(Thanks guys.)

30th December – New Year's Eve Eve

10.30am I have no time for holidays. There are more pressing issues to be addressed, namely the fact that I have obviously gone off my rocker. Apparently, I decided last night that I really wanted to remember that weird dream about Potter until the end of time, and therefore thought that it deserved a spot in my journal. Also, in my crazed, half-sleeping state, only the Trivial Pursuit facet of the dream struck me as odd, and not the whole 'Oh, Potter just casually kissed me. In a dream. That I was having.' thing.

I have been wracking my brains all morning for a sensible explanation. (All morning being the six or seven minutes I have been awake.) Here are the possibilities I have come up with so far:

1. I feel guilty for having done nothing over the Christmas holidays, and so my subconscious is plaguing me with nightmares in order to extract some kind of karmic repayment.

2. I twisted some crucial part of my spinal cord while doing yoga yesterday, and my nerve endings are sending curious impulses to some reptilian part of my brain, which has been producing strange images as a result. If this is the case, then I believe it is fully within my rights to sue those smug yoga executives for not placing warnings on their packaging. (eg. Warning: May cause ridiculous amount of pain/stress, and/or damage your spinal cord to such an extent that said organ causes you to have nightmares about people who you strongly dislike.)

Note to self: Is spinal cord an organ? It would look bad in court if I called it an organ and it was actually a bone or a vein or something. Also. What is an ischium? I could not answer that question in the dream and it was super frustrating.

3. Maybe Potter did something to me when he was performing the healing spell? I let my guard down when he didn't order chocolate-cinnamon ice cream, but obviously he was just lulling me into a false sense of security.

I think these are very impressive given the short amount of time I have had to produce them. All three of these seem like super legitimate reasons grounded in very serious science. The solution to Possibility Number One is actually pretty simple: I should start really doing my work and thus minimize karmic debt in need of paying.

So. Time to do work.

11.45am Forgot how boring work is. Taking a break in order to snack on cheese.

11.46am Just realized that this particular block of cheese was actually meant to be part of our New Year's fondue. Am now faced with very difficult dilemma. Do I tell someone that I have eaten the cheese? Or do I make little mouse-like marks in the margarine and the jam and then call my mother over and say something convincing to the effect of, "Look Mum! Some clever mouse has worked out an ingenious fridge-opening strategy and eaten all our fondue cheese! I guess Petunia forgot to put out enough mousetraps. This is probably because she is a bad person. I guess I should be your favourite daughter forever and ever, huh?"

11.48am Attempted to make little mouse marks in the margarine, but it was frozen very solid. I put it in the oven for a bit and it melted completely, so I had to use the butter instead. Also, I forgot what mouse feet looked like, so instead I sort of made it look like a very miniature deer broke into our fridge and had a little stroll through the dairy section.

11.49am Do deer even like cheese? This may be a very serious hole in my story.

11.53am Thwarted.

I convinced my mum to come downstairs using some very clever trickery (I asked her if she would like a cup of tea).

Unfortunately, I was a bit less cunning about getting her to look at the butter. Our conversation went a little something like this:

Me: Mummy, do you think you could get me some butter?

Mum: Why?

Me: Er… for my tea. It's a newfangled teenager thing. You wouldn't understand. Very avant-garde and such.

(Mum goes over and fetches the butter from the fridge. I wait expectantly)

Mum: Lily. Why have you gone and stuck your fingernails into the butter?

Me: (with perfect composure) What? Let me see? (I pause to study the butter. Much humming and squinting and other indications of deep thought.) Fingernails you say? No. In my expert opinion, these look much more like miniature deer tracks. We had better check on the cheese mum. Miniature deer love cheese. Let me be very clear, whether or not their larger counterparts share in this particular predilection, I can assure you that miniature deer are cheese fiends.

Mum was not pleased. I retreated to my room, informing her that I had much studying to do and really could waste no more time on this mystery.

1.03pm

A Poem About Work (By Lily Evans)

Transfiguration is dull

Arithmancy is worse

And being Head Girl

Is a terrible curse.

Who cares about potions?
Really. What's the point

Of mixing goat blood

With a bunch of pig joints?

Healer apps take forever:

They ask endless questions

About livers and brains

And vile infections.

Note to self: Never write poetry ever again.

2.07pm Naturally, just when I had sort of gotten into the work swing of things and was really chugging my way along through a Charms essay, Quaffle came barreling into my window. Stupid Potter probably timed the arrival of his letter in order to disrupt my life to the maximum. Two o'clock is really a terrible time to send mail. It's just the time when things are sort of settling down after lunch and one is really focusing on work.

Lily,

You promised you'd send me all your notes as soon as you got home? I don't mean to bother you, I was wondering if you had forgotten.

James

Ugh. He's like a bloody professor, nagging me about something that's barely even late yet. In fact, it's not late at all since the deadline isn't until school starts back up, which is practically forever away.

Have prepared an amazing reply. Hopefully he will be devastated with guilt and feel like a totally inconsiderate jerk.

Potter,

My owl, Narwhal, died last night. So I couldn't send the notes. Sorry.

Lily Evans

A stroke of genius, I know. I even remembered to attach it to Quaffle's leg instead of using Narwhal to send it.

3.30pm Another letter from Potter. I am not even going to dignify this one with an answer.

Lily,

Your owl definitely did not die. If you haven't got any notes yet, don't worry about it. We can always do this on the train.

James

I cannot believe his nerve! I mean… yes. It's true. Narwhal isn't dead (thank heavens). But what if she had been? How could anyone be so incredibly callous? And imagine how much it would have added to my grief if he had also accused me of not having done my work! (This assuming that I had done the work and that Narwhal was actually dead).

Obviously, James Potter is an incredibly repulsive human being. Do you hear that subconscious? Have me play Trivial Pursuit with someone else next time. Like the (unfortunately fictional) model/intellectual/athlete/lover that I hoped would be Head Boy. Anyone would be better than an unsympathetic, inconsiderate jerk like Potter.

I am not even going to dignify his letter with a response.

3.40pm

Potter,

I guess we can discuss things on the train if that's really what's easiest for you.

Lily Evans