Characters and HP storyline not mine. I just embellished them. Sorry for typos.
I'm sick of all those fanfics that illustrate my life as if it were some utterly romantic fairy tale. I did not have any friends named Mary Sue, did not go to a ball dressed in some slutty clothing and did not fall easily into the path that would come to define my story.
My name is Lily Evans Potter and I am dead.
That is probably what I will be remembered for, kicking the bucket. Funny is it not? You go through life expecting to do great things, but your greatest moment coming at the end seems a bit ironic to me. Not that I am complaining a'tall, I am proud of where my life has lead, the people I have loved and those I have saved because of it. I know that my life has meant something, but I am sure you might be interested to hear some of my not so large accomplishments, to discover some of my less momentous moments.
This is the tale of me. Take it or leave it.
I was born on a cool spring morning, the sun leaking through the closed blinds of my grandmother Evans master bedroom. My mother screamed quite a bit, Daddy paced back and forth across the room while my older sister Petunia (then three) chomped happily on a stick of bubble gum. The earth did not move when I arrived, but things in the Evans house were never the same.
My sister and I never really found the time to get along. Daddy was forever traveling, determined to create for us the life he has always wanted for himself using his shrewd business skills. Mother spent most of her time looking after everyone else what with her endless charities and clubs, she cooked more for the homeless and destitute than she did for her own children. Petunia and I therefore grew up as wards of our grandmother Evans, a stern and orderly woman who had been raised in a very different generation. She insisted that we manage our poise at an early age, discouraging any form of mental advancement. For she believed that no man in his right mind would want to wed a smart girl, "No man wants a woman who will look him in the eye or worse down on him because she has spent too much time in the library!"
Luckily for me I made it a point to disobey my grandmother as soon as I was able to talk. Petunia however found my grandmother to be the quintessential guide to life, gobbling up recipes and house management advice like it was the most stimulating material in existence. The two of us did not spend time outside, I was usually hidden somewhere upstairs trying to finish a chapter or two before Grandmother would come searching and Petunia would be far too consumed with memorizing the process of applying the proper foundation to her horse shaped face (how she expected to become prettier putting layers upon layers of crème coloured powder on her face is a mystery I have never been able to solve). We coexisted and somehow life went on like this until I turned eleven.
I was tucked up under the stairwell, in a closet my grandmother had yet to discover, reading about pygmies when I heard a sputtering at the mail slot. Oddly enough my sister looked up from her cooking at just that moment to grab the letter that had arrived before I had the chance to realize what it was. Dusting off her flour-spattered hands on her apron (she had been making heart shaped cookies for her newest beau) she read aloud a letter that read like gibberish. Something about a hog and wizard drifted into my ears, visions of the pygmies I had been reading about mixed with witch hats and I laughed to myself. Petunia looked up at me, puzzlement on her face and shouted for Grandmother. My grandmother read the letter and frowned, "I always knew you would be trouble. I am not sure what this means, but you will be hearing nothing from me until your parents come home to take care of this. Have you been reading again? You look guilty. I swear you are the worst sort of child, why can you not be more like your dear sister?"
The two women, forty years different in age stared at me with the same disapproving face (Thinking back on it, Petunia would have made my grandmother a very proud woman, she grew up to be her spitting image, buck teeth and all). I was told to go up to my room and was denied the privilege of reading the contents of the letter addressed to me in favour of tidying up my quarters. It was best not to deny my grandmother so I begrudgingly tromped up the stairs and plopped myself onto my mattress to wait the long hour before my daddy would come home and make clear the status of things. My eyes blinked closed, open, shut, until a few minutes later I was fast asleep.
I woke to the sound of yelling downstairs. Opening my door, I listened through the sliver of the hallway light to get an idea of what was being said. "I will not allow a freak in this family! Jeremy, she is a disgrace, a disgrace! Who could possibly want a-a witch for a wife! I can hardly get the word out it is so disgusting! How can you be proud? How! What kind of son have I raised! I will not allow this, I will not!"
My grandmother went on screaming, ranting as she slammed doors and careful not to knock over her antiques in her storming about but angrily enough that Petunia had to dive out of her way more than once. I tip-toed closer to the railing to better view the commotion, just as my father looked upstairs and motioned for me to join him in the entryway. I took the stairs two at a time and huddle in his embrace as I watched my grandmother continue to rave like a mad woman.
Ten minutes later we were bundled into Daddy's mustard coloured car as he turned out of the driveway and out on to the street. "Well, I hope you gave your grandmother a hug because I am afraid we will not be going back for some time. Lily, you grabbed your letter off the floor from where grandmother threw it, right love?"
"Yes Daddy," I said, confused by the significance of the letter and the argument that it had caused.
"Daddy, is Lily really a freak?" Petunia snarled, sending a sneer in my direction. I looked back at her with a loathing that only a younger sibling could manage.
"Tuny, if I ever hear the word freak spill from your mouth again you will be a very sad young girl. And no, for your information, your sister is not a freak. My Lily, she is a witch!" Daddy smiled at me through the rear view mirror his green eyes glowing with pride.