Author's note: Another update? Already? Am I mad? Hmm, maybe. Be grateful, leave nice reviews.

You know, Madam Pomfrey isn't the only one who is never around when you want her. As soon as I've resolved myself to speak to Remus Lupin, Remus Lupin is the one man I can't find anywhere. It's just good enough, and I'd tell him so if I ever found him to tell him so.

OK, so it took me long enough to come to this conclusion; I need to talk to someone about my... James problem. Ugh, that sounds terrible.

But anyway, Remus is the closest thing I have to a confidant, because at least I know that if I tell him something he'll listen to me and be understanding and most importantly, he won't tell James. Which is seriously the last thing I need right now.

So, now, I just need to find the slippery little were-, ahem, person. Yes. Pah.

- - - - - - - -

This is useless. I've spent the whole day in classes, so of course I've seen Remus, but it's not exactly the sort of conversation that you can have in the back of a charms class. And if that wasn't enough of an objection, then the fact that he's always, without exception, sitting with James and the other two reprobates, is another deterrent to me.

Oh, I'm feeling so frustrated. Frustrated that I'm feeling this way, frustrated that I'm finally coming to the decision that I need to come to a decision, frustrated that it's him I'm feeling frustrated about.

Frustration, it abounds. And stress, too.

Did I mention the stress?

Argh, this is no use. I can't even vent properly in here, because there is no appropriate written equivilent to the annoyed, irritated and yes, frustrated, noises I'm making.

I'm going to the library. At least it's quiet in there, unlike this common room, which is full of people far too happy for my liking. Not that I'm against people being happy, it's just rather opposite to how I'm feeling at the moment, and as such I'm jealous of them.

- - - - - - - -

I was right: it is nice and quiet in the library. It makes a change.

I've got a stack of books in front of me, but I'm being distracted from reading them by this diary. It's not doing my marks any favours, maybe, but at least it's helping my personal well being. Kind of. If you don't count being confused about James. Well, maybe that would have happened anyway, diary or no diary.

Oh, here comes trouble. I can't face this right now. I'm just going to hide behind this bookcase here.

What am I doing? How old am I? Three? I'm hiding from James Potter and company. That's the sort of thing you do at primary school. Not when you're my age. This is completely pathetic. I know this, and yet I'm still behind the bookcase, showing no hope of coming out until they've gone.

Figures.

Anyway, I don't want to write when I could be spying in a juvenile fashion through a gap in the books on the shelves, so I'm sticking this thing on record again.

There it goes, quill flicking away. Kind of hypnotic actually.

OK, ok, stop watching the quill. Focus on your new career as a top superspy.

"She's not here." That's James. He sounds kind of disappointed, poor thing. No, no, I did not just think that. Ignore that last comment.
"Told you, Prongs. You've scared her off, she's running away from you." The helpful and condolent tones of Sirius.
"Sirius..." There's my Remus, my rock. Playing the mediator, as usual. I can't see him from my vantage point behind the bookshelf, just James. Very convenient, I know, but I swear I didn't plan it that way. "I guess I knew she wouldn't be but... I can't help it Moony. It's getting worse." I can't help it either; my heart is going out to him. He looks so very sad.
"Aw, 'ickle Prongs has got his antlers in a twist." "Drop it, just..." That's a big sigh. "She won't meet me eyes anymore, you know. She used to. All the time. Now she just... looks at the floor. The wall. Anywhere. Anywhere but at me." I can see a hand, on James' arm. Looks like Sirius to me.

"I'm sorry, mate. You know I don't mean it." That has to be the most serious I've ever heard Sirius be. Really, ever.
"I know, I know." He looks tired. "I really... I don't know anymore."
"Maybe you've gone off her." That's the squeaky voice of Peter. "Are you going soft? James go off our Lily? There's more chance of Snivellus suddenly becoming attractive and setting up a charity for orphaned muggleborn wizards." I can see Sirius' attempt at humour doesn't lift James' spirits much.

"No, if anything I think I'm falling for her more. More and more every day. It's... oh, it's so frustrating!"

I feel a tightness in my chest, as he uses the same words to describe his own feelings as I did for mine earlier. It's almost as if he's describing how I'm feeling for him... No, no, stop it. You are not falling for James Potter, Lily Evans! Stop this ridiculous talk immediately!

"-not doing you any good to be telling us this, James. It's Lily who needs to hear it, not us." And I've tuned back in to Remus. "Hah." A very discouraged noise, accompanied by his hand running roughly through his hair. Not messing it up on purpose like he used to when he was younger; just a frustrated, tired young man who is venting his frustrations by combing his hair through with his fingers. It's endearing. "She wouldn't want to hear it."

"James-"
"No, Remus. It doesn't matter how many times you tell me. I think she's made herself clear enough in the past. Six years and I haven't got the message yet. I wonder if I ever will." More hair-ruffling. I'm trying desperately to squash the urge I'm getting to run my own hands through that jet black hair of his.

"Come on, James. There's no reason to stay here. You should get to bed." Another sigh. I seem to be causing him quite a few of those, and it hurts me to think that.
"OK. OK. I'm coming."

And there's a clatter and a scraping of chairs and a spell shoots from the doorway. A single book topples from the top of the stack that I'd left on the table and falls to the floor. I hear Peter's high-pitched laugh followed by four sets of receeding footsteps.

I'm fairly sure they've gone, after giving them a moment or so to clear the library. Now I'm picking up the fallen book, and replacing the stack on the trolley to be shelved. Even if no-one else cares about Madam Pince I certainly do. Poor woman. The books are her life and all the students ever seem to do is wind her up.

Now I guess I'll go back to the common room. I've suddenly lost all will to study. Or even pretend to study.

- - - - - -

There's no one in the common room. Every one has gone to bed, or is elsewhere in the castle. The Gryffindor fire is burning in the fireplace, and crackling in a soft and comforting manner, so I think I'll take a seat by it. It never fails to amaze me just how soft these chairs really are. You could sink into them and almost never be seen again.

The flames are dancing, giving off flickering tongues of light which play across the old surfaces of walls and ceiling in the common room. It's the perfect place, in the quiet of night, to think. And I there's no prizes for guessing what I'm thinking of.

Remembering gives me that funny tightness in my chest again. I think of James, lying up there in his bed, staring open-eyed at the ceiling. I can almost see his furrowed brow, his arm behind his head with one hand still tangled in his hair...

This is getting me nowhere but into more trouble. I can't not think of him, but at the same time I can't think about him either, because it only confuses me more. It would seem there's just no solution to this problem, not yet anyway.

I'm going to go to bed.

Wait - noise from the boy's staircase. It's James, and I know he hasn't seen me yet because he's still walking down the stairs in that slow and melancholy fashion. Ah, now he has, because he's stopped.

"Evans." He seems surprised to see me here. Well, I guess I wasn't here when he got back from the library a few minutes ago, so he has good reason. "I was just fetching a book."

I'm finding the carpet fascinating when I suddenly realise that he was right, what he said, back there in the library. I never do meet his eyes any more. Maybe I'm too scared. I wonder what I'm scared of, anymore.

"I was just going to bed." I'm making a concerted effort, but my eyes have still only found the wall behind him.

"Right. Well, ok."

Silence again. I'm not sure what kind. Then suddenly, suddenly there's a surge of confidence or something in me and I look up. I meet his eyes. They're grey, the sort of colour that you could imagine oceans being. And I feel like I could drown in them.

"Goodnight, James. Sleep well." He's just looking at me, and I'm just looking at him. I'm mesmerised, caught and captured by his stare and I don't think I could look away even if you paid me all the galleons in Gringotts.

"Goodnight Lily." His voice is soft, it feels like velvet to me. I don't know when it happened, but suddenly there's nothing else that matters, nothing else that exists. Just him; with his eyes, and his voice saying my name. "Pleasant dreams."

And then he turns away from me, picks up a book from the table and walks back upstairs. I thought, for a moment, that I heard him falter but he didn't stop. He didn't turn back. He just kept walking, until I couldn't hear anything anymore but the crackling of the fire and the echo of his voice in my head.

Now I'm standing here, shaking slightly. Reeling from the power of something I didn't want to acknowledge, but now I can't escape from.

Maybe there is a solution to all this. Maybe I just wasn't ready to consider it before.