Authors Note: This story is an original story. The setting is original, the plot is original. The only thing that I have used from J.K Rowling are the characters names, some of their looks and some of the places she herself uses. Other then that it is stand alone and I take creative licence to do so.

Girls In Glass Houses

It was a hot, dry day when her world came crashing down around her. A day when her skin felt tight and itchy, her brow dripping with sweat and hair sticking to her forehead. The sun was at its highest point in the sky, and as she stared up at it from beneath the shade of the large stone wall surrounding the courtyard she smiled. She loved the sun, loved the heat on her skin. Daytime always had been her playground whilst the rest of the kingdom dwellers were more night owls. She didn't understand why, all she knew was that she loved being in the sun. Staying in the shade she looked across the courtyard, surprised at the large amount of people wandering around. With most waiting out the sun now was the best time for bargains she supposed, though she didn't know. Lily Evans didn't often go to the marketplace in the kingdom courtyard. It was a place where only merchants, nobles, Lords and guards did sales and negotiate for a different standing, for materials and pearls that were considered a myth in her small village. A girl of her foreseeable class would not be welcomed, would be sneered and mocked. Even her name meant peasant but she did not care. She was there for one thing and one thing only. Narrowing her eyes, she stared across the marketplace at her target. There it was the gorgeous, but highly impractical dress that she had been yearning for when she had seen it pass by when the new set of merchants came into the kingdom from other areas, trying to sell their goods to a kingdom richer than many others. She had tried earning the money she knew she would need to get it the honest way. By earning she meant, winning card games and bets against men who's brains were much smaller than their egos. With a flutter of her eyes, a show of leg they had been willing to compete against her a predatory look in their eyes. If they won, they could take her to their bed; if she won they gave her all of the gold on their person. Fair trade if she did say so herself. Many of the men had thought that she would be an easy win. Many of them had mockingly stated they would go easy on her, that she would enjoy her time with them. Others had winked at each other and clapped each other on the back for getting the good luck of having a pretty creature offer themselves up to them. She kept up the pretence until she had the first full house, had the first bull's eye and through quite dishonest means had won another arm-wrestling match. She was not above using her good looks and femininity to win. She considered it as teaching the dirty men a lesson for not being faithful to their loving, albeit dull, wives.

When they lost, they instantly called foul. Many of them throwing the table out of the way as she sat there calmly. Looking up at them from lowered gazes she did not move as they towered over her. She was not afraid of them. Her late mother had taught her the ways to trick men; the governess of the work house was much more intimidating plus with her looks Lily often had to keep men away from her. That was not why she was calm. She knew she could take them, each man having a weakness that she often exploited without guilt. It was because she did not fear death. If they killed her then that was that. No big deal. Every time though a kind young gentleman would fight off the angry men, flashing her a smile hoping to take her to bed only to realise that she was no longer there. She had used him as a distraction to run back to the workhouse where no one would ever believe that she had womanly ways to exploit so would not consider the stories of the girl beating all these men to have anything to do with her.

LIly was a tomboy; her bronze coloured hair always pulled back, green eyes never lined as was the current trend of the period and her clothes often resembling male rags. Her nails were bitten down to the wick and her hands were rough and calloused. She did the hard work. Backbreaking work that usually only the males did. The workhouse owner, Vernon, thought that by pushing her to her physical limits he would break her spirit to make her more compliant to his rules. That never happened. Lily was stubborn, she hated authority and with her head often in the clouds she didn't let her lot in life bother her.

Smiling slightly she looked at the dress, that seemed to be beckoning to her. She knew she would have no use for the dress, and knew that it would be highly uncomfortable she still wanted it, longed for it. When she had first seen it she had melted and for once in her twenty three years wanted to feel beautiful, wanted to feel like the women she often watched parade past in their carriages with their handsome husbands on their arms. Catching sight of that dress made her want to suddenly become more feminine, instead of just using her womanly body to win a card game. She wanted to walk into the workhouse in that dress and see the other girls fall to the floor in shock, seeing that she too was female. There was only so much teasing from the other girls in the workhouse she could take. Many of them finding suitors before their twenties, many of them mothers at her age. It was slightly shameful though she wouldn't admit it.

It wasn't that she wanted to marry or have children. Lily could not fathom being told what to do, how to dress, how to look or act by a male she could most definitely beat in a game or in a fight. What she yearned for was to be wanted by a male. She wanted that heat, the desire of a man needing her, lusting after her and being under her control. It had not happened and she supposed it would never happen. That was why she naively thought that maybe if she wore that dress people would stop seeing her as the common tomboy, the common peasant and instead as a woman to fight over. For other women to be jealous of.

She wanted to be able to choose from a range of men. She wanted to be spoilt for choice. It was getting to that time in her life when of course she would have to make the important choice. Marry the brutish boar that the boss of the house, Vernon, chose or go and join a convent. Lily did not do early mornings that she knew being a nun required. Nor did she believe in the unknown entity. She often prayed for herself, yet her prayers were never answered. She would not pray for other people who she didn't know nor care about. She was going to hell. Many priests had told her this after confession that she had given up trying to change her ways.

Lily could not fathom being married to the man that she knew Vernon was already starting plans with. He was a local farmer, older by thirty years and already having seven children by two different wives. Lily liked his son but not him. He was a brute, liking his belt too much and ale even more. If she ended up married to him she would kill him. It was as simple as that but there was no money for her to steal. That was why she wanted the dress. Maybe if she wore that Charlie the brute's son would ask to marry her instead. Staring once more at the dress she sighed. Trust her to have gotten caught by her spiteful boss. He had found her winnings, though she was sure that petty girl Petunia had told him, taken them from beneath her straw mattress and whilst counting the gold coins in front of her had callously stated that illegal winnings was the not the way in his business. Adding that with that sort of habit she would find herself in prison much like her mother had been. She had bit her tongue, her mother had often been wrongly persecuted had died because of people misunderstanding and Lily loved her. She would not have a word said against her. However she knew If she spoke up, it would be another ten lashings. She was still recovering from the last bout and scars were not attractive, nor comfortable. Putting the gold coins in his breast pocket he had glared at her one final time before punishing her by sending her to clean out the privy, the worse job in the entire place.

After throwing a human manure pile at his head when he went for his walk, she had run. Ignoring his angry shouts she had followed the dirt road towards the castle and the courtyard surrounding it. It was a day's walk and she happily did it whilst Swearing to the sky that she would not go back. If she did it would be in a coffin. Vernon would kill her for running, would kill her for not showing him respect. She had had enough and the dress seemed to beckon her. She hid from the brutish men that Vernon paid to look for her knowing that if found she would be getting the whip and tied outside in the hot sun to wither and die unless she begged for mercy on her knees. He liked seeing women on their knees. Sighing, she once more looked at the dress; she could not buy it through legal means. It had not stopped her before and so closing her eyes, taking a deep steadying breath she ran forward. Using her slight frame to weave in and out of the courtesans and men with bellies too big for their clothing, she ran towards the market stall. Almost there. Noting that the large merchant was talking to the butcher, she jumped hoping that her luck did not turn bad for once, and grabbed the green dress. She landed, bundled the material close and silently thanked the lord for having good luck.

Turning, her fingers clutching tightly at the material, she almost whistled, not that she knew how to. For once she was having good luck. For once the lord didn't hate her. Maybe she should mark the day as special. A smile tugged at her lips as she clutched the material close to her chest, her fingers continually stroking the soft velvet. Moving to walk forward a crooked grin on her face she was stopped by a chubby hand the grip showing the strength of the person who it belonged to. She winced, a deep self-pitying sigh falling from her lips. At least she had gotten to touch the expensive material before she had been caught, more than many of her co-workers had ever done. Velvet was a rare item in their village, and with them being nothing but workers sent there due to having no parents or by parents that could not afford to eat, velvet was something they thought of as a legend. Turning she started to flash whom she thought would be the glaring merchant a grin, hoping that he would fall for her innocent good looks. It wasn't the owner it was a guard, royal by the colours of his uniform. She groaned out loud, letting the material fall slightly from her fingers as she dropped her arms. The expensive dress dragging in the mud, dust gathering in the fibres. It seemed almost like blasphemy but it needed to be done as her mind quickly went through the different scenarios. She knew if she allowed the guard to capture her she would be carted off to the dungeons and she would be dead to the outside world, never to be seen again. Never to be thought of. Invisible. A nobody. She wanted to go out with a bang, with the crowd chanting her name either in loyalty or hatred. She wanted everyone to know she had died, even if it meant that they would forever spit on her grave or drag her name through the mud. At least she would no longer be a nobody. Attention was her drug, her weakness. She craved it, she longed for it. She didn't want to be known just as the witches' daughter. She couldn't be caught now; she did not want to be another faceless and nameless thief. She did not want to enter the dungeons and never see daylight again. So she did the only thing that made sense at the time, she spun, threw the material at the crooked guard and kneed him hard in the groin.

He went down with a grunt, his hands instantly moving to his injured part with his body twitching. it was a skill she had learned long ago when trying to be with the boys and have them treat her with the same respect they showed each other. After many fights she had learned that If you hit a certain part of the groin it would make them twitch for quite a few minutes afterwards. It often reminded her of a dying fish. Watching him fall she grinned darkly spat on his fallen body and ran off. People tried to stop her, hoping to get favour with the guards and in return the king, a man who she did not want to meet in any circumstance. She weaved in and out, jumping over barrels and even over a market stall, a feat that caused her to laugh incredulously at herself and to stop for a moment before continuing. Turning a corner she ran, ignoring the angry shouts from other guards behind her. If she was caught she was dead. It was as simple as that. Maybe the lord would be kind to her and let her get away.

"Thought not," she muttered as she came to a dead end. She grimaced. Turning, she placed her left leg behind her. If she was going down, she would go down fighting. Allowing the guards to come at her, she punched, she kicked, she bit and she clawed, wishing that she had allowed her nails to grow. Blood was spilt and then they got a lucky hit. They punched her in the stomach, winding her, then kicked her in the face dislocating her jaw. As she blacked out she just smiled crookedly as the guards licked their lips and told her pleasantly that the rack was waiting for her after they had their fun. At least she would go out loud. Their screaming would be the last thing they remembered if they touched her where she didn't want to be touched.