The Illusion of Normalcy

Prologue

11 September 1976

Dear Petunia,

How have you been? I’m hoping well, and I also hope you had a good time in Majorca (I
think that’s where Vernon said he’d be taking you, since he’d won a free holiday). Mum
and dad missed you over the summer, so you might want to drop by and say hello, just to
assure them you’re alive and well. You know how mum gets.

(Did you end up buying that nice swimsuit you talked about at dinner in June? I think it
would look wonderful on you and I’m sorry I didn’t say it.)

Me? I’m not doing so well. I feel like I’m suffocating every time I pass him in the
hallway, but I know ending our friendship was the right thing to do. Why do I feel so
immensely guilty about it? Or is it grief and not guilt?

I just wonder why he had to do it—why did he have to say it? Maybe if he wouldn’t have
said it, we’d still be friends, but I know I’m just trying to fool myself by saying that. I just
miss him as my friend, though I don’t miss him as the bitter, detached person he’s
become. Maybe you were right about him after all, but I hope you understand I’ll never
really admit it.

I want things to be back to normal, so how self-destructive am I?

She stirred, more asleep than awake, much to her chargin. The first thing she did after
regaining enough conscience was quietly checking for the time. It was an extremely early
hour to wake up at, especially on a Saturday, but Lily was well aware she wouldn’t be the
only person awake in the dorm by now.

Surely enough when she pulled back the curtains of her bed, she was immediately noticed
by two figures sitting on the bed next to hers.
She only considered them for a brief moment, for Lily Evans was very familiar with her
dorm mates’ appearances and had already memorized whole, novel-worthy descriptions
of them from the times she had spent writing letters to Petunia.

At the head of the bed sat Emmeline Gardner, blonde and with her curls all tangled up in
a messy bun, sprouting her familiar and seemingly permanent grin. Her lips were thin,
her nose was long, her eyes were green. Unlike Lily’s, they brought more to the sea side
than a field of clovers. Opposite her was Marlene Hollis, with neat and shoulder-length
hair, coloured in a shade of mahogany that was strikingly similar to the one of her wand.
She had softer features, a darker complexion and a more button-like nose, but Lily was
battling herself to decide whether her eyes were black or a very dark shade of brown.

They were both looking her way and she, still heavy with sleep, managed to send a wry
smile in her direction. Emmeline returned it by widening her own grin, but Marlene only
gave her a polite and half-hearted attempt for a smile.

Marlene and Lily had never been the best of friends, not really, and Lily had learned to
accept that.

“Sleep well?” was Emmeline’s first question, after she had abandoned the issue of Witch
Weekly that she’d been threading scissors into.

“No worse than usual,” she admitted, although ‘no worse’ was by no means better than
‘quite horribly’.

Right on cue, Marlene said, “You were tossing around the whole time.”

“Sorry,” murmured Lily, running a hand through her hair in a half-hearted attempt to
untangle it. “I’ll remember to put a Silencing Charm on the curtains next time.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that,” was the tense and immediate response.

“I didn’t mean to assume that. I was just… I think it would be better that way.”

Lily’s statement, marked by (though she would not admit) genuine discomfort, was
followed by a very long and pregnant silence. Even vivacious and easy-going Emmeline
seemed at a loss of words before she cleared her throat, managing to look like she had
something important to say.

“So… Quidditch try-outs today,” she began with a rather forced cheerfulness. Lily felt
the corners of her mouth turn up, despite her lousy mood and sleep-heavy lids.

“Should I modify my schedule to fit in ‘mourning the complete lack of coordination by

simply not caring and having a quiet Saturday afternoon’?”

“I’d suggest you squeeze in ‘watching hot blokes on broomsticks’,” she then paused
when the only brunette awake gave her a look. “And Marlene, of course.”
Although Quidditch was, quite obviously, not Lily’s topic of choice, she did try to seem
vaguely interested. “Are you trying for the team, again?”

“Yeah,” Marlene replied immediately. “I mean, I already have a huge advantage on

getting a spot on the team, since I played last year, but I was starting to reconsider. Potter
is completely mad about Quidditch, and I’m pretty sure he could handle being Captain,
but, er,” she cringed. “I’m not sure if we can handle him as Captain.”

“Is he that bad?” Lily couldn’t keep a twinge of amusement from sneaking its way into
her voice.

Emmeline piped in, “They let me watch a couple of practises, and this one time, Godfrey
was in the Hospital Wing, so James filled in for him,” she paused for effect, looking like
she was about to laugh. “He was absolutely barking. Marlene looked like she was going
to toss her broomstick at him.”

“I was going to,” the third replied, indignantly. “But then I remembered it was a very
nice, heavily priced broomstick.”

“I would have paid you double just to see that, actually,” Lily admitted. Although her
anger and animosity toward James Potter had faded over break and she had reached the
point of not caring, there had been a couple of times in their fifth year when she would’ve
really liked to see him get bonked on his head, to keep him in check.

“I’ll keep that in mind if he’s being impossible this year.”

“He’s a piece of work, that James, isn’t he?” Emmeline used to have a crush on James
Potter during their third year, if Lily remembered well, but the reason behind her current
giggles might have been the opened magazine in front of her, displaying ridiculously
posed wizards.

It was not Emmeline whom James Potter had asked, though maybe mockingly, on a date
last year.

It was Lily, and she was trying to push away the slight cold feeling she got in her stomach
whenever it happened that she remembered the scene after the Defence OWL exam. It
seemed like something she’d seen in a dream, only knowing it was real awakened
unpleasant feelings and reactions from time to time.

Both Marlene and Emmeline seemed to have noticed that, because the former had averted
her eyes to a magazine she was obviously not interested in, and the latter was tripping on
her words.

“I didn’t mean to bring that up… kind of bring it up? Let’s just… God, I’m seriously
sorry, Lily—“

Guilt was already bubbling inside Lily’s stomach, masking the cold feeling, and she felt
her cheeks reddening.
“You have nothing to apologize for,” she shook her head when Emmeline looked like she
wanted to comment. “Honestly, Em, I’m over it. It’s a bit weird thinking about it, but I’m
fine.”

She said it in such a convincing tone that she had almost no trouble believing it herself.

On another note, and pretty much a depressing one, I’m on the brink of failing one or two
of my classes, and I’m not doing as good as I used to in most of the others.

This is affecting me so much it’s ridiculous. Professor Slughorn, he teaches Potions,

though I’ve told you before, keeps giving me those looks as if he expects me to drop dead
any second now. I’m not even close to failing Potions, so it’s not such a tragedy, but I
guess he expects me to do better and, most of all, he’d expect me to do it together with
Sev, like we used to. (And I actually like Professor Slughorn, so I hope he doesn’t do a
stupid thing like pair us off together because I wouldn’t like him to be at the end of my
sentimental distress.)

The subjects I’m likely failing are Transfiguration and History of Magic. I don’t know
how I’m going to scrape decent marks for either of them.

Oh, I almost forgot.

Take in mind that, if I was telling you this one year ago, I would be grinning with joy.
Guess what? James Potter has taken to avoiding me ever since the incident at the end of
our fifth year. You could bet that fifteen year-old me would have been ecstatic to witness
the day that would happen, but now it feels like a bit of a let down, since I want things
back to normal and this only takes it as farther than the normal as it could be.

I got to the point where I wish Potter was nagging at me, so I think the situation’s got
pretty desperate.

Well, I think this is enough for one letter. While I beg for more ‘normalcy’ in my life
although knowing very well how self destructive that is, I wish the best for you and your
boyfriend (even though we don’t really get along).

But before I officially end this letter, I would like you to answer me one final question.

Why do I keep writing to you if I know very well I’m never going to send you any letters?

Love always,

Lily.