Chapter 1

On fire.

That's how my hair looks as I drag myself out of bed in the morning. It's untamed, wild, flaming, bright red. It looks like I foolishly struck a match and tied it to my hairbrush, whilst in the middle of untangling my hair. Possible a scary style, but as I look like this every morning, the other girl's in my dorm (Mary, Marlene, Emmeline, and Alice) don't comment.

I pull my school robes on, place my wand (willow, 10 and 1 quarter inches) in my bag along with several textbooks and scroll on which I did my astronomy homework the previous night, and hurry downstairs into the gryffindor common room. I don't wait for my friends - they always arrive in the great hall for breakfast at least 10 mere minutes before time for lessons. I, on the other hand, breakfast early so I can spend time studying, therefore generally having more time to enjoy myself during the evening. Also, I can't bear not being places at the perfect time - a punctuality fanatic, you could call me. And people do, all the time.

I can hear the fat lady screeching as I sprint down the corridor, but don't bother to pause and tell her to shut it. It'll be only a matter of seconds before-

"Evans! Evans! Wait up!"

He does it every morning. Messes up my daily routine, prevents me from reaching my various destinations, haunts me with that arrogant voice. I've long stopped actually being polite, and am thinking about beginning to use ignorance as an escape tool. At the moment, however, cold insults are just more fun. So I swing round to face James Potter, a scowl deeper than the one Severus Snape wears adorning my features.

"What?"

Potter raises his eyebrows, like he did yesterday, and the day before. And the day before that, come to think of it.

"Not a morning person, huh?" He stares at me, and I can feel a smirk coming on before he's even moved his lips.

"Not when I'm within a one thousand mile distance of you, I'm not." It's not the best retort, or the snappiest, but it's the best I've got. And at least a few people seem to find it funny, as I can see two 5th year students sniggering and grinning at me as they walk past. They look so small, now I'm a seventh year. I'm gazing at them as the walk away, so I don't notice an additional irritant eagerly planning which annoying comment he's going to use on me.

"Toucheeeeeeeee..." drawls Sirius Black, Potter's best friend, sauntering up behind him. I glare at everyone in general to get my point across, before turning on my heel, stalking away from the two boys I hate most in the world. I can't afford to be wound up by them - my position as head girl is precious to me. How Potter became head boy is a mystery, and it doesn't seem to be a precious postion to him. It's a wonder he hasn't had it taken off him already, all the detentions he gets. Doesn't he care about the importance of the honour of Hogwarts? I am proud to say I've never had a detention, and the only points I ever lost for Gryffindor were in first year, when older students mostly don't really mind about it. So most people think I've never lost a single point, and it suits me.

I'm so deep in my thoughts I almost don't here Potter shouting after me. Almost.

"Go on, Evans! Go out with me. You want to really!"

I hope no-one sees the hex that hits him in the chest seconds later.

When I reach the great hall, Mary is waiting for me, being the only other early riser out of all the Gryffindor girls. Possibly she hasn't noticed the large smudge of coal dust across her cheek, which appeared last night after she fell asleep in front of the fireplace. I had to drag her into her bed, I remember.

I butter some toast, taking care to avoid rich food such as bacon and sausages. I can't really stomach that sort of thing at this time. I'm just pouring a glass of pumpkin juice when the morning owls fly in.

Everyone stops what they're doing to watch the sight, and probably I'm the only one that notices the unmistakeable tones of James Potter (his hair bright orange) and his friends as they make thier way into the hall. Several owls surround them as they claim places at the Gryffindor table, laughing at some joke, most likely a lame one knowing them. Remus Lupin, the person I like most out of the four boys, smiles at me, and I grin back. I'm about to go over to talk to him when my owl, Tuney (I named her after my sister when I was in first year, even though we fell out), lands in front of me and staggers into a basket of crumpets. I wipe my mouth on my hand, and remove the letter attatched to her leg. There are two pieces of paper concealed in the envelope, one from the daily prophet, advertising thier new zoology page, and the second from a muggle friend of mine, who gives all his letters for me to my Mother to resend.

I'm disappointed by it. Loads of garbage about homework and football. I glance at Mary, who is scanning a note from her Mother.

"It was her birthday yesterday! I totally forgot!" she says, horror-stricken.

"Shame." I reply vaguely. "But too late now..."

"Lily! I've been promised a howler for tomorrow!" A loud giggle sounds from behind me. I turn to see Marlene Mckinnon, hair tied in a bouncy ponytail, laughing her head off.

"Bet'll be one to remember!" she snorts. Mary sniffs, and strides away. I suddenly remember that Marlene's arrival means that I've waited in the hall too long, that soon it will be time for class. I leap up from the bench, only to bump straight into no other than the one and only James Potter.

"Watch it, Evans." he murmurs as he catches me, stopping me from falling to the ground. "Don't want you to trip, do we?"

"Get your filthy paws off me, Potter." I spit. His hands aren't filthy. But it's a good taunt.

To my surprise, Potter lets go of me immedietely.

"Whatever you say, Evans. Whatever you say."

I leave the hall, intentionally stepping on his toes on my way out. My day has not started well.

My first class is potions. Professor Slughorn, a plump, middle-aged man who has a walrus-like moustache, pale green eyes, and has selected me as a member of his little club, takes it. Unfortunately, Sirius Black has chosen a seat directly behind me. I know this trick. He'll copy off my every move, mysteriously ending up with a perfect potion at the end of the lesson, earning him twenty 'well-earned' points for Gryffindor. It's usually Peter Pettigrew, the fourth member of the little gang that Potter is the leader of, that uses this cheat, but the others occasionally decide they're going to as well. With the possible exception of Remus.

Minutes before the lesson starts, Emmeline Vance, a girl from my dorm, rushes in the classroom, which is actually the dungeon, her fingers entwined with those of James Potter. I'm surprised. Emmeline is calm, sensible, reasonably talented. Not really the kind of person to fall for the 'charm' of Potter. Though she is gazing at him mushily, his eyes are sifting over the classroom, eventually settling on me. I hold his gaze.

Pathetic. Absolutely pathetic. Using a girl as a plaything just to make me jealous! Because I know that's why he's done this. And when Potter chooses the seat I was saving for Alice Fortescue to sit on, my suspicions are confirmed. When he glances at me every time Emmeline giggles, compliments him, absent-mindedly strokes his palm, there is literally no doubt about it. Whatsoever.

It's kind of hard to concentrate on making a muffling draught when I can feel Potter's eyes on me constantly. But I'm more than used to his continuous staring, so after a somewhat large effort I manage to block out my surroundings, concentrate on the amount of dragon liver needed to be added to my cauldron. Still, at the end of the lesson, my brew is a shade lighter than what it's supposed to be. I storm out of the dungeon in a bad mood, ignoring Alice and Mary, who are shouting at me to slow down. I reach the greenhouses for herbology before anyone else. Except from Severus Snape.

When he sees me, his eyes bulge, cheeks flush. I carefully disregard him, remembering that day years ago, when he called me that unforgivable word. Mudblood. I can hear his voice, chanting over and over again in my head. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood. Mudblood.

"I'm really sorry, Lily." he's at my side. Apologising for the 50th time. But ever since I saw his true colours, I haven't been able to forgive him. And I never will. I can't believe I put up with Snape for all that time! I don't know why I even spoke to him during those years! I was foolish, but not any more.

"Leave her alone, Snape. Or I'll jinx you." It's James Potter. James Potter! I'm furious. Yes, I hate snape, but I can cope with him myself - I don't need people like Potter to help me out, who is not really in a position to tell people to leave me alone. Or insult Snape. Like he's doing now.

"You're a little snotrag, aren't you? Daring to approach her like that! You bastard-"

"Takes one to know one." I interrupt. Potter scowls.

"I was trying to HELP you, Evans. You never cease to amaze me." And with that he walks away. For some reason I feel bad. Not bad enough to apologise, of course, but still. And the fact that my friends, who heard the whole conversation and don't stop telling me how mean I was, are really not on my side, does not help. At all.

I spend herbology staying silent, not really listening to what the herbology teacher is saying. This results in a venomous tentacula biting my hand, and a trip to the hospital wing.

I decide this is officially the worst day ever.

Yeah... This is sort of rubbish, but I've worked hard on it, so I'm uploading it anyway. It'll get better, promise!