Chapter 17
(A/N): Thanks for all the reviews!
To Pearbunny: I just reread my last chapter, and I agree; it was pretty "scattered". Confusing at times, I guess. Sorry. It's hard to get the perspective of each character when they're an ocean apart. I'll work on my "smoothness" more. Thanks for the constructive criticism!
To For Pink: Actually, I had been wondering about that too. Anyway, Lily's maiden name was written in an interview of J.K. Rowling's, along with other questions she answered (such as James' quidditch position) on www.scholastic.com, if I remember correctly.
Excuse the pointlessness of some parts in this chapter. I had to cure Writer's Block.
Disclaimer: I own the plot. Sherlock Holmes belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the want to read it comes from a friend of mine, who's very good at drawing and the flute (you know who you are).
*~*~*~*~*
Lily Evans, sitting in a deep chestnut colored chair, in an office of some sort, sighed deeply.
Personally, she didn't find the experience of coming to America remotely enjoyable.
The day hadn't started out very well. She had woken up half an hour after her alarm clock rang, thanks to her dorm mates. Her only clean blouse was crinkled from no ironing, which she hadn't the time to do. In her rush to get to breakfast, she had left her Mathematics textbook in her room. By the time she had gotten it back, breakfast was practically over. Someone spilled their milk onto her uniform, which she had charmed off. In her haste, she hadn't done a very good job of it, and there was a slight difference in the shades of green on the sweater she wore.
Then, some careless student had bumped into her, and as one of her pens dropped, it exploded, the ink getting all over her books.
So, there she was, sitting in the office of the school psychiatrist, whom all the exchange students were required to meet with once a week, in her two-toned green sweater, extremely crinkled yellow blouse, and plaid green pleated skirt, with blue ink splattered over the lower parts of it, and over her socks.
At the sight of her, the psychiatrist had to smile a bit.
With the sullen expression on her face, Lily Evans looked every bit like a six year old whose kite had just gotten chewed up by the neighbor's dog, rather than the seventeen year old that she was.
"Hello, Miss Evans," the psychiatrist, Mrs. Whittier, greeted, concealing a smile.
"Hi," she said shortly.
"Bad morning?" Mrs. Whittier asked.
"Yeah."
"Let it out, honey," Mrs. Whittier advised. "You'll feel much better."
Lily looked at the psychiatrist.
Mrs. Whittier was not the bad sort. In fact, she liked her pretty much. The woman was getting older, though. Gray streaked the wispy brown hair, crows' feet forming at her eyes. She wore brown all the time; today she was wearing a brown skirt and blouse, a brown hair clip holding her hair in a low ponytail.
Lily didn't mind seeing Mrs. Whittier once a week, but the psychiatrist seemed to be stuck somewhere back in the fifties'.
"I hate it here," Lily answered. "No offence to you, Mrs. Whittier, but the teachers here don't make it a challenging enough environment for me here."
"The students provide a challenge to you, don't they?" she asked. "After what you've told me, it's a challenge to adapt here."
"Well, that doesn't matter too much," Lily shrugged. "Social status isn't what bothers me. It's just that the teachers… they don't do a very good job. Their grading standards are much too low."
"Miss Evans, I don't mind you criticizing our school's teaching system, but," Mrs. Whittier sighed, "Lily, dear, you're young. You probably wouldn't understand-"
"Try me," she frowned.
Mrs. Whittier sighed again. "Well, some of the students here aren't quite up to your level. They aren't stupid, it's just that your standards are higher, so they seem… um, of lower IQ."
"But the teachers really should raise their standards," Lily protested. "It would produce better results on the students' parts, too."
"Lily…" Mrs. Whittier sighed for the third time. "Let's talk about something else. What do you think of your roommates?"
"I don't. And they don't think of me, either," she answered.
Mrs. Whittier frowned. "Lily, Lily, Lily. What am I going to do with you?"
"I'm guessing that's a rhetorical question," Lily drummed her fingers against the arm of the chair.
*~*~*~*~*
Mrs. Whittier smiled at James Potter.
The boy was a favorite of hers, for sure. Always filled with a spirit that many students lacked.
"Mornin', Helen," he greeted cheerfully, whistling some melody under his breath. "Oh- sorry. I meant 'Mrs. Whittier'."
Mrs. Whittier chuckled.
James Potter… he was about as different from Lily Evans as night was to day, but she had a sneaking suspicion… Well, best not to meddle with other people's lives. But the two were at each other's throats half the time, though when she talked to Lily, the girl always replied in short, sharp, answers, whereas James would describe the argument or prank to the last detail, usually in a cheerful voice, calling her by her first name, and whistling something-
Mrs. Whittier's eyes narrowed. "What'd you do to her this time?"
*~*~*~*~*
Lily flopped onto her bed, quite unhappy at the moment.
She had found that her Charms homework, which she had painstakingly rewritten after Christie handed it in as her own, had the ink running all the way down to the floor, staining the wall-to-wall carpeting with ink.
Actually, she had written it with a ballpoint pen, but someone, James, no doubt, had turned it into ink. There went five days of work.
At the moment, though, she didn't have the time to be angry with his little "prank". No, it was just a minor annoyance compared to what she had overheard.
One of the girls' sister had joined some cult in California (a/n: ever heard of Jim Jones?), and she was obviously quite distressed.
Sighing, Lily rummaged through her trunk until she found what she was looking for- an old shoebox, filled with index cards, pictures, letters, memos, practically whenever she had found herself with the desire to write, she scribbled it down and stuffed it in the box. Over the years it had grown, so she put a bottomless charm on it once she was accepted into Hogwarts. Whenever she was in a bad mood, reading one of the self-memos she had made always cracked a smile on her face. Once she met James, she read something out of the box nearly every day.
Picking up a yellow sticky-note, dated April 10th, 1967, she read, "Lily, DON'T READ THIS UNTIL YOU'RE SEVENTEEN!!!!!"
"I was one crazy six year old," she chuckled under her breath, unfolding it.
"Hi, Lily.
Just in case you ever forget what happened today, I'm writing a note to you. Petunia calls it a "memoranda", but I- you, me- have no intenshiun of lisening to her. Remember, NEVER, EVER, EVER, fall in love. Boys are icky, anyway, but Petunia says they're not. But we're not lisening to her, remember? Anyway, Tommy Murphy teased me- you, me, whatever- about my red hair today, and I said that I'd never forgive him. Then he said he was sorry, and would I be his girlfrend. Ick. When I said no, he got mad at me, and, well, he said that I was ugly and no one would ever like me anyway. Well, I don't like boys anyway, 'cause all they do is play in dirt and stuff. Meanie. But just remember, now that you're seventeen years old, and probably beutiful and smart, be sure to send a picture of yourself to him. Ha!
Your six year old self,
Lily."
Lily frowned. "Delusional," she muttered. "And a terrible speller, too."
Still… once she was back at Hogwarts, she'd be sure to snap a Polaroid.
*~*~*~*~*
"A pet rock?" James crinkled his nose, as a kid in first year- fifth grade, they called it? - showed him a small rock in a box.
The boy nodded. "Yeah. See this?" he pointed at a small red tinted part on his rock. "I think my rock got an injury in its past, but my Manual doesn't talk about First Aid. But it tells me how to teach it tricks. Wanna see it roll over?"
"O…kay."
The boy smiled. "C'mon, Rocky, roll over, roll over," he said, nudging the rock, which rolled a bit. "See?"
James stared at the rock blankly. "You just made it roll with your hand."
"No. See, let me show you another trick," the boy said. "Play dead, Rocky, play dead."
The rock lay still.
"Good Rocky!"
James groaned and walked out to the field outside, where a football game was taking place. Pet rocks? How desperate were these people?
*~*~*~*~*
Lily shivered.
Classes were over, and everyone had gone outside to watch some game, involving boys barbarically tackling each other for no apparent reason, while throwing some leather covered ball around, and tackling each other even more.
She had let her roommates drag her to the game, under the condition that she tutored them in muggle math, science, and history (lucky for her, they were covering the history of England, Britain, and France).
Personally, it didn't seem like she was gaining anything out of the deal, but she was half-asleep when they shook her awake at four in the morning, when they invited her to the game.
"I should have brought a coat," she muttered, kicking a clump of snow, and sitting down on a bench, zipping her jacket up more. "And a book."
"Ditto," a voice said behind her. "Minus the book."
She turned around to see the ever familiar face of James Potter. "What're you doing here?"
James shrugged. "Football. Had a muggle friend who ranted on and on about it back home, so I decided to come and see for myself. Didn't expect them to play in the sleet and snow, though."
Lily raised an eyebrow. This coming from the Quidditch captain who worked his team like horse and trainer?
"You're one to speak," she muttered as she hugged herself to keep warm. "You play in all weather conditions. Last time, in fifth year, there was a blizzard outside, and your team still didn't come in to stop playing."
"Well, that's different," his voice taking a defensive tone. "Quidditch is… important."
Lily rolled her eyes.
"So, what book would you have brought?"
She turned around to face him again. "Excuse me?"
"You said that you should have brought a book," he shrugged. "I'm curious to know which one."
*~*~*~*~*
Pointless questions.
The fourth best way to annoy Lily Evans, James knew.
She would always answer, but she'd act annoyed. Her answers were always something he would probably answer himself, he'd noticed, as Sirius had pointed out in third year. A past time of his was to guess what her answer would be. And his guess was…
"The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes," she answered. "By Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Exactly.
James nodded. "Why?"
"Because…" Lily shrugged. "Actually, I don't know. Why?"
"No reason," he stared straight ahead. After a pause, he said, "Hardcover or paperback?"
*~*~*~*~*
James Potter wasn't her first choice company, but he was better than none.
Lily smiled, in spite of herself, then answered softly, "Hardcover."
It wasn't as if she enjoyed his company, far from that, but whenever they did speak, on civil terms, it was usually a thought-provoking conversation.
"Really? I would have chosen paperback," he said, a hint of amusement in his voice.
A smile tugged at the side of her mouth. "And why, Mr. Potter, is that?"
"Because, Miss Evans," he took a seat on the bench next to her, "My hardcover copy is back at home."
Lily rolled her eyes. Quite like him to say that. Turning back to the game, she stared at the small clump of trees just beyond the field, some snow falling off of it, as a small bird flew away.
"Lots of snow here, isn't there?" he asked, following her gaze.
"Actually, I was thinking of the bird," she replied. "I'm surprised. Usually, you know everything I'm thinking."
"I'm perceptive, not psychic," he said, standing up, brushing off the snow on his jacket.
"Could have fooled me," she murmured. Over the years, she had discovered he could predict ever word that came out of her mouth. Annoying, it was. Several times in the past, he had proven his point by saying her answer before she did.
A whistle blew out of nowhere, announcing half time of the game.
"Cold, are you?" he asked suddenly, noticing her shivering.
"Very," she said absent mindedly, watching as Christie and Amanda, her roommates, giggle and twirl their hair like airheads as the football players came their way. So America wasn't that different from England.
"Why don't you do the logical thing, like me, and go inside for hot chocolate?" James' voice stirred her from her thoughts.
She tilted her head. "Is that an invitation?"
"It is indeed," he offered a hand.
Lily smiled, a rare thing, for James. "I do believe I'll take you up on that offer," she smiled, taking the hand.
"So," James said, as they walked over to the cafeteria, "Why hardcover?"
*~*~*~*~*
Peter Grismire closed his eyes.
She was in the cafeteria, with Potter, drinking hot chocolate, though they weren't talking. Working on essays and reading, was more like it.
At least they weren't screaming at each other.
Albus would be happy about that. Voldemort would be happy about that. The two were worth more together, the two worked better together.
Still, he was supposed to "expect the unexpected"; it was his job there. A curveball could be thrown at him at anytime, and he had to anticipate it.
And those two spent way too much time in the library. If they grabbed hold of records, documents, or yearbooks there…
Peter let out a slow breath. No matter. There was a highly unlikely chance they'd find out anyway. Just as long as he didn't let them know too much about himself, everything would be fine.
Just fine.
*~*~*~*~*
Lily tapped her pen on the notebook paper.
Professor Minten was in a bad mood today, she'd noted.
Not that he was ever in a good mood, but today… He'd said, "Quiet, quiet, shut up, will you?" to Tommy Hughes, the quiet kid that always sat in the back of the class to avoid questions when he had pointed out that the equation on the board had an error to it.
And now…
"Your cat ate it? YOUR CAT ATE IT?! What do you think I am, a gullible idiot? I assigned this last week. You had seven days to work on it. There is no excuse for this!"
Christina blushed. "Um, no. Actually, my roommate has it," she said, rushing over to Lily. "She has it, sir."
*~*~*~*~*
James looked up.
Evans could never say "no" to that. Christie Miller was persuasive, and could put up a good act.
"Miss Evans? Is this true?" Professor Minten strode up to her, so there were two people crowding up at her desk.
"I-I-I- um, I…"
Pathetic, really. Lily wasn't a spineless person who was trampled on by others, otherwise he wouldn't have picked her as an enemy in first year.
So why did this new environment turn her into a spineless wimp?
He didn't know.
"Miss Evans?" Obviously Minten wanted more out of her. Like a confession.
"Well, sir, I… I-I…" Stuttering. Evans was stuttering, something he was sure she would never have done back in England. What was it that changed her so much here?
"She took it, sir," Christie continued. "All my hard work, in the past seven days, she took it all."
Was Minten really that gullible? Lily could have finished that entire essay in an hour. Actually, half an hour. They had been going over it the day before in the cafeteria, and it was definitely a good essay.
Christina was good, she knew exactly who to blame, didn't she?
Minten turned to Lily. "Miss Evans?"
"I have proof, sir!" Christie whipped out her notebook, one that looked an awful lot like Lily's. "The handwriting matches mine. Not hers."
She pointed at the notes on Lily's notebook. Slanted, narrow, loopy cursive on the essay, and a rounded print on the notes.
So Miller was good at handwriting charms.
*~*~*~*~*
Professor Minten snatched the essay away from her.
"Miss Evans, I am disappointed in you. I thought you would have known better than to cheat off of Christina. A detention is in order for this misbehavior."
"But sir, that's my essay!" she stood up. "Christina has no idea about the differences between muggle and magical math, let alone their history from their origins. Ask her."
Professor Minten frowned. "Miss Evans, this isn't your handwriting-"
"Yes, it is! How can you compare script with print? Besides, I was just working on this yesterday, you can ask-" she started, broken off by a disbelieving professor.
"You finished all this work in one day?" he sneered. "Miss Evans, an essay of this length would require extensive research, not a last minute's work."
"It did," Lily shrugged. "I had the same essay in fifth year."
"Do you mean to say," Minten glared at her, "that we are giving you too easy work, here?"
"No, sir. It's just that it is my essay. I finished it yesterday, just ask Potter," she replied.
The math teacher sighed, and glanced at the other student. "Mr. Potter?"
"She was working on it, sir," he answered.
Professor nodded. "Very well, very well. I'll take your word on it," he turned to Christie. "Miss Miller? Two detentions."
Christina opened her mouth to protest, but instead, she stormed to her seat and hissed at Lily, "Thanks a lot, Evans."
*~*~*~*~*
"May I join you?"
Lily looked up from her lunch tray to see Peter.
"Yeah, sure," she shrugged.
"Quite a drama back there in class, wasn't it?" he asked.
He was referring to the little argument in muggle math class. Apparently, she was the first person to ever argue with Professor Minten. Or even Christie, for that matter.
"Hmm," she studied the salt shaker. "Not really."
"So your life is generally this exciting?" Peter raised an eyebrow.
Interesting salt shaker. The small grains of white were practically sparkling, like the snow outside, and the glass reflected her face. It was-
"Lily? I asked you a question."
"Interesting salt shaker," she said aloud. "Don't you think?"
Peter stared at her. Great, now he thought she was weird.
"Never mind," she blushed. She didn't need her one alliance in the school to think she was addled in the brain.
"So," Peter quickly changed the subject, "I saw you at the football game. Not exactly your scene, I don't think."
"Christie and Amanda dragged me there," she explained, continuing to study the salt shaker.
"So, interesting salt shaker, huh?" Peter grinned.
*~*~*~*~*
For the next few days, Lily and James didn't talk much to each other.
Aside from an occasional glance, they didn't make any eye contact at all. Still, a little while after the "drama" in the math class, Lily gained some sort of recognition among the students, some respect.
Christie, of course, wasn't too happy about it, but she wasn't worried about it.
James, on the other hand, who was still more popular by far, became more observant of people and the school, and disappeared into the library for hours at a time, as did Lily. In fact, they often bumped into each other there, though they hardly exchanged any words.
If one wanted to find him, he could be found poring over books in the History of the School section of the library, whereas she could have easily been found in the Records and Histories of Early Dark Arts section.
Why these two sections of the library, no one was sure, but nobody seemed to care. Nobody, that is, except for Peter Grismire.
*~*~*~*~*
Albus Dumbledore frowned.
An envelope was clutched in his hand, with the seal of the Minister of Magic. Lately, the Minister had been writing to him constantly about the Voldemort hysteria.
Dumbledore's clear blue eyes seemed to grow misty as he remembered the past few days, during which the Ministry had contacted him six times, four times the Minister of Magic himself.
No progress, apparently, on the subject of Voldemort and his followers. The students of Hogwarts were receiving owls that carried the news of deaths of their families even more frequently, most of the deaths involving the relatives of the sixth, seventh, and first years.
Albus didn't believe, as the Ministry seemed to, that the deaths were randomly picked. Tom Riddle had always had a reason for everything. There was a pattern there, they just had to find it.
He slit the envelope open, finding a letter, wrapped around another envelope, the familiar black envelope that brought news of death.
His eyes scanning the letter, the Headmaster's eyes grew bleak, as he whispered, "No, it can't be."
Reading on, his eyes closed, as he seemed to take it all in. He sighed heavily, and said, "Minerva?"
In the room next to him, the door swung open, and the taut faced professor appeared. "Yes, Albus?"
"Contact the Salem School of Magic," he instructed firmly. "For the return of Lily Evans and James Potter. Immediately."
Professor McGonagall looked slightly shocked. "Albus…?"
"I must owl this… letter," Dumbledore said gravely.
*~*~*~*~*
Lily glanced up from her breakfast table, where a tawny owl was flying in, close to her.
The owl landed next to her, and ruffled its feathers importantly, nudging her and nodding at the black envelope tied to its leg.
"It's a letter," she said, in disbelief. Weren't the exchange students forbidden to receive mail?
James glanced at it. "That's the Ministry seal," he said slowly, meaning the dark, blood red seal on the back.
Lily frowned, and slowly slit the envelope open.
"Well?" James asked, knowing what news a black envelope usually carried.
Lily's eyes, after scanning the letter, slowly met his and then…
She dropped into a dead faint.
*~*~*~*~*
(A/N): Oooh, dramatic. Hmm, it probably isn't my best, but it can't be the worst.
Anyway, that's what I'd like to know.
Please r/r, and tell me your favorite chapter so far, and your least favorite chapter so far, and the reason.
To Come: Well, it's rather obvious, isn't it? What happens to Lily, the letter's contents (which are rather obvious, in my opinion), and Leslie.
Sorry, if this chapter seems pointless. I was suffering from severe writer's block.