in memoriam -
the life of lily potter
my dear friends -
herein you will find the story of Lily Elaine Evans,
whom you probably rarely think of as anything but Lily Potter, deceased mother of
your beloved Harry, or perhaps sometimes as the wife of her ever-popular husband, James.
But Lily was a powerful wizard in her own right, and an even better musician - which are the very reasons the dark lord sought the Potter family out in the first
place. she is a noble heroine; her life story a tragedy to rival Othello or
Romeo & Juliet. Here you will find the true account of Lily's seven
years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, and you will learn how fulfilling
her two deepest passions - music and magic - finally became the destruction of herself and her
beloved husband. I tell it now to you as she first told it to me.
Andrew 'Adiemus' Evans , first cousin to Lily Evans
first year at hogwarts
Chapter 1 - Silent All These Years (Tori Amos: Little Earthquakes)
Years go by will I still be waiting
For somebody else to understand
Years go by if I'm stripped of my beauty
And the orange clouds raining in my head
Years go by will I choke on my tears
Till finally there is nothing left
One more casualty
My earliest memory is of climbing up on the
kitchen table and jumping off and spraining my ankle, quite convinced I had suddenly
developed the power to fly. I have many other similar memories - I suppose you could
say that I lived with my head in the clouds. I spent hours daydreaming about valiant
knights defending the king and me (the queen, of course) from attacking hordes of
barbarian Arabs; about magicians who lived in the clouds and cast evil spells upon the
people; about discovering the Americas with Christopher Columbus - yes, I imagine I spent
far too much time daydreaming for my own good. Mother and my teachers were
constantly scolding me for it, and whyever couldn't I be more like good, sensible Petunia
who never did anything wrong and always got perfect grades? She was always held up
to me as a model of perfection, and I think it's because of that that I was horrid.
You see, Petunia really was good, at least at first, whatever she may be
like now. I remember her consoling me many times after my episodes with mother.
She would wipe the tears out of my eyes and bandage whatever cuts mother may have
given me. And I remember - curse me - always lashing out at her, always hating her,
because she was held up to me as what I ought to be. No, I was not an agreeable
child.
But on with my story - once I began attending
grammar school, I quickly became disillusioned with the world in general, and retreated
into my own private daydreams for a number of years. Mother would never let me see a
doctor or a psychologist for fear they would see the bruises across my body. I
didn't mind the beatings so much, really - at the time, at least. I didn't realize
that it was mother's way of venting her pain when father hit her. Nothing
so noble. I merely retreated to my magic castle in the clouds, where I was a
princess and a magician and a knight all in one, and servants brought me steaming silver
mugs of cocoa. A psychologist would have had a field day with me.
So when my notice of acceptance to Hogwarts came, I
was certainly less than excited - after all, it was here in Britain, so it couldn't be
especially grand. My palace in Italy was certainly far more beautiful, and I was
sure I learned more magic there than anyone at Hogwarts could have. That's how far I
was into my fantasies, you see.
It was Petunia, believe it or not - yes, cold, hard,
stern and proper Petunia - who got my drunk father to sign his shaky signature across the
permission line, who stole three hundred pounds from his wallet, and who coerced me into
going to Diagon Alley to be fitted for robes and a wand and so forth. For as I said,
Petunia really was good, and she really did love me - which is why she would go
to any lengths to get me out of the house. I think she feared what my mother would
do to me in one of her rages, although I didn't realize this at the time, because I never
bothered to pay any attention to the real world.
I can remember the very instant when I began to
return to myself. Petunia, looking nervous but determined, got a wizard in the bar
to open the door to Diagon Alley for us, and suddenly I was blinded by the sunlight.
I had never seen such real sun. It felt alive on my face, not the
tired, dying, orange ball of gas that existed in the world I rarely bothered to return to
anymore. Then, sunspots fading from my eyes, I looked out into Diagon Alley, and saw
colour and life. Men and women in vibrant robes of varying colors hurrying back and
forth, some on seemingly urgent business, some taking their time and browsing - all alive,
and all full of colour.
The rest of our time in Diagon Alley passed in a
blur. Changing pounds for galleons, purchasing a wand, buying supplies from the
list, being fitted for robes - and when I stepped out onto the London streets again, I
suddenly realized what vigor and beauty I had been missing all these silent years in my
mind. I never returned to my castle in the clouds, or to my Italian palace.
For the first time, I was really alive, and experiencing real emotions -
alternating nervousness and excitement and premature homesickness. I was going to a real
school of magic.
