Nuttier Than A Fruitcake

Book Two In The 'Lily' Series

Chapter One -- Return To Sanctity

August, 31, 1975

3:02 PM

My Bedroom

Upon opening this fresh, new diary, I have discovered that I'm not particularly fond of emptiness. I mean, in my old diary, I could simply flip back a few pages to recall what I was thinking about on a certain day or how I felt after a certain event (probably traumatized, knowing my life). But, now, with this new diary, I have nothing to look back to. It now requires more than a mere thirty seconds to discover what I wrote about during the course of last year.

Mum didn't need to insist upon buying a new diary though. I was more than willing to concede to that particular demand of hers. Honestly, I like writing in a diary. I mean, it's a relief, really, because if I don't get my thoughts out of my head, it's likely that they're bound to come out of my mouth, which isn't always the cherry on top of my sundae, if you know what I mean.

Originally, my mother brought this diary idea about because she was concerned about my relationship with my sister. Or, so she said. To tell you the truth, I'm beginning to think that perhaps she thought I'd transfigure Petunia into a rodent of some sort. Not that the thought hasn't crossed my mind on occasion, but I wouldn't do that to my own sister. It's not like I'm in need of anger management or anything..

Good thing Holly or James Potter isn't here. Otherwise, I would have received some sort of snarky comment on that last line. Since you're new to all of this, diary, I should probably explain. Gah, I really do HATE the fact that there's nothing to look back to in this journal. You see, now I have to explain what it is that happened last year that could potentially provide reason to both my best friend and James Potter's statements regarding the control I have over my temper. Or lack thereof.

Last year, I was at the ripe age of fourteen. I was vulnerable, I was weak. I had an extreme problem with controlling my mane of wild, frizzy red hair. And so, when James Potter would push my buttons, I reacted in what one could say was an 'irresponsible' manner. It's not like I was a ticking time bomb or anything. It was just Potter. He was the only person I ever inflicted bodily harm upon and really, I don't see how that could possibly constitute the fact that I'm in need of anger management. Take any sane person and lock them in a room with James Potter for two hours and see if the stupid boy walks away unscathed.

But, why am I even telling you all of this anyways? You're a book. You don't need to understand what I write about. It's not like you have a mind of your own. Although, sometimes I do believe it's as if I'm writing letters to some pen pal off in the Czech Republic. Not a bad idea, really, except for the language barrier.

Anyways, back to my mother. Apparently, she's been worrying about me and well, she feels that this diary is my savior. I tried to explain to her that really, you're just a book that I write in every so often. But, she wouldn't hear any of it.

It's been rather difficult going an entire summer without writing anything at all. I've had to keep it all inside, mustering up all the self-control I have to avoid any serious confrontation with my sister and her boyfriend, who, might I add, has fingers that resemble breakfast links.

Vernon Dursley

The following has been observed by a Miss Lily Evans from June 30, 1975 to the present date. All quotations were taken directly from the source, Vernon Dursley.

"Lucky for you, your father is an entrepreneur and can probably squeeze you into the family business. Because, let's face it, Lisa, you're not exactly cut out for the drilling industry."

--Vernon Dursley

There are so many things wrong with that statement, I don't even know where to begin.

First of all, my father is a milk man. So, assuming that Vernon Dursley is aware of that fact, I can pretty much say that he was suggesting that I deliver milk for the rest of my life. I'm flattered, to say the least.

Secondly, as you may have noticed 'new' diary, my name is Lily. Not too difficult to remember, although, for someone as important as Vernon Dursley, remembering the name of his girlfriend's sister is hardly a priority.

And finally, after having had dinner with Vernon three nights a week for the past two months, I don't remember ever expressing any desire in pursuing an occupation at Grunnings. Nor do I remember expressing desire in his work at Grunnings. Actually, now that I think about it, the word Grunnings never even crossed my mind the entire time I was in the presence of Vernon.

It's safe to say that Vernon Dursley is a right slag.

Aside from having to endure the meathead three times a week for two solid months, my summer hasn't been a bed of roses. My grandmother, a wicked, wicked, wicked trollop, insisted upon having me stay at her home for at least two weeks. I would, luckily enough, be able to come home for dinners and what-not. God forbid I miss out on those. But, the dinners were far less traumatizing in comparison to that of Grandmother Evans.

That woman is horrible, I tell you. No wonder my dad's a milkman. I mean, with a mother that bizarre, he had to pick the most normal profession in the world to overcome it.

Rosemary Evans' List Of Improvements && Critiques

001) "Honestly, Lily, with hair that color, it's a wonder someone doesn't run you over. I mean, if I were driving in my car and I saw you walking down the road, I think I would go out of my way to run you over."

And here I've been told that I was the spitting image of this lanky ol' broad in her day. Ha, right, must have slipped her mind.

002) "Your mother tells me you still have that deformed monster. If I saw that bloody cat walking down the road, I'd be sure to just run my car right over it."

You see, Grandmother Evans may seem like a cruel, heartless bag, but in all reality, my mother just says she's going through 'her time' and during 'her time', she is prone to develop a fixation upon running things over. Me, my one-eyed cat, etc. I mean, if I got hot flashes, I'm sure I'd want to run things over as well.

003) "How am I supposed to marry you off, young lady, if you don't even know how to properly waltz? Waltzing is basically the most important thing in a relationship next to screwing."

I told you she was a dirty trollop. I really miss Hogwarts. I really, really do. No talk of waltzing or screwing there. Well, at least no talk of waltzing.

Only one more day in this hellhole. Only one more dinner. Only one more night of insanity before many, many nights of sanctity.

September 1, 1975

10:15 PM

Fifth Year Girls' Dorm

Now, normally Holly and I are completely disgusted by the kinds of girls who go around hugging each other and all that jazz, but when I saw my best friend for the first time in two months, after having had to endure the brainless meathead and my senile grandmother, I literally began bawling my eyes out. And the funny thing was, she did the same. And we were hugging for a good ten minutes before Sirius Black told us to get a room.

Totally goes to show you that the Marauders are composed of insensitive, pig-headed jerks. But, I was far too happy to see my best and only friend to even give two one-eyed kittens.

But, after the ten minutes of non-stop crying and hugging, we went back to normal. Thank Merlin, too, because if we'd developed the kind of friendship the gits in our dorm share, I'd have to call on my grandmother and personally ask her to run myself and Holly over. I mean, I love the fact that I can say anything I please to Holly and she won't take it out of context. And vice versa. Although, according to her, she's developed a fear of my hypothetical raging temper. Hypothetical being the key word because, the truth of the matter is, I don't need anger management.

It felt so good to just enjoy myself for once. I mean, the kids at my school had the entire summer to mull over the fact that Snape and I really have never shown even the slightest romantic interest in one another. Over the course of two months, I can only assume they've either come to their own conclusions, realized the impossibility of the situation, grown tired of the subject, or forgotten about it completely. As long as there's no word that I'll be bringing a little Snape, Jr. into the world anytime soon, I'm a happy camper.

But, no, there was no mention of myself and the slimy haired git. One could quite possibly take this news as a good sign that I am no longer doomed. This year, my fifth year at Hogwarts, could honestly turn out for the best. Not only am I the new Gryffindor Prefect, but, I mean, I no longer have to serve detention every night with James Potter and Severus Snape. Always a good thing to hear, right?

And speaking of James Potter, he's grown even more obnoxious with time. I mean, I remember leaving on bad terms with him. He obviously let the thought slip his mind. I mean, while I was walking the aisle, Holly far, far ahead of me and scoping out the compartment situation (for when I finished Prefect duties), I felt someone tap me on the shoulder almost insistently. If Holly and her brother didn't go running every morning at the crack of dawn, I'd probably have had her by my side and there to handle the situation for me. But, alas, I blame her and her professional Quidditch playing brother for my encounter with James Potter, a boy who, as he informed me, 'refuses to give up'.

The following is a direct quote taken from a run-in between Lily Evans and James Potter aka Chauvinistic Pig.

"Evans, Evans, Evans. You thought that you'd be able to just slap me across the face, beat the living pulp out of me, throw pumpkin juice all over my robes, punch me in front of Slughorn and the rest of your upstanding club mates, and slam a door in my face after I was levitated up to your dorm and fell through your window? No, no, no. It's not that easy to get rid of me. I, James Potter, swear with all the power invested in me as a Marauder that I shall not let this crusade go idle. It shall live on, Evans. And I shall never give up!"

And it was that statement, that wounded, tragic statement, that allowed James to officially earn his new title; cockroach. No matter how many times you flush, they just keep crawling back up the bowl.

He said all of this on bended knee, mind you, to which I had to restrain myself from kicking him in the face. So, now, the rumors are no longer about Severus Snape and I. James Potter, apparently, is the current buzz and his wishes of pursuing Lily Evans only brings more sparks to the already ignited gossip circuit.

If he'd have asked for a private word, I might have found the gesture sweet. But, considering his friends were snickering in the background and the entire school was eavesdropping while James Potter shouted his bloody oath to me, I was rather disgusted by it. Anything to bring attention to himself, really.

Despite that display of unwanted affection, this year has come off to a grand start. Remus Lupin, my former snogging partner (alright, we kissed once and it could hardly be considered a snog), is my co-Prefect for the year. Thank Merlin it was him and not some insufferable prat like James Potter or Sirius Black. Even Peter Pettigrew, a boy with his head shoved deeply up his own arse, would be preferable to a member of the devious duo.

Although, really, I can't say that this year started off without a tad bit of embarrassment. After Dumbledore dismissed us Prefects to go and give the first years a tour of the castle, I made a slight mistake in whom I was talking to. I swear to you, this tweed of a boy was just sitting at the table as the other first years obediently followed mine and Remus' voices. So, in order to get the ignorant prat up from his seat, I started shouting in his bloody ear, telling him that if he couldn't handle obliging to the authority every now and then, he was going to have a rough seven years ahead of him.

It was only when Remus informed me that the prat I was screaming at was in the fourth year that the embarrassment started to sink in.

I can already tell that I'm going to be a horrible Prefect. Bless the school for what they will have to endure over the next three years. I'm sure that tonight's display was only a preview of what's next to come.

A/N: So, this is the first chapter of the new story, which is a sequel to my story, 'Lily'. If you have not read that story, I suggest you do or else you will be lost. So, in order to avoid aggravating me with questions, do go read the story. I can only hope this one will become as successful as it's prequel. Hope you enjoyed! Will update as soon as I can. Please review! Thanks!