Confessions of a Marauder
On his seventeenth birthday, James Potter receives a diary from his best friend, for the sole reason that it was on sale. Soon, he finds himself pouring his thoughts and dreams into it, and beginning to realize his true feelings for Lily Evans. A funny diary, read!
I have just been victimized.
I, James Randall Potter, am a victim of a hideous, cruel crime.
Quit the dramatics, Prongs.
Dramatics? Dramatics? Obviously, the wrong-doer is unaware of the consequences of his dreadful actions.
Sirius Black, hereafter called the wrong-doer, has committed the crime of giving a bloody diary to his best friend. For the one reason that it was on sale.
Shocking, isn't it?
And let's add the fact that the best friend (me) is a popular, seventeen year old boy, and does not need a diary.
There are two types of people who keep diaries.
A. Mary-Janes: the preppy, perfect girl who finds it necessary to write down every detail of their perfect little lives in a pink, furry diary.
B. Complete Losers: people who, sadly, don't have a life, therefore are friendless. They seek a friend in a book, and often are seen angrily scribbling in said book after yet another person ignores them.
Notice that I am neither of these two.
I am a very-good looking boy surrounded by dozens of people who love me, including three best friends (actually two, since Sirius turned out to be a traitor) and girls who would die for a chance to touch me.
By seeing this evidence, it is obvious I am not type B.
Also, I don't have a perfect life, nor am I perfect. This confession, although difficult to admit, is true. I don't have:
A. The latest model of the Nimbus. (Nimbus 1972)
B. Perfect grades (I currently have five 'O's and one 'E'. Which is still pretty damn good)
C. A spotless record (I recently broke the record for most detentions)
D. The girl I have been I've fancied for six years.
The girl is none other than Lily Elizabeth Evans.
Words fail to describe her.
She's pretty, of course, but not beautiful. She has a striking sort of looks, the kind that you rarely see in a girl. At the same time, there are plenty other girls in Hogwarts who are far more beautiful. But their looks are…common somehow.
Her hair is dark red, sort of the color of red wine. It reaches just below her shoulders in a wavy, thick cascade. Her hair's incredibly silky looking.
I must ask her what shampoo she uses.
Her skin is nice, a light tan color, and she has average lips. Lily's about…five-six, and her body is average-y.
Still, her arse looks bloody fine in a skirt.
But what get most people's attention are her eyes. They're an arresting shade of green, a wonderful clear green that holds your attention, and refuses to let go.
Unfortunately, those haven't let go of me for over six years.
Prongs. Earth to Prongs. Stop dreaming about Evans. You're drooling.
I am merely producing too much saliva, so it has escape through the crevices of my mouth.
But it's not drooling.
Lily just ran through the door of the Transfiguration classroom, apparently having woken up late.
It should be illegal to look that good after just waking up.
Her cheeks are flushed, and her hair is wind-blown. She apologizes to Professor McGonagall quickly.
"I'm sorry. I was helping a first year find his way."
An outrageous lie, but one the professor believes, since Evans acts like a perfect little angel around them.
Just after Lily, Peter waddles in, his round face pink.
His face, unlike Lily's, does not look attractive while flushed. It looks quite nasty, actually.
"Mr. Pettigrew! I will not tolerate any tardiness in my class room! Please take a seat next to Ms. Jacobsen." Professor McGonagall thundered.
Angela Jacobsen is her best friend, and exactly where she was headed.
And the only other empty seat is next to me.
Thank you, Merlin.
Peter sits next to Angela, and sends a blushing smile her way, which she weakly returns. Her eyes catch Lily's and the two exchange glum looks.
"Miss Evans? Is there a problem?"
"Then sit next to Mr. Potter."
Professor McGonagall has a faint smile on her face.
Could she be doing this on purpose?
Lily heads towards me, with an expression of a person heading towards their executioner.
"Hi, Evans." I cheerily greet, ruffling my hair. My hair looks very attractive when ruffled, as most girls tell me.
Well. She doesn't have to be rude.
She sees my diary, and snorts, "You have a diary?"
Affronted, I return, "It's a journal. Not one of those frilly pink diaries you girls have to write down your feelings."
She stares at me.
"Sirius gave it to me. It was on sale." I explain.
A smile creeps onto her face, and she struggles to restrain from bursting into giggles. However, she fails and lets out a peal of laughter.
Lily is laughing too hard to answer.
"Mr. Potter, what happened now?"
I put on an innocent face, "The poor girl has gone mad from my dashingly good looks."
The class titters, and Lily stops, glaring, "Have not."
"She's in denial." I stage-whisper, and the class nods, a look of understanding on their faces.
Professor McGonagall barks, "As amusing as this is, we are here to learn!" She glares at me, and continues teaching.
Lily gives me a dirty look, and slumps into her chair, burying her head into her arms.
She's embarrassed because I know her secret.
She fancies me.
There's really nothing to be shy about. The other girls have no problem in admitting it.
Prongs, I highly doubt she fancies you. Especially after the way you embarrassed her in front of the class.
Psh. A lot he knows.
He doesn't know how girls think.
I send a smile her way, "It's OK to fancy me. After all, you could do a lot worse."
Actually, I'm the best she can do. I am:
A. Incredibly good looking (messy, thick black hair and hazel eyes, plus a body to die for, to quote all my ex-girlfriends)
B. Incredibly smart (see grades: B, top of page)
C. Incredibly witty, popular, and nice.
What girl can resist that?
A new story, and I want reviews, OK?
For those of you who didn't catch it, the writing in bold (other than AN) is Sirius's. Don't ask how he can write in it, he just can.
The more reviews, the sooner the update.