Sometimes, if I think back really hard, I can imagine the time when I had a mother and a father who loved me and a brother who wasn't quite capable of calling me by name. Their names will be remembered and revered as long as this world exists, but you will not find mine next to theirs. History will not remember me, though the part I played in this war was not insignificant. Pawns are never given credit for only the measly sacrifice of their lives. I have given so much to this world without expecting credit and none being given, and maybe this account is selfish of me to write, but, for once, I would like to be important—a queen, a rook, a bishop, a knight. Do not think me bitter or unhappy with the role I have played, for it is the identity that most comforts me now. I played the game, yes, but unlike others, I made the choice to play; it would have been easy, even simple, to slip off the table, but I have made my choice and I would like to think it was the right one, despite the things I was forced—I choose to do. Do not forget my choice. It is very important to me that who I am is who I chose to be. The sorting hat may have chosen my house, but every day since then I have lived to be worthy of Gryffindor, worthy of my parents' legacy, of my brother's, and of those who cared for me despite the shadows and uncertainty in which I lived.
My name is Hally Evans. I have been told I have my mother's looks and my father's knack for trouble, and when they were alive my parents were called Lily and James. I am the sister Harry Potter will never know he had.