DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

The Truth

A SHOCKING PIECE OF INFORMATION  

Wednesday 9th of August

Ok. Another day in the life of Lily Evans has come to pass.

I have a feeling that I may be a whole different person – for better or for worse (probably worse) – because of the events of this particular day. I have reached a previously unimaginable level of confusion/emotional trauma/indecision. The happy and straightforward life (comparatively) of yesterday is gone forever. Thoughts that I have not allowed to enter my head for ages have breached the barrier and are threatening to transform me into one of those live-for-the-moment/spontaneous/anything-can-happen kind of people that I have never been.

I had better start at the beginning, get my thoughts in order, so to speak. Firstly, I woke up late this morning due to my late night rendezvous with you and the knowledge that James Potter was even then prowling Hogwarts and being his irritating happy-go-lucky self (he shouldn't be allowed to do that at night as well as all day). I bolted down a quick breakfast of cornflakes and tepid orange juice, skilfully fobbed off Eggy Crilmer, coolly removed the bacon strips Sirius Black had placed on my back and even put on a reasonably attentive face when tiny Professor Flitwick the Charms Professor tried to start a discussion about the famous dueller Eduardo Sticknick. I reached Transfiguration Class in a state of calm verging on hysteria, and was gratified to find that James Potter was looking slightly worse for wear and Remus Lupin (who was a prefect in fifth year and therefore should no better than to associate with the likes of Potter) looked an absolute wreck. Typically Sirius Black was as bright as a button (perhaps he's on drugs?), if a bit quieter than usual, but I couldn't let that worry me. I had to concentrate on Transfiguration, which is one of my more challenging subjects. I sat next to Tory, who's pretty good at it, and forced my tired mind to think about what my magpie would look like as a candlestick. Minerva McGonagall, the Transfiguration Professor, a lady stern and upright beyond her years took one look at my still airborne object and fixed me with a piercing glare,

"Have another bird, Miss Evans. Concentrate," she said and walked off to criticize someone else. You would have thought I'd have earned a bit or respect, being head girl and all, wouldn't you? But not in the eyes of the unhealthily inflexible McGonagall. I, sweet Miss Evans, had trouble stopping myself from performing a Marauder like stunt and lobbing my flying candlestick (dead useful invention if you ask me) at her head. From the steady throb right in-between my eyes and the impossible to reach itch on my right shoulder blade, I could be fairly sure it was not going to be a good day. The rest of the lesson was fairly quiet, as the Famous Four seemed fairly out of it for the duration. This irritated me more than anything else. But I'd only myself to blame. I had debated wether to tell Professor McGonagall (the Head Teacher for Gryffindor), about their midnight escapades but decided the ridicule and inevitable revenge on their part was not worth the bother. On the way out of Transfiguration Tory said to me,

"What's wrong, Lily?" I just looked at her and shook my head. Tory just shrugged and said bracingly,

"Well, it's Potions next!" What would I do without my friends?

In Potions, if possible, the day got slightly worse. This was mainly because Queen Celine takes Potions with us. Lately she's been back on an idea that I thought she, (and Tory) had put to rest long ago. It's just like Celine to resurface old jokes, conversations or incidents that she found particularly amusing, no matter how old they are. She can still have an animated discussion about the time in first year when I was particularly flustered by something and Tony O'Conner of Slytherin said, grinning slimily,

"Well why don't you just come to bed, if you're so tired," And then, I, in my absentness, said,

"Yeah, ok," and there was a half  hour in which the entire Herbology class laughed themselves stupid, Lina Matherson hyperventilated and was send to the hospital wing and Sirius Black got enough material for a year's supply of smart comments.

Juvenile, I know, but eleven year old mindsets tend to be tuned to this kind of thing.

Anyway, Celine is currently nostalgic about the time Tory insinuated that I was in love with James Potter. Can you believe it? I remember the conversation well, it was near the beginning of sixth year, and the three of us were sitting in the Gryffindor Common room late at night when no one else was there.

"Certainly a lot more homework this year," said Tory, who was brushing her beautiful, long black hair.

"Yeah," said Celine, "And McGonagall's got a lot more of whatever's up her-"

"Celine", said Tory reprovingly. Tory has some kind of thing about insulting teachers. After all, she says, 'they're only here to teach'. Celine has a few things to say about those kind of comments.

"Tor?" asked Celine petulantly,

"But some things are just the same, unfortunately," I said, forestalling a pointless argument.

"Yeah?" asked Celine, "Like what?"

"Like James Potter's arrogant bastardry!" I said strongly, for I was at the peak of one of my close-to-total-loathing phases with Potter at the time. But to my surprise, Celine didn't give her usual vigorous nod of agreement at this announcement. She instead exchanged significant looks with Tory and smirked. Celine has an interesting smirk. Instead of just her mouth smirking, her whole face smirks. Her dark brown eyes seem to sneer at you and even the way her orange hair falls over her face suggests supreme smugness.

"What?" I asked, irritable and slightly off balance.

"Oh, nothing," said Celine tiresomely. I looked to Tory, nice Tory, the voice of reason. She at least didn't smirk. Tor probably can't smirk. She just smiled prettily and said,

"Dear Lily. It's just that we know you don't mean what you say," she said inoccently, and she truly didn't have a trace of mischief in her voice.

"What are you talking about?" (do you notice that I'm always the one who gets needled and made fun of)

"She means you're dead keen on Potter, is all," said Celine, who doesn't beat about the bush.

"What?"

"You heard me,"

"Lily, you don't have to admit it, but think about the way you're always talking about him-" (Tor failing to be peaceable)

"You've got the hots for good old Pots!" screeched Celine

"Celine. It's Ok Lily. We just find your refusal to see true love amusing," said Tory with an unusually teasing tone.

And that was the base of what became a embarrassing rumour that eventually reached the ears of Pots himself, serving to further inflate his ego until I dealt with it with a few carefully chosen words and quite a few slaps across the face. The problem that arose from it, though, was that for a short time I actually began to wonder if I did like Potter in that way, and I found this very disturbing.

Anyway, back to the present, or the past, or earlier today. In Potions Celine made a rather loud comment about how sick Potter was looking. This was ok in itself, because Potter was looking sickly, and it wasn't just tiredness. I wondered why I hadn't noticed it before. But then she had to go and add on the bit about how I should go and comfort him. (I'm seriously wondering why I'm friends with that carrot). But do you know what the strange thing was? He didn't even look up. He didn't even grin or leer or make suggestive signals when Professor Lallie wasn't looking. He glanced absently at Celine, but didn't seem to even see her, and then got on with his work. And me and Celine were the only two people who were noticeably surprised! I must admit that I felt a pang of some sort in my stomach region, but I don't know what it was and I don't want to delve too deep. I watched Potter's hunched form for the rest of the lesson but could not make head or tail of what was wrong with him. Was I worried about him? Perhaps I was. I realised that he'd been looking peaky all term and I hadn't noticed.

I was confused and unaccountably depressed for the rest of the day until Tor dropped the bombshell. We were calmly sitting down to our Transfiguration homework when I randomly asked,

"Tor, do you know what's up with Potter?" and her eyes widened, and she looked at me incredulously. (she's been treating the Potter subject almost sacredly lately, and I assumed it was because Celine had reminded her that he and I were 'destined for each other'. Turns out I can be wrong)

"You don't know?" she whispered,

"No," I said impatiently,

"I-I thought you must know…I mean everyone knows…and you're head girl…"

"Well it obviously never occurred to him or anyone else to tell me," I snapped waspishly, wondering how I could have missed out on what was so obviously common knowledge.

"It's his parents," she said softly, "They're dead. The Dark Lord Killed them, in the holidays."

I couldn't take it in at first. It's midnight and I still can't take it in. James Potter's parents are dead. Killed by the infamous Dark Lord, whose name no one dares speak. James Potter's parents are dead. James Potter - head boy, popular with everyone, pure blood, smart, wealthy. If something like that can happen to him, then anything can happen. It isn't logical that the parent's of James Potter should be brutally murdered – it's just against the law of nature. Stuff like that just doesn't happen to people like James Potter, or to anyone you know for that matter. It just makes you think – you could die at any second. The only time I've ever felt like this is when Daniel Davids, who was six years older than me and a wonderful quiddich player, jumped off the top of the astronomy tower.

I am just an insignificant speck in the big scheme of things, and I'm now thinking unsavoury thoughts about how the world would go on just the same if I died this second.

Argh! Truly, the world may not be as it seems. What am I going to do?

Lily Evans

Thursday 10th of August

7:30 am – When I next write in this diary I will have offered my deepest sympathies to James Potter. I lay awake last writhing in unexplainable guilt. Though it was through ignorance, I have been insensitive to say the least towards him. I merely rectifying the situation nobly, diary, and that is all.

9:30 am – Alright, I lied. I just couldn't say, 'I'm terribly sorry I've been utterly indifferent to you so far this year because I didn't know you're parents were dead, Potter,' because there are a multitude things you shouldn't say to or in front of Sirius Black, and that is one of them.

Lunch time – Several people have been giving me odd looks because I'm writing secretively in a note book while drinking pumpkin juice at the Gryffindor table in the great hall. (this diary is going to become an obsession).  Fortunately, I'm not the centre of attention, because Louisa Sarb (who thinks she should have been Head Girl, by the way) is currently dressed up in a cape and balaclava with her undies on the outside of her tights. She's giving s some sort of stirring speech about how we can all be heroes – and donate money to save the white rhinos and other endangered species. Funnily enough, everyone's raptly hanging on her every word. Who would have thought it?

1:30 pm – I am now sitting in History of Magic not taking notes. The teacher, Professor Binns is a ghost and is said to have failed to notice that he was dead when he woke up in the staff room one morning. So it is quite easy for him to fail to notice that almost no one in the class is doing anything vaguely constructive. It's going to be tough luck for those members of the class who were planning to copy my notes tonight. Why did I take History of Magic? Oh, now I remember – those drugs and/or that alcohol I must surely have been consuming at the time.

James Potter is doing his history notes. Wonders will never cease.

2:30 pm – Charms! My favourite subject! I'm only writing in this because Professor Flitwick hasn't arrived yet. We're doing cloaking Charms today!

I have to say it to James Potter after class. I really don't want to.

9:30 pm – Well, I did it. And even now I can't work out if it went well or not. In my desperation I took a chance and forced myself not to acknowledge the presence of Sirius Black. Luckily the two of them were last out of the Charms room and I blocked their exit by standing in the doorway and trying to look impressive.

"Potter," I began, trying to keep my voice light and confidant yet retain an sufficiently sad/sympathetic expression on my face. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows, but he didn't smirk or say anything gross. I took a deep breath,

"I'd just like to say I'm sorry about you're parents, Potter," I said. Well they could hardly make fun of me after that, could they? Potter's face didn't change, although his pale face did go slightly whiter. He removed his glasses and sighed tiredly (was this Potter letting down his guard?). Sirius Black didn't say anything, thankfully.

"Thankyou, Miss Evans," he said politely. He tried to smile, but it came out a sort of twisted grimace. With that he nodded to me and strode down the hall .Black stared at me, uncomprehending for a second. He has a quick mind, I'll give him that, because he said,

"You didn't know, Evans,"

"No," I said, not meeting his eyes.

"Well, it was nice you to say that, I suppose," said Black, running a hand through his long black hair. I had to stop by jaw from dropping. This was possibly the only serious or remotely sensitive thing Black thing had ever said to me.

"It's not fair, you know," he continued surprisingly, looking down into my face, "They didn't deserve it,"

"No one deserves to be-"

"They do," said Black fiercely, "Lord Voldemort does," I shivered at the sound of the evil sorcerer's name, but said nothing.

"They were good people, Evans, and they shouldn't have died. They were good to me, good to everyone…" he trailed off, and I half expected him to sob, but his dark eyes were dry, if a little wild looking.

"I'm sorry," I said inadequately. He nodded gravely, and went off after his friend, his tall figure soon blending into the afternoon shadows.  

I wonder if I'll ever get to see the strange, wonderful, human side of Sirius Black ever again?

Thursday 17th of August

Eliane of the unpronounceable second name is at this moment having an all out screaming match with Lina Matherson. Before I go on, I should perhaps explain a bit about the dynamics of our dormitory. There are six girls in the Seventh-year dormitory. They are myself, Celine, Theresa Grey, Louisa Sarb, Eliane OTUSN and Lina Matherson. I would say that the 'leader' or 'most popular' girl in our dorm would be Lina. Although this should have absolutely nothing to do with it, Lina has bouncy blond hair, big blue eyes and tanned skin. She goes on a lot of dates, and always has done, she laughs a lot and she bitches a lot – and she hates Eliane. The only people she doesn't hold sway over are Celine and I, and Celine says this is because we both have a red hair and are individual free spirits. I have my doubts about this hypothesis, but it is certainly true that mousy haired Theresa Grey is one of those people who follows Lina Matherson around like a puppy, endures her cutting insults and comforts her when she breaks up with Sirius Black. Lina Matherson can spend the entire night sobbing her head off and beating the walls with her fists and still come off as cool as ever in the eyes of her dorm mates. You would think that by the age of seventeen she would have seen the light and indeed realised her own shallowness. Louisa Sarb is slightly more intelligent, but is still inexplicably one of Lina's best friends. I would whole heartedly support her 'save the animals' stuff if I didn't feel that it was all for show – to gain popularity. Queen Celine has her clashes with all three of these girls, but they don't have the same grudging respect for her as they do for me. You see, there are some definite advantages to being Head Girl. It all lies in the power. Although Lina doesn't exactly like me, she does tolerate me in my own right, something she's not prepared to do for most people. I'm kind of an indispensable member of the group, if you catch my meaning. You can't play games with the Head Girl or you might find yourself on detention – or worse. It is all a bluff, of course, I'm really not a very intimidating person, and would probably never carry out any threats people create in their own minds – but it works. Hopefully Lina will never see through the veil of head girl ship that prevents her from sinking her teeth into me.

But back to the present. I am sitting in a corner, writing away with no one taking the slightest notice of me and wondering vaguely if it is my duty to put a stop to the fight. Louisa Sarb is sitting slightly closer to the action, far enough to seem responsible and uninvolved, but close enough to show Lina where her loyalties lie. Celine is perched on top of the upper horizontal rail on her four poster bed, as is her wont, and is watching with a funny little smile on her face. 

Eliane is standing with her legs shoulder width apart, her hair flying out behind her, and her face shining with tears. I'll describe, Eliane, shall I? Then you'll know why Lina hates her so much. Eliane is, I have to say, the most beautiful girl in the school, unquestionably the most beautiful girl in the school. And Lina loathes being second best (I too dislike being second best, but not about something as trivial as good looks. Besides, I maturely deal with any hardship. I am, after all, Head Girl)

Eliane is very tall and very thin, with the skin of a goddess and the most wondrous hair I've ever come across. It is truly gold, not pale yellow and not dirt blond, but gold. It shines even when there's no sun, and it's great fun to plait and braid. Right now Eliane's face is screwed up in anger, but depressingly for Lina, this just makes her prettier than ever. (I've pointed her out to my mum and she said 'looks fade and you're metabolism changes when you're older. She'll run to fat, I know the sort,' Harsh, yes. But mothers always find fault with any non-friend nicer looking than their own children). But for all her inhuman beauty and appealing hatred of all things Lina, I've not been able to become friends with Eliane. Partly, this is because she's only been at Hogwarts since the middle of last year, and partly because she called Celine a 'red haired tomboy'. She's a French speaker but lived in Norway, and when she first came she didn't speak a word of English, and even now she finds it difficult (although this doesn't stop her from venting her feelings accurately). Lina, being the little pig that she is, is now screeching (loudly and slowly so she'll understand, of course) about how she stole Lina's lovely, expensive perfume. Eliane is, in-between tirades of what is probably ever French swearword there is, is denying it. It's quite amusing to watch, but it does grate on you're nerves.

Finally, Lina gave up. It is impossible to scream Eliane down. She flounced off to the bathroom, Louisa and Theresa (hey, their names rhyme! I never even noticed! How appropriate!) trailing behind her.

"Urgh!" said Eliane to Celine, "How I hate zat girl!"

Sometimes I really wish school could be over. It's becoming such a bore.

I probably should go to bed now, but I'm sure I won't get a wink of sleep unless I do some kind of silencing spell on my bed, and I can't be bothered to do it. Celine's rolling her eyes at me for spending too much time writing. I've made her agree not to try and steal it, and I think she senses that my fury will reach cataclysmic proportions if she does.

While I have written all this trivial rubbish about my absurd roommates, I've avoided the subject I've been thinking about all day. James Potter. I really have reached rock bottom. I'm thinking about the welfare of James Potter. Since I made that pathetic little speech last week, he hasn't looked at me once. He's just been doing his work, keeping quiet. Not even aggravating the teachers. Sirius Black is obviously very effected too. I've just remembered the gossip I heard about him going to live with the Potters last year because he couldn't stand his folks. I though it just that, gossip. I mean, how could a handsome, popular, confidant boy like him be mistreated by his family? Now I'm not so sure. Anything can happen to anyone. Black's either a very cheerful person naturally, or an extremely good actor. Black, like Potter, has been keeping fairly quiet. Neither of them have a girlfriend, and Severus Snape (a Slytherin boy they used to treat abominably, even if he is a jerk) seems to be able to get a good dig into them and come out unscathed. Tor can tell I'm thinking about Potter (She's a real 'kindred spirit', unfortunately) and is making it clear that she knows more about my feelings for him then I do. Ridiculous girl. Potter may have been obnoxious to me through child hood, but he is defiantly not a Gilbert Blythe. But he defiantly is looking sick.

I've decided I'm going to ask if there's anything I can do to help him. I know this is basically walking into the lion's den, but I'm feeling irrational.