8/11

My Bedroom, 11:00 pm

I will start this entry by saying that it is far past my summer hols bedtime (yes, I am pathetic and have no life and should probably just become a hermit because that's how I act anyway). I mean, I go to bed so bloody late at school doing the ridiculous amounts of homework assigned by my professors (ok…only because I procrastinate…) that I need by beauty sleep. (HAH beauty.) The only reason I am awake and writing right now is because today's events are far, far too eventful and I need someone to listen otherwise I absolutely will not be able to sleep. How sad that the "someone" is a diary. Well. A person must pick their battles, and human interaction isn't one of mine right now. Merlin, I am pathetic. I'll owl Marls and Alice tomorrow. So. Right. This entry. I, uh. Right. Might as well pick up where I left off.

Ooh! Distraction! I hear Petty creeping in downstairs. I know it's her because she clops around like a horse in her house sandals. Everything about her is horsey. It's uncanny. I bet she was having a horrifically slaggish rendezvous with Mr. Walrus-Elephant. Isn't it far past her curfew for today? Why yes, yes it is. I'm talking to myself….in a diary. Anyway, might as well use her rule-breaking to my amusement and advantage!

The Living Room, 11:30 pm

Ok, so that didn't work out quite as well as I had hoped, because I got in trouble along with Petty, but it was sooo worth it. I may or may not have screamed, "WHO'S BREAKING INTO THE HOUSE?!" causing Daddy to run downstairs with a poker from my parents' bedroom fireplace. Petty sure screamed up a storm. Haha that brat. She deserved it. The unfortunate part was that Petty then accused me of knowing it was her.

"Lily, you little bitch. You knew it was me!"

"Language, Petunia!" my mother snapped. But Petty was too furious to listen to mum, and kept on screeching away.

"Why do you always have to be such a brat!? Can't you just once be normal? No one else does such rude things as you, Lily. It probably has to do with your freaky magic shit….blah blah blahhh blah blahhhhh blah blahh…." Is what I heard. I couldn't help tuning her horrific voice out. I was spending all of my time focusing on her amusingly blotchy red and purple face as she screamed. I was also trying very hard not to laugh so I wouldn't blow my cover of not knowing it was her.

But I'm shite at not laughing. So laugh I did. And now I'm sitting on the couch next to my horsey sister, listening to my mum lecture us both on responsibility and immaturity. I think she's getting particularly upset because I'm writing while she's speaking, but come on mum. We both know it's only Petty you're angry at. Besides, I definitely saw her smirk a bit when Petty was screeching, she was just better at hiding it than me.

Anyway, back to the events from earlier today. Where was I….oh right.

So James and Peter went off to their corner of the restaurant. Hestia and I finally had some peace and quiet to ourselves. But for some inexplicable reason, my eyes kept glancing over towards them. Actually, no. It was totally explicable. It's because they were up to something. I could tell. And I so did not trust them. Mostly I just didn't trust Potter. Pettigrew would probably just stumble along in whatever hair-brained schemed Potter came up with.

"Lily, dear. You seem awfully preoccupied with James. Is this a sign of…god forbid…feelings being returned to that lovesick boy?" Hestia smirked, awaiting what could only be a spastic, aggressive reaction on my part. She was not disappointed.

"Bloody ew, Hestia!" I shot back, my dysfunctional arms flailing in annoyance, knocking over both Hestia and my drinks. Yeah. Not just mine, not just hers…both. "Oops…," I grinned guiltily at the hysterical laughing girl across from me.

"A bit too vehement in your answer, Lily." Hestia smirked. My guilty grin quickly morphed into a glare.

"I am so not sorry for spilling your drink, Hestia Jones. You are barmy," I huffed, quite righteously. I mean, come on! Remember when I wrote that she was super smart and studious? Well that intelligence clearly does not apply to her people reading skills because no way in hell do I fancy James bloody Potter. I dug in to my food with renewed fervor, decidedly ignoring the pointed looks Hestia was sending my way over her now half-filled drink.

8/12 My Bedroom, 12:30am

She confiscated my diary! My mad mother actually confiscated my diary! So what I was writing while she lectured me? Didn't I already establish that she clearly thought my prank of Petty was brilliant?! Hmph. And besides, it's not like she was able to keep the diary away. Because, woman, I have a wand. And a wand is a wondrous thing. That can, with a helpful Accio charm, summon objects that ought to be in my possession!

So now. The restaurant. The meal was going quite well, as I grew more relaxed and less wary of the two buffoons sitting across the room. That relaxation was the biggest mistake I have ever made. (Actually, I've made worse, but whatever.) I believe that Hestia and I were discussing whether McGonagall would ever not wear her hair in a tight little bun at the nape of her neck, when a glimmer on my nearly empty plate (yes, I'm a pig) caught my eye.

It was a stag, just 5 centimeters tall. A miniature stag crafted out of fire. Red hot fire. How could anyone be so stupid as to release a fiery miniature stag in a muggle restaurant?! But I knew the answer to that question, and my head shot up to glare fiercely at a grinning James. It had to be him, Peter certainly wasn't talented enough. And that's not me being mean, that's fact. One time that boy transfigured his own fingers into carrots and then ate them, the idiot.

But much to my shock, James' smug face was not the worst thing at that table. No, the worst thing was the menagerie of fire animals that covered the entire table surface. He had built a god damn bloody fucking menagerie. I recognized lions, stags, and dogs among a multitude of others that were galloping around, jumping over plates, climbing up the walls of the glasses, and intermittently falling off the edge of the table.

Wait, falling off the edge?! Before my frantic eyes, little fire animals darted off in all directions along the restaurant floor. It could only be seconds before they were noticed by the non-magical occupants of this fine establishment. Before said fine establishment went up in flames. I whipped around to face a wide-eyed Hestia. "We are so screwed."

Oops, my mum is banging on my door. Guess she found out about the Accio. Must hide the diary behind my pillow before the madwoman breaks in!