As I neared my house and the end of my freedom for the day, I pondered. I don't generally like to use the word 'pondered' because it either sounds like you are a conceited imbecile or you wanted to add a five-cent word into the equation. Nevertheless I pondered. I guess you could say my outlook on life is strange. I live for the school year and for my dance lessons. I don't particularly love my family. I appreciate the things they sometimes do for me, but what I feel for them is more affection. In my mind I have two sisters, Alice Bloomquist and Belinda Green. We share no common last name, appearance, or personality traits...only laughter and secrets. I love a challenge, or as my mother so delicately puts it 'I need a hard kick delivered to my stubborn arse'. I see school as a challenge, new dance steps as a challenge, and coming home every summer a challenge. To say I do well in school is putting it lightly. I'm a prefect and get top grades in every class, excepting Defense Against the Dark Arts.
My name is Lily Evans, I am 15 years and I am a witch. To a muggle it sounds like I'm either a cold-hearted bitch or an old hag with green skin and sparkly red shoes.
I'm neither. I am a student at Hogwarts as I said before, a damn good one at that.
At this point in my thoughts I began to wonder if I was conceited. That's one thing I can't stand, you see—being conceited. It's one of the reasons I don't hold well with boys, most of the ones at my school are bloody egotistical. Well, if I was being completely honest with myself--which is essential to proper pondering, I had to admit that boys intimidated me. I mean, they're a whole different sex.... Yes, well obviously they're a whole different sex, but boys are the one subject in school I just can't understand.
I walked into the house I lived in with my mother and sister and quietly shut the door. I loved moments of quiet...I might have even taken a nap and taken some more time to ponder. Unfortunately, my sister, Petunia, interrupted my thoughts.
"Lily," screeched my sister, "I wish you would hurry up with dinner. I'm entertaining company tonight."
Ah yes, I had completely forgotten about Petunia's company. The charming dinner guest for tonight was a man named Vernon, who on first glance largely resembles a particularly ugly lobster. I guess that was fitting for my sister, a woman whom heaven seemed dead set against making more horse-like everyday.
Apparently Petunia took my silence as a sign that I in fact had forgotten and wasn't going to make dinner tonight. "Lily! Did you hear me? This is bloody important...and it's your night to cook! Lily?"
"Yes, darling sister. You're dulcet tones have reached my ears." Well, no reply to that one. Maybe dulcet was too big of a word for her.
I guess not...as Petunia stomped into the foyer (her face a lovely shade of purple, might I add) I flew into the kitchen.
"Don't worry, Petty. I'll make dinner, I was just—" I broke off in mid sentence as I caught sight of my mother.
There sat Vonette Evans. The very picture of...well, of nothing good, basically. She sat in her old, graying bathrobe, her hair tied up in a ridiculous looking bow.
"Mon mari, où l'avez-vous il, idiots filles. Mes images, vous les avez volés!," she muttered.
It was never good when mother spoke French. I'm ashamed too say that I didn't speak French. Petty was the only one who could deal with her in a crisis.
"Petty! Petty! Mother's speaking French...something about her husband."
It was best to find out what was bothering my mother right away, otherwise she would be wondering around the house for weeks. The bills would go unpaid and the lights would be forbidden from use.
"Oh hell, I was hoping she wouldn't notice.... Êtes-vous bien, mere?," If there was one thing I appreciated my sister for, it was her ability to smooth over the rough bits of life.
As they chattered in French (my mother bursting into tears several different times), I started to cook. Petunia had given me strict instructions; I was to serve mashed potatoes, peas, and a roast. Petty trusts me with two things: cooking and cleaning. I've always been very neat and tidy; ever sense I was a small child.
Suddenly, with a kiss for Petty and a glare for me, my mother made a dramatic exit. You could always tell when she wanted to draw attention to herself. She would swish her clothes and flip her gold hair over her shoulders. Speaking of children, my mother might as well have been one.
"What was she so upset about," I asked as I added butter to the potatoes.
"It was quite dim of me, looking back on it...I, well, I put away the pictures in the living room. I bought a fresh bouquet to brighten things up before Vernon comes.," she sighed and lowered herself into a chair.
"That was dim of you, Pet. How on earth did you manage to calm her down?," The roast went into the oven, the peas into the pot. Petty really should have known better.
The pictures in our living room were the only thing mother was particular about, other than the clothes she wore. They were old photographs of mother when she lived in France, or when she traveled through Italy. Her favorite one was her wedding picture. Ah, so that's why she was asking about her husband. She talked to the image of him like he was listening and answering back. And it was always in French, the language he didn't speak a word of.
"I promised to give her all my spending money from this month," she groaned. "I'm taking her into London next week for a spot of shopping."
Petty must really like Vernon, I thought too myself. I wonder how she's going to keep mother on her best behavior, probably lock her in the cupboard under the stairs. I wouldn't put it past Pet, when I was five she shut me in with some biscuits and a light to keep me company so she could play with my new dolly.
An hour later mother was next door, playing bridge with the senile neighbor. Petunia had scrubbed every inch of the house and was wearing her new outfit. For the momentous occasion of Vernon coming to dinner, I put my hair into a messy bun and put on a nice jumper.
"And don't mention anything about you being a witch, I haven't told him yet I don't want to scare this one away." Petunia's list of things-not-to-do-and/or-say-in-front-of-Vernon had finally come to an end.
I set the table with our nice tablecloth (no holes!) and washed my hands. I felt like I was part of a muggle film, the doorbell rang right on time.
As Petunia hustled to the door, I tried to remember everything she had told me. I really didn't hate my sister and if Vernon made her happy, than so be it. As long as Petunia had given him a list of things-not-to-do-and/or-say-in-front-of-Lily I would be fine.
"Vernon, darling come into the kitchen. I want you to meet my sister, Lily." Petty had never cooed at me that way, even as a baby I'm sure.
"It's a pleasure to finally meet you," I smiled and extended my hand to the Lobster, Petunia watched anxiously from behind.
Vernon gave me a firm grip and a look of appraisal. Hopefully, we all passed inspection.
"It smells delicious in here. Petunia told me she's teaching you how too cook. I hope you took note of this meal!" said Vernon.
Well, that burned a bit. But, if Petty had to portray me as the bumbling sister, so be it.
Petunia gave a strained chuckle and we all unceremoniously sat down to eat. As the Horse and the Lobster chatted about drills (The Lobster seemed to have a strange obsession with them), Vernon's job at the bank, and golf I gave minimal answers and nods. They really were fit for each other, bloody boring as hell.
"Petty, would you pass the potatoes?" I asked as a slight lull in the conversation approached. I didn't want things to get awkward.
The Lobster obviously had different plans.
"What's this Petty nonsense? I was under the impression that you were 15, not a toddler still in your nappies, Lily." The Lobster gave me a look that said he was far too impressed with himself.
Petty smiled nervously. "It's just a nickname she's given me, school girl nonsense...she's at that age, you know." No, Petunia, I don't know. Enlighten me on what 'age' I am.
"Oh, young girls and their frolics. Lily, when you find a nice young lad to settle down with he'll want to make sure that you're the perfect wife material. That means all...er; interesting fashion choices and hairstyles need to be done away with. You'll never find someone acceptable while you look like that!" I pushed down my strong desire to ask him why he was talking like a fifty year old instead of a 21 year old.
And why wasn't Petty defending me? I knew we didn't share similar tastes in fashion, music, and such but I was her sister! Surely I rated higher than this tub of lard. But then I realized, after watching Petunia chuckle uncomfortably and engage The Lobster in some more meaningless chatter that I no longer knew where I stood.
"I guess that means the nice young lad, as you put it won't take well to the fact that I'm a witch either.," I said
Well, that certainly was a conversation stopper. Vernon gave me an odd look and turned deliberately too Petunia.
"I say, I'll never be able to introduce her too my family when she's like this. She's completely insane. My family will never accept how much lower in social standing I'm marrying.," said The Lobster.
CRASH
A painting of the French Riviera crashed down onto The Lobster's pompous head. Petunia screamed and ducked under the table. I took a deep breath; I knew I had caused the accident. I was sure I had violated the decree of underage magic. How would I explain this to the Headmaster? How would Petunia explain this to The Lobster?
Well, the latter at least was answered right away.
"THIS HOUSE IS ABSOLUTELY INSANE, PETUNIA...PACK YOUR THINGS. WE'RE GOING TO MY PARENT'S" The Lobster dashed out the front door, the painting still trailing in bits behind him.
Petunia gave me a horrible look. "You are never welcomed under a roof where I reside again, do you hear me you disgusting freak? I never want to see your face again."
And with that, she fled. I felt hot tears going down my cheeks of their own accord. What would mother do without Petunia? How could she be so selfish, how could she let him insult us that way?
Tap.
Simply wonderful, now I was imagining sounds. Maybe The Lobster was right, we were an insane bunch...I really didn't know what to do now that—
Tap.
I swerved angrily towards the noise and the window. Perched loftily on our windowsill was an owl. Probably a letter sentencing me to expulsion. I let the owl in and opened it anyways.
Unbelievable, it was just my Hogwarts letters, with a list of the books and items I would need to start my fifth year. It felt a bit heavy, like someone had stuffed extra papers into the envelope. I shook the envelope with a bit of tired frustration; this whole night could go to hell.
Suddenly, something fell out of the envelope and onto the floors my sister had worked so hard to make sparkle. I stooped over to get a closer look; it was a Prefect's badge with my name on it.
My studies had always been important to me. Every time my grades were less than perfect I vowed to study harder next time, I might even check and see if I could redo the assignment. Many of my friends would laugh at me for being so excited for making Prefect, but I didn't care. I decided it was the first good thing that had happened all summer long. The Lobster was an idiot; he and my sister could enjoy their lives together in I'm-an-arse world, as far as I was concerned.
I spat into the sink, envisioning the face if my sister and soon to be brother-in-law. The Horse and The Lobster, never had I met a more perfect match.
I carefully picked up my Hogwarts things and went to my bedroom. When mother came home she would find dinner laid out for her and the house beautifully clean. She would also find both daughters gone, for the time being.
It was time to take a break from the house turned hell hole.
Author's Note: Thank you, Thank you, Thank you for the review(s?). The last time I checked, there was only one. It made me feel very happy. The French translation is a bit rough around the edges this time around, I apologize if I have horrified anyone who speaks French.
French Translation: My husband, where have you put it, idiot girls. My pictures, You have stolen them.