Disclaimer: Any Harry Potter stuff you recognise belongs to JK Rowling, as I'm sure you are aware, so let's just get on with it, shall we?


Dear Conscience (Where do I start?)


Dear Conscience,

Yes, I’m writing to you. I needed SOMEONE to talk to. If the only sane person is my conscience, so be it. You’ve made me feel damn guilty sometimes, just like you’re doing now. Well, I’m writing to tell you that you can stop it. I know I’m guilty. Perfectly aware. But, of course, you should have stopped me sooner. I mean, really it’s all your fault. And I refuse to listen to the fact that in blaming you, I am technically blaming myself. REFUSE.

I mean, I love Kerenza. She’s my best �“ and worst �“ friend. She picks me up when I’m down, and is equally capable of pulling me down when I’m up. But hey. That’s how our weird and wonderful friendship works. But, because neither of us are what you might call “balanced” people, we have a tendency to row. You play a good part in making me feel bad about it afterwards, but we still row. And when we row, Gryffindor �“ scratch that, the whole school �“ is aware of it. There’s a coldness in the air, a constant tension that any second now someone’s going to stab something. Or someone. You know �“ that kind of tension. And then there’s always James Potter with his big old spoon, stirring and cackling, stirring and cackling, like a crazy, stereotyped witch. Except, y’know, he’s a guy. You know what? Don’t even get me started on James Potter and his spoon.

So. You know what happened, and I know how you feel about it. Your punishment for not stopping me sooner is having to relive the whole sorry tale again.

That’ll teach you.

Okay, so it had been a normal day, all round. There I was, casually going about my business, doing Kerenza’s Charms homework, while she did my Transfiguration �“ a casual arrangement that means we both get good grades when really, we should be a little lower. But still, though you sometimes give me a nudge that I should be doing it myself, I rarely listen, so it doesn’t matter. And then what happens?

“Hey, Lily. You’d stick by me through anything, wouldn’t you?”

“I guess.”

“You know how you lent me that lipstick that time, because I had that date with Frank?”

“Yeah,” I said, remembering how disastrous THAT was. But at least she had good lips. Needless to say, it was their one and only date, and I think he is now with Alice, and much happier �“ he’s not reduced to tears quite so often as when he and Kerenza had a brief fling.

“Well, the thing is, I forgot that it was yours, and I sent it to my sister for a birthday present.”

Seriously. I mean, what kind of sister even sends an ALREADY USED lipstick for a BIRTHDAY present? Especially one that wasn’t even hers to give!

When I pointed this out, she shrugged and said, “It looked expensive, and I had forgot it was her birthday, so I sent it in a panic. I’m sorry Lily.”

“You know why it looked expensive? It was a gift from my mother last Christmas!” I cried, and she looked guilty.

“I’m sorry, Lily. But it’s only a �“”

“I know that! That’s not the point! Don’t you think your sister is going to REALISE that it’s been used?”

She shrugged, “It’s not like we get on very well anyway. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t send YOUR sister a used lipstick if you forgot it was her birthday, because you clearly would.”

And this is the kind of thing about Kerenza I don’t like. You know, the whole ‘best and worst friend’ thing. So I said, “You know what?” and tore her Charms in half, and threw it on the fire. Then I left.

And you didn’t stop me. Why didn’t you stop me? You should have stopped me. We’ve been walking round with clouds of hate for two days now, and the whole school knows about it.

Sincerely,

Lily

*~*~*

Dear Conscience,

It seems my last letter was fruitless. You are still nagging at me to make up with Kerenza. But, really, how could she? It’s the principle of the thing! You just don’t do that!

Okay, maybe it’s not her fault. Maybe she was brought up in the kind of environment where that sort of thing is acceptable. I don’t know. Maybe it’s not her fault she’s a two faced, greasy, mean-ass, she-man.

Shut up, I can say what I like! I can ignore all those years of treasured friendship if I really want! Those six, long, wonderful, happy years. I can pretend they didn’t happen and sulk if that’s what I want! And there’s nothing you can do about it!

Stop that. I won’t listen to your whining about me being childish and selfish and pathetic. It’s not true.

Okay, it’s true. But I don’t care.

James Potter is stirring again, like the big stirrer that he is, with his stupid spoon. Spreading rumours, and turning us against each other even more. Jumping into his sports commentator act when we publicly display our enmity. Chanting “Cat fight!” at every opportunity. Making us madder by being annoying so that we take it out on each other even more. Openly mocking our lame insults, and deeming them “Nowhere near Me-Worthy”. Why is he the only one in the whole school who isn’t deathly afraid when me and Kerenza are at war? Every one else ducks and hides to dodge the various implements being thrown carelessly at their heads. But him? Oh no. It’s all “stir this” and “stir that”, damn him.

I wish he would boil in a pot of tomato soup �“ no, spaghetti soup. I wish he would suffocate because he was being sat on by Snape. I wish he had thousands of mice nibbling at his ears �“ scratch that, it would just turn him on, the dirty man-beast.

Ah, keeping quiet now, are we? So it’s okay for me to write abuse about Potter, but not Kerenza? What does that tell me, eh?

Oh, wait. It tells me that Kerenza is my friend and doesn’t deserve my abuse. Whereas Potter is just your everyday pillock.

I was just musing over all this just now, sitting in the Common Room when I should be doing homework, when the very same James Potter came up to me, and said, “Hey Evans, what are you writing? A last will and testament? Did you know that we have a bet going? It’s about who would murder who in a duel to the death. I reckon Kerenza would melt your brain with inventive curses, but Remus is sure you’d win. Why is that, I wonder? Well, don’t forget to leave me all your worldly goods!”

I rose to the bait �“ you should have stopped me �“ and it wasn’t pretty.

“Actually, I’m just doing some homework,” I told him, at first.

“I’ve never seen that many facial expressions on one bit of homework, Evans. What’s this? 'Dear Conscience'? Blimey, you’re nuts, girl!”

And that’s when I began chasing him around the Common Room, screeching even more abuse at the top of my lungs, whereas he just laughed as he jogged ahead easily, knowing I’d never catch him.

I think McGonagall was walking past at the same time as my tirade of anger, and came into the Common Room to give us both detention.

Well done. Now my friendship is in ruins, and I have detention with Potter. What an utterly predictable twist of cruel fate.

You should have stopped me.

Sincerely,

Lily

*~*~*

Dear Conscience,

I’m back. You never went. Detention was awful, and I had several hissy fits at bloody Potter. I mean, I ask you. What kind of hootenanny goes around poking people incessantly in EXACTLY THE SAME SPOT ON THAT PERSON’S ARM? Do you know how annoying that is? And what’s a hootenanny, anyway?

It seems to fit him well, whatever it is.

Anyway, we were cleaning the trophy room (original, I know), and he, of course, was just leaving me to do everything, as he conversed with Peeves on the most effective alternate lyrics for “We Three Kings”. And it’s not even Christmas.

So. Eventually, I turned and hissed, “Are you going to help me polish these trophies so we can leave quickly, or not?”

“Actually, Evans, I was thinking not.” Then he turned to Peeves and said, “What are your thoughts on wearing odd socks as a stress reliever?”

And Peeves said, “Not stress relieving, but it’s a conversation opener.”

“Yes ... Yes, that’s what I was thinking.”

Why am I surrounded by all these delusional idiots? Anyone else, and Peeves would have tipped the polish on his head. But with James? Oh no. They were having something passable as a half intelligent discussion. On ODD SOCKS.

I really hate him sometimes. Okay, I hate him all the time. But sometimes, you know, I really do dislike him.

In the end, I beat him with my polish cloth until he begged for mercy (okay, he agreed to help by occasionally dusting a trophy now and then).

As if this total disrespect wasn’t enough to make me feel like chopping him into hundreds of tiny pieces and feeding them to some particularly feisty pelicans, as we were finishing up, he “accidentally” knocked over the bucket of water. The bucket of water that I was crouching next to, as I was finishing off the final trophy with a flourish.

I let rip, calling him all sorts of things, practically screaming the room down. Peeves was doubled over laughing, but I didn’t really care. It isn’t Peeves who delights in ruining my friendships, and turning me into a short-tempered screeching woman.

Once I had finished my long string of insults at the top of my voice, James put on this fake puppy dog look, and said in his most pathetic woe-is-me voice, “That was uncalled for, Evans.”

I let out one final, high pitched shriek, and left, slamming as many doors as I could on the way.

And now you’re making me feel guilty. I mean, what’s all that about? It was the woe-is-me act that did it. I have a sympathy complex, surprising as it sounds. When I go to the movies with my parents in the holidays, I end up feeling sorry for every single character at some point, even the villains. I mean, they spend time thinking up these devious plans, and for what? Them to be foiled again and again. And for them to be so evil in the first place probably means they had a dysfunctional childhood or something, and I feel even worse for them.

How can this sort of thing be normal? Everyone else just boos and hisses the villains, like normal people, but I sit there considering what it was that made them feel the need to hurt others. I should be a psychiatrist.

Anyway, to get to the point, stop making me feel guilty about yelling at Potter so much! His puppy dog act was FAKE. I know that, you know that, so stop niggling at me to apologise! He should apologise, damn it!

Sincerely,

Lily

*~*~*


Dear Conscience,

I haven’t heard from you in a while. This is either a good thing, or I’ve suddenly lost all of my morals and principles, and will end up being a horrible bitchy person who doesn’t wash. I hope it is a good thing, as the alternative doesn’t sound too appealing to be honest.

I made up with Kerenza, pretty much straight away after I’d written your last letter. We both sort of gingerly went up to each other, apologised to our feet, and then things were back to normal again.

Apparently, Kerenza wanted to know all about my detention with James, because apparently she heard him saying to Sirius something like, “It was so amazing ... she completely took me by surprise, and she was so fierce ... I think I’m reverting back to my old ways!”

I hope to Merlin’s beard, hat and eyebrows that he wasn’t referring to me, but someone else entirely. His old ways involved a lot of requests and rejections. From him and me.

Luckily it couldn’t have been me they were discussing. And I have concrete proof. I swear by all that is good, bad, and in between, this is the absolute truth. Obviously. Lying to your conscience is a one way ticket to madness. Although, that would give future psychiatrist me lots of work to do, so maybe that’s not entirely a bad thing.

So what is this concrete proof? I’ll tell you!

After Kerenza and I did our make-y up-y hug-y bit, James came over, way too solemn for it to not be a wind up.

“I just wanted to say that my recent behaviour has been unacceptable, and I see that now. I am sorry for any distress I may have caused to you, Lily. Or Kerenza,” he added, as an afterthought. She raised a knowing eyebrow, but I don’t know why, as I hadn’t any idea what was happening. “I hope you can accept my apology, even if you cannot forgive me at this point in time.”

And then he turned and walked away.

So, clearly, it wasn’t me he was discussing. Because there is no way James Potter could have done something so honest (and brave, considering my temper reputation) unless he and his equally suspicious partner in crime have something up their oh-so-superior sleeves. Nothing that has been made clear yet, but I am positive they are plotting something.

I’m just writing to tell you: You had better be ready to pull me back BEFORE I do something you will complain about later. Because what’s the point of sitting back and letting me beat someone up, or scream the house down, and THEN making me realise it was wrong?

Whatever is being plotted, I have no doubt I will act in a predictably over the top fashion, so you had better be on guard.

Sincerely,

Lily

*~*~*

AN: When one Marauder Era fic ends, so another begins ... this is the first of three mini-fics, that I’m grouping together into one small ficlet. They’re all based around Lily’s “Dear Conscience ...” letters, so the characters and the like will be the same, but the situations she finds herself in will be different. Just so you’re aware. Hope you enjoyed this, please review and let me know!

Dear Conscience (It’s Me Again)


Dear Conscience,

I can’t believe you. The first week of the summer holidays, and you put THIS over my head? Not only do I find out the day I get back that Petunia is getting married in August, and I never knew about it, because they wanted to tell me “in person”, but they also suspended ALL the celebrations until I was home. JUST SO THAT I COULD ATTEND.

Earlier today was my bridesmaid dress fitting. Petunia’s is all sorted out, a billowing lacy number, but they waited for my return before picking out my dress so I could “Have some input”.

Not bleeding likely. The only input I had was flat out refusing to wear salmon pink, Petunia’s favourite colour (don’t ask why). Eventually a greeny bluey colour was decided on. I don’t really like it, but it’s better than salmon pink I guess.

Anyway, that’s not why I’m writing to you again. I’m writing to you because of the Engagement party happening in our Living Room that I just got subtly kicked out of.

And I’m blaming you. I told you to be on guard, to let me know something is wrong BEFORE I act, not after. But oh no. Granted, that was because of my suspicions about Potter (still no word on that, but the longer he leaves it, the worse their plot must be, right?)

Okay. Here’s what happened. As if you don’t already know.

It was your average party, really. Sausages on sticks, cheese on sticks, pineapple pieces on sticks, everything skewered on a bloody stick. I was doing nothing out of the norm. Mingling with people I didn’t like, avoiding people I really didn’t like, and giving a discreet kick in the shins to the people who I definitely didn’t like. Petunia laughed far too loudly, and very high pitched, while Dursley either droned on about something nobody cared about, or grunted every so often if it was he who didn’t care about what someone was saying.

So, the thing is, I got addicted to the punch, because there was this special twang in it that made me happy. Of course, I realise now that it so happened to have been spiked with some sort of alcoholic beverage, but at the time I was just grateful that at least one thing at this party besides from me didn’t have a stick up its arse (oh shut up, I can say what I like). Anyway, after several glasses, I decided it would be the proper thing to do to make a speech about my dear sister and her fiancé.

You should have stopped me there. But no.

After tapping my plastic cup with one of the sticks from the sausages for a while, I realised it wasn’t making a noise loud enough to grab anybody’s attention (except for our small, ridiculous poodle, Poochy, who was jumping up and down frantically every time I tapped my cup). So I got a shiny fork, and tapped it on the side of the glass bowl that the godly punch was in. Everyone turned to look. I cleared my throat importantly.

“I just want to say a few words about my crazy �“ sorry, my darling sister Petunia, and of course, her piglet �“ I mean, her fiancé,” I said, taking what I now see as sneering, but then saw as encouraging looks to be prompts to continue.

“I thought I said no speeches, Mum!” Petunia wailed.

“That’s funny,” I said, “when Petunia wails, she sounds like a seahorse.” The, um, ‘encouraging’ looks intensified. What was I thinking? Why didn’t you stop me? I continued. “So, the speech. Well, first of all congratulations on your engagement. Coincidentally, have either of you ever considered spectacles? Because I hear they change your whole perspective on life.”

“Lily,” Petunia began sharply, but I put my finger on my lips and shushed her loudly.

“When I first met Petunia, I can’t remember what happened, because I was probably only a few days old, and I cried a lot. Ever since then, I still feel like crying when I see her, but it’s no longer socially acceptable, so I just cry on the inside. But then, Vernon came into her life. Then, instead of feeling like crying on the inside, I felt like shooting myself, which was basically the same, only more theatrical and less tedious. It’s true what they say. You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your family. Well, I just want Petunia to know, that if I could choose my family, I would never choose you. And as for Vernon �“ I don’t know why anybody in the world would choose you, so the chances of someone with half a brain cell like me choosing you are slim to none. But every cloud has a silver lining! Well, this poor grey cloud’s may only be an aluminium lining, but it still has one. At least Petunia won’t ever need to be paranoid that her husband is having an affair with her sister!” And then I poured myself another cup of punch, and raised it in the air as a toast.

“To the happy couple �“ Vernon, who bores to death everyone he knows, and Petunia, who hates me because I’m a wi �“”

At this point, Mum took hold of my arm, and gently pulled me out of the room. “Lily, dear, I would appreciate it if you went upstairs and thought very hard about the words you just spoke,” she told me.

“Sure thing, Mum,” I said, and climbed the staircase �“ which was a harder task than I remembered it ever being.

That’s when I came upstairs, and recounted my impromptu speech. Which is when I came to the conclusion that the punch was spiked. I’m such a fool ... Why don’t you stop me doing these things? I hate you.

And I have a headache.

Sincerely,

Lily

*~*~*

Dear Conscience,

I can’t believe you. You let me go and ruin a social event to do with my sister’s wedding AGAIN. I mean, seriously. I don’t WANT to keep ruining all these things that get planned. I’d like to just blend in with everyone else, and then forget about it and go back to my normal life.

WHY do I have this talent for showing myself up at social functions? Why can’t I have a remarkable talent for invisibility like that girl in our dorm who it took me three months to notice, and another two months to learn the name of? I bet she doesn’t show herself up at all of her sister’s wedding celebrations. She probably doesn’t even have a sister. She’s so lucky.

This time it was the hen night. It was doomed from the start, of course. Just the fact that I was invited means it was doomed. Not that Petunia invited me or anything �“ oh no. It was all Mum’s idea, so that I could “make up for things.”

I said that I was perfectly happy being considered a drunken idiot by Petunia and her friends if it meant I didn’t have to go to a 1950s themed hen night. Petunia said that she didn’t want me ruining her special night, not after last time, and whose idea was it to have a 1950s theme anyway, because it certainly wasn’t hers. Mum happily ignored us both.

So I was stuck wearing a huge, stupid pink poodle skirt with a tight white jumper tucked in, and a pink bandanna thing tied around my neck. These clothes used to be my MOTHER’S. I looked just as ridiculous as Petunia, who was wearing a matching outfit, but a yellow skirt and bandanna.

WHY it was decided to colour code us this way is beyond me, because pink clashes with my hair, and yellow makes Petunia look ill. I think it was the sizes. My outfit was BEFORE my mother lost weight, but then she dropped a size or two, so bought a similar outfit but in a different colour, to symbolise that she was the same, but different, herself.

Gee, thanks. The fact that she told us this while giving us our outfits really helped. It made me realise that a) my mother is insane, and b) she isn’t ashamed of admitting that her youngest daughter is the same size as she was before she decided she needed to lose weight. I mean, way to do wonders for my self esteem, mother. No wonder I’m such a freak.

Which is probably why I managed to ruin Petunia’s precious hen night. My being a freak, I mean.

So. There were about eight of us altogether �“ who knew Petunia had so many friends? �“ and we were all in 50s style clothes, probably supplied by our mothers. Petunia’s friends weren’t all the shiniest wands in the box, if you know what I mean. They spent half the time talking about men, and the other half talking about hair. Having no current boyfriend, or potential boyfriend, and having pretty normal hair �“ apart from the colour �“ meant that I didn’t really have much to talk about. Not that I would have done if I had three boyfriends on the go, and the latest, most expensive haircut there was, but whatever.

I thought that I could survive. I convinced myself that if I kept my head down, everything would be fine �“ I could just smile and nod, and die quietly, but I would soon be able to leave, and I could forget I was ever wearing such a heinous outfit.

But no. Because you had to fall asleep, and let me do something rashly again.

Okay, I’ll just stop bluffing and stalling and get it out there �“ I dropped the rhubarb crumble on Petunia’s white and yellow outfit. Rhubarb �“ the dark red fruit (or is it a vegetable?) that stains things easily.

This was all in the nice restaurant/dance club we were to be spending the evening in. I mean, I don’t even like rhubarb crumble. I’d ordered something made of chocolate for pudding (maybe that’s why I got Mum’s pre-diet clothes), it was Petunia who wanted the crumble. But they got our dishes mixed up, and so I was taking hers over to her, because she was in too deep a conversation to notice.

It was only when I got to her end of the table, holding her desert out in front of me, that I realised what that conversation was.

“�“I know, Marie, having a freak for a sister is the worst thing you could imagine. She’s nuts, she’s overweight, she’s ginger, I’m just glad she goes to that special boarding school for mental people�“”

It was at this point that I made the rash decision. Sister, rhubarb, “slip”, kaboom.

To be fair to myself, her face was glorious. I wish I was more creative, because then I could paint that moment in time, and win a comedy art award.

She stood and slapped me, so I slapped her straight back, and then we both reached for each other’s hair, and it was a full on girl fight.

But the small foreign waiter that Marie had been flirting with all night came running, and pulled us apart. Then the manager of the place came over, assessed the situation, and made us switch outfits before I went home. I tried to tell her that this was ridiculous, I would never fit in something that small, and we wouldn’t want Petunia to drown in her poodle skirt, but that manager lady was scary. So I ended up wearing a stretched-to-the-limit, rhubarb stained outfit on the bus as I headed home, leaving Petunia to bitch with her friends about how socially retarded I am.

When I got home, I found Mum and some of her work colleagues playing poker in the dining room, as they are often wont to do. She took one look at me, and said “Okay, Lily, what did you do this time?”

I just stormed upstairs and slammed the door, but then you decided to grace me with your presence.

So, I’m just writing to say �“ stop replaying the look of hate in my sisters eyes. SHE was the one bitching about ME. Why should I have to pay the price of guilt???

Sincerely,

Lily

*~*~*

Dear Conscience,

Today was The Wedding. Mum gave me a very stern talking to before allowing me out into the open, since I have been restricted to the house ever since the hen night. This was all as she was pulling me into my dress very rigorously. I could barely breath, and there were too many frills tickling at my skin, but when I tried to complain she only pulled it tighter, so I thought I had better keep my mouth shut.

Marie was also a bridesmaid, and was the most excited person in the house. I told Dad to get the smelling salts ready, and he started to chuckle. But then Mum hit him with the big ornate hair brush, and told him that he shouldn’t be hanging around the girl’s dressing rooms, he should be getting into his suit. He left quickly, apologising to me with his eyes before he shut the door. At least someone in my family appreciates what I’ve gone through so far this summer. The final bridesmaid was a little girl with the largest brown eyes I have ever seen, and these scarily precise ringlets. She looked about six years old, and everybody was swooning over her. I don’t even know who she was, she was just this random little girl in a miniature bridesmaid dress. I didn’t want to ask how she came to be the flower girl or whatever, in case it turned out she was our cousin or something and I just didn’t realise it.

Maybe she was from some kind of weird hiring company called Rent-A-Sap.

Anyway, then Petunia was finally done getting herself ready, and Mum started crying everywhere so we had to redo her make up. To be honest, I was bored of all the emotion, and frankly I was glad she was technically leaving this family, if only by name. Petunia Evans was my vindictive older sister, but I think Petunia Dursley is going to be someone who I have to endure now and then. Much easier.

We were late getting to the church, of course. Mum’s fault if you ask me, crying all over everybody. You’d think it was Petunia’s funeral, not her wedding. And then it was our stupid poodle’s fault, Poochy, for peeing all over Mum’s shoes, so she had to search the house for another suitable pair �“ even though the “new” ones were pretty substandard, to be honest. The service itself was pretty average. Once we did the aisle bit, us bridesmaids just sat down and pretended to be moved. Marie was too busy swooning to look after The Mystery Girl, so I had to keep her still. Those ruffles were LOUD.

To spare my pain, Kerenza was invited too, a couple of days before, after I begged and pleaded, and eventually declared I would not attend unless I was allowed one measly guest. She looked fresh and summery and everybody loved her. She chatted to more people at MY family wedding than I did, and I started to wish I hadn’t invited her after all, but then she sought me out and stayed with me for moral support.

“How have you been doing?” she asked, concerned. Obviously she could tell how traumatic this has all been for me.

“You have no idea,” I told her.

“That bad?” she asked, shocked.

“Worse,” I replied, and that was all we said on the matter for the rest of the night.

But I managed to get through it okay. And the reason I’m writing to you is to ask one thing: Why? Why do I still feel guilty? I didn’t even do anything. I endured the service, I endured the reception dinner, I endured the after party, and no one got insulted by me as far as I know. What did I do to make you make me feel so guilty? How is it possible that I feel like this when I haven’t even done anything this time? I want some answers. And I want them soon �“ all this wallowing crap is even worse when you don’t know why you’re doing it.

Sincerely,

Lily

*~*~*

Dear Conscience,

Well, I just want to say: Thanks.

No, I’m not going to rip into you and accuse you and blame you. I’m going to humbly apologise, and thank you.

Some may say that thanking my conscience is like thanking myself, and therefore being self assured and arrogant, but I think not. And anyway, that’s why I don’t tell people that I write to you.

So why am I thanking you? Because your niggling guilty feelings eventually gave me the moral high ground. I can now move on from my sister, saying that I tried. I tried to right our never ending wrongs, and she was the one who messed it up this time. Which, I will emphasise, means I didn’t. I didn’t mess anything up when it came to the important stuff.

So. I spent the remaining two weeks of the holiday wallowing in my own unexplained guilt, until she and Dursley (he may be my brother-in-law, but I will never be able to call him Vernon unless it’s to his face, when I have to) returned from their two week honeymoon in Scotland.

They have a house in Surrey, on a snooty little street called Privet Drive, which is similar to our childhood home, only ten times more self-important. But Petunia came back bringing gifts for the family �“ mine was a tiny plain box of fudge with absolutely no thought put into it, but that’s just Petunia written all over.

And when she came back �“ when she entered our hall in a salmon pink sundress, framing her scarily thin frame �“ I realised what I needed to do. And I knew I would only get one chance at it.

So I stepped down the stairs, while Mum and Dad were in the kitchen making tea, and said my piece.

“Petunia, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I’ve been an awful sister this summer, and I apologise for ruining various social events, whether it was technically my fault or not. I should have stopped and thought before I acted, I should have considered that you were getting married, and were therefore stressed out, and didn’t need an impossible sister on top of that. I should have discussed floral arrangements into the night with you, I should have matched colour swatches and helped plan seating arrangements. Because maybe then I could have avoided upsetting you. As it is, what’s done is done. So maybe, since you have a fresh start anyway, we could maybe wipe the slate clean, and start acting like proper sisters should. Maybe. What do you say? Are you up for starting again? I’m sure we’d both be happier that way.”

And then, we just stood there, staring at each other. I tried to see in her eyes what she was thinking, but it was impossible. Eventually, she broke eye contact, and sighed. “I’m sorry, Lily. Maybe it’s wrong of me to resent you for being what you are, but I’m never going to get over it. And neither will Vernon. He knows, Lily, I told him. He’s forbidden me from associating with you any more, whether I want to or not. And he’s my husband now. I �“ I can’t disobey him.”

“You’re right, Petunia!” I cried. “You’re right, but you’re so wrong! He’s your husband now, of course he is, but that means you need to compromise! Or you’ll end up being nothing any more, a little mouse who bends over backwards for your husband, as if he’s your overpowering father, not your other half. Petunia, are you ever going to be happy with Vernon Dursley?”

“I have to, don’t I? I can’t back out now. Besides, I love him. I know you don’t believe it, you can’t see why, but that’s because you’re strong, Lily. You’re stronger than me. Whoever you end up with is going to love you for that, you’ll be a true partnership. But I can’t do that �“ I need someone overpowering. Because I’m not strong like you. I’m sorry. But I love him. Just not in the way you understand �“ the way of flowers and romance.”

I felt a lump coming to my throat. “As long as you’re happy with that.”

She raised her chin. “I am. And that’s why I can’t be any more than a reluctant sister to you. But I hope that one day you find what you need. Despite everything, I want you to be happy too.”

I reached out to hug her, but she stepped back. “Reluctant sisters, Lily, remember?”

“Right,” I said, dropping my arms. “Right.”

And then she went into the kitchen, and left me standing there. So you see �“ I tried. I tried, but it wasn’t enough. But at least now I know. At least now I can move on.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Lily

*~*~*

AN: *Sniff* How emotional. By the way, while a 1950s hen night would probably be amazingly cool now, but in the seventies ... not so much. So that’s why Lily and Petunia were so opposed. There’s one more mini-fic in this ficlet to come, when Lily goes back to school again, having grown up considerably ... And I wonder who else she will find has moved up a maturity level or two ...?

Dear Conscience (Now What?)


Dear Conscience,

So I was all set to be all mature and refined this year. I really was. You, of all people, surely know that? I was enlightened. Enlightened. Do you realise how rare that is for me? Of course you do. You’re my conscience. But when does enlightenment ever count for anything, hmm? It fizzles out around the same time that you find out your sworn enemy is Head Boy, alongside you, as Head Girl.

Not Voldemort, if that’s the conclusion you jumped to. A different sworn enemy, one I have to put up with on a daily basis, excluding those sweet, sweet holidays.

Oh yes. Spot on. James Ruddy Potter. James Death Wish Potter. James Smarmy Face Potter. I could think of a million alternative names for the idiot, but I don’t have time to write them down, because I’m doing this on the train, after our meeting, while Kerenza flirts with some guys. I don’t mind about that, though �“ it gives me time to rant. And I wouldn’t be speaking to her even if she wasn’t flirting with guys �“ not after that ... that ... that insinuation.

More on that later. First I just need to confirm that I was still in my Zen mode when I found out about Potter. So although my halo slipped a bit, I took it with calm and grace, like the calm and graceful person I used to be (for all of a week, but it was nice while it lasted). So I didn’t yell and screech, or accuse and throw things, or have any kind of hissy fit like I once would have done, when I saw him proudly standing there with his Head Boy badge. I was shocked, but still feeling utterly Zen, like I said. I forced myself to smile calmly, and be generally very calm. I hope I have got through to you the calmness of how I was feeling. We went through the Prefects meeting without a hitch, and no one lost an eye and there were no secrets spilled or lives lost. The prefects seem a lively bunch, and I am looking forward to keeping them in good shape.

When they all left, James turned to me and said, “Lily, I hope we can see past our differences and get along this year. I won’t be too much of an asshole, I promise, and I will try not to upset you.”

I was reminded of the end of last year, and how he had been equally sincere �“ how Kerenza had told me of what she overheard about him “reverting back to his old ways” about something. The conclusion I jumped to then was that he had something up his sleeve, and Sirius was also in on it, and that’s the conclusion I am sticking with until I get evidence to the contrary. Although, I appreciate that any evidence I do receive, I will probably make sure I interpret it as a bad thing, because that’s the way I am.

And what was the aforementioned insinuation that Kerenza made?

Well, she mentioned that now we are Head Boy and Girl together, we will actually have to not only see each other every day, but work together every day. Together. Every damn day. And that maybe we should try and get along. “For the good of humanity”.

When I broke my Zen and refused to talk to her again, she just sighed, and asked what happened to the mature person I almost became.

I don’t know, Kerenza. I don’t know.

And, as usual, I completely blame you, for doing the same thing you always do �“ you could have made me handle all this better. You could lay off the guilt because I’m aware how pathetic I am. But when have you ever done that?

Sincerely,

Lily

*~*~*

Dear Conscience,

It’s not going well.

Despite my vow to be as mature as possible this year, I broke it pretty quickly. Of course, I very much wanted to ignore Potter and his minions, no matter what they decided to throw at me this year. But the thing is ... if there was one thing I never expected, it was what they did:

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The only contact I had with them had been polite, brief and simple. There had been no annoying conversations with Potter, or annoying anything with Potter for that matter. Sirius only ever smiled in my presence, and not even in a worrying way. Remus was polite and helpful. Peter said “hi” a couple of times, in a convincingly innocent manner. I hadn’t even seen them swagger �“ not even a little. I knew something was happening. Something strange, and different, and unusual, and completely suspicious. They’d kept the whole charade up for two weeks, and I hadn’t once had to tell any of them off for inappropriate behaviour.

In fact, when some of their younger fans asked why they hadn’t done anything funny this year, James just said, “Because we’ve outgrown that, my friend.” And then walked away.

Nobody knew what was going on. Even Kerenza agreed with me that they were planning something big. With all this serenity going on, the school was just ... in turmoil. People were bored. They were really bored, and they looked miserable all the time. People were used to being entertained regularly, but there hadn’t been one hint of any kind of entertainment being planned.

You’ll notice that this is all in the past tense. Because I, being the mug that I am, broke my vow of maturity and tolerance, while Potter and I were on patrol one night, roaming the corridors in search of miscreants. Potter had been nothing but a gentleman, really, as much as it pains me to say it. His conversation had been sparse, but polite. I had been growing all the more irritated every damn civil minute that passed by.

“Potter,” I finally began, “When are you planning on doing the big prank you’ve been planning?”

“Which big prank would this be, Evans?” he asked, politely.

“Well come on,” I said. “Are you telling me that all this niceness isn’t just one big rouse? There’s no way that four people can just completely change their personality overnight.”

“Alas, my poor Evans, it was not overnight at all. We spent the whole summer training ourselves to be better people.”

“But why?” I cried, getting more and more agitated by how insufferably calm he was.

“Because we have decided to move on from that stage in our lives. There’s a war on, you know, and it’s time we stopped being so childish, and went down the straight and narrow. There is no time for mischievousness any more, Evans. I thought you’d be glad we have finally seen the light.”

“But ...” I knew what I wanted to say, but couldn’t believe I was about to say it. “But people miss the old Marauders. They needed someone fun to distract them from all the misery outside these walls. And you four ...” I cringed with what I was about to say: “You four did that job perfectly. The school wants you back to how you were.”

Potter blinked, and then frowned. “Hang on, Evans. We’re doing this for you! It’s down to you that we decided to stop all the rule breaking. I thought this is what you wanted! I thought you wanted us to stop being the bane of your existence, so that’s what we did! It was damned hard work changing our personalities to suit you! And now you’re saying it was all for nothing, you preferred how we were before?”

I was bowled over. Why on Earth would they do all that for me? I know I told them to grow up all those times, but ... well. I didn’t think they actually would. And, I’ve realised, I don’t like it now they have. All I could do at the time, however, was just say, “Yes.”

And then Potter spluttered in disbelief for a while, and then said “Well screw you, then!” and walked away. I had to finish patrolling alone, but luckily by that point we had almost finished. It gave me time to think �“ and my conclusion was that I am the stupidest, most contrary person in the world.

When they are being arrogant, childish pranksters, I wish beyond all belief that they will grow up and act normal. And when they do that, I get mad and tell them that they should go back to how they were before.

Although, when I got back and explained everything to Kerenza, she said she understood, and thought I’d done “the right thing”. It’s been two days since then, and the Marauders pulled off a huge practical joke the morning after, which left the whole of the Great Hall in uproar. It involved fountains of thick foam shooting from the ground, which of course developed into the foam fight to end all foam fights. And as everyone was crowding round them like they were heroes, proclaiming how happy they were that they were back, Potter shot me such a contemptuous look, that it actually made me jump in alarm.

The Marauders have continued in their old ways, only instead of annoying me in (their) good humour, they give me black looks whenever our eyes happen to meet. I know that I dislike the lot of them on principle, but I don’t think I can stand being hated for much longer. Kerenza is being surprisingly understanding about it all, but she has indicated that it’s kind of my fault.

Which I already know, of course. I’ve told myself the same thing enough times, you’ve certainly let me know it, and Potter himself has told me, when I cracked on patrol and asked him to cut me some slack, and stop the “hate campaign”.

I hate myself too, you know. I didn’t want any of this. I just ... oh, Merlin, I can’t believe I’m going to say this. I want things back to normal.

Sincerely,

Lily

*~*~*

Dear Conscience,

Dumbledore stepped in. He called Potter and me to his Office just now, and asked what the problem was.

“Problem, Sir?” asked Potter, innocently, before throwing me an evil-look-of-death for good measure.

Dumbledore sighed, and turned to me. “Lily?” he prompted.

I blinked, my mind working fast. And then I said, “There’s no problem, Sir. What makes you say that?”

Dumbledore sighed again, clasped his hands in front of him as if he was deep in prayer, and rested his head on them, as if he had given up. “Are you saying that the atmosphere changing as quickly as the temperamental weather outside ... is not unusual or hostile, from either party?”

“That’s what we’re saying,” James said, and threw me another nasty look. As bad as this made me feel, I was also a little affronted. I may not like myself at the moment, but he doesn’t have to let me know how much he agrees quite so often.

“Eyes on me, James,” Dumbledore said, and I couldn’t help but give him a thankful smile. At least Dumbledore is neutral.

“Look, you two. Whether you admit it or not, there is clearly an undercover war going on here. And we’ve enough of that in the rest of the world. Which is why I need a Head Boy and Girl who are on board. Who will work together as a team, to keep our school united in these troubled times. How can I rely on you to do that when you yourselves can’t even be nice to each other? Now, I’m not going to blame anybody, but you have to sort it out. I may have never done it in my time as Headmaster, but you still wouldn’t be the first to have your badges removed. My predecessor, Phineus Nigellus, would account to that very strongly.”

“Little termites didn’t deserve the honour they were given, Dumbledore, I’ve told you that,” one of the portraits said defensively. James and I turned and looked at it sceptically.

Dumbledore sighed. “Yes, but you would think after changing your mind three times a year, five years in a row, you would start to be a better judge of their character,” he replied, smiling a little as the portrait sniffed, and grumbled, then pretended to go to sleep.

“All right, Professor,” James said. “We hear what you’re saying.”

Then he stood up, and left. He hadn’t even been dismissed. I must admit I was a little shocked at this.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Dumbledore asked me. I nodded, and he sighed. “Then you may go, Lily. Thank you for your time.”

“Bye, Professor,” I gabbled quickly, and left.

I haven’t seen Potter since �“ but I can’t stop thinking about what Dumbledore said.

Help me. What do I do?

Sincerely,

Lily

*~*~*

Dear Conscience,

It’s all right! Everything’s fine!

It’s all right. Everything’s fine.

Fine.

James and I talked things through. Finally. Everything.

I know you’ve been helpful to me these past few months, and I appreciate it, but I don’t think you’ll be hearing much more from me. We both agreed to grow up without changing everything about ourselves, and to be tolerant, but not overreact if we do voice negative opinions. We both agreed to talk about things. For our own good. For the good of the school.

For the good of humanity.

Like I said; thanks, but I don’t think I’ll be needing to write to you any more.

I finally have someone real to confide in.

Sincerely,

Lily

*~*~*

AN: What more can I say? I hope you enjoyed this, and sorry if you wanted some L/J fluff. But trust me, there are other fics you can read for that. I decided that this one can end on their growing friendship, the roots rather than the flowers or the fruits, so to speak. Hey. That’s poetic. Please review: what did you think of this little gem of a ficlet? Good? Not so good? So fabulous you’re thinking of proposing it’s movie rights to Hollywood? ;D Let me know, I love to hear from every single one of my reviewers �“ you’re ALL gems.