Harry Potter 1. Prologue

**Prologue**

That's it.

He's gone.

All that life and laughter and pure joy, wiped out. Viciously erased from the world in a matter of months. Weeks, really.

I look outside of the window and everything is exactly the same. The cars still speed down the stretch of road and people continue trotting in and out of the super market across the way. I hear an ambulance siren but it sounds vague and distant, as though I'm hearing it from under water.

It seems bizarre that ambulances are still a necessity. Why would anyone need an ambulance when the world has ended? Surely nobody is still alive? Surely there's no one left breathing and moving and living?

That's the only way I can make sense of this situation because I can't for a second truly believe that my dad, my amazing, funny, strong dad, has died from something as simple as cancer. Harold Evans lived too much of an extraordinary live to be defeated by something so…ordinary.

Paul's official title is "young person's emotional support worker." I don't know why he is given such a ridiculous title when it is so painfully obvious that he is a grief counsellor. Even the most obtuse person could suss that out in less than two minutes.

I've sat and listened to Paul, who's far too cheery and understanding to be genuine, for the last three weeks and at each dreary session I wonder why on Earth I agreed to this. We both know that I'm not getting anything from it and any suggestion he makes I dismiss and never follow through with.

But now he informs me that this is his last resort. His final attempt at making some difference in the life of Lily Evans that he knows so startlingly little about.

What is this dramatic final option, I hear you cry? Is it something drastic? Will it make me gasp in shock that those are the extents that a young person's emotional support worker would go to, merely to help one bereft seventeen year old girl?

Not quite.

You see, Pauls only remaining solution is for me to write a diary.

No you didn't misread anything; his final ember of hope is the rather remote possibility that I will commit to writing a_ diary_.

This basically involves me writing down everything I do, feel or think and apparently, by some form of magic that I've not been made aware of, that will heal this gaping, dad shaped hole in my life.

At first I was determined to brush aside this idea in exactly the same way as I did the others and, if I'm honest, I'm still not entirely sure why I haven't. All I do know is that nothing I can do now will worsen this pain; I don't even think that's possible. And I suppose I do feel _some_ sort of responsibility to attempt at least one of Paul's pathetic "resolutions." Though admittedly that's probably more out of sympathy than trust or expectation.

So here I am. Preparing to confide in an inanimate object as a half-hearted effort to come to terms with the death of my dad.

Who can say that that's weird?

**A/N: I'll try and keep this short and sweet because it's no secret how I like to ramble on as part of these authors notes! **

**Recently I've not been very well, and I've had to leave college and have now realised that without studying my life consists of startlingly little! I've wanted to write a James/Lily story for years now and I have never had the time but now that I have do absolutely nothing all day, I've decided that I will go ahead and give it a go, what's stopping me?**

**I promise that it will get a lot cheerier than this! I just wanted to set up the story and make it clear the reasoning behind Lily's diary writing. I have this whole story planned out and I hope to update it at least once a week if not much more frequently. This is the most excited I've felt about a project in a long time and I'm determined to see it through!**

**If you have the time, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the form of a review!**

**Thanks for reading,**

**Faithless **


	2. Chapter 1

_September 1__st_

I think it's safe to say that this has been the worst first day back at school that I have ever had. Which is not only disappointing but surprising as well. You see, I've spent so much time looking forward to coming back! The very moment that I arrived home I wanted to return to Hogwarts. At Hogwarts I hadn't been nearly so worried about Dad or cancer or very irritating, newly engaged sisters. This isn't to say that I wasn't well aware how incredibly selfish that longing was however, so I tried to keep from dwelling on the subject. Nevertheless, even with all the other things, _important things_, might I add, occupying my thoughts, my selfish ways weren't going to die all that easily and the comfort and safety of Hogwarts was never far from my mind.

I allowed myself to think of my return only when the annual letter arrived, with its enticing snippet of information and gargantuan list of books to be purchased. I noticed almost immediately that it was slightly thicker and heavier than usual but I didn't dare let myself believe the possible reason that had momentarily flitted into my mind. I extracted the letter with great care, at a pace to rival that of a particularly lazy snail and absentmindedly held my breath as I did so.

I wasn't going to let myself believe it. Not without solid proof. And even then I might still be inclined to doubt it. Surely something like _that_ couldn't happen to someone like _me_? Disorganised Lily with her countless detentions, who left any and all OWL revision until the night before the exam and frequently engages in shouting matches in corridors? No. Definitely not. I nearly laughed at myself for being capable of such ridiculous thoughts as I revealed my letter with a final hearty tug.

Multiple rolls of parchment slipped through my fingers unnoticed and all of my senses were very suddenly preoccupied with observing the intricate crimson badge that had fallen with a soft thud onto my bed. I sat and gazed at the article in question for a considerable length of time. I was in awe at the small metal item that signified that I, Lily Evans, was Head Girl.

_Head Girl!_

_Me!_

_I'm serious! It's not a joke!_

…_as far as I know._

_Merlin, would _that_ be embarrassing._

Nervously, I traced the badge's outline with my finger, needing to be completely certain that it _was_ actually a real object and not merely a figment of my imagination.

After much careful examining of the badge and frantic rereading of the accompanying rolls of parchment, I was forced to concede that Dumbledore had indeed made _me_ Head Girl. _Ha!_ It still feels weird saying, or rather writing, that. I keep thinking that any moment now Dumbledore will round the corner to rip the badge from my robes and scoff at me for believing that he would make such an outrageous decision. I don't even think I'd mind. It would restore some kind of normality to my world. At least then I could carry on living my mundane, badge-less life and not keep obsessively checking over my shoulder for tall old men with blue eyes and impressive beards everywhere I went.

After a few weeks of developing my new Dumbledore checking habit and not being graced with his company, I'd finally managed to convince myself that my Head Girl-ship wasn't all an elaborate prank and that Dumbledore was still as sane as ever…well, _sane _might be a bit strong but I wasn't worried that he had developed psychosis or anything.

So all was good. I'd come to terms with my new position and I only checked five times for any lurking, badge-stealing Dumbledores as I arrived at platform nine and three quarters. But, alas, there is no relief for the wicked…or however that saying goes…as I then made the great mistake of boarding the train and finding out who had been appointed the ever important role of Head Boy.

I won't lie; I was fully expecting Oliver Lynch, a Ravenclaw prefect with 10 outstanding O.W.L's and a flawless reputation. I wish I had something negative to say about Oliver Lynch but I just don't. I'm of the firm belief that he has no negative traits. I mean, his obvious intelligence aside, he has a thriving social life (which he balances perfectly with his studies…no one saw him go without food for 48 hours whilst he crammed for his transfiguration exam), hair that is far too unfair and fantastic for someone so clever, and a personality that was a true miracle of nature, kind, modest, caring…you get the gist I'm sure, girls want to be with him guys want to be him and all that rubbish. Even more impressive than his magnificent good looks and abnormally nice personality (though they are both traits of a superhuman if you ask me), is his rather remarkable achievement of enduring six whole years of schooling without having a single detention.

Do you realise how _extraordinary_ that is?

Not a single lesson attended five minutes late because you drank too much pumpkin juice at lunch and were forced to make a last minute bathroom visit. Not a single piece of homework misplaced or forgotten or ruined by an accidental ink-spillage in your bag. Not a single curfew broken because you lost track of time in the library or desperately needed to send that incredibly important letter containing the latest gossip to your mum.

I think it's safe to say that it was widely presumed that Oliver Lynch was the only true candidate for Head Boy.

So you can imagine my shock when I hurried into the designated Head's compartment to be greeted by Potter.

_James Potter._

And not just any bloke named James Potter (though he sounds like a twit too). I speak of none other than the _notorious_ James Potter. James Potter and his consistent pattern of dreadful behaviour.

Not a single lesson attended on time. Not a single piece of homework given in that wasn't late, defiled or nonsensical due to it being completed over breakfast. Not a single school rule adhered to. Never mind the fact that ever since fifth year he has made it his personal mission to humiliate me in every way he can think of.

Sure, why wouldn't Dumbledore choose him?

I mean if we're all honest with ourselves here, who can honestly disagree with the statement "the most impressive achievement of Potter's is not being chucked out the second he swaggered through the door in his first year."

I certainly can't. Why is it that everybody else seems to?

So how does one react to such earth-shattering, truly devastating news, I hear you cry?

You laugh like a madman apparently.

And boy did I laugh…_a lot_.

'This is the first stunt of yours that is actually amusing Potter.' I spluttered as I continued to giggle hysterically, in a way scarily similar to that of a mental patient I watched a documentary about over the summer. 'Where did you get such a convincing badge?'

He just gawped stupidly at me. His mouth slightly open, dark eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed into a bemused frown.

'I mean, the fish in the Slytherin tables pumpkin juice was mildly entertaining, I'll give you that one, but this really takes the biscuit!' I coughed and laughed at the same time resulting in an incredibly peculiar noise but Potter seemed far too weirded out by my manic laughter to notice.

'What do you mean?' He asked in a voice that didn't ooze the usual and expected air of overconfidence.

My laughter trailed off abruptly and I felt my heart plummet.

'You are joking right?' I enquired with a very forced, very apprehensive chuckle.

He simply stared at me like I had sprouted several heads and his silence unnerved me further.

'You're not _actually_ Head Boy are you?' I sneered, finding that for the first time in my life I longed to see that cocky smirk that would confirm to me that it was all a joke and allow me to breathe again.

He tilted his head to the side and continued regarding me curiously. 'Well, yes…I am. Didn't anyone tell you?'

I'm not quite sure exactly what face I pulled and I don't remember my exact words to him but I know that 'Dumbledore needs to be sectioned,' 'no one can force me to work with you' and 'I'll sooner resign from the position than go along with this madness' were repeated multiple times throughout my furious rant.

Who can blame me? When someone delivers a blow like this to you, you lose all sense and rationality in a heartbeat. I once read that in life, we are permanently stood on the edge of a cliff and any worries and fears or stresses take the form of a tiger. The closer that tiger gets the more we will be inclined to jump off our cliff, our mind sees it as the only logical escape. Well, I can tell you, my tiger had tackled me off my cliff ages ago and now I was falling, falling, falling, so I'm afraid I can take no responsibility for my words or actions as I was too busy watching everything fall to shit around me.

Potter, being the insensitive wart that he is, didn't seem to recognise the seriousness of my whole situation. In fact, the egotistical twit simply sat and listened to my tirade, arrogant smirk proudly back in place as he observed my breakdown as though enjoying a particularly intriguing piece of theatre.

As you can imagine, this only aggravated me further.

'_Stop smirking you conceited arsehole!_ This isn't funny. I've fallen off my bloody cliff and _nothing_ about this situation is amusing! The whole wizarding world is in a state of disarray and one of the most respected, intelligent wizards of our time has gone completely bonkers! Merlin knows what he was thinking, I dread to think of -,'

'Lily darling, as much as I'm enjoying this performance, and trust me, I really am,' I growled furiously at his irritatingly cheery tone but was cut off again, 'I feel we may need to put it on hold for a while as we have company.'

Potter nodded his head towards the door of the compartment with a smile as it glided open to reveal a crowd of students who hastily filed into the room, blissfully ignorant to the chaos they had just walked straight into the heart of.

Much to my intense exasperation, I was then forced to settle for seething silently for the duration of the prefect meeting. I said my bit and plonked myself down onto a seat, pouting moodily at Potter as he ruffled his stupid hair with his stupid hand in that stupid way he always bloody has.

So you see, my day wasn't off to the best of starts.

The only bit of relief came when my Head Girl duties were over and the train pulled into Hogsmeade station. I had looked forward to catching up with Marlene and Hestia properly. I was so busy with my family over the summer that I only met up with them for our annual excursion to Diagon Alley and I rarely sent either of them proper, meaningful letters. I was excited to chat with them and just to feel somewhat normal again. I was desperate to talk about silly, trivial things and forget all about death and grief-stricken mothers and horrible fiancés and all the other crap that so unwelcomingly filled my six week break. I had even missed Hestia's extensive, detailed tales of the boys she was infatuated with and Marlene's never failing, often inappropriate, sarcastic sense of humour.

I pushed my way through the congregation of lost looking first years and stood on tiptoe trying to locate my friends. I was attempting to peer over the heads of the students in front of me when something collided with my shoulder, making me drop my trunk, which landed painfully on my toe.

'What are you doing?' I hissed with venom as I turned on my heel to confront my attacker.

'I…I…I'm really sorry…I didn't see you…I didn't mean to…to…'

For a reason I wasn't entirely sure of, I felt my cheeks flush and my pulse quicken at a worrying rate but I quickly recovered and arranged my features into a stern frown as none other than Severus Snape stood before me, eyes firmly fixed on the ground as he struggled to form a coherent sentence to apologise.

Sev - no, _Snape_ and I have a lot of…history. But he ruined any friendship between us after an incident in fifth year that I'd rather not discuss. He has begged me to be his friend again ever since, trying every method he could think of. His favourite routine, the one he kept reverting to, was the guilt trip. Whining on at me because he didn't have any friends and insisting that without me he was lonely and depressed. It's not true of course, he has loads of friends. Friends like Avery and Mulciber and Rosier and don't forget the peculiar correspondence with Lucius Malfoy. It's no secret where his friends' loyalties lie or their thoughts on "blood purity" and all that utter nonsense. It was stupid of me to ever believe he was different from any of them, he's just pathetic personified really and I've told him so more times than I can count.

It was only one day last June, when he lingered outside Hagrid's hut waiting for me to leave Care of Magical Creatures so he could pester me and grovel a bit more, that I discovered how to discourage his efforts once and for all.

'You're as bad as Potter,' I'd snapped harshly, 'harassing me constantly and pleading with me to give you the time of day as though it's some kind of right you have. In fact you're even worse than Potter; he's never stooped low enough to insult something as insignificant as my blood status and then think he's deserving of a full apology!

He halted sharply and began opening and closing his mouth in an excellent impression of a goldfish. I knew instantly that I had hit a nerve and that that would be his final try at winning me back, and I was right.

I'm glad.

I don't want to be associated with someone so shallow and so fascinated with the Dark Arts. It's not healthy and it's not right.

'Next time you should try opening your eyes.' I retorted coldly as we stood on the platform engaged in an intense glaring match.

He bent down to pick up my case but I snatched it from his grip.

'And I'm perfectly capable of carrying my own luggage thank you very much.'

Trunk in hand, I turned away, fully intending a dramatic sweep down the platform to complete my dignified exit. Instead I felt a hand tug at my robes and grasp my arm.

'What?' I snarled, hitting the offending hand away and desperately hoping that my spiteful tone would scare him off.

'Look, I just er…wanted to say…you know…we…' Snape shuffled his weight between his feet as he dithered pathetically. He opened his mouth to speak again but the voice I heard wasn't the one belonging to him.

'Interesting, very interesting wouldn't you agree Ms Jones?'

A huge grin split my face in two as Marlene and Hestia waltzed up to stand either side of Snape.

'Very interesting indeed Ms McKinnon, for I'm fairly sure I remember a certain Miss Evans informing a certain Mr Snape that should he ever approach her again she would, and I quote, "hex him into oblivion".' Hestia commented with a small, curt nod of her head.

'Hmm, yes I remember that rather clearly too. I'd say that given the infamously bad temper of Miss Evans, Mr Snape has approximately thirty seconds to vacate the vicinity before any of us do something we'd only live to regret. Don't you think Ms Jones?' A small smirk curved Marlene's lips and she patted Snape's shoulder, only for him to immediately shrug her hand off.

'Oh I think thirty seconds is far too generous Ms McKinnon, in fact I'm sure I just so happened to notice Miss Evans reaching for her wand.'

I couldn't help but laugh joyfully at the marvellous performance unravelling before my eyes.

Snape huffed, clearly exasperated, and marched away down the platform, stumbling a bit on his oversized robes as he went.

'Farewell Mr Snape!' Hestia called down the platform as she roared with laughter.

'It was ever so nice doing business with you!' Marlene yelled as she too succumbed to the infectious need to giggle.

'I've missed you!' I cried, dropping my trunk to the floor and pulling both girls into a tight hug.

'And we, you Lily dearest.' Hestia laughed with an excitable squeal that temporarily deafened me.

Marlene, never one for outward displays of affection, squirmed out of the embrace and began straightening her robes.

'Yes, yes, it's all very emotional! Now can we hurry up? I'm starving and I promise that I won't be at all understanding if we miss the carriages as a result of our dealings with Snape!'

With that remark, she bent down to retrieve her own case and set off.

'Oh you're so unfeeling! The only thing you ever think about is your stomach!' Hestia reprimanded loudly, following close behind Marlene as she strolled down the length of the platform.

'Priorities.' Marlene retorted with a grin as she glanced at the two of us over her shoulder.

Just as I'd expected, being back with Marlene and Hestia worked as spectacular treatment for this pain I feel.

That's how Paul, the "young person's emotional support worker," says we should view the grieving process. He says that no matter how hard or long we look there is never going to be a cure. Funnily enough, his actual words were that "no one has a magic wand that they can wave and make everything better." I suppose he is right to a certain extent. His method for dealing with grief is to view the process as a series of treatments. Grief, if tackled all at once, is unmanageable and it's not helpful to think of it as one colossal mass of hopelessness and despair. Instead we have to work through it bit by bit, tackling new challenges as they come and treating each wound the best we can. Eventually all our treatments will unite and their combined force will make it bearable. Paul told me that I'd be silly to think there would come a time in my life where the effects of dad's death wouldn't bother me at all, but it's perfectly reasonable to expect a day when I can accept the happenings, remember the good times over the bad and carry on living.

I only hope that that day comes sooner rather than later. Maybe with being surrounded by my friends, it will.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I've spent a totally ridiculous amount of time fretting over whether or not I like this and I've started and restarted it more times than I can count but I think if I carry on being so hesitant I will never make a decision…I've been known to do that! If you've got the time I'd love to hear your thoughts.**

**Faithless**


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