Here in this Diary
Chapter one: In which Lily recognizes Toerag
Or In Which Breakfast Cereal is blamed for many happenings beyond it's control
So this is me. Hi. Lily Evans speaking.
What a suckish beginning for a diary entry. I am really beginning to question the whole concept of "diary entries". What do you want me to say? Sixteen years old, witch, live at my school (for the most part) and have a stalker.
You're giving me weird looks. Why stare at me like that? Oh the last part? Yes well get used to it because I don't think he's going anywhere any time soon.
His name is James Potter. James Tristan Potter. Known as Toerag. Why? Because that is what he IS. Alright, let me back up a bit.
1st year, I was new to the Wizarding world. New to everything about it, actually. I was lost on my way to class and I quite frankly did not know which way was up (I think I ended up somewhere on the fourth floor). A boy in my year with messy black hair that looked like it has not been introduced to a comb (this is Toerag, by the way) comes up behind me and asks if I need some help finding my classes. I, being young and naïve, gratefully accept.
Dumbass young eleven year old, I was.
He leads me through this passage on the fourth floor and goes "Almost there." (We'd been walking for a very long time) and so I nod and tell him that it was very nice of him to help me like this and I was so lost and I start going on and on. Stupid prick did NOT deserve that much appreciation. He just nods and pulls me into this passage. It's extremely dark now so he has to light his wand. I lost track of where we were and just trusted him.
This is the part where you mentally yell at me saying that I'm an idiot for trusting him. I have done that about a million times over my diary friend and I come to realize that this is where everything started. The whole Lily/James era began right here.
Not that I really consider us an "era". I don't even consider us an "us". I consider him a him and me a me.
That makes sense, I promise.
Anyway suddenly he goes "Knox" and puts out his wand. He touches something on the wall, mutters something else and he is able to go through the wall. On the way out he shouts "Bye Red Head!" and leaves me standing there.
In the dark.
With no way out.
And like any eleven year old, I don't think sensibly and light my wand. I just crouch there in the dark and cry.
For about four hours.
Then Filch the caretaker comes barging through. I mean, man on a mission or what? Well he's muttering something about the "God-damned marauders" and he's dragging that stupid cat along with him and the cat starts sniffing around. (Well I actually didn't know it was a cat. I didn't even know it was Filch. I had no idea who had entered the passageway, all I knew was that there was something extremely unrecognizable and wet sniffing at my leg.) In retrospect it was probably the cat's nose. However I did not stop to consider that possibility.
Loud and long.
This freaks the cat out and she starts climbing up my leg (which gets scratched up and hurts like hell) and then onto my shirt and then up my arm on top of my head. So I'm trying to get this cat off of my head while screaming. I run around (because when you're being maliciously clawed to death by a cat in the dark, you don't really think straight), and I bang right into Filch who knocks us all to the ground.
Then screaming like a maniac I fall right through the wall. You know, that wall that James jinxed open?...but forgot to close? Yeah well I didn't know either.
But while I've got this fur ball on top of my head and I've got Filch flying through the wall about to land right on top of me with his moth-eaten coat and everything (Who is by the way doing some slow motion Matrix-type move, so go ahead, ask me: blue or red?), all I can think about is what a moron I am. I'm sitting about two feet from the exit all along because idiot Potter forgot to close it and I'm sitting inside this dark chamber, which for all I know could have rats inside (or Filch, but really what's the difference), for FOUR HOURS crying my eyes out until I swear my tear glands are dried up.
Go ahead, laugh, I know you're dying to.
Alright that's enough.
Stupid Marlene HAD to get me a diary that actually "interacts" with me.
This defeats the whole point of spilling everything to you—you CANNOT talk back and tell me that I'm wrong.
Marlene is my best friend who happens to think that I need interaction with things that can tell me when I'm wrong and not respond to physical pain. She says this only because I spend half of our time complaining to her about what is wrong with my outfit or how I have a tiny problem that according to her I make into a "courtroom drama".
I'm throwing out that mirror, though. She got me a mirror that is charmed to rate your outfits. All it does is criticize me. I don't like that mirror.
It is currently laughing at my hairstyle.
I like my hairstyle.
Bite me, mirror.
So enough about Marlene. This diary, which clearly finds my eleven year old self amusing as anything and is taking advantage of my permission to laugh at my former self, was a gift from her. I shall inform her later about your slightly useless help on matters such as my childhood.
So anyway, it is five years later and Toerag decided that he's fallen in love with me sometime during this great gap of time.
I, on the other hand, have decided that he has no idea what "love" actually is.
I should probably tell you a little bit about Toerag. You see, James Tristan Potter is about 6 foot 1 with hair that never flattens (although he has an irritating habit of ruffling it, which doesn't help the unkempt look), has the biggest ego on the face of the earth, and thinks he can get anything he wants just by smiling his stupid lopsided grin.
Oh catch me, I think I'm in love.
God, you'd think that everyone would see it my way? But no. James Potter not only has everyone wrapped around his finger, he also has most of the TEACHERS eating out of the palm of his hand.
I mean really, is this guy boyfriend material or what?
Now you're looking at me like I'm not being sarcastic, which I promise you I was.
So anyway, back to today's events.
It started out as a normal, ordinary day. I woke up, found my favorite hair ribbon (that I had been searching for, so really it was a stroke of luck that I'd find it on the night-stand, you know, where it's supposed to be) and only had to yell at Marlene to get out of the bathroom for fifteen minutes instead of the usual thirty.
Actually, it started off as a pretty well-rounded day.
And then breakfast happened.
I know what you're thinking. Is she scared of the toast monster? Well, no actually, that theory belongs to Leroy Lovegood, who does in fact believe in a monster lurking in the Hogwarts toast, put there by the imprisoned house elves who are trying to revolt and they want to plague us with this beast before they liberate.
Why are you looking at me like that? It's really not my theory.
Anyway so I sat down and got my usual—a piece of toast (you see? Not scared of the monster...sorta. Well? Anything's possible in a school full of magic, you know.), and some eggs (scrambled obviously).
Then, who happens to prance in, but Toerag.
He sits down with his usual crew of kids (the three boys that have christened themselves "Marauders". Can you stand it? They actually gave themselves a gang name. You'd think we were eight, not fifteen.)
So Toerag sits down with his sidekicks follow in suit. James starts to pour himself some cereal.
He starts talking to sidekicks numbers 1, 2 and 3. They're having a sort of group huddle in which they talk very animatedly in hushed tones. He kept sending me these odd looks. I was very tempted to flick him off after the seventh time.
Toerag says something to the other three and looked a bit unsure of himself. But Sirius (bum boy number one) pats Toerag on the back and says "Don't worry about it!" very loudly.
Well it had to be loud to reach my ears. I was on the other end of the table.
I should have known then to just walk out and not look back.
Curse my hunger.
So I go back to staring at my toast, wondering whether or not Leroy Lovegood was onto something with this whole toast conspiracy thing when suddenly I hear this loud crash.
When I look up, guess who jumped onto the table?
Yep. Toerag was kicking plates off the table and knocking goblets of water or some other substance (smuggled alcohol in the case of Oliver Welsby, the local drunk. The first step is admitting you have a problem, Ollie.) into people's laps. There were a few protests (mostly made by Victoria Page, a life-size Barbie doll if there ever was one.), but other than her the Great Hall was completely silent. Every eye was on James Tristan Potter.
He was strutting his way purposefully down the Gryffindor breakfast table. I was watching him too, just to see where he was headed and ready to catch my plate in case he decides to get clumsy around my food.
Well three guesses: where was Toerag headed to?
Indeed. The boy stops right in front of me, flashes everyone in the Hall one of his arrogant smiles, and winks down at me.
I look down and try not to gag on my half-eaten eggs.
He then leans down and grabs my glass of pumpkin juice and a spoon. He taps it sharply, so it makes a clink-ing noise. After he finishes having fun with the metal-on-metal contact, he throws the spoon over his shoulder, not caring that he hit a first year in the head. He then clears his throat importantly.
And all I can think is please no speech. Please no speech. IF THERE IS A GOD DO NOT LET THIS BOY MAKE A SPEECH WHILST ON TOP OF THE BREAKFAST TABLE.
"SPEECH!" Sirius Black shouts from the other end of the table.
I am becoming an atheist.
"Can I have everyone's attention, please?" James asks the Hall, as if he didn't already have it.
I miss my mouth with my fork and get a bunch of egg in my hair. I quickly try to comb it out with my fingers while I am watching Toerag make his speech.
"Today I stand before you all as just a mere mortal. A boy of fifteen. I most importantly am standing before the love of my life, Lily Ann Evans—"
"—my middle name is Marie." I interrupt, slightly annoyed. Honestly, if you're going to make a fool out of yourself, do it right.
James blanched, but continued. "And I am calling on you fine people to witness me in my declaration of love for Miss Lily Marie Evans."
Sirius slides a new spoon over to our end of the table (all of the available silverware and breakfast plates have been knocked off the table because of James' sudden impulse to do the catwalk during breakfast.) and shouts "Go on, Jamesy. And dude. Don't worry about it! She'll love you!"
I'm right here.
"She's right there." James points to me. I sink lower in my seat and I am pretty sure that I have blushed as red as possible.
"Oh, right—er—OY! EVANS! DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT! YOU'LL LOVE IT! IT WAS MY IDEA!"
I'll give him something to worry about.
So anyway, James picks up the spoon and puts it to his mouth like a—microphone? No. You're thinking that not even James Potter is that shameless.
You don't know how wrong you are.
He starts singing. To the tune of Frosty the Snowman.
"Evans, oh Evans! You're the apple of my eye!"
Lord help me
"With your bright red hair, you're a reason to stare, you know that I'm your guyyyyyy—"
The other three marauders have decided to become his backup singers. They jumped on the table and are now doing moves that I'm pretty sure they took out of a video somewhere.
"Evans, oh Evans! I would love to make a pass. We would get a bite to eat, maybe something sweet, then I'd grab your tight—"
"MR. POTTER!" McGonagall, who up until now was staying quiet and letting me endure this embarrassment, was on her feet. "GET DOWN FROM THERE!"
She was throwing disapproving looks at Dumbledore, who was next to her and was snorting from laughter into his breakfast.
Stupid old kook.
"Right-o, Minnie, just one second!" James called up to the teacher's table.
McGonagall closed her eyes and counted to ten, while taking deep and calming breaths.
"Evans, will you go out with meeeee?" James finished, in song no less. Sirius was singing falsetto.
I stood up silently, took up my pumpkin juice and threw it in his face.
Maybe Leroy's onto something. Except I blame the breakfast cereal.
My favorite hair ribbon that was found this morning—three sickles
Questionable eggs and toast—house elf labor
Serenaded by Potter at the breakfast table—a lifetime of embarrassment
Pumpkin juice in his face after humiliation—priceless.
A/N: more to come, so what'd you think? I must acknowledge this boy that I know who says 'don't worry about it' so constantly he has infected everyone around him to start saying it. Anyway please review and 2nd entry will be up soon!