Hidden Inside

A.N.: Hey, everybody! This is mayhemsquared and we are here to bring you a fic whose idea we've been working on for about...three years. Yes, sad, and quite pathetic, we know. But after so long, we've finally got the inspiration to do something with it. This isn't our first time publishing something on but it has been quite a while and our style has changed since then. And since we changed, our name changed. Anyways, thank you to all those people who took a chance on us to read this story.... so please enjoy and be sure to review!

Disclaimer: Why we even bother with this, who knows, because believe us, if we owned Harry Potter....mayhemsquared sighs dejectedly.....well, we don't, and that's that.

Prologue/Chapter 1

December 1996: Hogwarts, Christmastime.

It was snowing again. And it wasn't pretty snow either. It was blizzard type snow with a cold so frigid that it was impossible to move after one step. Everyone was thrilled to go home after such a long time. But, Hermione reflected, they were probably less thrilled and more relieved. After all, even she had to agree that the comfort and warm atmosphere of her home was much preferred to the nervous and anxious mood that always seemed to plague the castle nowadays.

"Harry, mate....are you sure?" Ron asked for the umpteenth time. "Just have Dumbledore talk to Snape for you and I'm positive he'll let you off. Mum's always writing how worried she is about you, and besides, it's Christmas! Let's go home and have some fun for once."

"Ron, for the millionth time, I'd rather just get these blasted detentions done with," Harry said calmly, moving his bishop one square diagonally to the right. "And you know that I don't want to drag Professor Dumbledore into this."

"It's just that we feel rotten about leaving you in the castle for the vacation alone," said Ron, his eyebrows furrowing in frustrated concentration on the chessboard.

"I'm telling you, don't worry about me. I have so much work to do anyways that I know that I'd never get it done at your house. Go and enjoy -"

"Hah!" Ron yelled triumphantly, cutting Harry off. "Checkmate!" He turned grinning to a furious Hermione with her arms crossed against her chest. "Ahem...uh, sorry about that mate."

"Well, Harry, I suppose we should be going now," Hermione said gently. She stood up slowly from the table as Ron began to clean up the chessboard.

"Yeah....you guys should go before you miss the train," Harry said softly, looking in the opposite direction.

"Don't let that old bastard ruin the vacation for you. ("Ron, language, really...!" exclaimed Hermione) Just shut him up with a curse or two if he talks trash to you." Ron said, smirking at the very thought.

Harry smiled faintly.

"And Harry...please, please take care of yourself..." Hermione said quietly, pleading silently that he would listen.

"Yeah, yeah, I know..." Harry mumbled as he walked away. Ron raised an eyebrow to Hermione who just miserably watched Harry walk back to the common room. Ron opened his mouth to say something but then thought better of it and stopped. He shrugged his shoulders and started walking in the direction of the train station.

Hermione sighed resignedly. Harry had been like this for the past few days, constantly brooding, constantly staring in empty space. It was nothing new of course. He had been doing it the entire year. But she would have liked to believe that returning back to Hogwarts would clear at least some of his troubled mind. Surprisingly, it had done the exact opposite. Ron though would always just say to give him time, just give him enough time. But that was the problem with Ron. He thought as a boy, she thought as a girl. She knew something was different, that something was bothering him. But she also knew better than to ask him. Ever since Sirius's death, the protective wall surrounding Harry, the one shielding him from all the pain and agony, had climbed to much higher extents. Any questioning that went too far would simply result with nothing. She was grateful that he talked to them at all. To the teachers, he barely gave one-word answers and to even his dorm mates, he was brief, almost terse. Professor McGonagall had once told her that she was tearing her hair out with worry over him. Not that there was anything to be gained by staying silent either. No, for right now, she and Ron would just have to bear the anxiety and wait for Harry to tell them himself. They could trust him with that much at least.

~

Harry winced as he lay down on the four-poster bed. The excessive Quidditch practice was beginning to take its toll on his body as every muscle in his body called out in agony. He reached his arm out to the nightstand near his bed and picked up the musty old brown journal that had been sitting for the last few days. Harry just simply stared at it.

In Care of Magical Creatures a few days ago, Hagrid had called him to stay longer after class ended. Assuming it was a question about taking care of Grawp, Harry nodded his consent and stayed the extra minutes. But it was far from that. Hagrid simply handed over to him a diary without saying a word. Harry was confused and a tad bit irritated. Yes, he knew he had problems but he wasn't so messed up as to start keeping a journal. Even so, if Hagrid had to have gotten him a journal, couldn't he have gotten him one that at least didn't smell like decaying leather? But then, Hagrid pointed out the name on the diary. Lily Evans. And Harry froze. Hagrid explained that he had been the one clean up most of the destroyed house the day his parents died. One of the few things that hadn't been burned down was the diary. Unable to open it, Hagrid had put it away in storage until he could give it to Harry, and going through a recent spring-cleaning, had found it again.

It wasn't as if he was glad Ron and Hermione had left. He knew the next two weeks were going to be hell without them to keep him company when he wasn't doing detention with Snape. He just didn't want anyone to bear witness to the fact that while everybody else could just ask his or her parents directly, he had to read his mother's diary to learn more about her. And that disturbed him. Not that he couldn't ask his parents directly. He had come to terms with that ages ago. It was the fact that he was reading his mother's diary. The most personal and precious item to any person who owned one, and Harry was having great difficulty in bringing himself to violate the privacy that his mother had kept locked within the pages.

Hagrid had said that it was the type of diary with a signature lock, meaning that instead of an actual key that the diarist would use to seal it, they would sign their name on the placard centered in the middle of the front cover. Each person has a distinct method of signing his or her name so the diary would only open to Lily's signature. It also meant though, that it was impossible for Harry to open it, for Harry certainly did not know how his mother used to sign her name. Even if he did, he would never be able to copy it exactly the way she wrote it. But it didn't mean that he wouldn't try.

Harry dipped his quill in the bottle of ink and held it over the inscription area of the cover. He was about to write Lily Evans but stopped short. Instead, he wrote his own name. The ink sunk into the paper and a second later, the inscription was blank, as if Harry had never written in it. He stared at it, confused. But almost two seconds later, messy, scrawny handwriting came running across the page and Harry's eyes widened in disbelief. It read: This is the property of Lily Evans, in other words, me! Don't even think of trying to go through my diary! Harry just stared at the paper. Freakishly, it was reminding him of Tom Riddle's diary and he had half a mind to chuck it out the window and never think of it again. But he took up his quill once again and this time wrote: Harry Potter, son of Lily Evans and James Potter. And the ink disappeared once again. Harry waited for a response for almost ten minutes but none came. He sighed. Well, at least he could say that he had tried. He was just about to put the diary back in his trunk when he heard a soft click. He gazed down at the diary in astonishment. The lock had popped open.

Harry cautiously opened the diary. He had to brush off the dust that had collected there with little use. The pages had turned slightly yellow with age and the edges were starting to wrinkle and tear. In places, the edges were singed. The sheets were crinkled from signs of water stains. It was obvious that the book had gone through much wear and tear. It was the beginning page though that had caught his attention first. It was a torn, crumpled up piece of paper that had been smoothed back out and taped into the diary. It was the same type of paper as the rest of the diary so Harry could only assume that the page had been torn out but then put back in. It was a poem. Not a long one, but a good page nonetheless. He rubbed his eyes tiredly, put on his glasses, and began to read...

A glance in my direction

Is all it takes to show

That I exist...

September 1975: Hogwarts

A glance in my direction

is all it takes to show

that I exist.

Is is that much to ask?

I have only wished for

recognition in your eyes,

Only searched for acceptance

in your voice.

I have only wanted comfort

for this heart,

Only looked for solace

for this soul.

I am falling into myself

like never before.

Come, find me.

Lily lifted her quill and bit the feather tip thoughtfully, rereading her work. Her previous frown of concentration deepened into one of disgust as her eyes ran down the page. Finally, she wrinkled her nose.

"What sort of blasted rubbish is this?"

She made to rip it out and throw it aside but stopped mid-tear. Instead she sighed and shoved the diary back into her bag. She didn't know what good editing would do later, but that day she felt merciful to such an insignificant page of her diary. Nah, she was just too lazy to dispose of it. Lily struggled to her feet and stretched, her knuckles brushing the low-lying branches of the so-often-visited beech tree she'd been writing under. Then she collapsed back down.

The students surrounding the lake were basking in the sun, laughing and babbling away without a care in the world while Lily sat there spending time on her own which, she realized a few days ago, she preferred. But she hadn't been alone from lack of choice. As a matter of fact, her girlfriends had dropped by to talk, hoping for another endless chain of group chit-chat, but lost interest quickly after the first feeble efforts of conversation and took off, reminding her that she was being -- "distant". Lily rolled her eyes but smirked slightly nonetheless. She had just wanted some time for herself, that was all. There was no need to be so suspicious and worked up about her not wanting every second of her life to with of her "since first-year" friends, talking about trivial worries ("I think my Sleak-Easy potion's gone old or something. My hair seems to be turning a wierd..magenta"), gushing news ("Did you notice that Ravenclaw boy became captain of the Quidditch team? Does he have the most gorgeous eyes or what?"), or incessant gossip (So Elaine Docker had to go to Madame Pomfrey to remove those disgusting lip hairs -- and I heard her boyfriend ended it with her because he was way too squeamish to kiss her again).

Not to mention, Lily did need her share of privacy -- like she ever needed another query about every aspect of James' life, as if her own wasn't enough already. Though if she were to answer honestly about James and herself, she doubted the girls would understand that she was...not unhappy, of course, but more...somewhat dissatisfied with their relationship, and hopefully she didn't sound spoiled or arrogantly insatiable. But goodness, no, Lily wasn't unhappy. James, disregarding his enormous ego (which had thankfully toned down since he paired up with Lily) was a good companion overall. They would have their intimate moments, maybe exchange a few kisses, and talk. And he was oftentimes interesting, but did not quite meet Lily's occasional needs for intellectual stimulation. It was just that, sometimes...sometimes she wanted to talk about something other than the latest Quidditch game.

Speaking of which, just when Lily made to leave, he came into view, though in a noticeably different manner this time. Instead of strolling with his usual air of superiority, James appeared to be storming over with his gang at his heels.

"Good afternoon, James..." Lily said hesitantly. James glared at her nastily before throwing himself under the beech tree next to her.

"Yes, good afternoon! LOVELY afternoon! With the Leech snuffing down your neck, gloating about his oh-so-clever new method of torture, of course you'll coming down to a good afternoon!"

This was something different. James was never this hot-and-bothered about a punishment; a more normal response would have been him, flopping back and savoring the memories of the chaos he stirred which earned him his punishments. Even the most laborious detentions that followed were often treated as medals.

Remus gave James an exasperated look. "Don't say you weren't warned, Prongs, because I've - surprise - done nothing but.."

"How was I to know he'd go as far as this, the stinkin --"

"Anyway," Remus cut in. "I tried dissuading these -- dolts --" he jerked his head disgustedly toward James and Sirius, "--from melting Acid Pops into Professor Leese's pumpkin juice this morning in the kitchen --"

Lily let out a cry of horror and whipped around to face James. "You didn't!"

Remus gave a dry laugh. "Well, you're going to have to believe they did, because --"

"By the time he had gotten half of his tongue back," Sirius added heatedly. "And was capable of near-human speech --"

"Well, excuse us for putting that ugly git in his place," James ranted. "Served him right, actually, giving us those two weeks of detention the last month --"

"You didn't care about those detentions then," Remus cut in impatiently, preventing the advent of a tale of mischief. "Not as much as you do now, anyway. But apparently, this here," he tapped his prefect pin irritably, "didn't give me any better authority -- not that I expected it to -- to stop you, otherwise you, Padfoot, would not be scrubbing the dungeons, and YOU would still be playing Ravenclaw in the next game."

There was a pause. "What?" Lily yelped incredulously.

"Not to mention, Gryffindor's house points would be ticked up by two-hundred, as well," Remus added as an afterthought.

"At least that was what it sounded like, coming from him." Sirius frowned as if in a lightly curious doze of thought. "Closest to 'Duhpenschn-blagh-no-sqdibbick-pggher-chumbegh-augh-dwyppengor', anyway."

Lily only had a second to laugh before she said, "Leese's banning you from Quidditch?" A hint of disbelief still lingered in her voice.

"Only from the next game, mind you," James corrected Lily quickly. "It would've been a lifelong ban, but McGonagall stepped in, the angel that she is. So it means we still have a chance of winning the cup, but we'll have to stand the shame of Gryffindor losing to Ravenclaw." He scowled. "And naturally, as the best seeker who ever joined the Gryffindor team -- and no, I'm not boasting, Lily -- Leese wants to ground the taste of losing in our faces."

He huffed with a sort of exhausted fury while Lily tried to decide whether to express sympathy or roll her eyes at his pomposity. Before she was able to do either, however, James looked up absently. "Hullo, Wormtail." He tried to smile, but as the aftereffects of his outrage hadn't worn off enough, a grimace twisted his face instead.

"Prongs, it's not true, is it?" Peter Pettigrew asked frantically. His hands were on his knees and he was out of breath, having just run across from the other side of the lake. "You're -- you can't -- you're not suspended from Quidditch?"

"Oh, I am, please be kind enough as to not rub it in my face again," James replied flatly, his pained smile still glued to his face.

"You know, Wormtail, somehow it doesn't surprise me that you're a step behind," Sirius remarked. Peter looked slightly embarrassed.

"Well...well -- you haven't heard who's replacing him, then?" His tone was anxious.

James rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid, Wormtail, no one can possibly know now. There needs to be tryouts first."

"Oh."

"Moony, will you stop reading for one second of the day?"

Remus looked up only to notify Sirius that he had heard him, and flicked back to the book.

"What's it to you, Padfoot?" he asked placidly. "Something needs to make up for the little brains you have."

"You know what, Moony? You irk me. Stop reading before you shrivel up into a flobberworm. It's for your own health."

"This is N.E.W.T. year, Sirius," Remus stated from behind his book in a steady, yet slightly impatient tone. "If there's any time I should be studying, it's this year. Now let me go back to Arithmancy, if you don't mind."

"But Moony, my friend, N.E.W.T.s is at the end of the year."

"Ah, lay off him, Padfoot," James begged playfully. "If he wants to be a poor book bum with no life, for Pete's sake, let him."

Wormtail giggled, the faithful audience he was.

"No, seriously, leave him alone, you three, stop teasing." Lily scolded with, nevertheless, a smile on her face. "Anyway, I heard the N.E.W.T. level was ridiculously difficult, and I don't blame him for wanting to study."

"Thank you, Lily," said Remus behind his book.

"From the start of the year?" James asked with ridicule.

"Why not?" Lily replied stubbornly. "Do you know what, even, I think I'm going to start, too."

She reached into her bag to pull out her own book, and as she did, the diary slipped out. And because it had been pressed open for Lily's writing, the poem lay face-up on the ground.

Sirius eyed the book. "What's that?"

"Nothing that concerns you," said Lily calmly, but nevertheless, tried to snatch it out of sight, reddening slowly. Sirius was quicker. Lily clawed him as he shot to his feet and read the poem out of her reach. Lily scowled and jumped for her book. Sirius whipped it away.

"Can I borrow this?"

"What?" she asked, frozen in mild surprise.

"Muggle Studies. We're supposed to hand in a poem. And I'm -er - challenged in the literary sense."

"Only literary?" James murmured.

Lily shrugged. "Fine." She snatched it back. "But ask me next time," she added as she ripped the page out of her book.

"What was it I just did?"

"You asked like a primitive beast, that's what you did. Here."

Sirius took the paper. "Prongs," he said in a business-like manner. "I'm off hand to this in to the unhappy woman. Only the fifth overdue assignment and she's already going ballistic on me." He jerked his head in a gesture toward the castle. "You'll have to back me up on a load of owl dung I gave her about you delaying my progress."

James rolled his eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

He gave Lily a quick peck on the cheek and got to his feet with an ostentatious grunt.

"Are you coming with us, Moony?" Sirius asked.

Remus looked up suspiciously from his Arithmancy book.

"For what reason? I wasn't dragged into your 'load of owl dung' by any chance, was I?"

Sirius laughed. "Of course you were, mate! How is anyone going to believe me if there's only Prongs to back me? This requires someone intelligent and trustworthy and responsible and --"

Remus growled and snapped his book shut. "I knew it. You owe me, understand?"

Sirius smiled. "Perfectly."

"Wait!" Peter sprang up to join them. "Was I in your story, Padfoot?" His voice faded in Lily's ears as the four friends walked away.

"Don't be thick, Wormtail. You're a terrible liar..."

The sky had been growing darker from a while before. Inevitably, droplets of rain began to fall from the sky. James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter quickened their strolls to sprints toward the castle. Lily watched her poem flapping in Sirius' hand, wondering whether he would remember copying it in his own writing first before he handed it in. She felt a drop of rain fall on her shoulder. Lily was mostly protected under the leaves of the beech tree, but she knew it wouldn't be long before the roof of leaves could no longer withhold a downpour. In the distance, she heard several screams near the lake, supposedly coming from a few hydrophobic drama queens. Lily took her bag and held it over her head as she made her way to the dry shelter of the castle. By the time she got past the lake, no one remained outside. She neared the castle, and the door opened. A slouched figure allowed a foot outside before he stopped abruptly. He was minute from where Lily stood, but she would have been able to identify his aura of solitude from a mile away. Noticing the rain, the figure retreated stoically inside.

Lily broke into a run as the roaring of the rain escalated. She thought vaguely of the poem she had given to Sirius. She had never really paid much attention to how she had thought of the idea for it. But the solitary figure passing by reminded her.