Certainly this isn't my best writing, but I was drawn by a force larger than myself (snorts behind hand) to write a story that could fairly be Lily Evans/Lily Luna. So here you have it.
Lily…had been told she looked like a lot of people. Friends of her parents said that she looked like her mother—"But you have your father's eyes," they always added. It was getting a little annoying; it had been 'getting a little annoying' when she was eight. Friends of her grandparents—friends of the Weasleys, but also (those few who remained) of the Potters—said that she was the image of Lily Evans. And perhaps she was.
Sometimes she wished she could resemble nobody, that she could be the Potter child without any disturbing resemblances to trouble her, but most of the time she was glad.
Something told her that the lovely woman she dreamt about and who spoke as if she knew the deepest secrets of Lily's soul had something more in common with her than eyes and hair and a name and a flower. Perhaps they were just dreams.
But Lily liked her dreams. She liked her dreams, and she liked her namesakes, for though one was only a faded picture the other—she wasn't related to the other, she was sure, but Aunt Luna was her favorite not-aunt. She taught Lily how to see nargles and Wrackspurts, and Lily learned to like Dirigible Plums, and wouldn't have minded if her shoes were ever stolen—not that they were. Her older brothers, teasing at home, were fiercely protective at school.
And Lily liked the guardian that Luna sometimes described.
A guardian you see in your dreams, she had said, and Lily knew.
Each night she was eager to fall asleep, and to see, as no one else could, Lily Potter.
Review, if you so choose. I'm not really picky.