Unwitting
Disclaimer: I am not J. K. Rowling, so it follows that none of the characters, themes or ideas from Harry Potter belong to me.
"Looking back upon the events of the past, it is those random, apparently insignificant instances in time that quietly shape our future, our actions… whilst we move through them, unwitting." AU. Pairing not explicitly mentioned (at least initially), though I wrote it with a specific pairing in mind :)
A/N: Instalment number five… the perspective is first person, from the POV of the main female protagonist. As I've said, this is my first ever fic, so if you could drop a review, I'd really, really appreciate it! Constructive criticism is well loved :)
One week later…
Honeydukes Double Caramel Milk Chocolate Whirl Deluxe Bars: 8 and a bit
Pumpkin Pasties nicked from the Kitchens: 25 or so, I'm not entirely certain
Hot cocoa nicked from the Kitchens: 16 (but 4 didn't have the extra chocolate dusting and marshmallows, okay?)
Weight gained (The spell I perform yields metric results for some reason. I fear I'm losing it): 2kg
Mood: Grey and unmotivated
N.E.W.T. Study: … No. Just… no.
O O O O O
Mr. Melon is not amused. My self-declarations of progression and energetic smiles have fizzled away into an unhealthy fixation with unhealthy food and unhealthy sleeping patterns. Miss Lily does not awaken upon her poor alarm clock's morning routines, and so Mr. Melon has been removed from her bedside table by her friend Hestia, who fears that he is having an emotional breakdown of some sort. Mr. Melon is currently snoozing peacefully under the influence of a sleeping charm. This is evidence enough of my newfound patheticness.
O O O O O
My grades are suffering. Professor McGonagall, Hestia tells me, was fixated in shock for a full minute upon observing my normally alert self slumbering in her Advanced Transfiguration class yesterday morning. When Hestia poked me with her wand, she says - patting my back soothingly as I stare at her, glassy eyed - that my arms flailed wildly as I muttered,
"Go `way, you pesky little niffler. It's mychocolate."
Oh, my goodness.
The dulcet tones of my professor ("Miss Evans!") and the snickering of my less sympathetic classmates eventually woke me up, and I do believe that the shade of magenta that I subsequently turned is unrivalled in its hue. Failing to answer the question fired at me ("Describe the wand movement and spell model pertaining to the transfiguration of an iguana into a chocolate cake, if you please"), I was dismissed with a docked 10 points and a dark look of dismay.
I'm currently taking refuge in my dormitory, somewhere in the depths of my beloved four poster bed.
O O O O O
I walked into the Prefects' Meeting yesterday afternoon (the one that I had called, last week), late, bleary eyed and sporting hair that was a mussy mess. I recall that my fellow Head fixed me with a vague Look of surprise, his brow furrowed and eyebrows almost disappearing into his hairline (it's strictly an expression, I've never seen anyone's eyebrows do that; it would be frankly unnerving). I opened my mouth intelligently, and my formerly composed persona seemed to have abruptly left me on holiday,
"Well, I… uh - um. Yes, well. I'll take a seat, shall I, then?" I mumbled intelligently.
Oh, I can just see it...
Hufflepuff Prefect #1 to Hufflepuff Prefect #2, in a conspiratorial whisper:
"Pssst. The Head Girl's gone dotty hasn't she?"
Hufflepuff Prefect #2 to Hufflepuff Prefect #1, nodding sagely:
"I'll put 10 sickles on that."
In my defence, I hadn't slept well the previous night or eaten a bite during the day. As evidence of this, I tripped impressively over a crack in the wooden floor, the sound echoing against the walls. He caught me by the shoulders, and refusing to look at him and see pity or derision or something equally unwanted, I bustled promptly away to take my seat. I didn't contribute a word. As I left rapidly after the meeting's closure, a question reached my ears,
"Hey, wait up, are you alright…"
I ignored The Voice and rushed into the nearest Girls Bathroom, bolting the door. He couldn't follow me there.
O O O O O
My Potions homework now sits in front of me; it was assigned a week ago, and is due later today. I stare hopelessly at the empty sheaf of parchment, which looks forlornly up at me, sans even a title. It's 2:37am in the morning. A tear slips unbidden down my cheek. I, who averaged `Outstanding' in all of her subjects, who finished her assignments within two days of their being assigned, the Wonderfully Organised One, have become a blithering wreck. And I will not even contemplate the reason why.
Petunia's letter, which came in last week, certainly didn't help.
Lily,
As we are now both above 17 years of age, the Surrey Charity Orphanage can no longer accept us under its care. I'm moving in with Vernon, my fiancée - we're to be married next month (please don't think about turning up to the Wedding). It saddens me that I lost a sister to her weird freakish whims almost 6 years ago now: I never understood why you couldn't give it up after Mum and Dad died, after all we had left in the world was each other. You made the decision that drove us apart: it's not something that can ever be fixed now… or ever, I think. Kindly do not attempt to contact me after this, don't respond to this letter - I can't have your horrible bird disrupting the Dursley home, what ever would I say to Vernon?
I hope you regret your decisions as much as I once did.
Petunia Dursley
I've been disowned by my sister, and I have no where to go after I graduate from Hogwarts this year. And I haven't any source of income. I hated going back to the Orphanage every summer - that cold, underkept institution that seemed to disapprove of childlike liveliness. But now, I would almost welcome an opportunity to go back.
O O O O O
Time slips by... 2:46am, and classes start at nine. I despondently grasp my wand and Vanish the plates dusted with crumbly remnants of cinnamon toast and empty tubs of vanilla yoghurt from my bed, an expression of disgust on my face, and head to the bathroom. Dousing my face with cold water despite my eyes' protest, and rubbing vigorously with a towel, I stare into a face which is unfamiliar: my eyes are surrounded by black panda bear shadows, they're squinting… my skin is sallow and blemished, and I swear my face has assumed a rotundly appearance. Dismayed, I wonder how I've allowed myself to reach this stage… how I ignored Hestia's motivational speeches and her imploring me to at least talk.
I was going to, actually, until I saw Potter chasing her around the Common Room yesterday night, the two of them gasping from laughter and then engaging in some form of serious conversation. I turned abruptly from my unseen perch, and headed back up the staircase.
What a ridiculous, blubbering, shameful mess I have become. I can't let this go on. I march out of the bathroom, earning a sleepy "Whozzat?" from Hestia. Slughorn has enchanted all our parchments with Anti-Cheating Jinxes so that it is impossible to read or reciprocate what a fellow student has written. It was never a point of dismay with me, and I frown that for the first time ever, it is.
Resolved, I gather up my parchment, my favourite brown barn owl quill, and the tottering pile of reference books that Hestia lent me and navigate my way down the staircase, into the Common Room, settling down at my favourite table by the dying embers of the fire to begin my work… 3:57am.
It's one Potions essay, true, and I haven't won the battle against myself just yet… but Mum used to tell me that it always starts with a few steps at a time.
O O O O O
7:45am…
An unimportant time to the World, perhaps.
The World is quiet but unbeknownst to it…
I, one Lily Marie Anne Katherine Rosemary Evans…
(Evidently my parents had a lot of relatives they liked … but L.M.A.K.R.E?! I sigh when I contemplate my initials)
Reign victorious over The Potions Essay.
Waving the parchment sheafs in the air to allow the ink to dry, I stumble away from my chair, rolling up the sheafs as I dance in an uncoordinated rendition of the Waltz around the deserted Common Room, a goofy smile fixed onto my face.
Thank goodness no-one is conscious to witness this -
"What in Merlin's name…" cries a scratchy, hoarse malevoice somewhere above my head, as I contemplate the solid chest that I've just careened into. Briefly hoping that this is some outlandish nightmare of mine, I poke it with my index finger. An unimpressed yelp confirms my sad suspicions.
Apparently, I spoke too soon.
My essay floats pathetically to the floor. I blink at it before reaching a quick decision born of a night - or many nights - of sleeplessness. I make a dash for my essay; recklessly shove The Chest away from me and turn abruptly to run away fast, praying that my dishevelled hair shields my face and keeps me incognito.
It takes me a few seconds to realise that I am being physically detained by a pair of rather strong hands.
Ow. My arms...
Let go you snarky, manhandling Hippogriff
"Let go, you snarky, manhandling Hipogriff."
Apparently, the Tact Centre in my brain that modulates my thoughts and how they translate into speech goes on strike with my Coordination when I lack sleep. Maybe they go a-Waltzing together, I think dazedly, as my face colours up.
"And just who do you fancy you are, ickle carrot-headed snippet?" booms out the voice of my assailant.
I might have noticed the slight note of derision had I listened closely.
But as it is, I cringe. Admittedly I'm slightly intimidated.
Hang on.
Hang on.
The Manhandling Hippogriff called me a what?
Carrot-headed snippet? Ickle?
I choose to focus on the first insult.
No-one calls me carrot (and lives to tell the tale)! It's auburn, you colour-blind twat.
I begin to puff up with self-righteous indignation, shaking and spluttering with agitation. In retrospect, sleeplessness evidently also does nothing for my temper.
"Carrot?! Why, you - " I war-cry, in what I believe is a poisonous tone.
Whipping around magnificently, I find myself nose-to-nose with… Potter.
Oh, brilliant.
O O O O O
Please let me know what you think, I'm always looking to improve :)
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