DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling
The Truth
NOT REALLY THE REAL THING
Friday 19th of December
Ok, the time is exactly 3:34:36 in the morning, and everyone has just gone to sleep after a long and eventful last day of school. I can hear each of them breathing: Celine slow and quiet, Theresa snoring, Lina restless and quick, Louisa coughing now and then. I can't hear Eliane, of course, because she went home early for the holidays.
The last day of term was muddled and mostly pointless, as last days often are. Technically, we had normal classes, but all of them had a Christmassy feel to them. Even Professor McGonagall could not make the class work and could even be seen joining in the festivities if you looked hard enough. Many a Christmas fire-cracker was let off, and many a blind eye was turned. I guess with the looming threat of Lord Voldemort, the teachers felt we deserved a break. In Potions Professor Lallie led us in round upon round of Christmas carols, and many of us, (Queen Celine and Sirius Black, to name a few) joined in whole-heartedly, while others of us (Tor and I, chiefly) preferred to watch and laugh in an embarrassed sort of way when, in a particularly raucous rendition of The Twelve Days of Christmas¸ some of the more energetic students among us decided to dance upon the desks arm in arm. There is something unsettling about people dancing in dungeons, but I don't know what it is. The class really did take a dip into childhood during those wonderful sixty-five minutes.
Another highlight of the day was the unexpected return of Professor Dupinkay, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. It is just like him to arrive back on the last day of term under the impression that he'll actually be able to teach us anything. He paraded enthusiastically into the room, starry pointed hat askew, leading behind him an impressive and heavily muzzled minotaur-calf, or whatever word you use to describe a baby minotaur. We all stared at him in astonishment, and those who'd been in the middle of letting off some firework or another paused in their pursuits. Dupinkay pushed his greying chestnut hair off his face and even had the grace to blush. We did have a good look at the magical creature, but I'd safely say that we didn't actually learn anything useful about it. Professor Dupinkay promised he'd bring it back next term and give a proper lesson. Today he simply gave us a full account of his trip to Switzerland. Apparently his daughter, Martina, has had a child, a little girl who is just the most beautiful creature we ever saw, (Or didn't see, or whatever). Professor Dupinkay is worried, however, about his daughter's husband (Arnold), who he thinks is quite unreliable and harebrained at the best of times. If Professor Dupinkay (who will travel to the other side of the world at the drop of a hat without so much as a by-your-leave to hunt down some rare species) thinks Arnold is unreliable and harebrained, than he must be pretty bad. Anyway, I'm glad Dupinkay is back, I don't think I could bear any more substitutes.
At lunchtime today I remember the Sparkle Sisters again. This led me to remember that I had acted quite childishly in regard to this matter. And this led me to remember that I had told Potter that I would be attending the performance. I would have sworn into my tomato soup, had I been the swearing type. Instead I thumped the table so hard that the orange juice tipped over and spread quickly down the table, causing squeals and shouts to erupt from those who'd had some extra flavouring added to their lunches. Then, to my horror, when I tried to clean it up with the Scourgify spell, I succeeded in obliterating several people's meals in the process. I apologised profusely and was met with looks of irritation and contempt. As you can imagine, I left the Great Hall pretty quick sharp.
The evening came around all too quickly. At five o'clock (after I had been staring into space for nearly half an hour) Celine poured cold water down my back and told me I had to get ready for the performance.
"It's only five o'clock," I said, "It doesn't start until six thirty,"
"Yes, I know," said Celine condescendingly, "But you'll probably get unchanged again a couple of times in the next hour when you decide you don't want to go anymore,"
"What?" I asked furiously.
"Well, Potter will be there, and he did organise it without you-"
"What has that to do with-"
"And naturally, you're terribly embarrassed about the way you behaved, because really, he was only getting you back for what you did to him," continued Celine calmly, "But you said you'd go, so you have to. Now go get dressed."
"I hate you, Celine," I said venomously.
"And you're a darling too, Lily. You know I'm right!" she drifted serenely out of the room. Probably to have a pashing session with Toby, I thought snidely.
As it turned out, Celine was wrong, much to my satisfaction. I didn't get dressed until a quarter past six, and I was set in my decision and not in the least nervous. They didn't make me head girl for nothing. According to everyone else, the Sparkle Sisters performance was an occasion to which one wears one's dress robes. As head girl I could hardly go in anything less. Although I don't particularly like my dress robes (they're a shiny greenish-bluish colour), at least I fitted in. Unable to find Celine, I walked down to the magically transformed Great Hall with Tory, who was dressed in deep purple and looked quite mysterious and beautiful, I thought. The Great Hall was filled with cushioned, orange coloured seats, all facing a makeshift stage which was covered in decorations of red, orange and yellow, and tiny flashing lights. I managed to persuade Tory to sit at the back with me, in the hope that I would not be noticed by any of the marauders. There was no such luck, of course. Sirius Black, resplendent in indigo dress robes, emerged from the mingling crowd, grinning from ear to ear.
"Evans, you made it," he said, trying to be suave.
"Yes," I said blushing slightly,
"Ah, you blush so prettily, my dear," said Black with a smile, "It is such a shame Mr Potter isn't here to see it!" That got the required glare out of me,
"And the light in your eyes! Like emeralds! They take my very breath awa-"
"Shut up, Black," I snapped,
"Sorry. I was just teasing," he said in a surprisingly serious voice. To my dismay, he plonked himself down next to Tory and I, leaning back with a sigh. Tor glanced at me, her mouth turned up slightly. I looked around the Great Hall, spotting two other members of the Awesome Foursome. Potter was talking rapidly to a tall women in a spangly silver leotard, and Pettigrew was in deep conversation with a Hufflepuff fourth year I though might be called Thomas Walsh.
"It should have started by now, shouldn't it?" I asked Tory. I didn't expect her to reply, I just felt uncomfortable with Black sitting there so casually like that. Suddenly Remus Lupin arrived, managing to look even more pale and sickly than ever. I think it must have been his bright green robes emphasising his washed out skin.
"Are you alright?" I asked, more out of curiosity than actual concern.
"Yeah," he said unsmilingly. He turned to Black, "Padfoot, can I talk to you for a moment?" He asked. I wrinkled my nose as the two of them wandered off.
"Don't you just hate it when they use those stupid nicknames?" I said to Tory. She looked thoughtful,
"Well…you know, I suppose they have some meaning. What's Potter's one again? Oh yes, 'Prongs', kind of cute, don't you think?" she asked, her eyes full of mischief,
"It is not cute. It's just childish-" I stopped mid-sentence, realising I had was in the process of being wound up. Seems I can't rely on anyone not to tease me. Even sweet Tor can't help herself. It isn't that I mind Marauder nicknames that much, but they do remind me of those little 'clubs' children are so fond of creating, where they have a secret password, and only certain people are allowed to join. I guess I'm still hung up on bitter primary school experiences, but still. Why would Potter be called 'Prongs'? Black seems be 'Padfoot', and Lupin is 'Moony'. I had thought they were calling Pettigrew after a fictional character from Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, but it's actually 'Wormtail', not 'Wormtongue', which makes even less sense than I first thought.
The performance did not start until seven o'clock in the end, so Celine needn't have worried her silly head about me (it turned out she was with Toby. They didn't arrive until well after seven). It was pretty good, I have to admit, even though it pained me to think that Potter had such good organisational skills. The Sparkle Sisters were three girls, aged around twenty-two. Their names were Elicia, Eleanor and Cassandra, and they each had a mop of silvery hair, purple eyes and incredibly flexible bodies. There was also a fire-eater/juggler/clown type in the troupe named Feste, who had a face like a potato and very quick reflexes. He could juggle the usual balls, batons and fiery torches as well as six huge carving knives and a small girl (Juliet) who also had silver hair, and I took to be a fourth Sparkle Sister, or perhaps a cousin or daughter. The troupe also included three expert 'magicians' who performed astonishing magical stunts. The SS's themselves were amazing acrobats as well as being skilled in the art of Witchcraft. The show went off without a hitch, and Tory and I decided that it was about a young girl's (Cassandra's) journey though some kind of fairy land. It didn't really matter, anyway, because it was so spectacular. The audience loved it, and I don't think anyone begrudged their twenty sickles (some of which will be going to charity, some to the SS's). By the end I was feeling happy and content. Tory, Celine, Toby and I wandered out into the entrance hall in hight spirits. As I saw Lupin walk past I wondered fleetingly what he had wanted to talk to Black about.
"Those performers were amazing," said Tory,
"Yeah," said Celine appreciatively, "I especially liked Eleanor,"
"How could you especially like Eleanor? They all looked the same!" I said, rolling my eyes.
"I just did," said Celine ambiguously, sliding her arm around Toby's waist.
"Well I liked Feste," said Toby in his quiet voice,
"Oh, that was just because he was the only male in the group," Celine scoffed,
"He was pretty good with those knives," said Tory placatingly.
"It's all just practise, you know,"
"Like everything,"
"But Feste had real skill,"
"Even muggles can juggle!"
"Hey!"
"Oh, sorry Lily-"
"Celine, he was juggling knives and a living child!"
"He was a very good performer!"
Suddenly (this is eleven o'clock at night, let's not forget) Sirius Black came hurtling out of the darkness like a bolt of lightning,
"Race you to the common room!" he called wildly, longish black hair streaming behind him. For some incompressible reason my hitherto wholly sane walking companions were seized with a fit of mad energy and they all sprinted off after him, shouting and screaming like loons (even Tory, and she isn't even in Gryffindor!). I shook my head in bewilderment and continued at a statelier pace, alone in the dark and forsaken by my friends. Never have I made a greater mistake (that I can think of right now, at least). It would have been far more profitable for me to have run through the school like one possessed with the others.
I was walking slowly through a short-cut corridor I know (it's only there every second Friday between 6:35 and midnight; I timed it) when Potter jumped out at me. I very nearly screamed; only the knowledge that Professor McGonagall's office was very close by kept me silent. He must have been waiting for me, or for somebody, but he gave me the fright of my life (not literally, but still a fright).
"Oh, Evans, sorry-" began Potter sheepishly,
"Potter, what are you doing slinking around here like that!" I gasped.
"I was just waiting for Sirius-"
"Sirius Black is currently running to the common room at breakneck speed," I said tersely.
"Oh," was all he had to say. It was quite interesting to witness Potter at a loss for words. It doesn't happen very often, and when it does he looks quite pathetic.
"Well," I said, suddenly acutely aware that Potter was standing about three inches away and that we were in a dark and disused corridor, "I'll just be going then," for once I didn't even suggest that he go back to the common room, as per the rules. I made to walk around him, but he suddenly cleared his throat. I in my idiocy stopped and looked at him,
"What is it?" I asked, my voice strangely croaky,
"How did you like the performance?" he asked pointlessly. I could tell he was stalling for time, but I stayed on.
"It was good," I said, "A better idea than the chocolate drive, I suppose," I felt I needed to add something. To my surprised Potter went pink. I wondered absently if any other girl had managed to make Potter blush. Probably not. I felt oddly proud.
"Ah, yes, well…I suppose – I suppose I've haven't acted all that-"
"Maturely?" I supplied, cringing. I hadn't meant to say that! I hadn't meant to prolong this conversation at all!
"Well, yes.." he mumbled
"Neither – neither have I," I couldn't believe words that were coming out of my mouth! Had Sirius spiked my drink? Potter looked up from his study of the dusty floor, his eyes bright,
"Is – is this a real apology?" he asked in hushed tones. I opened my mouth for a sharp retort, but in one swift movement he covered my mouth with his fingertips. I felt my eyes widen. And I also felt, to my horror, a tingling feeling trace its way through my body from where his fingers rested on my lips. My heart thumped wildly and I couldn't breath, I could practically feel my insides tensing up, freezing up. I imagined what would happen if I didn't ever breath again. I'd just keel over dead, and they'd find Potter in the morning kneeling beside my stiffened corpse… He did not move, he seemed just as shocked as I did. I don't know how long we stood there, like that, frozen to the spot. Suddenly Potter came to his senses, and all colour drained from his face,
"I'm sorry…sorry," he choked out, and like a startled rabbit he dashed away and was gone. I stared after him like they do in the movies, and slowly crumpled to the ground, my mind numb with a thousand thoughts. I didn't sneak back to the common room until well after midnight.
I've just found out something I've been putting off for a long time now. Celine is going to have a field day.
Saturday 20th of December
It's raining outside. The droplets are making those fascinating little tadpole shapes that seemed to slither across the window in a constant stream. I could watch them all day. I am in a much more practical (relatively speaking) frame of mind than I was last night. This is partly because I am all alone, securely locked in my own train compartment on the Hogwart's Express, having told Celine and Tor I have Head Girl duties (only a small lie). I am sure that if I went out to face the world, and him, I would be a trembling bag of nerves and flesh. But now I have a whole two weeks of Christmas break to not be around school people, so I can relax and keep out of the despised Sister's way while maintaining a polite interesting in her nuptials for the sake of our dear mother.
And I can think about my predicament.
And what exactly is my predicament, you ask? Well, my mind is still divided on that point, and though I write so casually, I can assure you my mind is in turmoil over the matter. Perhaps last night was simply a hormonal reaction due to extreme proximity and tangled thoughts, because I mean, we didn't actually do anything. Ok, he made me feel all tingly and weak, (like the main character will feel in all good romance novels), but that could be put down to some kind of excess magical energy floating through that particular corridor, couldn't it? It could have been, but I have a nasty suspicion that it wasn't. Because when I saw him (from a distance) this morning at breakfast, my stomach clenched and I thought I was going to choke on my toast. And I wasn't offended by the messiness of his hair. I was endeared by it. This is what happens when you are attracted to someone, isn't it?
I really wouldn't know.
Perhaps I have some kind of terrible virus and only days to live. Actually, that's quite a good scenario, then I won't be coming back to school, and I won't be seeing him again…I just felt another pang at that thought. I can't bear the thought of never seeing him again. Merlin help me. I can't believe it just happened like that. How can you just realise one night in a corridor that you don't find someone an arrogant piece of filth, that you don't despise everything about them because you have principles. He didn't even say anything revolutionary. He didn't reveal his true and beautiful self, he didn't make any sentimental speeches. He didn't say anything worth hearing, for God's sake. He was just there.
That must be it.
He's must there, like he has been for every other girl he's ever gone out with. I must be finally seeing what everyone else woke up to long ago. I'm seeing him as all the other girls do. As a heart-throb, a boy any girl would give anything to go out with. This is probably just routine for him. A girl falls for his charm and looks (though these are questionable), goes out with him, gets dumped or dumps him, and that's the end of it. I'm just another feather in his cap. A feather he's been coveting for years, no doubt, but still only a feather liable to blow away. Even now he's probably telling his mates how he's finally getting somewhere with me. How he bets that I'll be dating him within the week. I'm starting to feel sick. What a silly little fool I am. I've always prided myself in my level-headedness and stability, and now look where it's got me. Going all fluttery over a boy I've been fighting with all year. Well, it ends here. I will not feel anything for JAMES POTTER, I will not go out of my way to be near him, and I will not even talk to him. It is better this way.
Well, will you look at that. In four short paragraphs, I have talked myself round. This diary really is an influence. Terribly sorry, Celine, your field day's been cancelled due to rain.