A.N: This was one of my English essays I did for my half-term grade...it didn't start out being anything, but then as I got into it I realised I was writing in Lily's point of view, so it stayed. I got a photocopy of the essay aftwards, considering I wanted to put it up here. Hope you like! It's not that angsty...but I didn't know what else to put it under, and there's only a reference to L/J, so it's not too fluffy either...
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, that's pretty much obvious. Kudos to JKR for making up such an amazing series and for inspiring me and many others to write about it.
From a very young age I felt as though I was different from everybody else. My nursery school was full of girls with long, blonde hair, most of them with blue eyes. Their favourite colour was pink and they played with Barbie dolls and would laugh and play merrily with each other all day. It seemed as though they went about in groups, and very selective groups at that.
And then there was me; who hated Barbie dolls, preferring to play with Lego blocks or read picture books, whose favourite colours were purple and blue, not pink and with hair, eyes and complexion far different from the others.
For that I was teased mercilessly, taunted and laughed at by the girls with big blue eyes that held a sparkle mine never could, whose hair shone in the sun whilst mine seemed to absorb it. Because of this I spent my days in the sand-pit, trying in vain to ignore the bullying and name calling.
I envied my older sister, who, in my eyes, was a symbol of perfection. She looked exactly how I wanted to be: tall, fair-haired, blue eyes, not short with dark red hair and green eyes that seemed dull and void of emotion.
So I tried to become her.
I copied her hairstyles, her fashion sense, and her way of speaking. I tried on her makeup, only to be chased from her room with angry shouts and having the door slammed shut in my face.
I stopped trying to be her after that.
Time went on, and all the way through my time at Junior school I was friendless. So I concentrated on my studies, striving to get the top marks. I earned new nicknames from the previous ones of Carrot-Top and Freak: Swot, Teacher's Pet, Goody-Goody.
I didn't listen to a word, burrowing my freckled nose further into my books, making friends with imaginary people and creatures who didn't judge me on how I looked or what I did.
Then the unexpected happened, and on my eleventh birthday I received a letter which would change my life forever.
The letter accepting me into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
I remember hope and excitement building up inside of me when I read it. This letter was the answer to the number of unexplainable things that had happened during my short life and, on the first day of school when I boarded the train, I hoped that people would begin to see me differently, see me as someone who was the same as them.
But that was not to be. I found I had another problem with myself.
My parentage.
Students in my year and above taunted me, just like the children had before. According to them I was a "Mudblood" and didn't belong in the school, that I wasn't to be trusted or talked to.
And so I spent all of my free time in the vast expanse of the library, reading and studying, away from human civilisation. Only the worn out books with their broken covers saw the tears that fell from my eyes, only they heard me sobbing myself to sleep in the dormitory on the nights when the teasing and bullying was just too much to bear.
During my first few years there I found only one friend. A boy in my year, in my house, who locked himself away in the library just like I did. When we first met, he told me that some people had trouble accepting him, because he was terribly different from everyone else.
Remus Lupin was a werewolf, but that didn't stop me from becoming friends with him.
Unlike me, however, he had other friends, a group of boys known as the Marauders. They were in my house too, and one of them, James Potter, had a habit of asking me out whenever I was around him.
I turned him down, thinking in my mind that it was just a game he was playing, that he didn't mean it when he called me "beautiful" or "entrancing." No-one had even called me that before, and so I thought he was lying.
Although by seventh year, things had changed, and James proved to me that he did indeed harbour true feelings for me. We started going out, and when I was with him I did feel beautiful, because he made me feel that way.
Instead of books to soothe my pain, I turned to him, and he comforted me. James was now the one who heard my tears if I ever cried, and he wiped them away, reassuring me that the hurtful things people said were untrue.
He gave me love when I felt that I had nothing, and I always knew that he would never, ever leave me.
And those thoughts were confirmed when he asked me to marry him just a week ago.
Mrs Lily Potter.
That's a name I would never have thought I'd be called.
A.N: Not too bad was it? I like this one, and I'm sorry if it sounds a bit rushed in places, we only had half an hour to write something. I've tried to tidy it up as much as possible, so hopefully it's alright.