DISCLAIMER: I do not own the characters of the honourable J.K Rowling

The Truth

SWEET SEVENTEEN AND A PARTY TO REMEMBER

Wednesday 24th of December (Christmas Eve!)

The first think that Petunia soon-to-be-Dursley said to me at six o'clock last Saturday night when I turned up on our doorstep dressed in my oldest jeans and sweater was,

"Oh, God, it's you. Quick, Vernon's here, go up to your room and don't come down-"

"I've met Vernon before, dearest," I interrupted sweetly (I was feeling quite jolly at the time), "I'm sure he won't mind a few more-"

"Yes, but that was before he found out that you're a – a-" she couldn't quite bear to say it,

"A witch?" I supplied helpfully, "So you told him, then?"

"Yes-" But then my mother arrived on the scene.

"Lily," she gushed, "How are you? Oh, Pete, our head-girl is home!" she called over her shoulder before wrapping me into an affectionate, if a little bony, hug. I buried my head in her angular shoulder and began to feel quite sentimental. The despised sister stood to one side, scowling deeply and making impatient little clicking noises with her tongue. My mother grasped my arm in her thin hands and propelled me into the kitchen, Petunia trailing sulkily behind.

"How's my girl, then?" asked my father, who was sitting at the table talking to Vernon (who looked at me with the kind of dazed horror one might look at a pile of sliming green mucus that had suddenly grown legs and arms). Grinning, I gave dad a kiss on the cheek and pulled up a chair beside him. My dad looks a lot like me; he has the same red hair and greens eyes, but of course the resemblance is a bit hard to see since he has a big bushy red beard at the moment. My mum is always remarking proudly that it's a miracle his beard is still red. My mum's hair's gone grey, is why. But it doesn't make much difference, because my mother's hair has alway's been a mousy non-colour. Like Petunia's. I like to think that mum was unfortunate enough to inherit Petunia's looks, not the other way round. But it's what's on the inside that counts, and besides, at least mum doesn't look like a horse. Petunia does, as Celine remarked at her first D.S encounter. That was back in the Easter holidays of our first year. Celine had come over to watch the World Cup, and Petunia answered the door, (she nearly choked when she realised that Celine was holding a six-foot broomstick and wearing a pointy fluoro-pink witch's hat).

"Hello, you must be Petunia!" said Celine brightly, "I'm Celine, pleased to meet you!" (She'd been dying all year to meet my sister. God knows why). Petunia, incapable of normal speech, screeched,

"Lily!" until I came hurtling down the stairs, fearing some kind of horrific accident. Though the arrival of eleven-year-old Celine Varaten on anyone's doorstep might be considered an accident to most people, it defiantly wasn't horrific, so I calmly invited her in. Rather than being perturbed my Petunia's frightful behaviour, Celine took it as a type of challenge. She spent ages trying to have a sensible conversation with the girl, but I could have told her there was no point. There was simply no way Petunia was going to accept one of my 'freak friends' from 'that school' as a human being, (of course in Celine's case she might have had an argument). Later, when the D.S had retreated to her room, almost in tears, (after Celine's decision to call her 'Pet' as a nick-name, to get things more friendly don't you know) Celine had said,

"You're sister looks like Mr Donaldson from down the road's old pony Sclub," Never having met Mr Donaldson or his Sclub, I couldn't really relate, but it is certainly  true that Petunia has certain long, horsy qualities that are becoming more prominent as she gets older.

Anyway, now it's Christmas Eve, and I have spent the last few days catching up with mum and dad, avoiding the bride to be and decorating the Christmas tree. I got a letter from Celine stating that she would be coming round on my birthday and a letter from Tory asking my permission to come round on my birthday. I've been having a good time really, apart for the Vernon factor. I mean, I can deal with utmost contempt from a family member, but I'm having trouble dealing with a terrorised six-foot two non-relative with a moustache. Just think, soon we will be legally brother and sister in law. I guess I'm just not used inspiring so much fear in anyone over the age of fourteen.

Christmas Greetings to ye,

Lily

Friday 26th of December

'Tis the season to be jolly! Falalalala lalalala! Christmas was fabulous. All my cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents et cetera came over for this huge party. I have some pretty wild nineteen to twenty-year-old male cousins with fancy cars and illegal fireworks. It's amazing how much people can change when you haven't seen them for a while. We had a traditional turkey for dinner, and it snowed, and we all went out and had a massive snow-ball fight in the garden (except Nan, who doesn't approve of that kind of thing). I was in such a good mood that I didn't aim one cool or sickly sweet comment at either of the soon-to-be-weds

Saturday 27th of December

I

Am

Seventeen

I have been seventeen for four and a nine and a half hours now, and have enjoyed every second of it, even though I am no sweet. In a year's time I'll be an adult (in the muggle world). In a year's time I'll be out of school. Will I end up an auror like I said I would in fifth year, when I was all fired up about the rise of the Dark Lord? You never can tell. At nine o'clock this morning Tory and Celine arrived smack bang on time, because they (already being seventeen) have taken their apparition tests. The Despised Fiancé (shall now be D.F), nearly had heart failure when my two best friends appeared with resounding cracks (they were still fine-tuning their technique) in our living room. The D.S, already having failed to wish me a happy birthday, treated Celine and Tor to her nastiest scowl. Never one to be put out, Celine wished her a merry Christmas (not forgetting to call her 'Pet') and introduced herself to Vernon with an enthusiasm that astounded everyone. Tory smiled shyly and looked worried when Vernon gave her a look of blind terror. I suppose she'd forgotten that she had an extremely realistic looking magical tree-frog toy bouncing merrily around the brim of her hat. But other than that, she looked quite 'normal'. I don't know what the D.F was so hung up about. My friends, considerate to the last, had donned the stuffiest of muggle clothing they could find. Tory was dressed in brand-new jeans and an inoffensive cream sweater, and Celine had on school-uniform-like pleated skirt, blouse and stockings (I was highly amused at the idea of Queen Celine in stockings. Highly amused.). They came bearing gifts, and in ten minute's time I was the proud owner of a copy of Charm Your Ears of and Hex Your Guts Out by Helena Seedly, a box of my favourite chocolates, a friendship bracelet with our names engraved on it, and a wonderful little model of a unicorn that walks around and neighs (A pet you don't have to feed! It said on the label). After that, the D.S and the D.F got out of the house fairly quickly, telling my mother they had people to see about the wedding. She got that sad look on her face that she always gets when she's thinking about the rift between Petunia and I, but she soon perked up when she saw Celine. My mother loves Celine, almost as if she were her own daughter. She also loves Tory, but Tory isn't someone she can spend hours talking about the making of choc-chip cookies to. So while Celine and Mum were having their little heart-to-heart catching-up Lily-hasn't-got-a-boyfriend-has-she talk, Tor and I went up to my room where we sat and chatted. She fiddled with the scant muggle technology that I possessed while I braided her hair (it's absolutely wonderful hair to braid. So straight, so thin). We talked about many things, from the latest hurdle in the romance of Elizabeth-Charlotte Teanly to the small doings of Tory's twin brothers, Albert and Andrew, who on Christmas day decorated their muggle-uncle George's car with toilet paper and exploding spit-balls (manufactured at Zonko's Jokeshop, Hogsmeade). Finally the conversation, as I knew it would, turned to James Potter, a topic I didn't want to pursue (The resolution I made on the Hogwart's express still stands, but his fat head keeps appearing in my mind's eye when I'm not concentrating. It's disgusting!) Tory, either oblivious to my discomfiture or enjoying it, ploughed on,

"Do you know, when we were on the Hogwarts Express, and you had head-girl duties, Potter came to sit with us-"

"How come?" I asked, trying to sound casual,

"Well that was the odd thing, he seemed a bit lost-"

"Potter? Lost? I don't think-"

"I think he was looking for you," she said without the slightest change in tone,

"He's always looking for me, Tor," I said, smiling triumphantly, thinking I had the answer to everything. But that's the problem with Tory, she hears a lot of what you don't say. A horribly perceptive young lass. But luckily, before she could dig any further, Celine arrived with impeccable timing,

"Hi," she smiled, "Do you two want to go ice-skating with Joey?" Tor gave her a blank look. She had never met Joella Evans. There are some people who would say she's lucky on that count.

"You know, Lily's cousin – oh yeah, you wouldn't have met her-"

"She's my cousin from Scotland, she's twelve, and she's staying up here for a week. She probably just got out of bed," I interrupted, "She loves ice-skating,"

"So do I!" Celine enthused, "You know that I-"

"Like Muggle sports, yes," finished Tory, "I'd like to go too."

So we spent the rest of the day running ourselves ragged and generally having fun. Despite what I said before, I'm not one of the people who wishes they hadn't met Joey. I love her dearly, though she's as bouncy as a Tigger, and like a Tigger, it's very hard to unbounce her. But she's good value. She keeps up and she's quite at home with three seventeen-year-olds, two of whom she barely knows (though I suppose if you've met Celine once then you do know her). This would be absolute torture for some twelve-year-olds I know. Joey is obviously an Evans, she has the same green eyes as me, and my father and her father, Uncle Tim. She's also a great skater, and was running rings around all of us, especially Tory, who's never done it before.

After skating, we bought ice-creams and wandered around the neighbourhood a bit, just talking and laughing. When Celine and Tory finally left, I was tired but happy, and am at this moment finding it hard to lift my quill.

So for now, I bid you adieu, Dearest Diary, until another day.

Saturday 3rd of December

Last night I went to my first ever wizarding party and it was an….experience. To say the least. It was at Celine's house – and held by her sister Miranda in honour of her eighteenth Birthday, (Though I'm quite sure half the guests had no knowledge of this). Celine appeared at my house at six o'clock on Thursday night, scared the living daylights out of the D.F, and announced that I was coming to her sister's costume party and that she would pick me up at seven-thirty sharp the next night. She would have disappeared without my getting a word in edgeways, too, if I hadn't grabbed her by the arm and forced her to explain in full. Once she realised she was not going to get away quickly (Her urgency made me wonder just exactly where young Toby was at that moment), she was quite happy to comply. Apparently, Mr and Mrs Varaten were away on holiday in America, and were not expected back for weeks, so Miranda, never one to give the perfect opportunity a miss, had decided to invite everyone she knew, and quite a few people she didn't, to the party of a life time. She had hired DJ's, decorations, lights and expanding spells for the house, and as Celine told me, I just had to come. Fully aware that Miranda Jane Varaten was something of a wild child and that I probably had no idea what I was getting myself into, I agreed readily, glad to get away from the hateful love-birds (It is unpleasant to witness your sister kissing anyone full stop. To see her kissing Vernon Dursley is another matter entirely).

So at seven-thirty sharp, there I was waiting out my house in ankle deep snow, with no clue as to how I was to be 'picked up'. (You see, I still haven't done my apparating tests yet). It was a tremendous shock when the cloudy night was suddenly filled with a strange roaring noise, like some kind of engine. A motorbike engine, actually. Yes, believe it or not, I travelled to the party of Miranda Varaten on the back of a giant flying motorbike owned by Sirius Black. As I was told later on, Sirius Black had taken his GFMB (I don't know how he got permission to own that machine. The Ministry of Magic must be corrupt) to Toby's father (who's a mechanic) to get it fitted with something (some kind of muggle device he couldn't get hold of in the wizarding world). Unfortunately, Toby's father wasn't there, so then Black and Toby had some kind of male bonding session whilst figuring out how to fix the bike, and are now all chummy. Black 'is quite a sporting fellow once you get to know him', and Toby 'isn't half bad, for a Hufflepuff'. Funny old world, isn't it?

So that is why Black agreed to transport Celine, Toby and I to the party. He arrived with his usual grin (This time enhanced by the very life-like vampire fangs he was wearing for his costume), and bade me mount up behind the other two. It was a tight squeeze, and highly dangerous, but it was the only way I was going to get to the party (you would have thought Celine could've stayed home and saved space, but she had to be in on the fun). I clung to Celine's waist in mortal fear as the vehicle rose into the air and the startled faces of my family looking out the window got smaller and smaller. I wondered what the muggles would say if they saw us, but Black breezily brushed off my qualms, saying it was too dark to see anything and they'd just think the noise was a low-flying aeroplane. By the time we got to Celine's place I was actually beginning to enjoy the ride. When we got off, Black put some kind of charm on the bike to make it invisible and led the way toward the house, his long black vampire's cape twirling around him. The house was truly spectacular. Though they couldn't have much magic on the outside, the awe inspiring amount of fairy lights that adorned every available space would have astounded any muggle. We met Tory on the garden path, where she was fluttering around anxiously, not wanting to go in before we were there to accompany her. After Sirius strode off in search of the Birthday Girl (they had dated briefly during his sixth year), the four of us stood on the path for a while, recovering from the flight and comparing costumes. Celine was dressed in a silver cat-suit, matching cat's ears that twitched every now and again, a long silvery tail, a black nose and a pair of whiskers. It suited her; there's always been something rather feline about Celine (The way she moves or something). You had to smile at young Toby, too, wearing a full polar-bear suit that made him look twice as tall as usual, and inhumanly thin. Draping a paw around Celine's shoulders, he said,

"She's with me," in a growling bear-voice. I laughed, anyway. Tory, as was appropriate, was dressed as an angel, with fluffy wings and her wonderful tranquil smile. I'd gone for the traditional fairy-princess look, and felt utterly ridiculous in my floaty mauve skirt, sequinned bodice and golden tiara (my mother's suggestions, of course). I consoled myself with Tory's words, 'You look beautiful, Lily, like a flittering fairy!' That girl always knows the right thing to say.

So we entered the building and greeted Miranda appropriately (it took a bit to find her, she was already dancing exuberantly with Sirius Black). Miranda looks a lot like Celine, yet she doesn't. While Celine is slim and long, Miranda is short and stocky, with short black hair to Celine's long red. But they have the same face, or the same expression. Celine's quirky grin is mirrored in her older sister's .

"Hi Lily! Haven't seen you around for a while!" she yelled over the hubbub of party-goers. And it truly was a hubbub, or perhaps a seething mass of bodies, even. The Varaten's lounge room had been expanded to about ten times it's original size, and had been rendered unrecognizable with magical decorations. The room was mainly dark, except for the frequent fire-works and unidentified flying magical creatures that shot around above our heads. The music (if it could be classified as music) was loud, wild, and raucous and I hoped from the beginning that there would be some slow numbers. For a while Tory and I stuck together while Celine and (a reluctant) Toby boogied down. We edged towards the walls at what seemed like a snail's pace, unable to make headway through the dancers. That was when I lost sight of Tory (no mean feat since she had fixed her clothes to radiate some kind of constant heavenly glow), and began to feel quite claustrophobic. All around me people were writhing in time to the music, and although I knew that many of them were fellow students from my year and the previous one, they were indistinguishable under their costumes. And it was hot. Very hot. Miranda had obviously forgotten to get air conditioning. I could feel my face heating up under it's layers of glitter and make-up, and my throat grew parched and sore. I cursed myself for bringing nothing to tie my hair back from my sweaty neck. So there I was, standing nervously in the crowd, on the point of fainting, when I caught sight of James Potter dancing a few metres a way. And so I had no choice but to put myself at the mercy of the enemy, for he was the only person I recognised. So with a sinking feeling in my stomach and a blister on my right foot, I battled my way over to him. He was dancing with Lina Matherson, and he didn't have a shirt on. He was wearing an animal costume like Toby's, but only the bottom half of it held up by suspenders. Clawed feet didn't seem to hinder him at all as he whirled Lina around. As I had feared, the sight of him made me feel just as fluttery as it had before we broke up from school. I tried not to look at his bare, shiny chest as I croaked out,

"I…need…water," This was not the smoothest thing to say, but I was feeling sick. Potter turned around to look at me, wiping his glasses clean as he did. When he saw who I was, he blushed. I guess both of us were remembering the disused-corridor incident.

"What's wrong?" he asked, and I repeated my previous inspired statement. I must have been looking quite pathetic, because he understood exactly what I meant.

"Follow me, then," he said, without, I noted with satisfaction, a second glance at Lina. Suddenly, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled be against him. I nearly passed out. My protests were futile, too, for he seemed to have gone temporarily deaf as he dragged me inexorably after him, the crowd parting automatically as he swept by. Finally we reached a glass side-door, and hurriedly disengaging myself, I lurched outside, gasping in the cold night air. Unfortunately, Potter didn't seem to feel his duty was quite done yet.

"I'll get you a drink," he said, and disappeared into the crowd. I thought about rushing back off by myself, since I was feeling much better, but knew I'd just get lost again.

"Here," said Potter, materialising in front of me, "Why didn't you just apparate out of there?" Not deigning this question worthy of an answer, I snatched the water from him and gulped it down.

"Thanks," I muttered. We stood there for while, not saying anything. I wished he would just go away, because I was pretty sure that my heart would explode in a very messy way with much more of this. What right did he have to stand there half-naked, staring at me like that?

"What did you come as?" asked my stupid mouth.

"Oh, Wormtail – I mean Peter and I came as a Griffin, but it got too hot. I'm the bottom half," he said eagerly. I nodded carefully,

"Well, thanks. I'll just go find Tor-"

"Don't think you owe me at least one dance?" he asked quickly, before I could escape. Ah, there. I knew it was coming. I managed to get my lips to form the word 'No', but he'd already whisked me back into the broiling heat. Typically, the next song was slow. With a look of (slightly drunken, I think) ecstasy on his face, Potter put his arms around my waist and began to dance. I had no choice, because any word of protest I spoke was drowned out by the music,

"Love the costume, Evans," shouted Potter, looking more like his old self, "Very sweet-"

 "Shutup!" I bellowed, finding my voice, and my anger (which helped me think anti-potter thoughts),

"No, I'm serious-"

"How did you get invited to this?"

"I'm bloody popular-"

"No, you're bloody arrogant-"

"Yes – but I can't help it-"

"Anyone can make some effort-"

"I'm not just anyone-"

"No, you're-"

"I'm-"

"James Potter," I said, glaring at him (while at the same time suppressing the urge to brush his hair out of his eyes). That shut him up until the end of the dance, though I would have preferred it if he was smirking flirtatiously instead of wearing that strange, distant, unpotterish smile on his face.

So we continued to dance (by dance I mean sway slightly and move around a bit; I've never been into the whole dance-floor thing), my heart continued to beat wildly, and I continued to wish that I had taken that apparition test the second I turned seventeen. My party experience came to a rather startling halt as the last 'notes' rang out across the room and I sprang away from Potter as quickly as was humanly possible. Several things happened in quick succession (you need to understand that over half the people in the room were at least mildly intoxicated at this point). First, a feral roar erupted from somewhere in the middle of the room causing the masses to become silent, second, a loud thump was heard with astonishing clarity and everyone started shouting and screaming almost simultaneously. And then Sirius Black came bounding through the crowd, grinning manically and dragging behind him – wait for it – Tory. 

"We gotta go, Prongs," he said to Potter, "Now," To my surprise, Potter didn't ask any questions, he just took one look at Black's face and began to follow him and Tory out the door. I stood alone and forgotten. Suddenly it dawned on me that without Sirius I had no way to get home.

"Hey!" I yelled, as a large beefy boy, dressed as Tarzan, pushed past me and lumbered after them. Turning my back on the mayhem behind me (several fist-fights had started after Sirius' dramatic exit), I hurried into the now snow-laden garden and made for Tory's shimmering figure (I then realised I'd lost my jacket, but by that point I could do nothing about it). Being fleeter of foot than Tarzan, I overtook him (he was too drunk to notice), and called out to the others. By the time I got there Sirius had uncloaked his bike and was whispering urgently to Potter,

"…you'll be fine mate, nothing to it…" I looked around at Tory, but she was watching Tarzan coming up behind us and wringing her hands. From the traumatized look on her face, I decided that now was not the time to ask what had happened. Everyone suddenly noticed me,

"Evans," said Sirius in surprise, his fake teeth falling out on to the ground, "Er, sorry, forgot about you-"

"You bring Evans, did you Padfoot?" said Potter, glancing nervously at the advancing Tarzan (he still had his shirt off and it had begun to snow gently).

"Yeah," said Sirius, who looked as if he had lost control of the situation, "Uh, all aboard then," he said vaguely.

"GET BACK HERE, BLACK!" Tarzan was nearly upon us,

"Quick,"

"What about Celine and Toby?"

"They won't fit anyway,"

"Gee, Padfoot, I've never driven this thing before-"

"Oh, he's coming,"

"Potter, you'll get frostbite,"

"Quick,"

So we all piled onto the vehicle, squashed up and freezing with Potter driving because Black said he was too drunk (at least he was honest), and we were away. And not a moment too soon. As we roared away into the night, a purple-faced, orange loin-clothed Tarzan (and motley group of drunkards who had smelt out the fight) stood shaking fists and bellowing incoherently.

We didn't talk for the whole trip. I guess we were all lost in our own thoughts. I was going to ask what had happened, but I suddenly felt really tired and only managed to get out a belated 'thanks' as Potter zoomed away, carrying an almost swooning Black to wherever if is that Black lives. Slowly removing my crumpled fairy wings, I trudged back home to discover that it was four o'clock. Boy, does the time fly when you're having fun.