DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling
The Truth
RABID RATS AND CRICKET BATS
Friday 14th of November
Today was an interesting day for a number of reasons. Firstly, James Potter made some sort of desperate attempt at an apology for our argument of three weeks ago this afternoon in Charms when he thought no one would hear him. Little did he know that Celine and Louisa Sarb were standing right behind him with expressions of interest on their faces. I decided not to enlighten him, and simply met his hazel glare with cold dignity.
"I suppose I ought to – well you know – apologise for before," he said in a gruff whisper, glancing around nervously. I nodded curtly, but I was damned if I was going to say anything – I mean, was it my fault that Potter and his gormless girlfriend wanted to parade their furious desire for each other all over the common room (as you can see, the incident is sadly still fresh in my mind for some reason). My silence seemed to be taken as a refusal.
"Well you were just as rude as me, Evans," hissed Potter, picking up steam, "You were just as in the wrong," (I had no idea our little altercation had had such an effect on him). He seemed anxious to make his point, and I had the wondrous notion that Potter was actually feeling guilty.
"All right," I said abruptly, not wanting another scene, "You're forgiven, I'm sorry too, please go." (I've never used such clipped language. Interesting), I could see Queen Celine with the beginnings of a smirk on her face and Louisa with her ears pricked. In fact, I've never before noticed how pointy Louisa Sarb's ears are.
"You're sorry?" insisted Potter, curiously eager to prolong the interaction.
"Yes." I said, "Happy? I don't know why you're bothering, Potter, or why you should be sorry. You never have been before," I was surprised at my own hatefulness.
"Yeah? Well, maybe I've changed," he said, and returned to his desk beside Sirius Black. Louisa and Celine raised their eyebrows at me, and I shrugged.
Later, Celine, Tory and I sat doing our homework in the library. We had the desk to ourselves, and not much work was being done.
"That was nice little 'sorry' you got from Potter today, Lily," said Celine during a thoughtful silence.
"Er-"
"Oh, did he?" whispered Tor excitedly,
"Yes, but-"
"But she's still mad at him, aren't you Lily?" interrupted Celine lazily, "She told him to bugger off," she said, patting Tor's arm confidentially.
"Oh, Lily," said Tory despairingly, "His first real act of humility and you didn't accept him!" Her dark eyes were almost tearful. I didn't know what she was going on about, but it sounded idiotic.
"Act of humility? He was just getting me off his conscience-"
"But that's just it Lily, he has a conscience!"
"Tory-"
"I'd go for it Lily," said Celine seriously, "I think this is as good as he's going to get without real help-"
"What are you talking about?" And these people dare to call themselves friends?
"We're just saying, Lily," said Tory peaceably, "That, well, you know how you've always said he's an arrogant prat and all, well, it might just be that he has redeemed himself! This might be the beginning of a new and better Potter!" Tory's hands were clasped in front of her, as if describing some great wonder the modern world.
"The death of his parents, the responsibilities of a school leader, his approach to adulthood – they must have given him some kind of revelation-"
"He just said sorry for fighting with me in the common room," I said firmly before she got too carried a way, "And it does not mean anything. I'll admit I did think he'd changed a bit this year – but Shirley Rookwood has changed my mind. You two are light-headed from work over-load," and I gathered up my things and strode away. As I reached the library door, Celine called out to me,
"Potter broke up with Rookwood last week, you know."
Saturday 15th of November
I found out the whole Potter/Rookwood break-up story early this morning. Celine and Theresa Grey were sleeping in, Louisa Sarb was at quidditch practise, and Eliane was on detention (for placing a certain liquid in a certain person's hair conditioner two weeks ago). So it was just me and Lina Matherson in the dormitory (apart from the two sleepers, of course), and the perfect chance came to extract some gossip from the gossip-queen herself. I don't usually make a practise of spending too much time conversing with the likes of Lina Matherson, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and Celine's last words in the library yesterday had been nagging at me all night.
"You don't know what happened?" said Lina sharply, pausing for a moment in the filing of her nails.
"No," I said patiently.
"Oh, well, I thought everyone knew. I always say you spend far too much time studying, Lily, I mean as Head Girl you need to know what's going on in your house,"
"Yes," I said, ignoring the ludicrous nature of her remark.
"Well anyway, it happened last week, on Thursday (I don't know how you could have missed it), when James and Sirius were playing some card game in the corner, and Shirley went over to them, and I don't know exactly what she said, but James said,
'Sorry, Shirley, I'm busy,' and then she said 'But James, it's a Hogsmeade weekend,' and then he said (quite politely, I think), 'I'm sorry, but I really am busy,' and then she started going on about how that weekend was going to mean so much to her, and how could he let her down. But he was pretty firm about it, and he didn't yell at her or anything until she said something like, 'well you'll just have to choose between me and whatever it is that you're doing', and she cried quite a lot, and James told her that he didn't have to be with her twenty four hours a day. She screamed and cried a bit more, and then ran off to the dormitory. They haven't been speaking since," finished Lina casually. She leaned forward, "But I think he never really liked her anyway, because he was quite calm about the whole thing. She's just such a bimbo." Struggling to keep a straight face at this last bit, I thanked her for her time, turned down the offer of a manicure and left the dormitory. So this was what had prompted Potter's odd behaviour. He'd become bored with Shirley and was back on my case. I might have known. I wondered vaguely how I could have failed to notice such an important event in the Hogwart's social network. Just goes to show how little I take in, doesn't it? But I supposed I was so angry at the pair of them that I wouldn't have realised if they'd become punk rock stars overnight. Still, I think I might remember the night in question, because earlier day Professor McGonagall let down her guard and allowed us to shut the windows while in class. The other odd thing about that night was the rat. I mean, you might think that there's nothing odd about a small dark-grey rat making its way across the common room floor in an old castle, but I did, because Hogwart's, though it is many things, is not a rat infested institution. I noticed it going into the boys dormitory, and I my first impulse was to warn them, my second to leave it because I was feeling spiteful. I told a half-asleep Celine about it when I got to my own dormitory,
"'S prob'ly rabid," was all she said.
Saturday 22nd of November
thIngs thAt hAppEnEd tOdAy pArt twO:
*There wasn't a quidditch match. This week's exciting Slytherin versus Ravenclaw (I wasn't planning to go anyway) has been postponed until next week due to the arrival of some ministry official (I don't know anything else about it) and the Captains are still fuming.
*Potter tried to apologise again but Black and Lupin tipped pumpkin juice over Tor and Celine (who were sitting next me) at the most inopportune moment and I took it out on Potter and have maturely started another feud. (I really can't help myself this year. I must be going for a record or something!)
*Only thirty-two more days till Christmas!
*Eliane and Lina Matherson had a catfight in the Great Hall at breakfast and McGonagall put them both on detention. Together.
*Rebecca Teanly is sick in the hospital wing and Matthew Hindle hasn't left her side since (except to go to the toilet, presumably). Isn't it romantic?
*Mother sent me a letter. With the letter was chocolate. Wasn't that nice of her? Oh, yes, and the despised sister's wedding is scheduled for the middle of next term. Do they want me to fail school or something? I'll have to take two full days off just to go to her wedding. I ask you!
*I have four essays and a transfiguration method due on Monday!
*Professor Lallie tripped down the stairs (Dumbledore has warned her about those bright, billowy, triple layered, more than floor-length robes she likes to wear) and broke her ankle in eighteen places. We'll be having Miss Fangmorton for potions as well as arithmancy until she's out of the hospital wing! What cruel and unusual punishment will come next?
Saturday 29th of November
Gee, I'm getting into a habit of writing on Saturdays, aren't I? suppose it's the ever-increasing workload. I'll give you an example of your average seventh year classroom:
Teacher: Do this
You: Ok
Teacher: That's not good enough do it again
You: Ok
Teacher: *Goes on for the whole lesson so you are forced to get it exactly right*
You: Ok
Teacher: Ok, now you have an almost but not quite impossible amount of homework to do. Have fun!
I'm also actually having a huge fight with Celine at the moment, so that adds to the pressure. We haven't spoken since Wednesday when she told me to loosen up and stop being such a nerd because I was no fun to be around anymore. I told her that maybe if she worked on her gold-fish attention span maybe she wouldn't be feeling so jealous. Trying to do the right thing, as always, Tory has refused to take sides. She has succeeded in angering both of us just enough so that she receives the cold shoulder from all parties. Poor fool.
Saturday 6th of December
It's Diary time again! It's also December. I love December. It just makes me happy. This is because of Christmas, and it is also because my Birthday is two days after Christmas, and I like my Birthday. I'll be seventeen (and legally able to apparate and use magic at home! The D.S won't know what hit her! Literally!). Call me a child, but I can still get that little thrill of waking up on Christmas morning and finding the lounge room laden with presents and snow falling outside (hopefully). The only downer is the older I get, the less presents I'm likely to receive (not that this is all I think of. Christmas is a time of love and care and being with your family). With luck the Great Aunts and various far flung and obscure relatives will not yet count me as an adult in the shopping activities. I also love Christmas because it is the only time the far flung relatives are together under one roof. I just like the atmosphere (I realise this isn't a particularly teenagerish sentiment).
Another reason why I'm happy is that it's a Hogsmeade weekend and I'm friends with Celine again. Our little quarrel ended when we found ourselves united against a common enemy. All it took was for Sirius Black (upon witnessing small tantrums on both our parts) to say,
"Ooh, look, the red nuts have finally cracked," and the bonds of friendship were whole again, as if our disagreement had never been. After treating Black to a scathing and imaginative tirade, we laughed harder than we had in a long time, and I even deigned to listen to Celine's loud rendition of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. Sometimes that Black boy really does prove himself an invaluable member of society. Today Celine, Tory and I went to Hogsmeade and I doubt we could have had anymore fun had we been innocent third years experiencing their first taste of freedom away from the shackles of boarding school life.
Wednesday 10th of December
I'm not feeling nearly so happy as last time I wrote. The end of term is approaching. In eight days time, the Sparkle Sisters will be arriving to perform from six O'clock to eight o'clock. This I know because Potter told me in History of Magic (costing him a sharp reprimand from Professor Binns). I must admit I had forgotten about the entire fundraising fiasco until now. I was on a Christmas Season high, I suppose.
"Will you be coming to the performance?" asked Potter politely after HOM (hom. I like it. homity hom hom…)
"Performance?" I asked distantly,
"You know, the Sparkle Sisters," said Potter patiently. Realising that I wasn't really on track with what he was saying, (that's what Hom does to you) I stalled for time,
"How many of them are sisters?" I asked. Potter raised his eyebrows,
"Umm, I think three of them are triplets and the rest are just employees,"
"Oh," I said inadequately,
"Yes. Are you coming?" he asked again. I wondered why he even bothered; he knew how I felt about the Sparkle Sisters.
"I suppose so," I said surprisingly. Perhaps the nerves that controlled the messages that run from my brain to my vocal chords and mouth had met with some kind of anatomic traffic jam and got confused along the way.
"Oh good," said Potter quickly, before I could change my mind, "Dumbledore'll expect you to be there anyway, and it should be quite spectacular,"
"Ah," I said as Potter hurried away. I walked to the Great Hall, dimly aware that I hadn't contributed at all to the fundraising activities, in the end.
Friday 12th of December
There was defiantly something odd in the air today. Not that there was much air. It was a decidedly balmy winter's day, and not a breath of wind stirred the darkened eaves of the Forbidden Forest. It was a pleasant change from the bitter cold of previous weeks. In the afternoon, after our last class had finished and we had a free study period, Celine, Tory and I were sitting under a tree by the lake and eating Mrs Varaten's best homemade chocolate double-decker mud cake with cream in the middle, because it was Tory's birthday and we weren't feeling fat. Every now and then Celine would burst in to song,
Happy Birthday to you, You're a hundred and two, You smell like a monkey, And you look like one too
Tory would ignore her, in no mood because she had already been forced to kiss the nearest boy (Peter Pettigrew) earlier, when she cut the cake and brought the knife out dirty. Celine had managed to convince her that this was necessary because the cake had been made by her mother and Tory owed it to Celine. At least Peter came out of it happy.
When we had demolished most of the cake, other Seventh years in our class began to come out onto the grounds, spreading out into some kind of formation. The three of us stared, mouths open, wondering fearfully if the stress of NEWTS had finally permanently effected the minds of our classmates and they were going to perform some obscene ritual. Theresa Grey looked slightly jittery, and I wondered if she was to be the sacrifice. I had no idea what they were doing until I spotted Darren Kalding and Hamish Branden demonstrating their fencing skills with two tacky old cricket bats. I sighed with relief. They were only going to have a game of cricket. Although this is quite strange in itself. Never in the History of Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (as far as I know) has there been an organised mass migration of students to the quidditch pitch in order to play a friendly cricket match. Cricket is one of the few muggle sports that has caught on in the wizarding world (although a typical wizarding match usually involves a lot more alcohol and a lot less expertise), although I wasn't aware that the cricketing spirit was so alive and well in the halls of Hogwarts. Celine was the first person to say anything,
"Cool. Let's go play," she said, grabbing our hands and attempting to haul us over to the pitch with the sheer weight of her personality. I struggled helplessly for a minute, trying to articulate that anything with Potter and his associates involved could not possibly end well. But I had no choice, I was being ordered to play. I just hoped no one had thought to bring any beer. I didn't feel up to confiscating anything; the day had been going so well. Sighing I let myself be propelled over and have my name written down on the batting list (I was last. Shows how much faith they have in me). After some deliberation it had been decided that the teams would be primarily Gryffindor against Slytherin, (It nearly went the way of girls against boys, heaven forbid) and any spare Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs would be divided equally between the teams. My heart sank at this pronouncement, for with this arrangement the game was almost certain to get vicious, especially since Snivellus Snape had first bowl and Potter first bat.
But, as it turned out, my fears were unfounded. Not one alcoholic beverage was seen in the vicinity, and apart from a few spiteful Gryffindor/Slytherin insulting spats, the game was actually quite peaceful. There was much laughter and merrymaking, as they say. Quite odd. I was so engrossed in watching Hamish and Darren argue good-naturedly about the correct place to stand in order to field the ball, I didn't realise it was my turn to bat.
"Earth to Evans, come in Evans," called Celine and Sirius Black in unison.
"Oh, sorry," I said, slightly flustered. Striding over to the wicket, I was glad of my backyard family cricketing experience. I stood grinning across at the Ravenclaw bowler, tensed and ready for action. And I hit a six. And the crowd went wild! Well, slightly wild anyway. They at least cheered.
"Huzzah!" yelled Potter,
"That's my girl!" shouted Celine,
"This calls for Firewhisky!" bellowed Black.
I got out on my next hit, but I didn't particularly mind. Now I could stand in the sun and laugh at the Slytherins while pretending to field. And do you know what? It turns out that Peter Pettigrew can bowl a mean spinner.