Disclaimer: I think it's fairly obvious that I am not the wonderful J.K. Rowling, and therefore the amazing Potterverse is not my brainchild. I am writing purely for entertainment (hopefully), and hope this fanfiction sacrifice on the altar of JKR's Awesomeness is an acceptable one. This story (and the character of Alexandria Woods-Rogers in particular) is of my own invention and is not part of Rowling's official storyline.

Dear Lily,

So, if you are reading this, (and since the only way you'd know what I'm writing is if you were, then I think it's safe to assume you are) then it's now ten years in the future. Well, my future. You're in the present. Which is, what, 1988? Wow. Scary thought.

In case you've forgotten, because ten years is a long time, this stack of letters (I hope it does become a stack, and not just something we start and forget about, like the time you tried to keep a diary, and the time I tried to log how much chocolate I eat, and the time Alice decided she would try to give up sarcasm) is from our seventh year. We've just (in my time, sitting in your room on the last day of the holidays before our seventh year starts) agreed to write each other a string of letters over the coming year, to not only keep a record of what happens, but to share even the few secrets we can't already tell each other, and hopefully for a bit of comedy and nostalgia when we read back over our angst-filled teen lives.

And obviously it was my idea. Not just because it's a good one, but because I'm the only one of us sentimental enough to think it up. Alice thinks it's a lot of tosh, but has let me bully her into it. And since it's me who is receiving her letters, I'm sure I'll pay for it in ten years time. But I'm not entirely sure how you feel about it. You've been pretty quiet lately - I'm hoping it's just because you're anticipating our last ever year at Hogwarts. And that shiny badge on your chest, you lucky girl (never doubted you). But you seemed keen enough, and you look pretty engrossed in your own first letter over there at your desk, so I'm hoping you're excited, too.

I want to tell you first of all (well, actually, not first, because I've actually written a bunch of other stuff before I got to this) that you owe me ten Galleons (adjust for inflation) if you are now married to and/or have children with James Potter. I've said it before, and I'm sure I'll say it again, but you two are actually bound to end up together. I just don't think someone can profess to hate someone for as long as you have without actually being in love with them. If he just irritated you, you'd have grown out of it by now, and just not cared. But you do (and I've watched you grin to yourself when he does little things like mess up in Potions, even when no one else has noticed, so you obviously do) and so I reckon it's got to end up with you madly in love with him. Especially when he still hasn't given up, after four years of trying to impress you.

By the way, if we're in the same room reading these, can you please wink at me? I'll either remember this and laugh, knowing what you've just read, or I'll have forgotten and be humorously confused.

Anyway, I'm massively digressing (as per usual).

We're back off to Hogwarts tomorrow, for the last time. This year we'll be sitting our N.E.W.T.'s, and hopefully actually becoming employable witches afterwards. I still don't know what I want to be, and I'm not sure you do either, despite Slughorn's conviction that you should be a super amazing Potions master of doom (or work at the Ministry). Alice wants to be an Auror, and has told us both this every day since we found out what an Auror was in our third year Defence class. I hope she is one, and that you don't read this part sadly, knowing she's a bored housewife or been relegated to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office or something.

As well as your amazing achievement of becoming Head Girl, we also have the lesser achievement of me taking your place as the Gryffindor seventh year girl prefect. Having not been a prefect before, I hope you keep me right. I'm very excited about the bathroom, and don't want to lose that privilege through my usual complete lack of common sense and general obliviousness to all things sensible. Also, we both get to ride in the prefects carriage, which has annoyed Alice no end. And since Frank has left now, she can't even fall back on her other best friend (I do hate that nothing happened there - I was really hoping they'd see how great they were for each other before he disappeared off to Auror training), so she's pretty mad. I'm trying to avoid bringing it up in front of her - I like my eyebrows the way they are.

Oh, and just for the record, I'm probably going to lose something at your house before we leave. I hope you don't still have whatever it is after ten years, but if you do, can you please send it back? I probably need it. Although after ten years, I've probably either learned to live a half-life without it, or I've bought/borrowed/illicitly acquired another one.

I really, really hope we manage to keep this going. I hope we're still friends when it comes to switching letters, and we don't decide that we're too grown up and embarrassed by the total rubbish we talked as teenagers to share them.

And I really, really hope you still find me funny, and that when you say 'idiot' or 'you really are incredibly annoying', you still say it with a bit of a smile.

I also hope I get better at writing these, and have more to say to you other than that you still owe me a Butterbeer, a new pair of socks and a replacement Spell-checking Quill. Which, if you haven't coughed up, you still owe me in 1988.

Lots of love and silliness,

Sandy

(or, in case we're weird and formal in ten years' time)

Alexandria Woods-Rogers

(actually, better cross out my surname in case I'm married or something crazy in ten years' time)

Sandy,

You are all kinds of crazy, you know that, right?

If we ever actually exchange these in the future, we're going to be mortified. I bet you're gushing more than some soppy Witches' Hour radio play heroine. I also bet I can't understand half the words Lily writes in hers. I certainly don't understand half of what she says. And I'm trying to be an Auror, so I'm not a total idiot, either - and I still don't understand her.

She's also a total bint if she thinks we don't know how chuffed she is to be Head Girl. She thinks she's all subtle and pretty, modest blushes. Bullshit. She wants to scream it from the rooftops and throw a party. But a party that finishes before curfew, and where there's no alcohol and no Marauders, so not really a party at all.

Speaking of Marauders, are you going to be able to cope with this prefect crap? Because everyone knows you can't form sentences anywhere near Lupin, and you two are going to be thrown together a lot now. I can just see your crazy word vomit now.

I bet Lily gets some interesting letters from you.

Ok, you actually look like a house-elf on drugs right now, writing away with your tongue sticking out and your eyes bulging with sheer concentration. I'm trying not to laugh.

I lied, I'm totally laughing.

So, you've just shouted at me that I need to make a prediction about you. Here goes: I bet you're going to be doing some crazy, enthusiastic job that works you all hours but you don't care. I bet you're either married to some schmuck who lets you shout all over him but takes charge when things get rough, or else you're single, because your intensity has scared all men away. I also bet that you still wear that stupid green cardigan that you think is so vintage, but actually makes you look like a Slytherin bag lady.

I just re-read this and realised I sound quite mean. But you wanted 'all the stuff we don't actually say to each other', and most of what I filter out is stuff I think you'd be offended by, you mad little pixie.

Ok, I feel ridiculous now. I'm going to wait and see whether either of you ever bring this up again, otherwise this will be my one and only attempt at making my best friend's future self into my pen friend.

Crazy, crazy shit.

Alice.

Dear Alice,

Your expression right now is absolutely hilarious. You keep throwing Sandy these glances, like you're waiting for her to explode in a puff of positivity and happiness and set off your allergies to optimism. You two make me laugh more than anything else, I swear.

It's a silly idea, this one of Sandy's, but it won't do any harm to try. It'll not only keep her happy, but who knows: maybe one day we will actually read these, and at the very least get a laugh at how young and silly we once were.

I'm going to take the opportunity to say 'I'm sorry' to you, Alice. I'm sorry Sandy and I are abandoning you on the train tomorrow. I wish you were a prefect, too; although, despite your excellent grades, we both know you're too anti-authority to cope with being a prefect. However it would mean the three of us sharing our last 1st of September ride on the Hogwarts Express.

I feel very sad about this year, Alice. I feel like we're losing something very important to us, and nothing is going to be the same again. I also don't feel nearly old enough or wise enough to deal with it. Look at the things we read about in the Daily Prophet: I'm not ready to face the tainted world outside the protection of Hogwarts. And not tainted by Muggleborns, either.

I'm not allowing this first letter to you to become immersed in dark thoughts, though. Let's be positive. We have a whole, fresh new year ahead of us: we'll all be turning eighteen, we have a Yule Ball this year, and I heard a rumour that James Potter lost all of his hair thanks to a curse gone wrong, or a Quidditch accident, or maybe both. This year could still be excellent.

Sandy is still writing, and you're looking at me in despair. Chin up, Alice. Let's have a good one.

Your friend,

Lily Evans.