Letter from Lily
A/N: This takes place between "Opposites Attract" and "Finger in a Box." You don't have to have read OA to read this, but I'd like you to… puhleeze? J Anyway, for those of you meanies out there, Juliet Sinistra was Lily's best friend.
"Juliet?" Albus Dumbledore asked with a small smile.
The short, brown-haired woman quietly stood up at the pedestal. She said nothing, and yet commanded an air of presence to all gathered there. Finally, sucking in her breath, Juliet spoke.
"Hello."
The day before, there had been tears – oh, there had been tears! Enough to flood an ocean, to drown an elephant. But there was a time for tears, and during a speech is not one of them. Juliet's eyes were dry, her mouth pulled into a tight, thin line, her pale face showing none of the grief ripping her heart.
"Most of you don't know me. Lily Evans was my best friend." Still no tears, not a single crack in her voice. Nothing to show how much she cared, how much she felt like half of her heart was gone.
"Most of you know Lily, or if you didn't, you do now. And I'm afraid that the way you know her – and remember her – will be the wrong way. I've heard her many virtues praised. I'm not here to tell you what a perfect woman she was. Because she wasn't."
A sharp intake of breath.
"Lily Evans was not some – some – goddess, some paragon you put up on a stand and stare at and admire! She's not a work – she wasn't…" Changing to the past tense had to hurt, but nothing showed. Deadpan. "…a work of art. She was a person. DO YOU HEAR ME? SHE WAS NOT PERFECT! No matter what everyone said. She wasn't."
The intake of breath grew louder. "That hard little thing!" Ruth Sprout said disapprovingly. "Why, it's almost sacrilege!"
"Lily was human. She loved humanly, she angered humanly… and she died humanly. But Lily said to me once, 'No tears at my funeral. I don't want to be cried over.' Lily wanted to be remembered, all right, but not like she's being remembered today." Juliet fished in the pocket of her robes – many thought for a handkerchief, but they were wrong. She drew out instead a thin piece of parchment with neat handwriting on it.
"This is how Lily wanted to be remembered."
Dear Julie –
You were crying when you quit talking to me. Don't try to deny it. Your tears almost put out my fire. Please don't cry over me. Don't feel bad. I don't want your last memories of me to be of – God forbid – tears. I want no tears from you at my funeral.
When we were sixth-years, you once told me, "I want us to be old ladies in rocking chairs together, sitting and knitting quietly." And we had a fierce row, because I said that I didn't want to sit back and watch my fate. And I didn't want that fate to be knitting in a rocking chair. You said, "Lily, you're never going to accept anything, are you?" Well, I've accepted something now. Are you happy?
Julie, don't feel bad over what I just said. I'm not angry with you. You're my best friend, you always have been. You've stuck by me through the worst and the best.
And, Julie, because you're my best friend – closer than my sister, and believe me, I love you more than I love that wretch Petunia – I want you to be in charge of how I'm remembered.
Please, please, please, don't let me be remembered as "nice." There's nothing more boring than "nice." It brings up memories of limp noodles without any sauce. I want to be remembered as "zesty," "exciting," "funny," even "queer." Anything but that awful "nice."
But I don't want this to be my final farewell. I want to go out with a bang, not with a fizzle. So, Julie, light Filibuster Fireworks with the tears at my funeral.
My love always, sister,
Lily
Ceremoniously, Juliet started a Filibuster Wet-Start, No-Heat Firework.
Only after it had exploded, did anyone notice that Juliet had never unfolded the letter, but recited it from memory.
"Well," Ruth Sprout tutted as she marched away, "I still say it's not right."