UMMMMMMM... Yeah, I've got nothing. The delay for this is absurd, and all I can say is that school squashes everything creative out of me. Summertime, however, has me writing like a mad person, so I should be way faster now. Yay! (If anyone is still even reading this jeez) Also on the bright side, this is the longest chapter yet! Thank you to everyone who's reviewed and favorited and followed since the last chapter. It's given me great motivation to keep writing!

Review since this took foreverrrrr: Lily and her classmates are being forced by the new DADA professor to keep journals. So far Lily spends a majority of the time complaining about James Potter, with whom she has formed a sort of friendship through her Head Girls duties. Mary's boyfriend Ben sucks, Lily has an Ancient Runes project with Bobby, who does not suck, and Severus is sucking at Charms. Being a Head Girl is great, but patrolling with James has so far not been the greatest pastime.

Actually September 26, 1977

As it turns out, there was absolutely no reason for Potter and I to argue about the Herbology essay, considering Professor Radford had enough of this place and decided to kiss teaching goodbye.

Or at least he did for one class.

The seventh years had each lined up behind a pot holding one of the unfamiliar plants. They were small dark grey trees with black lines running along the stems, appearing to look like veins. The leaves lazily flicked back and forth along the branches, even though there was no breeze. Professor Radford came in late carrying his own pot of the ugliest tree to ever exist. He looked flustered, but a normal kind of flustered. He dropped his pot, though, and it fell to the floor with a resounding crack. I was at the other end of the table, so I didn't really see what happened, but everyone heard Radford say in a stony voice, "Class dismissed."

We all looked around confused. Accidents happened quite a bit in Herbology, especially as the plants got more dangerous, but that didn't mean class got cancelled. No one moved.

"Get out!" hollered Radford. "Out! Now! I said, no class! There's no point!"

With wide eyes, everyone quickly grabbed their belongings and shuffled out of the greenhouse. Kara McKinnon made the mistake of asking if we should still turn in our essays. Radford yelled about how he didn't care about our silly essays until Jane yanked Kara away and the greenhouse was empty.

Everyone in this gossipy school knows I don't have the best temper, but Merlin. There were twenty other repulsive plants on the counter. There was no reason for Radford to yell at everyone. Besides, I had written a really good essay.

I suppose I should go tell Slughorn he needs to shove a Calming Draught down Radford's throat before Radford makes some eleven year olds cry. I sure do love being Head Girl.

LATER

Mary was a nervous mess about seeing Ben all day. She had avoided him all weekend, and with Herbology cancelled, their first interaction since their fight was delayed. Not that they would have talked in class. She made Diana and I swear to sit around her so that Ben couldn't.

While pointing out prat behavior has become one of my more refined hobbies, I didn't need to tell Mary that Ben was making no effort in trying to sit next to her or speak with her. She noticed that all on her own.

Fortunately, Mary had her rough-and-tough, I-don't-need-you, I-hex-men-in-my-sleep attitude today, which is completely awe-inspiring and almost made me want to shake Ben's hand and say, "Thank you for your service to my friend. Please proceed to the bottom of the Black Lake." It is 22:32 PM and they have yet to speak, but I can see Mary's resolve waning. I see my pleasantries about the whole matter waning, as well.

September 27, 1997

Mary is in Astronomy class right now and I have no idea where Diana is. That seems to be a common trend lately. She wasn't in her room, and I would think she would have told me if she was going to the library. The only thing worse than my missing friends is that I've started to reach for this journal when I'm alone. What can I say? I must like to suffer.

Technically September 28, 1977

Tonight during patrols, Remus just happened to be coming back from the library when he ran into James and me. He also just happened to feel the need to stay with us, mumbling something about feeling guilty because he doesn't have any patrols.

I can't decide if I'm more surprised that James actually asked his mates to crash our patrols or that they actually said yes. Who knew that James would ever not want to fight? Better yet, who knew that people actually listen to James? I know. Life is mystifying. I learn something new every day.

Actually September 28, 1977

Bobby and I met up a few more times to work on our Ancient Runes project, and today we turned it in. He's a nice bloke. He's kind to everyone and always tries to follow the rules, which is a refreshing change of pace from the majority of the boys here at school. I'm glad to be done with the project, but I must admit that I'm significantly less pleased than, say, Remus. Remus's partner was Avery, and they got together a total of zero times to work on the project. Avery actually said, "What does it matter? I've got enough money that I'll never even need a job after school. Besides, Ancient Runes is for fake Purebloods." I think I'm more disgusted with Remus, who disappointingly did not slam his textbook alongside Avery's thick but empty skull.

Technically September 30, 1977

Tonight at patrols, I somehow got the feeling that none of James's friends were going to show. We were going to be on our own. Remus and Peter were our mother birds and they had thrown us from the nest, expecting us to fly, saying, "Don't die, and try not to argue on your way down."

Those pricks.

Well, I was not going to smash on the ground today. I opened my mouth, preparing to save us—

"How was your day?" asked James.

Oh.

"Good, fine. I only really went to class today. Charms was extraordinarily boring, but I thought Defense was interesting."

With rumors of You-Know-Who recruiting giants, we discussed the giant culture and history of relations with wizards. Malek didn't present the discussion as giants being the dark arts; he simply said anything could be used for dark purposes, including other creatures. Though we used no magic, it was an extraordinarily fascinating class.

"I liked it, too. Malek's definitely one of the best professors we've had."

Yeah, minus this dumb journal thing.

"How was your day?" I asked. We waited patiently for a staircase to move towards us so that we could climb to the third floor.

"I had classes and Quidditch practice. And my parents sent me a basket of biscuits this morning, so I'm sure my mates are in my room now, inhaling them and leaving absolutely nothing for me, just like my mother planned."

Ah, so they definitely were not coming. I have great intuition, honestly.

"What do your parents do?" I asked casually. Weird how I've known him for six years and I have no idea what his parents do. His mum could be a famous singer, for all I know.

"Mum worked at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She loved it; did it for almost five decades. She was on Wizengamot for a bit, too."

"You're lying."

"What? Why would I lie about my mum?"

"There's no way." I shook my head. "I refuse to believe that a senior witch in the Department of Magical Law and Enforcement birthed and raised you"—James laughed— "James Potter, a rule breaker extraordinaire who doesn't give one Knut about the law. It can't be true."

James's smile might have split his face. "Ah, but it is. How do you think I got out of so many detentions? They all know my mum and figured I couldn't really be that bad."

"Got out of?" Yeah, right. "In fifth year, you had one detention a week! I hate to break it to you, but you've got a lot to learn about using your connections."

"Teach me your ways, Evans. I beg you."

"Well, you know name won't get me anywhere. I'm just a mere Muggleborn," I said in a serious voice, as if I was preparing to reveal my life's secret. James threw me a look, but I ignored it. It was only a joke. "But you can bet all your chocolate frogs I'll die claiming to any potential employer that ol' Sluggy is like a father to me."

James ran a hand over his face. "I'll never be as wise as you, Evans."

"True."

He laughed, but I didn't miss the eye roll. I smirked in response. We shut a few classroom doors that had been left open.

"What kind of Pureblood are you?" I asked, throwing my nose in the air for good measure. "You're supposed to use your family name every chance you get."

"I'm one of the real rotten ones. The rest of the Purebloods say I'm not prideful enough. I can't help it, though." He looked off into the distance, his eyes a little glassy, a hand on his heart. "I just love being modest," he said with a sigh.

A roar of laughter erupted from me. James seems to really appreciate my laughs, but after a bit, when I was still trying to reign in the giggles, he looked a bit put off.

"All right, all right, so I'm a bit prideful. What good-looking, talented, intelligent teenage bloke is?"

I snorted. "I just cannot believe your mother works in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Tell me: how does she cope with having James Potter, a marauder, as a son?"

"Firewhisky. Occasionally ancient wine, but it's usually the whiskey that soothes her pain."

I laughed so loud that I actually slapped my hand across my face. We certainly didn't need a professor—or worse, Filch—coming along to lecture us about how we were (surprisingly) having too much fun on patrols. James grinned at me, and then he ran his hand through his hair. Ugh.

"Only joking," he said, sounding a tad too proud to be casual. He probably thought my laugh was some great feat. I simply find it impressive that he could make a joke that didn't end in me wanting to hex him. "When I was younger, I suppose she thought I would grow out of it. By fifth year, I think she got tired of sending Howlers. On the Platform she said, 'Quit being a ninny, James Potter. You're fifteen now and a Potter. You're only going to hurt yourself and those you care about. Keep this up and I'll have you living on the streets, you bum.'"

"She did not say that!" I gasped.

James waved his hand in the air. "Something like that; the memory's foggy. It took a while for that to get through my head, anyway."

"Thank goodness for that," I mumbled. A pause. We had gotten too close to dangerous territory—the past. I was not going to let that ruin this perfectly pleasant patrol. "And your dad?" I prompted.

"Dad was an Auror." I swear James's chest puffed up. When he said it, I remembered an eleven-year-old Potter on the train for our first time to Hogwarts. He had said he was going to be in Gryffindor like his dad. Professor, I bet you've never heard a boy speak more proudly of his father than James did that day. It was like Mr. Potter was the sun and he was determined to shine just as bright.

Wow, an Auror. Those are the best of the best. I bet his dad is an amazing wizard.

"He was Head of the department for a bit. He stopped working around third year."

"Got tired of saving the world, eh?" I joked.

James hesitated. Something I said set him off, I could tell. His jaw clenched a bit and his pace faltered for a step. "Sorry, I didn't mean—" I wasn't going to push him. Merlin knows I have stuff I just don't talk about.

"No, no, it's fine," said James, his voice sounding strained. Or maybe I was overthinking it and imagined it strained. It's not like my overthinking and jumping to conclusions would have been a first. "It just got to be a bit too much one day, so he left." He shrugged.

"Was it a lot of pressure?" The curiosity in me had piqued.

"Not particularly. More like he almost died."

"What?"

"Yeah. Being an Auror isn't an easy job, you know," he said quickly, as if he wanted to get the story out as fast as possible. "You deal with the darkest kinds of wizards, but for the longest time, there weren't many. He got a couple loons here and there, a raving murderer every few years, occasionally someone trying to enslave other witches and wizards, but that was as extreme as it got. My dad did it for a long time—he went right into the training program after Hogwarts—but he was getting older. He wasn't so much Head of the Aurors as he was the manager. He kept track of the tips, crimes, locations, identities, and things like that. A lot more crime started to creep up when You-Know-Who gained followers, and then it was like they never had enough Aurors." James paused here, trying to catch his breath. He started again more slowly.

He roughly ran his hand through his hair. He sighed heavily and started to twirl his wand haphazardly. I was afraid he was going to accidentally jinx me. At least it would have ended the conversation.

"There was a raid that summer, during the holidays of our fourth year. They predicted there would be a Death Eater or two, but the mission wasn't considered extremely dangerous. Anyway, I guess Dad got tired of sitting in the office and went with the other Aurors. There were a lot more wizards there than they expected, and they used dark magic. Two Aurors died—one was a mum—and Dad got really hurt. He was at St. Mungo's for a few weeks. I'm not sure what happened exactly; he doesn't like to talk about it."

No kidding. I tried to wrap my head around that. Mr. Potter almost lost his life to save people. I'm surprised James doesn't talk about it more, though—his dad is a hero.

"Is he okay now?" I asked. I'm not sure how anyone recovers from an experience like that. How do you go on, knowing your partners and friends died fighting with you?

"Yeah, he's fine," said James, his voice gaining some of its lightness again. "He has a few physical limitations, but he's alive. And home. He stopped working after that, so there's a silver lining somewhere."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. He kept saying, 'Better start training these young buggers now before we're all doomed.' But mostly I think he wanted to be home with my mum and I while he could. He's a lot nicer now, too."

"What do you mean?"

James looked like he regretted saying that. He looked like he regretted the whole conversation, actually, but instead of changing the conversation—which I would have easily let him do—he kept talking.

"He acts different than when I was younger. He and my mum worked a lot, especially after they thought they wouldn't have any kids. But then I came along and made the world a better and brighter place"—Merlin—"and Mum worked less, but work was everything for my dad. When he was home, you had to fight for his attention and approval. He almost saw through you. Part of me always wondered how he and my mum even ended up together. When this whole You-Know-Who mess started getting bigger, he still worked at the Ministry, but I s'pose he started to see what was important. He just made more of an effort at home, I guess." James shrugged. He refused to meet my eyes.

I couldn't imagine that. Mum and Dad were madly in love; Petunia and I never questioned that. They kissed every day after they came home from work. Even if they were in a fight, I remember Dad giving Mum a kiss on the cheek. Mum would have to fight to keep her scowl. Mum and Dad loved showing us how much they cared for us. Despite the tension between Tuney and I, I never would have said that our house was short on love. Everything they did seemed to be for Tuney and me or for each other. I wouldn't have guessed Potter's family was how he described. I always assumed he was spoiled rotten. I suppose he was by his mum, and I'm sure his dad gave him everything he wanted as a kid, but sometimes that's not enough.

"He isn't a bad dad," said James quickly. "He was just busy, and to a spoiled ten year old kid, a dad too busy to play Quidditch with you in the backyard was the worst thing that could happen."

I doubt Mr. Potter was ever a bad dad. James looks up to him too much. No, bad dads are people like Mr. Snape and Mr. Black.

"You do love Quidditch," I said awkwardly and unsure of what to say next. It felt like James placed all this information of his life in front of me, and while I scooped it up in my hands, I didn't know were exactly to put it. It's like a new James Potter. Unfortunately, the first one was complicated enough.

He forced a laugh. "Something I didn't get from my dad."

We kept walking.

"I'm just saying, if I ever have a family, my wife and kids will know they come first," he said with bravado. That was a clear sign that that conversation was ending.

"They won't ever have to wonder if I love them."

I felt a pang in my chest. Probably a piece of my heart shattering. Damn that Potter, making me feel emotionally invested in his life. Gross.

"If? Haven't decided yet if the great Potter is going to settle down?" I joked.

He grinned at me. "Dunno. It sure would be a tragedy to all the girls out there."

I rolled my eyes—again. "Git…" His smirk oozed arrogance.

"What about you, Evans? Find a nice bloke right after school, live in a big house, pop out a few kids and call it good, eh?"

"Your plan for me is insulting, Potter."

"So you don't want a nice husband, nice house, and nice kids? Blimey, what do you want?"

"For you to bug off," I joked.

James threw his hands up in the air. "That hurts. Here I was just trying to get to know you and see if I should expect a wedding invite soon."

"You would never get invited to my wedding."

"But it's not a party without the Marauders."

"My greatest wish is actually the mind-numbingly boring wedding without you all to muck it up."

He laughed. "Your poor husband. You aren't even going to give him a good party to bid farewell to his happiness before he's stuck with you for the rest of his miserable life. What next, you want him to build you a mansion without magic?"

"Oh, no. I would never give my husband the satisfaction of a large house. I want a small place, nothing fancy. A couple rooms, a yard with flowers, something simple."

"That's it? Come now, Evans. I know you're much more demanding than that."

"There needs to be perfectly pruned hedges around the house and a red door, two stories, and windows with shutters."

"Make sure it's near a pub for your suffering wizard while you're at it." I shoved him. "Are you going to give every bloke you date a copy of the list?"

"Of course not. He's got to figure this all out on his own," I joked. "I expect the cottage to be waiting for me with a giant bow."

"I'll warn the fellow," he said solemnly. "I'll sneak out to see him right before the wedding, and when I can't convince him to run, I will tell him about your impossible dream house."

I nodded enthusiastically. "Deal. And when you date a girl, I'll warn her about how you'll probably end up getting married seven different times because you're so indecisive."

James shrugged. "Fair enough. They'll all probably stick around, though, just because of my manor."

"Your manor? God, you sound so pretentious already."

"But I haven't even told you about my seven different bedrooms yet: one for every day of the week."

"I'm equally interested and disgusted. You have got to tell me the floor plan for this manor."

And he did. The rest of the patrol was spent talking about his grand palace and all the different rooms it would have. I made suggestions, of course, despite that he had plenty ideas of his own. In addition to the seven bedrooms for himself, there would be a wing each for Sirius, Remus, Peter, and his parents; at least two rooms dedicated to Quidditch; a room for listening to music; two kitchens; a replica of the Gryffindor Common Room; a room for experimenting new prank ideas and spells; and a room with nothing but Honeydukes sweets. Fortunately, by the end of the night I had persuaded James to add another wing just for me.

If I remember in who-knows-how-many years from now, I think I will find out where James Potter ended up and send him an invitation to my wedding. Just for a laugh.

And to check up on my wing of the manor, of course.

October 3, 1977

I was cornered after Ancient Runes class. Ambushed. Attacked.

I was walking with Remus when I heard someone call my name from behind. I thought it was Bobby, and I turned around, feeling girlishly pleased. I'm sure my face went from pleasantly surprised to disturbed in two seconds when I realized that it was Severus calling me.

"What, Severus?" I sighed, stopping in my tracks. Remus paused beside me.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked. His desperation in front of Remus shocked me. He hated Remus, and Remus hated him. That they hadn't exchanged glares was unusual enough; Severus showing vulnerability in front of Remus was enough reason to alert the authorities.

"What do you need?" I pressed. I wasn't going to fall for his tricks again. I'm a big enough fool on my own without Severus. I didn't need his help in that area anymore.

"Alone?" He glared at Remus. I appreciated the predictability, at least.

Remus looked at me, wondering if he should leave me. Remus was too kind to me considering how I had treated his best friends. Sometimes I still think about the day where I yelled at him and his mates and said they were insufferable prats with a need to garner attention to make up for their lack of talent (a mouthful of an insult, I know), and then that night I had cried during patrols and Remus comforted me. And to think, I thought I couldn't have gotten stupider.

I nodded at Remus and he said goodbye and left. I turned to Severus and pursed my lips.

"Look, I know you hate me and I don't know what I can do to fix it,"—Oh, I don't know, how about you stop hanging out with blood-obsessed maniacs?—"but I wouldn't be asking this unless it was really important. I need your help. In Charms. I can't seem to master any of the spells. I can't keep practicing on my own. N.E.W.T.s year is too important. Please help me, Lily. Flitwitck said you're the best student he has."

Yep, I'm going to strangle Flitwick.

"No," I said. "No way. Find someone else."

"Don't you think I haven't thought about it already?" he asked. "We're seventh years. No one is more experienced than us. You're the best in our year, and everyone else remotely experienced is not going to help tutor someone else. No one will help me. I just thought you might," he finished lamely, dark eyes downcast.

Oh, he knew what he was doing. He knew he could somberly admit defeat while complimenting me in a roundabout way and I would just drop everything to help him. I would normally, but not after that incident on the train. After an entire summer of no communication, he still could not defend me for a measly five minutes. Sorry, Severus, but it seems that it's every man for himself here.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I'm doing you a favor, though." He looked up at me with confusion etched on his face. "We couldn't have your friends seeing you with a Muggleborn now, can we?" His jaw dropped and he shook his head quickly. His slick black hair swung in his face. "Sorry, Severus, but I just can't."

I walked away quickly before I changed my mind and asked him to forget what I said. He didn't call after me. I still don't know if I wished he had.

LATER

I was really harsh. He's failing, for Circe's sake. He's probably incredibly desperate. Maybe I could tutor Severus…

LATER

It's probably all a giant ploy. Why can't his silly Slytherin friends tutor him? Better yet, he should have his ol' pal Flitwick give him extra lessons, since Flitwick seems to want to be Severus's cheerleader and the bane of my sad existence.

LATER

Tonight at dinner, I told Mary and Diana what Severus had asked me. They were as shocked as I was, but significantly more disgusted.

"Who does he think he is?" grumbled Diana. "He can't just pick and choose to be your friend when it suits him. He deserves to fail his Charms N.E.W.T."

"He's not asking to be friends, though. He just wants a tutor," I pointed out.

"Do you know what that means, Lils?" interjected Mary. "You would have to be alone with him for hours at a time."

"Okay, it's not like we would be studying in a secret classroom that no one knows about. We would be in the library."

"He's friends with the creepiest people in this school! You know what they're capable of doing," said Mary with a shudder. I'm sure she was remembering the time Mulciber and others put her in the Hospital Wing. They cast awful curses. Mulciber claimed it was all in good fun, but it was three versus one with Mulciber leading the three while Mary's back was turned. She had a couple injuries and a fear of sleeping for a while after that. She's not sure, but she think they tried to cast the Cruciatus Curse. It just wasn't as strong as what she's heard it is, she said.

"This is Severus we're talking about," I said, stabbing at my potatoes with my fork. "He wouldn't hurt me."

"Hasn't he hurt you already?" asked Diana not very kindly. "Why are you sounding like you're considering doing it?"

"I'm not," I huffed. "He just seemed desperate. If it was a first year or a prick like Ben"—Mary looked up from her plate sharply with a glare. That was a low blow, but I felt like they were attacking me, and I wanted to say something back—"I would help. I'm Head Girl, for God's sake. I think it's in the job description to not let kids have to repeat a year."

"It's probably in the job description to also not get yourself hexed by slimy Slytherins," said Diana, sounding remarkably like James, which only infuriated me more.

I reached for my goblet of pumpkin juice to hold my tongue, but I noticed that Diana's plate was still full of its few measly lettuce leaves—she hadn't touched them at all. "Are you going to eat that?" I asked.

Mary turned to look at her plate, her light brown eyebrows knitting together.

"I'm not hungry," said Diana flatly.

"You skipped lunch today, though, Di," said Mary. "How are you not hungry?"

"I'm just not," replied Diana. Mary and I exchanged a glance.

"What did you do for breakfast again?" I asked. She had told me she went to eat with Ashby, but he ran into our first class today late.

"I ate with Vaughn," she said shortly. She picked up her goblet and took a long gulp.

"You told me you ate with Philippe," said Mary with a confused look on her face. She wasn't being mean; she just wanted to understand. So did I.

"Merlin, when did you also become a stickler Head Girl, Mary?"

"Hey!"

"Besides, I'm not asking you about where you snuck off to last night, Mary."

Mary gasped. "That's none of your business!" My interest had piqued significantly. Why was Mary sneaking around? Mary hated being out after curfew. She said the castle was too spooky to ever warrant a reason for being out late. Noticing Mary's deep red blush, though, I knew we weren't going to get an answer out of her then.

"We're just trying to figure out if you're okay, Diana," I said to get the topic back on track.

"We didn't mean to make you mad," said Mary meekly. "But you are eating, right? It's not healthy to skip meals, especially because you've been going to run a lot in the evenings."

"God, yes, I'm eating." Her fork shoveled about half the lettuce on her plate into her mouth. She scooped vegetables on her plate and more lettuce. "Worry about your failing Death Eater and horny boyfriend instead," she mumbled.

I felt like she had smacked Mary and me. Sure, sometimes Diana spouted off a sarcastic comment or two, but she was hardly spiteful. That she said such a mean thing only makes me think something was actually wrong. Mary looked like she was going to cry and rapidly looked from me to Diana, who refused to meet our gazes.

She apologized soon after and sounded sincere about it, but we ate the rest of dinner in silence.

October 4, 1977

Today James told me that Ana Marie told him that Terry, a sixth year Slytherin Prefect, broke up a fight between a few second years on the seventh floor in an empty corridor. A Hufflepuff, two Ravenclaws, a Slytherin, and a Gryffindor were apparently "dueling." The Hufflepuff and Slytherin sent a Ravenclaw and the Gryffindor to the Hospital Wing with a broken wrist and a defected tickling jinx that kept the Gryffindor laughing through his bloody nose. The Slytherin's hand grew a tail. I think the Slytherin punched the Gryffindor after he realized his tail was going to be sticking around for a while. I didn't bother to ask what instigated the fight. The whole world is going mad.

LATER

Maybe I can help Severus in Charms. He's obviously struggling. I'm the best one in the class. He can't help that I'm his only choice. What kind of person would I be if I turned him down because of our past? Besides, I could make sure we only talked about Charms. We are civilized, mature adults. There's no reason for—

No, no, no. It would be too complicated. No one would understand.

LATER

On the bright side, Professor Dumbledore approved James and mine's request to have this year's first Hogsmeade visit on the 29th of October. Let's just hope the rest of the student population and professors don't implode before then.

Or do. More Butterbeer for me then, right?

October 5, 1977

Professor Slughorn told me today that he's planning a get-together of all the most promising students in Potions next weekend. The unofficial name for these events and the students he invites is the Slug Club. While I should abhor Slughorn's superficial attempts to wheedle his way into talented students' lives in order to gain something from them later on, I don't. I'm a desperate girl. I have no dignity. Absolutely none. I might as well have "#1 Slug Club Slag" etched onto my forehead.

Considering I'm questioning my entire life path right now and have zero connections outside of these walls and no idea who I would even contact for a job, I need all the help I can get. I have skipped a few of Slughorn's events before—a fact he's picked up. Maybe because I do have some dignity. Huh. What a foreign concept. Mostly I hate the small talk. Anyway, after Potions he told me to make sure my calendar is free two weeks from this Saturday, as he has a star pupil returning who's doing great things in the Potions world.

I wonder if it's considered improper to slip a few Galleons under the table and beg for a job…

LATER

I did the most absurd thing I have ever done and probably will do in the entirety of my life. I told Severus I could tutor him. I know. I've gone absolutely mad. Next thing you know, I'll probably be carrying around this journal and thinking this is a decent representation of my "heart."

I have no idea what came over me. I was walking through the library, searching for a book for our upcoming Transfiguration essay, when I saw Severus sitting forlornly at a table in the back. Our old table. The one fifteen rows in deep and perched against a window that-if you strained your neck—allowed you to see the Quidditch Pitch. It was a secluded spot that featured many late study sessions and bouts of giggles and conversations for when we frequently gave up on our work.

Seeing him sitting there alone brought back a flood of memories, and I thought about what Mary and Diana said. Then I thought about what I said and how James told me that those second years got into a fight. The next thing I knew I was marching over to him.

"Fine. I will help you in Charms," I said sternly. If I had glasses on, I think he could have mistaken me for a younger McGonagall. Severus looked up in shock. His mouth hung slightly open. "We will work in the library and we will talk only about Charms. Nothing else, do you understand?"

"Yes, of course. Lily, thank you so—"

"You will not tell anyone I am tutoring you. Got it? No one. Not Mulciber, not Avery, not Flitwick, no one. Don't even mention it to Mary or Diana or Potter or—"

"Potter?" he yelped. "What's Potter got to do with this?"

I ignored him. We were playing by my rules. "Because no one is going to know, understand? This is our secret. I'm giving you one chance. One." I held up a finger to show him how serious I was.

He nodded rapidly. "Okay. That's fine. Lily, I really appreciate this. You are—"

I shushed him. The more he talked the more I regretted my decision. "We will meet once a week, okay? When's a good time for you?"

"Er." His eyes roved to the side, as he appeared to be in deep concentration. "Do Thursday nights work? We can meet at 7:30 then we can be done before curfew…"

"Yeah, fine, whatever. Be here Thursday at 7:30." I realized I was being incredibly short and harsh. I sighed heavily and smiled the tiniest smile. "Please don't make me regret helping you, Sev," I nearly whispered.

He nodded again and smiled a bit nervously. Right. This definitely wasn't a horrible idea. I walked away quickly, hoping that by some miracle my old friend will return on Thursdays. That's the only reason I'm doing this, I think. In the moment I saw Sev, I thought about what would happen if I said no and he did fail his Charms N.E.W.T. What if he got so desperate and angry towards me that he drew even further into the Dark Arts? What if these tutoring sessions can be a chance for me to save him? I could help him turn his whole life around. Maybe we could be friends again…

I haven't bothered to think about what will happen if it is only tutoring. I suppose it's too hard to consider that he's too far to be saved.

October 6, 1977

I didn't have much of a strategy as I walked towards the library ten minutes before my demise. I suppose I just expected it to go perfectly and that we would have no problems. You think I would have learned by now, Professor.

Severus was the first to arrive, as I spotted him through the shelves. His table was further back than I would have picked, but it was in the section that didn't have the librarian chopping off your hands if you practice magic or speak.

"Hey," I said in my best effort to sound mature and suave.

"Hello," said Severus pleasantly. "Shall we get started?"

I nodded and quickly sat down, pulling out my Charms textbook. We were practicing the Disapparation of objects in class. It was a tricky charm that teleported an inanimate object to another location. It was beyond the Accio charm or simple levitation spells, as the movement of the object was not seen. It was there, and then it wasn't. It was fascinating, but also bloody difficult.

We spent a reasonable amount of time just practicing the incantations and wand movements, which seemed to be difficult for Sev, which made me want to quit altogether. When we started practicing the spell on our textbooks and quills, he was unable to get a single object to move to the opposite side of the table. After about an hour, though, and endless suggestions from me that made me question if I even understood Charms, he could do it. Fifteen more minutes and he was charming books to appear on top of my head and quills on top of shelves. He even once did it non-verbally. He occasionally made the books and quills dance after he successfully Disapparated them. It made me grateful we were in the louder section; otherwise, I surely would have gotten in trouble for my sporadic giggles.

When we noticed curfew began in fifteen minutes, we quickly packed up and headed out of the library in good spirits. I felt as if I was floating on a cloud as we walked through the corridors. There was something incredibly satisfying knowing you helped someone master a spell. We neared the staircases, where we would have to part ways.

"All right, well," I said awkwardly, "good job today."

"Thank you. I couldn't have done it without you," said Severus with obvious sincerity. "I take back everything I ever said about you and Charms. I also think you should just go ahead and replace Flitwick right now."

I laughed. That was the old Severus. That was my Sev. "We'll see about that. We only had one tutoring session. Anyway, I guess I'll see you around." I turned to walk away, but he called my name, and I turned instantly.

"Look, Lily," he said, "I had fun tonight and I want you to know I still care about you. I know it may not seem like it, but—" He stopped talking. He must have seen in my face that that was not a conversation I wanted to have. "I, er, know what Monday is, and I want you to know that if you need to talk to someone, I—"

I felt as if someone had dumped cold water down my back. I had barely thought about Monday, and here Severus was—Severus Snape! After everything he's done!—bringing it up to me.

"That is not Charms-related and it is none of your business," I snapped, desperate to get out of there. "You lost the opportunity to talk about my mum two years ago. If you ever bring her or us up again, you can find another Charms tutor."

"Come on, Lily," sighed Severus. "We used to be best friends, and your mum loved me. That has to mean something."

"We're done here. Good luck in Charms." I stomped up a random staircase, and it moved as soon as I reached the second step. Severus called after me, but I ignored him.

Now, back in my room, I feel like the biggest idiot who has ever roamed the planet. How could I think Severus only needed tutoring help? How could I possibly think that I could pretend like nothing still existed between us? At the alarmingly quick decline of my intelligence, I'll be lucky if by the time the N.E.W.T.s exams come I can still write my name.

October 8, 2015

After Severus's comment, it's like my mood has plummeted. There's this dark cloud hanging above my head, and it does not look like it will disappear until after Monday. I've tried to pretend that things are okay, but then something sets me off, and I start to feel the flares of annoyance sparking inside of me that were constantly aflame after my mum died.

On Friday, James, Remus, Peter, and Sirius were hanging out in the Heads Common Room. They had been making the pillows and chairs race around the room—something harmless and silly, I'm not sure. Anyway, they were laughing like madmen and making a ruckus. Things kept breaking and smashing into walls. I stormed out of my room and told them to quit or I was going to take ten points away each. I had said "please," but it did little to quell their shocked faces at my traitorous, mad behavior. I went straight back to my room—I could have just cast a muffling charm—and they left soon after. I felt really rotten then.

Mary, Diana, and I spent our morning by the Black Lake today, our argument from a few days ago forgotten. Yet as they talked about meaningless things, I found myself wanting to stand up, run away, and not look back or stop until my lungs were screaming for air. I told them I wasn't feeling well and had to leave, and I made my way to visit Hagrid, Hogwarts' groundskeeper, in a roundabout way. I first met Hagrid my third year when I was sitting alone outside near his hut after a particularly harsh letter from my sister. He's the tallest and widest man I have ever seen in my life, and rather scary-looking, but he's also the most kind-hearted man. Being with him makes you forget your worries.

He was pleased to hear my urgent knock on his door and invited me in for tea and cakes. And by cakes I mean solid rock with a dash of sugar inside. I didn't tell Hagrid how I was feeling and what was coming up, although he did understand what I went through after Mum died. Thankfully, I didn't snap at Hagrid or reveal the overwhelming and irrational frustration I had been experiencing before my visit. Hagrid talked a lot about the explorations he had been doing in the Forbidden Forest, which provided a spooky yet peaceful escape for a while.

I feel better than this morning, but I'm still uneasy. It's not anyone's fault I'm programmed like an exploding firecracker whenever I experience emotion. All I need to do is get through Monday. If I get through Monday, everything will go back to normal.

October 10, 2015

I can do this. I can go to class. I won't skip this year. I'm Head Girl. I have responsibilities.

Today's just any other day. It's no big deal. I will not cry and I will not be mean and I will not skip.

LATER

I feel like I'm going to throw up at the mere idea of going to class. I cannot make myself put the other leg of my tights on. What if someone says something today? What if at breakfast kids get letters from their mums? Well, I could just skip breakfast… No, what if someone's mum sends his package late? What if it arrives at lunch or dinner? What if it's someone's birthday today? I don't think I can handle that.

I have potions today. What potions were we supposed to make today? God, I can't remember. But what if the ingredients have flowery smells? I might yell at Slughorn. I can't yell at Slughorn. He's my only chance to get somewhere in this world.

My room is too small. I think I have to leave. Maybe I should go for a run. Maybe I should go home. Can I go home? Where can I Apparate home?

LATER

Forget it. I can't do it. I'm not going to class. Who cares? What's the point? We all die anyway.

LATER

I figured I would sleep through today, unable to worry or remember. I could wake up tomorrow and it would be another day—a less painful day. A day that would not make me want to throw things and scream and run away.

I didn't sleep through last year's day. I sulked through breakfast despite Diana and Mary's attempts at conversation before realizing I could not go to class. I went back to my room, and I cried. Pretty much all day. I fell asleep that afternoon, either tired or dehydrated from my grotesque sobbing and weak sniffling, and I did not wake until late that night, when Jane was the only one awake, and she cared the perfect amount of "not at all" and didn't ask me if I was okay.

This morning, though, I didn't cry. I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling. The hands on my clock ticked monotonously. I tried to empty my mind. Then I tried to remember my mom and good memories. Then I tried to think about mundane things. Then I tried to think about how I could get rid of this fury bubbling up inside me. The cycle repeated itself.

I wondered if Dumbledore would take away my Head Girl badge. I had been told fifth year this new Lily wasn't fit to be a Prefect, let alone Head Girl. I seemed to be proving him right.

When I heard a clatter outside of my door—the one leading to the Heads Common Room—I sat up. A few muffled curse words were whispered, and I leapt off my bed, only three buttons of my shirt done, one leg in my tights, and hair not brushed. My heart pounded in my chest. Perfect, I thought. I threw open the door to find James holding a bowl in one hand and a silver tray at his feet. His red and gold tie was loose and his robes were open and neat, as if they had been ironed this morning. His eyes widened.

"Oh, uh, hey. I was just—er—" He raked his hand through his hair. "This was just sitting out here—er, no, it wasn't. I brought—" He shoved the bowl towards me. "Soup?"

I raised my eyebrows. "Soup?"

"Yeah, uh, soup. You know, to eat."

"You brought me soup?" I wanted to point out that it was not yet ten in the morning.

"Yeah, I guess I did." Aw, I thought. "Remus said I should check on you." Wait. "Make sure you weren't dead." Oh. My eyes then found it hard to look at him. I dropped my hand from the doorknob and walked back to my bed. I kicked my tights off in the process, wishing they were heavier and could give me more satisfaction.

"Uh…" James sounded like he very much wanted to leave. "My mum used to make me soup if I wasn't feeling well or was having a bad day. I thought you could use some soup, too. Or Remus thought."

I rolled my eyes at the ceiling as if we were sharing a secret, lying on my back. You knew things were bad when you skipped talking to yourself and went straight to having secret understandings with the ceiling.

"When have you ever had a bad day?" I mumbled.

"What?"

I exhaled forcefully, increasingly annoyed that he was there; especially because soup sounded really delicious at the crack of dawn, apparently. I sat up to face James, crossing my legs and tucking them under me. "When have you ever had a bad day?" I repeated. My voice was a mixture of curiosity and malice. Mostly malice. I was only curious as to what James would try to rationalize as a bad day in his perfect life.

He stared at me before shrugging. He didn't seem uncomfortable anymore, but he definitely did not want to be there. "Most of my bad days were when my dad went on an Auror mission. Particularly when he was gone longer than he said he would be and my mum and I had no way to contact him," he said.

Well. That shut me up. Thanks, Mr. James My-Dad-Is-An-Auror Potter.

"What kind of soup did you bring?"

"Tomato."

"Tomato? What kind of comfort food is tomato soup?"

The silver bowl shifted in James's hands. He might have been preparing to throw the hot liquid and heavy metal dish at my face.

"My mum makes better soups," he said, "but I had a feeling you were going to be particularly spiteful today, so I made sure to ask for tomato soup." His raised eyebrows and slightly curved lips said, 'Try again.'

I'm a horrible person. I deserve to rot alone.

I shrugged casually. "I did once read that tomato soup was good for the hardened hearts of bitter shrews."

James smiled and I jerked my head to let him know to come in. He sat on my bed and handed me the bowl. It was a lot easier with him before I grew a conscience and he became like a real person. Now that we're basically friends, I'm obligated to be nice to him all the time. It's awful.

I sipped a spoonful of liquidized tomatoes. Maybe if James hung me upside down and threatened to jinx me I would tell him it was actually the best tomato soup I ever had. Maybe. And only if I was drunk.

"What was the longest mission your dad ever went on?" I asked.

"He was assigned to a two week mission once. He was gone for 32 days, though."

"God," I muttered. I would tear my hair out if I didn't know where my parents were for that long. I could barely stand fifteen minutes in a hospital chair two years ago. "What did you do?"

"I spent everything in my vault on tomato soup," he said with a straight face. I laughed. "Actually I was only ten, so I didn't know Sirius, Remus, or Peter. I went to Diana's house a lot."

"Diana? My Diana?"

"The one and only."

Huh. I suppose they really do have a deeper relationship that I thought. Wow, I was becoming wrong with increasing frequency, and it was a terrible feeling. Who do I blame for this?

"Was that the longest time you ever went without seeing your mum or dad?"

"Besides when I'm here at school? Yeah."

"Try 797 days." It sounded bigger aloud. James gave me the sad eyes. People love to give the sad eyes at the mention of your dead mother. I hate the sad eyes. They are full of pity and wonder, thinking, 'Wow, how does she do it?' Sometime you get a hint of gratefulness in the sad eyes, and you know people are feeling lucky for not being you. James's sad eyes had an extra effect to them. By the set of his jaw, it seemed like he was frustrated. A spark of annoyance flared in me—who is he to be frustrated with me?—and I hated his stupid sad eyes.

I threw my pillow at his face. Disappointingly, he didn't throw it back. "So, you're just skipping school today?"

"Yep. Let me whisper my goodbye to my Head Girl badge now, before Dumbledore comes and takes it away from me."

James rolled his eyes. "You have got to get a grip. You're not staying in your room all day, are you?"

"Of course I am. Where else would I go?"

James groaned so painfully that I'm surprised Madame Whistley did not appear to take him to the Hospital Wing.

"My, you are dramatic."

"That's not how you're supposed to spend a skip day!" exclaimed James.

"Well, it's how I'm spending mine," I said stubbornly. How dare he criticize me on my second most emotionally unstable day of the year. Has he no brain?

"Let's go to Hogsmeade," he said suddenly, jumping off my bed with a grin.

"What? No way! You can't skip, too." He was mad. I wasn't spending my one day off breaking even more rules with him.

"Sure I can. Come on, Evans. It'll be fun. We can say we had emergency Head duties."

"I already told Mary and Diana to say that I was sick."

"I can be sick, too. You got me sick while we were on patrols. Or kissing. Either works."

I threw my pillow at him with extra force. He threw it right back. Ouch. Good thing it wasn't a Quaffle.

"I'm joking," he continued. "Why are you even skipping if you aren't going to have fun with it?"

I twisted my pinky around the chain of my necklace. "Today's my mum's birthday. We used to always skip school and work on our birthdays."

I had not even told Diana and Mary that. I told Sev once—the last year I did it, before I came to Hogwarts—but I made him pinky promise not to ever tell anyone. I was still afraid my school would find out and surely punish me not for being there all those days. And by all those days, I mean only my birthday and mum's. Dad and Petunia both have summer birthdays.

"Did you all sit at home?" asked James, interrupting my thoughts.

"No. We went out and celebrated, but—"

"Then let's go celebrate!" He tried to lift me off the bed, but I jerked out of his grasp.

"No!" I snapped. "Merlin, my mother is dead! Don't you get that?" Fight me, James, I thought. Say something back.

"I know that!" he exclaimed. "I'm not stupid." Yes! For once he listens to my inner thoughts, I thought.

"Could have fooled me."

"Wow, you sure know how to show someone that they should never help you again."

"Why are you even here? Remus too busy?"

"I was trying to be nice! Not that you would know anything about that…"

"Why? You're not my boyfriend; we're barely friends. That we ended up Heads together was probably a sick joke from Satan."

The fire in me was alive. How wonderful it was to take my anger out on James. The 15-year-old Lily Evans lived for moments like these… But more on that later.

James stared at me, and then he started to smile. Wait, no, I thought. We weren't supposed to smile. Stop it, James.

"Come to Hogsmeade with me."

"No."

It really was like we were fifteen again. Add a captivated crowd and Severus sulking in the corner, and I probably wouldn't be able to tell the difference between then and now. As if thinking the exact same thing, James's smile widened.

"Come to Hogsmeade, Evans."

"Why?"

The number one rule of refuting James was to never show hesitation or consideration. I just broke my one and only rule.

"I've been craving a Butterbeer, and I didn't do my Care of Magical Creatures essay."

Huh. At least he's honest.

"It sounds like a bad idea," I admitted.

"What, going to Hogsmeade or going with me?"

"Both. Both are horrible ideas."

"You're already skipping school, Head Girl. You might as well get as many horrible ideas out of you now before they throw you in Azkaban."

I paused. Petunia would never, but my mum… Let's just say she didn't meet my dad by spending her free time in the library. (Hint: It was at a concert, and they had both lied to their parents about where they were.)

"Uuuuggghhhhh," I groaned. I walked towards my dresser.

"Come on, Lily," whined James in the most babyish voice I have ever heard. "Have some fun. We could—"

"Shut up, Potter." I pulled out a pair of jeans and yanked them on under my skirt. "Go change before I change my mind."

"Yes!" He jumped and pumped a fist in the air. When he landed, he did a butt shimmy, and I was so embarrassed for him, I would have killed for a way to record it and hold against him.

After throwing on a different shirt and jumper, I met James, also wearing jeans and a jumper, in his room. He stuck his wand and a piece of parchment in his pocket. I eyed him suspiciously, but he ignored it. Yep, I definitely made a horrible decision.

"We should go quickly," said James, "or else we might get caught."

"What?"

"Relax. Just trust me."

I could just throw myself off the Astronomy Tower and reach the same fate quicker. We passed through the eerily empty Common Room and walked to the third floor, where we stopped at a decrepit statue of a witch with a hunchback. Amazingly, we didn't run into anyone. I would say it was luck, but I knew better than that. It was Potter. He tapped the statue with his wand and said, "Dissendium." The hunchback of the statue opened up. My jaw dropped. Inside, there was a slide that appeared to lead to a tunnel. A dark, creepy tunnel that probably held at least two bodies.

"I should give you a detention for this," I finally said.

James smirked and gestured towards the slide. "After you."

I shook my head rapidly. "Yeah, right." Knowing Potter, this could all be a trick and I would be locked in this statue until tomorrow. James shrugged and climbed in. I quickly followed. I wasn't sure how long the password's effect would last, but I did not need the statue to close on me halfway through. I don't imagine my bum sticking out of a one-eyed witch statue would be very visually appealing. Filch would have a heart attack.

We walked through the tunnel in silence. It truly was a good place for James to knock me over the head and leave me for dead. When I realized I was having too many morbid thoughts, I asked how Gryffindor's Quidditch team was looking.

I expected the tunnel to be a ten or fifteen minute walk—prime Quidditch talk time. Instead, it took us nearly an hour. About twenty minutes in, the tunnel took an uphill turn. At one point I was huffing and puffing so intensely that James asked me if I was okay and suggested we take a break. I wanted to tell him to leave me to die in my own humiliation (and fat), but I only shook my head and we kept walking. Seeing as I was in no shape to talk, James rambled about Quidditch a lot. Eventually the conversation became more two-sided as we talked about classes and N.E.W.T.s, but if you ever need someone to explain Quidditch plays, tricks, techniques, or outcomes, I'm your girl.

A hundred years later, we stopped underneath a hatch. It led to a cramped room with a low roof stuffed with boxes stacked upon dozens of more boxes. Pink, blue, yellow, green, rainbow, shimmery, and even some flaming items poured out of the boxes. The smell, though…

"Are we in Honeyduke's?" I asked.

"We are," said James while walking towards the steps to climb up to the shop.

I felt a stab of nostalgia when we snuck into the main area. It had been so long since I was here, and it strangely didn't feel the same. The walls were lined with dozens of chocolate flavors, Bertie Bott's Jellybeans, and Sugar Quills. The shimmery light blue Ice Mice squeaked happily on display. I had never noticed it before. Students always overflowed the store during Hogsmeade trips, and it was a dangerous mission to reach the candy you wanted. Getting to the Pink Coconut Ice barrel involved sweat, tears, and an unmatched perseverance. You were a hero for the day if you managed to snag a Chocolate Expelling Wand. Once, a student reaching for Fizzing Whizzbees pulled down one of the bright blue shelves, and students tried to quickly get out of the way, causing other shelves and barrels to follow suit. The owners were near tears.

"Okay, let's get your Butterbeer so we can head back," I said, heading towards the door.

"Would you relax for just a minute? We have to stock up."

I rolled my eyes.

"Mr. Potter!" a voice boomed. Oh, no, I thought. This is it. This is the end. They followed us here, and now we're goners. Goodbye, world. You were…all right to me.

We turned around and the shop owner was striding towards us, arms outstretched. He was a short, thin man—surprising, considering he lived in a factory of fat and sugar. His black hair was wispy and pulled to the side, and it reminded me of a dark version of his Toothflossing Stringmints.

"Mr. Flume!" James responded. He clapped him on the back and Mr. Flume's smile widened. He had very white teeth, too. What was this witchcraft? (Probably his wife. Ha, ha. I am hilarious, Professor.)

"What are you doing here? If I had known you were coming I would have stocked up for your friends. Their personal barrels haven't come in yet." Mr. Flume winked at me.

"Luckily for you, it's just me and Lily today"—he gestured towards me, and I smiled my polite smile especially for adults—"so we'll only pick up a few things for Remus and Peter."

They usually are the ones with chocolate smears on their faces during Hogsmeade visits.

"Say," said Mr. Flume, "you're not skipping school, are you?" He eyed us warily.

I gulped. James, however, threw a hand to his chest dramatically. I've come to see that he loves putting on a show. "Mr. Flume, we would never. Everyone else is simply sick."

Mr. Flume shook his head with a chuckle and walked to the register. "See me when you're done."

James nodded, telling me that Remus and Peter would never forgive him if he didn't get them something. We walked along the aisles, and I admired everything with intense scrutiny. It was all so perfectly crafted and delicious; I was afraid I would buy it all. I grabbed one Sugar Quill and Pink Coconut Ice for Diana and Mary. A tiny boy begging his mother for a chocolate wand convinced me to buy three. James bought a bag of Fizzing Wizzbees, four Chocolate Frogs, two Chocolate Expelling Wands, too many boxes of Bertie Bott's, and something with fire painted on the box. I was afraid he would run out of money. (He didn't.)

When we were checking out, Mr. Flume threw one Sugar Quill in each of our bags with a cheeky grin and said, "For when you're in detention." My stomach twisted a bit, but not nearly as much as it did when I first considered coming here.

We were far more productive than I've ever been in Hogsmeade. We went to Spintwitches for new Quidditch gloves and Zonko's for "an understanding of what the other troublemakers are using," James tried to convince me. I looked away when he threw a handful of items on the counter. I got a majestic owl quill at Schrivenshaft's that will probably be wasted away on this journal, socks and a jumper from Gladrag's, and a book from J. Pippin's Potions about the newest experiments in potions (in an attempt to renew my interest in the field and hopefully get my life back on track, as well as give me something to talk about at Slughorn's party). Surprisingly, James was a good shopping partner. He gave good feedback when you were confused about what color jumper looked better on you and if you needed the sleek and handy Potions book or the more extensive but bulkier one. ("Go for the smaller one. It'll be easier for you to stick it in your bag, and you'll feel more relaxed reading it besides the lake than a book that feels as if you checked it out from the library's most awful corner. Plus, it's smaller, so it'll be easier to lose, which is what I'm hoping will happen.")

The Three Broomsticks had more people than all the stores we visited combined. I don't think there will ever be a day when that pub is empty. The cozy lowlighting, rickety dark wooden tables that have withstood thousands of rounds of laughter and drinks, and the smell of crisps, Butterbeer, and smoke make it a place worth your return.

James and I hopped up on the stools at the bar, where the only other person seated was an older man wearing a dark blue robe and nursing a tankard of some dark sparkling liquid. The young bartender had blonde curls piled on top of her head and bright brown eyes.

"Well look who it is," she drawled when she spotted James.

"Rosie," he said with a grin. I got a bad feeling. Were they together? I wondered. Did he bring me along to make her jealous? Oh, Merlin. I knew this was a horrible idea!

"Butterbeer?" She set two glasses on the dark wooden counter.

James nodded and started to pull out money from his pocket. I followed suit, but he shook his head and passed over enough for the both of us. I wanted to insist—to prove this wasn't a date—but "Rosie" swiped the coins and tossed them in her apron pocket. Great. She handed us glasses, full of the light brown liquid and topped with foaming cream. My mouth suddenly felt incredibly dry.

"This is Lily," said James, nodding towards me as he picked up his drink. "Lily, Rosmerta."

"Nice to meet you," I said with a stiff smile.

"Lily Evans?" she asked, shocked. "The Lily Evans?"

"Uh, yes?" What was going on?

"Congratulations, James! About bloody time you two got together. I swear, those blokes tried to con me out of all my mead because 'Lily Evans, the heart breaker, said—'"

With an impressive and disgusting sound similar to what I would imagine a whale shooting water out of its blowhole sounds like, Butterbeer shot out of James's nose and mouth onto the counter. Rosmerta jumped back, whipping out a rag from her apron. The drink ran down the sides of the counter and dripped onto our legs. I started to stand, but then James started vigorously coughing. I slapped him on the back—a bit harder than necessary, if I'm being frank—to help. His hand flew forward to wave me off as I leaned closer, and he whacked my drink out my hand. It shattered, and glass shards littered the floor.

"For God's sake," muttered Rosmerta.

For God's sake is right. What did she say?

Rosmerta came around the bar and bent down to clean the floor. James and I both leaned down to help, but she pushed us away. "You two idiots have helped enough," she said. I wanted to protest—"I'm not the idiot who just snorted cream all over your counter!"—but I refrained.

James and I did not look at each other while she cleaned the mess. When she finished, she got us new drinks with a stern look and held her hand out to James. He dropped a few Sickles in her palm guiltily.

"Now either that was wonderfully timed, or you two are not together yet," she said.

Yet? Yet?

I shook my head vigorously. "No, no, no," said James hurriedly. "I don't know what gave you that idea," he said in a low voice with a harsh look, "but we are not together."

"We're Heads at school," I added. I needed to clear the air immediately.

"Hmm." Rosmerta put her elbows on the counter and rested her chin on her hands. "So, you don't love him yet?" she asked me.

What was with the yet?

"Rosie!" gasped James.

"No, I, uh, he's a nice person and all," I stammered, "but we're just—not—"

"All right, I get it." She lifted her hands in a defensive position. "You're not there yet. Totally understandable." Yet? If she said yet again, I was going to shatter my second glass. "I feel like a big sister, though, and I must speak on behalf of this git over here—"

"Please stop," begged James.

Yes, please stop.

"—and say that he's one of the best blokes that's come through these dusty doors. Of course, he can hold as much alcohol as a mouse, but—"

"Oh, God, please stop."

"Yes, yes, I hear you loud and clear," I said quickly.

"Good!" She rhythmically smacked the counter a few times. I wondered if she was drunk and everything she was saying was utter nonsense. "Now why are you two skipping?"

"We're celebrating a birthday," said James.

Rosie pulled out a small glass and a tall thin bottle of mead. Honey colored liquid tinged with red filled the glass. "Happy Birthday, Lily Evans," she said.

"Oh. Uh, no. It's not my birthday. It's…my mum's birthday."

"I'll drink to that," said Rosie before finishing the shot in one gulp.

As if I had taken the drink, my throat burned and my nose tickled. I blinked rapidly, trying to erase the pricking at my eyes, accompanied by a sudden blockage in my throat. I grabbed my Butterbeer and took enormous, un-ladylike sips in an effort to distract myself. I wished Rosmerta had added some of the honey red liquid to my drink.

"Let's grab a table, Evans," said James, standing from his stool. I followed suit.

"Nice meeting you," called Rosmerta as she moved down the bar to three women who just sat down. I only nodded in response.

"I think she's buzzed half the time," said James awkwardly. "I wouldn't listen to anything she says. Plus, she has it out for me."

"How come?" My voice sounded weak to my own ears, but I needed to latch on to something. I couldn't think about what today actually is anymore.

"I once put exploding Chocolate Frogs in her Butterbeer, and I had tied her ponytails to the chair." We sat at a table in the back.

"What? You're terrible!"

"In my defense, I was only six."

"Six? How long have you been coming here?"

"My whole life," said James proudly. "My dad used to bring me here when I was younger. I always knew Hogsmeade trips were one of the best parts of Hogwarts." He reached down into his Honeyduke's bag and pulled out the Chocolate Expelling Wands. He handed me one. "Here. Bite the ends and use it as a straw." He unwrapped his own wand.

"That's disgusting!" Butterbeer was perfect without James's interference, like most things in this world.

"Don't be a baby. If you don't like it, I'll buy you a new one."

Considering I had drunk a significant amount already, I decided to try it for the sake of a free drink. The chocolate from inside oozed into my Butterbeer and I looked on in disgust. James was sipping on his own drink happily while watching me. I bit the ends and stuck it in my drink. Cautiously, I slurped up some of my Butterbeer.

It sounds disgusting; I know it does. But the combination was so delicious, that I don't think I will ever drink a Butterbeer the normal way with satisfaction. Sensing my approval, James grinned. "You should really listen to me more often."

"Don't joke like that, James, or this time I'll shoot Butterbeer out of my nose."

He gave me a dirty look, and I mentally patted myself on the back. The room was full of witches and wizards. Some talked jovially among themselves; others drank alone, looking content or upset. A few couples snagged the booths in the back. I wondered when were their first times here.

"I can't imagine growing up knowing all this stuff," I said suddenly. James's dark eyebrows knit together. "Knowing about the Three Broomsticks, knowing about Hogwarts. Knowing that you're life is going to consist of Potions class and Quidditch and shopping in Diagon Alley. It must have been wonderful growing up and knowing that was all going to happen to you."

"It was," replied James. "It was also unbearable, too. Your eleventh birthday seemed so far away. You just sat around, waiting for your life to begin. It must have been pretty wild for Dumbledore to show up on your steps and tell you that you were going to Hogwarts."

I picked at a crack in the table. "Not exactly… I kind of knew about Hogwarts before Professor Dumbledore came to talk to my family."

"Really?" James looked stunned. "How? Did your parents know someone who went to Hogwarts?"

I shook my head. "No, no. I told them about it. We didn't even know what I could do was actually normal for this world. But…Severus had told me pretty much everything before I was even ten."

Luckily, James wasn't taking a sip of his drink. Otherwise we surely would have had to call Rosmerta for another rag. His eyes bugged out. "I beg your pardon?"

"Severus told me. He lived a few streets down from me. He saw me doing magic with my sister one day, and he told me he could do magic, too." I shrugged casually, as if it was no big deal. As if recounting these details didn't pang me. "He told me all about Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, the Ministry of Magic, everything. I knew it all." I continued picking at the table, unable to meet James's eyes.

"Wow," he said slowly. "That explains a lot, I guess. I always thought you had taken pity on him the first day on Platform 9 ¾ and he couldn't bear to leave your side ever since."

I looked up at him sharply. Did he have to ruin everything? "No," I snapped. "It wasn't like that. He was my best friend."

"I was just saying—"

"He showed me everything about this world. Everything, James. We waited for our letters together; we planned what House we would be in; we guessed what our favorite classes would be; he told me who the Minister was and about the laws he knew; we went to Diagon Alley together. It wasn't just me taking pity on him and he wasn't—" I can't believe he reduced our entire friendship to me feeling bad for him. He probably thought it meant nothing the way Sev betrayed me. He had no idea at all. None.

"Okay, okay, okay," he interrupted me quickly. "I get it. I was wrong. Let's just forget it, okay?" His jaw was set, and he didn't seem so relaxed anymore either.

We sat in silence. I wished we had never come down at all. I never should have even opened the door for him and his stupid soup.

"What was the first time you really did magic?" asked James. I looked up at him. The corner of his lips—stained with chocolate on the edges—turned up a bit. He was trying to move on. "When did you first know? It must have been before Sniv—Snape told you."

I knew the answer immediately. "I was six. My mum, sister, and I were walking downtown, and we passed by a jewelry store. They had this beautiful tiara on display. It was silver and the metal was woven to look like tiny vines. It had emeralds, too, and leaves." I couldn't help my dreamy sigh. It was gorgeous, Professor. You would have liked it. James grinned, amused. "It was something a beautiful garden fairy would wear."

"Wait, you know fairies are ugly, right?"

"I know, but Muggles think they're beautiful." That's one thing the Muggles did better. "Anyway, I'm not sure why it was in the jewelry store. It was probably for a wedding or something. I begged my mom for it, but it was probably months' worth of groceries. She said no, and she and my sister kept walking. I wanted it so bad," I recalled. "I would have done anything for it. Somehow, the tiara just picked itself up and floated through the glass. When my mom saw it, she freaked out. She wasn't so mad as scared and confused. I couldn't believe it, though. I realized I made it happen. It was all me. I started actually using my magic to get what I wanted then."

"Did your mum make you return the tiara?" asked James.

"Yeah. She hid it in a grocery bag and stashed it in the store. She didn't know how else to return it without making it seem like we were high-end criminals who suddenly developed consciences."

James chuckled. "Good point." I sipped my drink using my chocolate straw, which had started to melt. "What was she like, your mum?"

It was a harmless question, but it took my breath away. I wanted to stand up and leave. I didn't want to talk about her. I didn't want to try to sum her up in a few sentences. I then realized how long it had actually been since I talked about her. Dad, Tuney, and I didn't reminisce much at home. It hurt too much. I did want to talk about her.

"She was…kind. She always wanted the best for people. She was a baker, and she would take the old bread and sweets that didn't get sold in the store she worked in to shelters. She would stay to help distribute, and she always came back sad, because she wished she could do more. If you were sick, she would stay up all night with you, rubbing your back and holding up your hair over the toilet." The words started to tumble out of me. James's soft smile encouraged me to say more. "She was fun, too. She loved going on adventures and trying new things, and she loved everything about this world." I waved my hand around the room. "She was…" I shrugged. "She was my mum. She loved my dad, my sister, and me. She loved…living. She never wanted to get stuck, if that makes sense."

"Man, she sounds so cool." Cool wasn't a good enough word, but I knew what he meant. "What is your favorite thing about her?"

I caught the present tense, and a lump caught in my throat. I faked a cough. "I don't know. Everything. Can I say everything?" James shrugged, but I knew what he was thinking. "She believed in people. She always saw the good and the potential, and she would make you feel invincible with just a few sentences. She would always say, 'Nothing's impossible for the Evans.' It was a bit annoying, really, how positive she was, but she could get you through anything."

"What was the most annoying thing about her then?" asked James suddenly.

"What? She's my mum; she wasn't annoying!" The Whomping Willow could do a better job at soothing someone than James at that point.

"Aw, Evans, all mothers are annoying."

"Yeah, but mine's dead. Why would I talk about what I didn't like about her? What's wrong with you?" I hoped he recognized the idiocy in himself, or else he was a very lost cause.

Suddenly, he ran his hand through his hand, causing more pieces to stick up in more absurd directions. I wanted to see if Rosmerta had been looking our way. "She was a real person, though. You should want to remember her as a real person with all the good and annoying things about her."

I stared at him. Maybe Rosmerta had slipped something in his drink…

"When I go," he continued, "I don't want people to remember me as 'James Potter: The Most Talented and Brave Wizard to Live.' Sure, it's true"—I set my glass back on the table. Not visibly gagging was taking up a lot of energy—"but if people only remember the best things about you and nothing else, you're not a person anymore. You're just an idea of a one-sided person. And that would be lame." His hazel eyes stared past me, and I wondered if he knew he was saying all this out loud. Maybe it was the first intelligent thought he ever had, and his whole body didn't know how to respond.

"I would much rather be remembered as 'James Potter: The Most Talented and Brave Wizard to Ever Live Who was Kind of a Prat and Sometimes Hung Kids from Their Ankles and Got Too Many Detentions.'"

"You sound so sure," I noted. It was a habit I started to recognize of James. He never seemed to worry or falter. He knew he was going to get his Herbology essay done; he knew he wouldn't screw up being Head Boy; he knew he was going to win at Quidditch; he knew he would have a manor and job after school; he knew he would be remembered. I thought this arrogance was despicable, but now I feel envious. What a life it would be, if you knew it was all going to work out for you. Maybe I should start tousling my hair and skipping classes, too. Walk with a little more strut in the halls, perhaps. Shove my hands in my pockets and slouch a lot. I draw the line at the Snitch, though. No certainty is worth that level of self-degradation.

"Merlin is six feet under and even he knows I've gotten too many detentions," he joked.

He's right. No one will ever think James Potter is a saint.

"I never met my grandparents, but my parents make sure to tell me all the good and annoying things about them. Hearing the annoying things is half the fun."

"Mum was really stubborn," I said, giving James's theory a chance. "You would want to fight with her just to see if you could win and hold out longer than her. You never could, though. She always thought she knew best. She loved watching horror movies, but she hid her face and squeezed your hand the whole time; yet she insisted she loved it. If my sister and I were in a fight, she would always push for us to make things right, which also never worked, and sometimes made things worse." I don't mention that "if my sister and I were in a fight" really means "the fight my sister and I have been in for seven years."

James nodded, satisfied. "There, now she sounds even cooler."

For some bizarre reason, I felt satisfied, too. As if James had made some sense for once in his life. As if his utter nonsense and arrogance actually improved my day.

We left soon after with a quick wave to Rosmerta. I could have sworn she mouthed "yet" to me on our way out. We Apparated about halfway through the tunnel this time, which made me wonder why we couldn't have done that the first time, and then walked the rest of the way. I tried to hide my bag of incriminating evidence telling the world of my sins while we walked back to the tower, but I don't think anyone really gave James and me a second glance. As we neared the portrait of the Fat Lady, my heart began to pound.

"Well," I said slowly, waiting for words of wisdom to spring forward. "Thanks for a horrible time." Idiot. Honestly, I should be locked away.

"My displeasure," quipped James with a grin. "Hopefully when Dumbledore finds out we skipped class, he gets us adjoining cells in Azkaban."

"That is the only punishment fit for our crime, unfortunately." I smiled at him, forcing the corners of my lips up as I tried to convey how grateful I was for his ridiculous soup and Butterbeer, while at the same time trying to quell the feelings that another one of Mum's birthdays had passed.

In the Common Room, James found his mates hogging the chairs around the fireplace. He made a real show of limping over to them and coughing, pretending he just got back from the Hospital Wing.

I'm glad you said we couldn't get in trouble for things we've done once we turn in these silly journals if we already got away with it, because I really do like being Head Girl, even if I'm mad and emotionally unstable, and I do think James is an okay person. Azkaban would probably suck all the arrogance out of him, and for some strange reason, that might be a little bit sad.

I hope that somewhat made up for the long wait! If it did, please please leave a review and let me know. If not, go ahead and rant in the review I can take it (kinda whoops). I hope everyone has a great week!