think of it, and I had about a month's work to catch up. Every night, I worked myself until I was close to tears and red-eyed, and then waking up early the next morning to study some more. However, I could very well see that it was pointless as nothing was entering my mind. But somehow in all that rush, I did manage to finish all the assignments, essays, and all sorts.

I returned to Hogwarts, overworked and jumpy. I spoke barely ten words to my friends a day. In fact, Professor McGonagall was so worried about me that she kept sending me to Madam Pomfrey. I always went without question, drank a glass of hot liquid and then went right back out of the Hospital Wing again.

When at last, after a few talks with Professor Dumbledore, I finally began to realise what a wreck I had let myself become. I had always thought Petunia was being very insensitive the way she didn't seem to care much but actually, she was being very sensible.

"No use dwelling on what ifs and dreams" was what Dumbledore had said. Even Mum was going back to her usual schedule, keeping Dad company only for a few hours while all my uncles and aunts accompanied him most of the rest of the time, taking turns.

I began to return to my normal self, thanks to Dumbledore and the other professors. It would be a lie to say that my friends helped. They were about as distant as Dad and me, mile-wise. I didn't let it linger in my mind. It was actually quite normal for me (I was well-known for switching friends every year back at primary school) and I didn't mind. I found it quite a delight being alone, far from the madding crowd. 

I slowly caught up with my work and was constantly used as a tool by professors to inspire other students to study. It was embarrassing really. To my absolute delight, Snape started calling me 'Teacher's pet'. Well, really, how childish (!).

As I had expected, I was excelling in Charms, skimming through each lesson easily. Defence Against the Dark Arts, I suppose, was a very interesting subject and Professor Swordsman was a very good teacher, and I found it quite easy as well.

I was nowhere near good in Transfiguration though. Sure, I could perform Switching Spells and small transfigurations but when it came to larger objects, I couldn't do it perfectly.

"It's all in the concentration!" Professor McGonagall would say, rapping her desk curtly, but let's face it; we'll just leave the top spots for James Potter and Sirius Black. Amazingly, they were just about fantastic in every subject, and they probably only studied the night before a test.

            I was just so-so in Herbology. I could score averagely in my tests but I would say that most of it was luck.

            "But you can't get lucky every time!" Zoe would wail, dissatisfied.

            I had come up with a new formula for Potions. Potions = terror. How true, how true. I would probably say that Professor Cauldron was very biased in class but when it came to tests, I didn't fail a single one, so I guess, it's not so bad. But it wasn't the same for my poor peers though.

            History of Magic is a bore. That's all I'm saying.

            Astronomy was very confusing at times but I'd say I sort of pulled through. I'm not an avid fan of the stars.

            You might say that I'm not being very modest. But it's true. I was just lucky that I wasn't exactly top of the class. (Why bother contending with geniuses like James and Sirius?) Who knows what Zoe might say if I were?

A/N: Thank you all for reading, and just saying, but if you happen to know me personally, and you sort of think that you are mentioned in the story somewhere as one of the students of Hogwarts…um…*looks around furtively and backs away*…it's…um… not true. Yeah! It's um…not true…um… at all. Where on earth did you get such an idea? And no…Lily's character is not like mine…even if there are small teeny similarities. Remember, you are not in the story. Not in the story…*attempts to hypnotise people but fails*…

Dang.