Mornings are certainly over-rated. Especially ones where you have to go to classes, and be told for the three-hundredth time that your NEWTs are looming ever closer. Especially when you're told that you should be revising in every spare second you have, when I've been lucky to even pick up my spell books twice this last week.

I wish I could blame someone else for my apathy, but it's not going to happen. I know that it's no-one's fault but my own. I've just been avoiding it. I've taken long walks around the grounds, I've stared out of the windows at the trees, I've read almost all of those muggle fiction books that my parents sent me on my birthday. Anything is more interesting than revision, it seems.

What makes it even worse, if that's possible, is that other people are revising. And not just any other people; James and Sirius. I saw them, just yesterday, in the library. They had notes out on the table, books stacked up next to them, and they were studying. Quietly.

Help, my world is falling apart. Nothing is as we knew it to be. The apocalypse must be coming.

Or something like that.

- - - - - - - - -

You know what I've found interesting? Witches and wizards don't seem to have the same affinity for fiction that muggles do. Stories exist, but you don't find whole bookcases full of books in magical families like you would in a muggle house. Probably because 'fantasy', as a muggle knows it, is just a history text. Or a textbook, even. The 'non-fiction' section in Hogwarts library is pretty much full of books that would only belong in the 'fiction' section in a muggle library. Our 'fiction' section is two shelves long, one of which is populated solely with the comic anthologies of 'The Adventures of Marvin, the Mad Muggle', which I think were only bought under false pretenses that they could be useful for the Muggle Studies students.

Here's something I found even more shocking; most wizards and witches have never heard of muggle classics, like Charles Dickens, Leo Tolstoy and Jane Austen. How can a self-respecting girl have grown up not knowing the beauty that is Pride and Prejudice? OK, so I watched the film first. But still. The point is there.

Any witch who hasn't heard of Mr Darcy is clearly missing out. Maybe I should campaign to include him in the Hogwarts curriculum.

- - - - - - - - -

I've just been reading back my last few entries. I'm even writing in my diary now to avoid revision, it would seem. Maybe if I got out of my room, something more exciting would happen to me. I am supposed to be seeing James this afternoon.

Since our evening walk to the North Tower, I've been a bit nervous around James, though I can't quite put my finger on why. Having an invisibility cloak is such a huge secret to have kept for six years, especially for someone who loves (or used to love, at any rate) bragging about stuff. It makes me wonder if I've been underestimating his character for quite some time, which in turn leads me to wonder what the other secrets are that he's keeping from me. I don't want to think that it's anything wrong, or bad, or (Merlin, help me) illegal, but the last six years haven't exactly left me with good impressions. And when he's with me, and I look into those big puppy-eyes of his I know that I can't imagine him being anything but good, and selfless, and brave. But when he's not, my brain kicks in, and I remember images of crying first-years, sniggering marauders, and Severus hanging upside down by his ankle over the lake.

I don't know what to do anymore. He makes me feel so special, but then I start to worry and it just makes me feel guilty. Am I doing the right thing? Has he really changed? Can people change?

Oh... I need some chocolate.

- - - - - - - - -

There's only one man to go to in this school for chocolate, though he's not always the easiest of men to find. My logical side knows that it's the same chocolate frog, no matter where I get it from, but somehow it always tastes better when it's eaten with Remus Lupin.

I've been lucky to find him, I think, behind all these books. Hmm, mustn't think about revision, it'll only depress me more.

"Hey Lily." Bless him, he looks so serious. "What's up? You look a bit down."
"Got any chocolate?"
"That bad, eh? I've always got chocolate for you. Want to talk about it?"

Mmm, I can feel the chocolate melting in my mouth, and already I feel a bit better.

"Not sure." He's raising an eyebrow at me in that sceptical fashion he does oh-so-well.
"If it's making you speak in only half-formed sentences, I know it must be bad." What's sad is that he's right; I am usually so very picky about my grammar. It makes me smile that he knows me so well.
"I guess. I'm just confused."
"About what?"
"Everything." OK, so maybe not the most helpful answer in the world, in the 'moving-the-conversation-along' kind of way, but I really don't know where to begin. "Exams. Revision. James. Jane Austen."

Remus is looking thoroughly confused now, and I can't say I blame him.

"Who on Earth is Jane Austen?" See what I mean? No-one in the wizarding world has heard of her.
"Um, never mind." My sigh is deep, and it causes Remus to tilt his head to one side and smile lop-sided at me, just a little.
"Let's back up then. Why are you, of all people, worried about your NEWTs?" His confidence is touching, if a little misplaced.
"I'm finding it so hard to revise, Remus." He's giving me an incredulous look. "No, really. I just can't get motivated." Now he's smiling.
"Lily, you would pass even if you never picked up a book between now and our last exam." That's just riduculous.
"Rem-"
"Ah-! Don't interrupt." OK, so I'm pouting. But only a little bit. "If you're really concerned, why don't you revise with me? It'll give you some structure. Then maybe you can stop beating yourself up about it."

He's such a sweetheart. And honestly, he has all the best ideas.

"Thank you."
"You're welcome."

There's a comfortable silence, and I feel a little better than before.

"So, what else was bothering you?"

He looks so earnest, so willing to listen, so eager to help. And I want to tell him; to have him reassure me that James is not hiding secrets from me, that he really has changed. But the words won't form on my lips. The ideas, the worries, they all just stay in an intagible mess in my head, and I can't bring myself to say any of them.

"Nothing. I'm fine." He doesn't look convinced, but then neither am I.