The Life and Times of Lily Luna Potter
Chapter One: The Introduction
Hello.
…
Bloody hell, I'm really going insane, saying hello to a journal.
…and no, this isn't an insane Voldermort possessed Horcrux journal. The only thing possessing this journal is my insanity.
You see, this is supposed to be therapeutic. That's what Mum and Grandma believe, anyway. They think, on recommendation from some crazy old witch on the radio, that because I'm the youngest child in a family of thousands, if not millions, that I am somehow scarred or emotionally disturbed.
They refuse to believe that one of their many offspring is actually sane.
That is why I am currently talking to a journal.
Not a diary, mind you. I'm not one of those girls. This is more of documentation, for my biographer, perhaps – the inner workings of the deep and dark place that is known, fearfully by many, as my mind.
When they're chronicling the great life that I've led, this could come quite handy.
Therefore.
Hello.
My name is Lila Luna Potter.
As of March 2nd of this year, I am fifteen years old.
Terrible age, fifteen. I'm not old enough to be considered of age and yet I'm not young enough to convince anyone that I don't know better.
Let's get the basics over with, shall we?
Red hair, what a surprise. Hazel eyes, that's just a prettier way of saying light brown. For someone with Weasley blood, red hair and pale skin, I'm relatively freckle-free. I'm tall for my age; I developed early, thank you very much Weasley blood. When I was thirteen, I looked to be seventeen. It went over well with boys, just not those that were related to me; and there are a lot of those. I eat like a pig, or so I've been told, but Quidditch and running away from various brothers and cousins has kept me in shape. You'd think that being red haired and tall, I would've been statuesque.
I'm not.
Imagine a pale, gangly orangutan.
As for family, well, I don't really need to get into that, do I?
The only thing you need to know about the Weasleys or the Potters is that they're everywhere. You can never escape. You can't even run, let alone hide. They find you in every nook and cranny you can think of.
It's not funny.
In my short and precious fifteen years of life, I've seen more red haired people than I would like to remember. I have two brothers, one surrogate brother, nine cousins, five uncles, four aunts, two grandparents and two parents.
Christmas morning, as you can imagine, is quite messy.
The family is easy to handle if you know how to handle them. There are tricks, which I've picked up over the years.
For example, never interrupt Molly and Lucy when they're fighting. It won't end well for anyone. If Fred looks like he's going to burst, the best thing to do is get as far away from him as possible. When Louis is talkative, it means something is wrong. Conversely, if James is quiet, it means something is wrong. If Dominique is complaining about her nails, she's had a bad day and it is best not to ask why. When Hugo says he wants hot chocolate, it means he's sad. If Teddy and Victorie arrive separately, they've been fighting. When Albus can be found throwing a Quaffle around, it means that he wants to talk but he doesn't know how to bring up the conversation. Finally, when Rose hasn't done her homework, pigs are flying.
Though, over the years, the best piece of advice I have about the Weasley-Potter household is this -
If something is flying towards your head, DUCK.
With that, I shall conclude my introduction into the worst idea Mum and Grandma have had since they decided to buy a Muggle oven, because the aforementioned, slightly insane Mum is yelling for dinner and I smell roast chicken.
