Right before she sent me off to Hogwarts, my mum told me that I'm incapable of expressing emotion. I don't really know how that's supposed to work, seeing as I'm the first to make her breakfast in bed on Mother's Day and basically every other day I'm home. French toast, really. That's not all I do, either. I'm a perfectly competent individual and emotion-expressing is natural – at least, it should be.
I'm not one to let words bother me – I'm Lily Evans. I don't have red hair for nothing, if you're willing to go by stereotypes. I mean, what are the stereotypes these days? Red hair is fiery, so it must be something about being fiery. I think. Fiery people don't let words bother them. Boom. Transitive property. I'm not one to let words bother me.
I've always said that it's important to be aware of context. If everyone were aware of context, we would have very few misunderstandings, wouldn't we? I mean, I were positively cross one day and nobody knew why, they'd obviously turn cross with me. But if they knew that, for instance, my utterly fictional pet Bob the muskrat happened to pass away that morning, they would be aware of the context of my actions and thus be understanding. It's quite convenient, really, one of my finer theories.
If only, if only. If only every individual perched at the Great Hall nibbling at their stupid plates of stupid French toast were aware of my context when I unleashed absolutely all of my fiery redheadedness on the somewhat blithering (but not entirely) idiot, my personal scapegoat, James Potter. To be fair, he started it. Well, now I hear my mum's voice in my head telling me to act my age, so I suppose I'll be sophisticated about it, shall I? What else would anyone do, given the circumstances. I mean, really. If anyone could have seen my context…French toast in the Great Hall. On top of it, with blueberry syrup, to which I'm inexplicably allergic. Insert one James Potter stating the very phrase that came out of my mum's mouth not a week ago. It just felt like he was…well, now it sounds silly to even me. It just felt like he was a gigantic howler expressing my mother's every sentiment. And so I reacted how I would have to my very own mum. It was unfortunate, really, that everyone in the Great Hall was privy to that outburst. Oh, well. Such is the life of a fiery, blueberry-fearing, unemotional, I suppose, individual such as myself.