My sister and I have always been different. To start off with, I'm magic, which is admittedly a little unusual. We are also complete opposites. She is way too organized, completely clean, completely perfect, and completely ordinary. I am extremely unorganized, my room is a disaster, and I am late for everything. I also strive to be unordinary in everything I do. For instance, when my mother told me and my sister Petunia we needed glasses, I got bright pink ones with fake jewels along the edges. My sister got boring square brown ones. I still wear those glasses, as I love them and have put numerous spells and charms on them to keep them in good condition. I, of course, don't wear them in the day; daytime is reserved solely for contacts.
Let's take another situation. If my sister Petunia were somehow going to a school where you learned magic that for some reason was called Hogwarts, she would have woken up to her perfectly clean bedroom, with a nice, neat trunk filled with nicely folded clothes and stacked books. I, on the other hand, woke up on the floor of our bathroom. No, I did not fall asleep on the toilet; I have a sleep-walking problem. Sad, I know, but I've been waking up in weird places ever since I had a dream that a boa constrictor, wearing my mother's pink and red bathrobe I might add, was chasing me. So, on the morning before my first day back at Hogwarts, I wake up on the bathroom floor with my sister glaring down at me.
"Is this a new tradition, then?" she asks in that perfect voice of hers that I hate.
"Sleeping in the bathroom before you go back to that freak school?" She glares down at me as if everything from my messy red hair to my mismatched socks has personally tried to strangle her in her sleep. Before I could answer she storms out of the room, muttering about needing a very large cup of coffee every time I’m home. As you can see, my sister and I are great friends. I decide to take advantage of the situation and immediately head into the shower and turned up the water extremely hot. I love long, hot showers. My psycho sister likes short cold showers. Insane, I know.
My peace is again interrupted by the Perfection herself yelling at me to get out of the shower. There is also something in her yells and rants about longer showers being unable to help anyway, as I will never be prettier than a slug. She is such a kind sister. We are obviously very close. I decide to stay in the shower even longer than usual just to make her angrier. Sure enough, as I walk out of the bathroom wrapped up in my bright orange towel, I distinctly hear her mumble "slug" as I walk by. I swear as soon as I turn seventeen I will turn her into a slug just to prove that I am prettier than one. That is a comforting thought.
I surveyed my wardrobe, wanting to look reasonably together on my first day back. One of my best friends, Clarissa, has made it her life goal to turn me into something moderately fashionable. So far she has been failing dismally, but I decide not to put her into an immediate state of depression by looking horrible on my first day back. I pull on a cream colored lacy tank top, dark blue jeans, and a very pretty necklace with a big hot pink stone dangling from the end of it. I then survey my jackets, but none of them look comfortable enough, so I’m forced to put on my orange bathrobe, making a mental note to take it off before I leave.
I sit across from my sister at the table to see her glare at me from her completely boring anti-orange-bathrobe outfit. Gosh she’s boring. I get up again and shove a couple of pieces of bread into the toaster and keep them there for a very, very long time.
"If you want, I could just set the toast on fire for you," Petunia states in a falsely sweet voice. "It would probably get the job done faster."
This is one of the reasons why I hate my sister.
Staring out the window I take a deep breath and attempt to not turn her into something horrible and hairy. The rest of the magical world would not be very pleased if I turned my sister into an ape or something else equally revolting. In fact, not only would I be expelled, but they would probably consider imprisonment in fear that I would grow up to be some sort of insane Muggle torturer who enjoys turning people into things that they generally would not like to be.
Just as I had reached my responsible resolve of not saying anything, Petunia decides to tease me about something else.
"Of course since you don't have a boyfriend, have never had a boyfriend, and probably never will have a boyfriend, it doesn't really matter how you act anyway."
At this moment I take the toast that I had been so calmly buttering a moment before and fling it at her horrible, annoying, cruel, merciless head.
"I don't have a boyfriend because I don't want a boyfriend!"
"Of course Lily dear, it's good of you to think that way. That's the spirit, don't lose hope yet. I'm sure some crazy guy will come around who likes people who burn their toast, have horrible abnormal hair, think that the fashion is bright orange bathrobes, and enjoy writing abnormal, over-dramatic love stories!"
She has done it.
She has just made fun of my wonderful romances.
"Well, I'm glad you finally convinced a guy to go out with you! I mean, I know how long it took and I'm glad the hard effort finally paid off to get you a mean, uptight, fat, narrow-minded beast! I'm sure you two will be very happy together because you are so ALIKE!" After screaming that word at her face, I stomped up stairs, completely forgetting about my other piece of toast.
It was only after I had a good ten minutes to sulk, scream, and throw objects at walls that I finally walk downstairs to sit calmly next to my mother. Grabbing my now very cold toast I piled it with butter and reach for the sugar when Petunia decides to let her views known. Again.
"Isn't it sweet how Lily still eats like she did when she was nine? It’s just so cute how she still piles butter and sugar on," Petunia cooed nicely to my mother, who doesn’t look like she really knows how to respond to this comment.
"Well, at least I'm not boring. At least I don't eat only boring, tasteless oatmeal every morning just to prove I'm mature!" Yes, even her oatmeal is boring. Petunia has this strange defect of turning everything within a five-foot radius of her completely boring. Only with the most stubborn of Gryffindor minds have I managed not to fall under her dark spell. Petunia just smiles sweetly at me; as if I was a little kid, and she thinks it’s cute when I try to fight with her. I just glare at her. I am not above glaring, Petunia can smile and be sarcastic and pretend to be nice all she wants, but I will just say what I think outright. The rest of breakfast is spent as a silent contest to see who can keep their front up better. Petunia with her fake smile and I with a glare that quite plainly tells her she needs to die. Perhaps that can be arranged.
"Well, honey, we should probably get going." My mother says, attempting to break the silence. "It's just me who's going to be taking you today." I run gratefully upstairs to grab my trunk and regretfully take off the orange bathrobe. Running quickly down the stairs I manage to trip (of course) and have just managed to get back up again when my family comes into the entrance way to say goodbye. I hug my dad, exchange good-byes, put a smile on my face as my dad says the usual about how proud he is of me, with my sister glaring at the pair of us from behind. I turn to Petunia.
"Have a wonderful term!" She says sarcastically, still smiling that annoying superior smile of hers. She reaches out her arms to give me a hug which surprises me a bit; I haven’t hugged Petunia since I was eight. I exchange the embrace only to feel something wet and slimy slide down my back. I shoot backwards, reaching my hands under and trying to get whatever it is. I finally get it.
A slug.
My own sister has shoved a slug down my back. I mean, it's not like I expected us to become best friends or anything, but it would've been kind of nice if she didn't shove bugs down my shirt on the first day of school. I smile at her, grab the slug and shoved it down her shirt before skipping into the car and shoving my stuff in the back. My mother soon follows and starts the car, muttering the whole time about how she never fought with her sisters when she was younger.
"So, honey, who's the lucky guy?"
"WHAT?" I shriek..
"Who's your boyfriend?"
Did everyone in my family have to badger me about this continually? There is more to life than boys.
"I don't have one," I mutter defiantly. Why do I have to have this conversation every single day?
"Come now, Lily, there must be someone. You can tell your dear mother."
I glare at her. Petunia might not be the only one that is turned into an ape.
"Mum, I don't have a boyfriend, and I don't want one." But that infuriating woman just smiles knowingly at me. Why is every member of my family so frustrating?
"Mum, I just can't find a guy that's right. I'm not gonna date a guy unless I really, really like him." Mother, of course, does not accept this answer. I swear, half the time it seems like her purpose in life is to marry Petunia and me off.
"But what about that one guy across the street? He's nice and“"
"Mom, no. He's nice, but he's not funny, or romantic, or“"
"Honey, it sounds like you're looking for Prince Charming, and I'm sorry but that's just not going to happen."
I thought family was supposed to be supporting, comforting, and accepting. Apparently, I was very wrong.
Finally after a very long drive with my mom suggesting every guy even close to my age, we arrive at the train station. I practically jump out of the car, grab my trunk, kiss my mother good-bye and before she could even suggest whatever guy was next on her list, I’m gone.
And as I’m innocently walking towards platform 9 ¾ I do something extremely graceful and Lily-like: I trip. But no, I couldn’t just trip on the pavement and scrape my knee. No, of course not, I have to fall into a humongous puddle that is filled with mud, trash and other things I don’t want to think about. I also fall face first and am completely covered. Sitting up, I decide to sit there for a while. Don’t ask why. But I feel that falling into a humongous puddle of disgusting mud on the first day back for my last year of school, was something that should be remembered forever and eternity. Besides, once I get up I will have to walk through the barrier and onto the platform where everyone can see me, before I can finally magic the mud off.
So, that is the reason why I’m sitting depressed-like in a puddle of stuff that I don’t want to think about when I hear a voice behind me that I have hated since the very first day of school.
“Hey Evans! I knew you were weird, but deliberately sitting in mud, now that just beats all! Need a hand?” I turn around to see the very last person I want to see when I’m stuck in a puddle of mud; James Potter. My arch enemy.
The year is off to a brilliant start.