It had been a while. I don't care to try to remember how long it had been, but I know it had been a while. And there my grandmother was, asking me why I didn't have a boyfriend. As if I needed it rubbed in. But I wasn't going to lower myself to her level. I could have, of course. I could have said something about her being old and alone, living in this sad excuse for a house, talking to her cats because everybody else outside her family had long since deserted her. But I didn't. I just sat there, in her stuffy, mould-smelling living room, trying to ignore her grating voice and the plastic covering the sofa that chaffed my bare legs.

"You should try going out wearing a paper bag on your head. You're legs are nice enough – you could maybe catch a boy if that's all he saw of you." She took a long drag on her cigarette, amusement creating a hint of a sparkle in her dull, brown eyes.

I looked over at my mother, trying to hint that I'd like to leave. She looked sympathetic, but shook her head. We'd have to stay the entire hour.

"Maybe I'll try that sometime, Grandma." I smiled at her; a smile that wavered slightly as she began to laugh.

"Wouldn't that be a bloody hoot? Lillian Evans walking around her precious school wearing a paper bag on her head!"

"Yeah," I trailed off, looking down at my shoes. There was a scuff on the side of the left one, I noticed with annoyance. The shoes were new; shiny and white. I had wanted to wear them to the first day of school, which was only a week away. Maybe they'd impress somebody. Probably not.

The rest of the hour went by without much of my notice. Mother had intervened, directing the conversation instead towards my sister, Petunia. She didn't have to come today. She got to spend the day with Vernon. Just because they were engaged. Big bloody deal. It wasn't as if Vernon was something special; just a sad, overweight bloke who was so surprised to not get turned down that he asked the girl to marry him. Five weeks into the relationship. And Petunia, equally surprised at being asked out on a date, had accepted. And later accepted his proposal. But none of this was important to my grandmother. She shot me scathing looks as my mother divulged the "Oh so delicious details."

At last we were out of the stiflingly hot house, and my mother, apologizing profusely for having put me through that, opened the car door for me. At least with her and dad I was respected. They still told me everyday how proud they were that I was a witch, and that I was really making something of myself in the wizarding world. Other members of my family, however, did not share the same view.

"What do you mean, she's a witch?" my grandmother had demanded upon hearing the news. "I know she can be a bit of a brat sometimes, but I wouldn't go so far as to call her a witch!"

My mother tried to explain, as patiently as her pride in me would let her. "No, mum. She is an actual witch. Like, in books and such. Magical, and the like." Her face shone with delight.

Grandma Elizabeth didn't even pretend to pleased. After that her favourite was Petunia, and no matter what my parents said, she wouldn't consent to acknowledge my accomplishments, or even, for the first two years, my existence. And then she settled into her happy little routine of mocking me. But as I only have to see her once a year, it didn't much matter. I had better things to think of.

Like my imminent return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Where I was the Head Girl, well liked, and pursued most determinedly by one James Potter. Whom I most certainly did not like. Though he may look incredibly fit out on the quidditch pitch.

Silver steam rose from the scarlet engine of the Hogwarts Express as hundreds of students packed the small boarding station. My mother and dad stood nearby, minding my cart as I pushed my way through the crowd, trying to find somebody I knew. Fortunately, after only a few minutes of searching, I found Vanessa Carmichael. She was leaning over the handrail of her baggage cart, smile languidly. Her long black hair was tied up in a ponytail, and her shirt hung rather low in the front. A third year tripped over himself as he passed by her, gawking.

"Hey, 'Ness."

She turned to me, smiling. "Morning, Lily." She turned her gaze back to the crowd, dark eyes seemingly searching for something. "Have you heard the news?"

"News?" I noticed Vanessa's smile becoming somewhat mischievous.

"Uh-huh. The new Head Boy. I thought you might be interested in who it is."

I shrugged, looking down at my immaculate robes and new white shoes. New shoes with a scuff on the side of them. "Who is it, then?"

"James."

"James Dunford from Hufflepuff?" She shook her head, eyes still locked on the mass of students between her and the train.

"James Potter."

My mind went blank. It was impossible. Totally, most definitely impossible. Nothing on this planet could have convinced anyone in their right mind to make James Potter Head Boy of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I told Vanessa that.

Now she shrugged. "I always said Dumbledore was out of his mind. But he is the Headmaster, and as such, the power to choose the Head Boy and Girl is his." She finally turned to look at me, amusement flickering in her eyes. "I bet you'll have a lot of fun this year."

I grimaced at her, rolling my eyes. Of course she'd say that, she didn't have to put up with Potter's catcalls and taunts.

"He's not [I]that[/I] bad, is he?" she asked, raising her voice to be heard over a group of chattering first years.

I rolled my eyes again, checking my watch. The train was already loading its passengers and I wasn't even on board. "Got to dash," I said, hardly trying to sound sincere.

She was laughing again, making me even angrier. "Play nice!" she called, straightening to push her cart to the train. I noticed her underwear poking out of the back of her jeans but decided not to tell her. Best let somebody else do that.