Life as Lily

Petunia Evans was born January 1958, in Shrewsbury, country Shropshire. A younger sister, Lily, followed in March 1960, a brother, William, came in August 1962, and the last sibling, Matthew, joined the family in October 1963. The Evans' were a typical upper-class family in 1960s Britain, happy, healthy, and well to do. Mr Evans was a doctor, and Mrs Evans was a member of a rather wealthy and old family. The four Evans children were well behaved (in public), clean (in public), and clever (until puberty).

The family was a good-looking clan, and Dr and Mrs Evans were well respected in the town. Though money was tight sometimes, the children went to the best day school, and the family attended the more prosperous Church. Dr Evans was thought to be the best footballer in the amateur league, and Mrs Evans directed the Spring Musical every year. They had a lovely old cottage just removed from the bustle of the town centre, and Mrs Evans and her daughters planted a sweet garden every summer.

If there was something a bit- well, odd, about that Lily Evans, Ms Wiltham did not want to be the one to mention it. But this was the third time in as many months that Thom Tickleberry had dipped her pigtail in paint, and the third time that he had broken out in boils just after Lily had run to Ms Wiltham, sobbing.

You'd think that idiot boy would learn his lesson, Ms Wiltham thought. After all, even dogs can be trained to stop behaviour that they're punished for. Thom Tickleberry is dumber than the average dog. Imagine my surprise.

However, Mrs Tickleberry was not as stupid as the average dog, though she certainly resembled one. She had noticed the pattern: Thom dips Lily's pigtail in paint, Thom breaks out in boils. Of course, Mrs Tickleberry blamed Lily for the incident, not her sweet Thom.

"Mrs Tickleberry, I am sorry," Ms Wiltham said, mentally counting the days before summer holidays. She'd be free of Thom Tickleberry, his wretched mother, and would be visiting her fiancé in Chelsea. "Unfortunately, I can't very well punish Ms Evans for having her hair dipped in paint."

"There's something odd about that girl. Mark my words," Mrs Tickleberry declared. "My Thom tells me that when she looks at him, he feels pins and needles all along his back."

"I'm sure Thom is just exaggerating, ma'am." Twelve days, and I'll be in London. "He has a very fruitful imagination, I'm sure you know." He's dipped the girl's hair in the same colour of paint, three times. His imagination is monochromatic.

"My Thom is much too serious to waste time with imagination," Mrs Tickleberry sniffed. "He starts at Stoke Chatham in September, you know."

For the life of her, Ms Wiltham could not recall where Stoke Chatham's was, even though it was obviously expensive, if dubiously reputed. Thankfully, Mrs Evans strode into the room at that moment, and rescue Sara from answering.

"Ms Wiltham, Mrs Tickleberry," she said properly, nodding at each lady in turn, removing her hat and exposing her lovely auburn coiffure. Mrs Tickleberry sniffed.

"Mrs Evans, how are you?" Sara asked, gesturing for the two ladies to join her in sitting. The classroom was bright, full of sunshine and flowers that the children had brought in.

"Fine, dear, thank-you. And yourself? Wedding plans coming along?"

"Oh, yes," Sara said, a bit pleased to hear that Mrs Evans remembered she was getting married.

"If we could hurry along?" Mrs Tickleberry asked coldly. "I can't leave Sylvia alone to prepare our supper and look after Thom, what with the boils."

"Oh? Boils, again? Perhaps I could send Dr Evans to see him, later this evening," Mrs Evans suggested.

"Oh, yes. I sure that will help," Mrs Tickleberry remarked scornfully.

"I'm sure I don't understand what you mean," Mrs Evans replied in that voice which upper-class ladies use. The one that makes its target feel three inches tall.

Noticing the blush creeping up Mrs Tickleberry's throat, Sara promised to cultivate just such a voice and use it on Paul's unbearable mother and sisters. "Thom broke out in boils again this afternoon," Sara explained to Mrs Evans, fully aware that each Evans child had likely told their mother the situation. In fact, that was undoubtedly why she had been late to the meeting.

"And I want your daughter punished for it!" Mrs Tickleberry cried. "This is the third time that little witch has done this to my poor Thom, and-"

"And the third time he's broken out after dipping my poor Lily's hair in purple paint," Mrs Evans interrupted. "Do you know how terribly that colour clashes with Lily's hair? It destroys her blouses, and she's mortified for a week afterward." Mrs Evans glared at Mrs Tickleberry. "I believe I might speak to Reverend Philbert about your son, Georgia. It's quite obvious to me that the boy feels terrible after he hurts my Lily. He's obviously punishing himself," Mrs Evans said sweetly. "Reverend Philbert spoke of this sort of thing in his sermon last Sunday, do you recall?"

"I was away last Sunday," Mrs Tickleberry said, the blush creeping further up her throat.

Sara recognized an opportunity when she saw one. "Indeed, I was going to suggest just that very notion," she interjected hurriedly. "Of course, young Thom feels bad for dipping Lily's hair in paint, and that is why he becomes ill just afterward."

"Well, if that's the reason," Mrs Tickleberry pondered, rather upset that her son may be unstable. "I suppose I should make an appointment with Reverend Philbert after all," she admitted, standing to leave.

"My dear, don't you mean to apologize before you leave?" Mrs Evans asked pleasantly. At Mrs Tickleberry's raised eyebrow, she continued. "I believe you called my daughter a witch?"

The blush that had been creeping up Mrs Tickleberry's throat exploded onto her face in splotchy disarray. "I never called- er-" the splotches began to turn a puce sort of shade. "I apologize, Beatrice."

Mrs Evans smiled benignly, and informed Ms Wiltham that she would have a moment of her time further. Mrs Tickleberry left the classroom quickly, rushing to return home and telephone the reverend.

"Is something the matter, Mrs Evans?" Sara asked, not quite sure that she wished the interview to continue. Mrs Evans was one of the better mothers at the school, the best in Shrewsbury, but she still had the hypercompetitive personality of most upper-class mothers.

"I was only wondering, Ms Wiltham, if you had noticed anything peculiar about Lily. After all, I have a very hard time believing that Thom Tickleberry is very contrite." A ghost of a grin swept across Mrs Evans face. "Be honest, please, Ms Wiltham. Has there been anything else?"

Hesitantly, Sara rearranged the papers on her desk. What to do? "Well, peculiar things happen everyday, Mrs Evans. They do happen more often around Lily, though, I do admit."

"Such as?" Mrs Evans queried, not at all pensive or upset. In fact, she seemed more curious than anything. Though Ms Wiltham didn't know it, this was because Mrs Evans had come to realize there was something odd about her youngest daughter. When she was upset or scared, lamps broke or terrible little boys broke out in boils. When she was very happy, flowers would bloom out of season. It was something the Evans's had learned to accept, but the incidences were becoming more and more obvious to others in the community. "Such as?" Mrs Evans prompted again.

"Well, aside from Thom's present state, there was a situation last month that was most peculiar," Sara admitted. "Emily Green laughed at Lily for her rather off-key rendition of 'God Save the Queen'." Wincing at the memory of Lily's singing voice, Sara continued. "Quite suddenly, the lights flickered off in the entire school! The Headmaster told me that every fuse in the school had blown out."

"I see," Mrs Evans said. "Anything else that you can think of?"

"No," Sara lied. In truth, the most peculiar things happened around that girl. Offending tennis balls suddenly becoming butterflies; broken pencils suddenly becoming daisies; chewing gum suddenly entangling itself in Emily Green's hair when she made fun of Hester Hamilton for having thick glasses. "No, Mrs Evans, I haven't noticed anything else particularly odd."

"Thank-you, Ms Wiltham," she said, standing. "I hope you have a lovely summer, and a lovely wedding."

"Thank-you, Mrs Evans."

**

Petunia returned from school in Surrey a week after the younger children were let out from primary school. Lily was excited to finally be going to a 'real school' like St. Catherine's, where Petunia went. Beatrice and William were concerned about her excitement, as they were quite sure it had caused the radio to amplify itself whenever crude music was playing. Petunia thought it a lark, dancing wildly with her baby sister, not understanding that Lily had caused it to happen. Petunia had been away for much of the last two years, and hadn't noticed the escalation of... peculiar things.

"And there's this bloke," Petunia was saying, while showing her sister a particularly unladylike dance move, "and he's gorgeous. His name's Ignatius. Everyone calls him Iggy!"

"Iggy? That's a terrible name," Lily complained. "Start calling him something better. Like Rufus!"

"Rufus! That's terribly lower-class," Petunia answered smartly. Giggling, she stopped dancing, pulled Lily into a whisper, and both girls began to laugh.

"He didn't?" Lily demanded breathlessly. "Right out there on the pitch?"

"He did. He's mad," Petunia said triumphantly, pleased to have scandalized her baby sister.

"Girls," Beatrice called from the kitchen where she was watching them. "Girls, do I want to know what Rufus did on the pitch?"

"Iggy, Mummy, Iggy!" Petunia called from the parlour as the boys ran into the kitchen bringing the post.

"Hey, Mum," William said, tossing the post along the table. "Can Mattie and I go play at the Johnston's'? They have a new bicycle ramp."

"Sure, boys," Beatrice said, sorting the mail. "Ring if you're staying for lunch though? And be sure to ask Mrs. Johnston if you can stay, this time do you hear?"

"Sure, Mum. Bye," the boys shouted as they ran from the house. Beatrice rolled her eyes toward heaven, and thanked God that they were very well behaved in public.

"Mummy, can Petunia and I get a lift into town? I want to show her the new dresses at Markham's," Lily said, entering the kitchen and flopping into a chair. Beatrice glanced up from the peculiar envelope she held in her hands and into her daughters deep green eyes. "Mummy? Something wrong?"

"Oh, no, Mother. Don't say your preggers again," Petunia grumbled from behind the refrigerator door. "Honestly, don't you think four is enough?"

"And what would you know about it, Ms Manners?" Beatrice asked, snapping out of the trance her baby daughter had held over her. Lily was still looking at her peculiarly. Petunia shrugged.

"Nothing, except our Physics professor had to leave classes in February because the English master at the boys school opposite had her knocked up."

"Well, Wimberley certainly isn't what is was in my day, is it?" Mrs Evans asked, wondering if this Hogwarts School was any better. Or rather, the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Mum!" Lily whinged. "Can you give us a lift to town? Maybe buy us a new dress for the Green's garden party?"

"I- yes, I can, baby." Enveloping Lily in a hug, Beatrice gathered all the post and rushed to her bedroom, tears streaming down her face.

"Told you she was preggers," Petunia said.

That evening, when the children were all in bed, Beatrice and William gently opened the letter from Hogwarts School. "Beatrice, it obviously a hoax," William whispered a few moments later. Scanning the letter, printed on heavy parchment in what could only be described as quillwork, the letter offered Lily E. Evans a place at Hogwarts School. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"It isn't, William. You know that," Beatrice insisted. "Our Lily is a witch... How- I mean to say, why would she- I..." Beatrice began to cry.

"Yes, well, there there, darling," William said, patting his always steady-on, unemotional wife on the shoulder. "At least this explains all the peculiar things."

"Oh, I hope so," she replied, wiping tears from her eyes and reading the second piece of parchment. "Oh, there's a telephone number to call for the- William, have you ever heard of the Ministry of Magic?"

"Well, no, darling, I can't say I have." Scratching his brow, William glanced at the clock. "Tomorrow we'll call, find out if this is a hoax. The children will be at the Green's party, and after, we can tell Lily."

"If it isn't a hoax," Beatrice said.

But it isn't, William knew.

After driving the children to the Green's house for Emily's eleventh birthday party, Dr Evans telephoned the number listed on Lily's letter.

"Ministry of Magic telephone service. May I transfer you?" a crisp older voice enquired.

"Er- uh, I'm not sure," William admitted. "My daughter received a letter with this number to call, and I-"

"Is it a Hogwarts letter, sir?" the voice asked politely.

"Uh, yes, it is," William said with relief. Obviously, the voice knew what he was talking about, even if he, William, had no real idea.

"I'll transfer you to the Department of Muggle Relations. One moment, please," the voice said, cutting off as painful chamber music began.

"I'm being transferred to the Department of Muggle Relations," William told his wife, very pleased with his navigational skills.

"What is the Department of Muggle Relations?" Beatrice asked.

"I- I haven't a clue," William admitted. "Oh, yes, hello?" he said into the telephone as a voice sounded at the other end.

"Department of Muggle Relations," the voice said. "If you are a wizard, please tap the receiver with your wand. If you are a Muggle, or a non-Magical person, please stay on the line, and you will be transferred."

"I think we're Muggles, Beatrice!" William told her with awe. "If I was a wizard, I was to tap the telephone with my wand." Beatrice's eyes flew wide, but another voice sounded on the line.

"Hello, this is the Muggle Public Liaison Officer, Ted Tonks. May I help you?"

"Uh, yes, thank-you. My name is William Evans, and my daughter, Lily, has received a letter from a Hogwarts School. Does this mean anything to you?" William asked, uncertain suddenly.

"Ah, it does indeed, Mr Evans," the Liaison Officer replied. "Weren't so long ago I received my own letter from Hogwarts."

"You attended Howgarts?" William said, noting how Beatrice rose from the sofa and came to stand beside him. "It's a real school, then?"

"Yeah, of course it is, though I remember my parents asking the same question. They couldn't believe it, either. Now, Mr Evans, can you hold on just one moment, and I'll come and visit you?"

"But, we're in Shropshire, not anywhere near London," William said, bewildered.

"Not a problem. I've just found your address." The telephone clicked off.

"Hello? Hello?" William called into the receiver. Turning to Beatrice, he cocked his head. "I think he's coming here," he said, the last word interrupted by a knocking on the door that had Beatrice and him jumping a foot in the air.

Cautiously, William peered through the glass at the door. A tall man, with dark hair and eyes stood there, looking extremely normal. In fact, he looked rather like a colleague of William's, boring, official, and very proper. Absently, William resented the implications. He was the father of a witch, apparently- nothing boring about that, now was there?

"Mr Evans?" the man asked, as William opened the door. The two men shook hands as Beatrice stood in the hallway. "Mrs Evans? A pleasure to meet you." He continued, shaking hands with Beatrice. "Is Ms Evans in?"

"No," Beatrice answered quickly. "She's at a birthday party with her brothers and sister." Beatrice led the way into the living room and asked their guest if he would like tea. With a wink, the guest pulled out his wand and, with a swirl of his wrist, a pot of tea and three lovely teacups materialized from thin air.

"Oh, for the best that she's not in, I'm sure," he said, pouring tea for Beatrice and William. "Now, as I told you over the telephone, I am Ted Tonks. Cream, Mrs Evans? No? Sugar?" Mr Tonks added the two lumps Beatrice had requested, and handed the cup to her. "As I said, I too was a student at Hogwarts, much as Lily could be."

"What do you mean, like she could be," Beatrice asked. "The letter said there was a space for her."

"Oh, indeed, indeed," he said. "You just have to place her. What I meant to say is that my parents where non-magical as well."

"Oh. So, its common?" William asked.

"Muggle-born students? Not overly, no," Ted replied. "But common enough, I suppose, and your daughter is one." A loud engine could be heard coming up the drive. "Who's that, do you suppose?"

"I'm not sure," William said, peering through the curtains. "Oh, no. It's the children. It looks as if Mrs Green is bringing them home from the party." The children flounced out of the vehicle, and Mrs Green spun out of the drive without a backwards glance. It seemed the boys were covered in cake, and the girls certainly looked as if they'd had a wretched time. "They appear to have caused some trouble at the birthday party."

"Mum! Dad! It isn't our fault, I swear," young William shouted pre-emptively as he slammed the front door. "That horrible Emily Green spilt cran juice all down Petunia's dress, on purpose. And then, somehow, her cake just tipped over and fell on her. It was not our fault." The children had begun to enter the living room, but stopped on two accounts: the strange man (who looked like another one of dad's dead boring schoolmates), and the fact that they're mother would slay them if they ruined the fancy carpet.

"Go get cleaned up, alright? Then, go over to the Johnston's' and play. Except Lily; we want you to meet Mr Tonks, alright?" Beatrice said. Lily rolled her eyes in a pleading way, begging not to have to meet another of her father's boring old friends.

"Too bad, Lily," Petunia said prettily. "Mark Johnston's become a right spark, hasn't he? I think I'll kiss him behind the barn." The look Lily gave her mother was murderous because everyone knew, but never spoke, about Lily's crush on Mark Johnston.

"Clean, and come down, Lily," her mother said. Five minutes later, William, Mattie and Petunia rushed out to the Johnston's. Five minutes after that, Lily emerged from the first floor, resplendent in natty jean trousers and a blue jumper that was years too big for her.

"Lily, this came for you in the mail yesterday," Beatrice began, handing the letter to Lily. As her baby read the letter, Beatrice studied Tonks. He seemed excited, happy. As if nothing brought more joy to his life then telling children that they were going to Hogwarts School.

"I don't understand. Am I a witch?" Lily asked. "Are you sending me away for being bad?"

"Oh! Oh, no, honey, no!" Beatrice promised, curling Lily into her lap. "No, poppet, we love you. Hogwarts is a school for magical children to learn magic. No more tipping cakes onto Emily Green."

Lily looked up, cross. "She deserved it! She ruined Petunia's pretty new dress," Lily said, finally admitting that she had caused something unexplainable to happen.

Mr Tonks chuckled. "She probably has, Lily. But you should feel really happy to be accepted to Hogwarts. Only the very strongest young witches and wizards are accepted, and its loads of fun. You learn to do magic, like to Charm things, to brew Potions, to See the future, or to take care of Magical Creatures like Unicorns." Lily's eyes had grown wide at 'See the future,' and had almost bulged at 'Unicorns'.

"Really?" Lily asked, though the question sounded more like pleading. "I'll be able to do all that?"

"Sure. And there are lots of other things too, like sport and games, and other classes. And, would you believe that there's an entire magical world, hidden just from view of non-Magical people, filled with Unicorns, Dragons, Leprechauns and flying broomsticks. We have Goblins, and Trolls, and our own Ministry."

"Wow," Lily said, entranced by the spell Ted Tonks was weaving. Even Beatrice felt a bit overwhelmed, a bit giddy, thinking of an entire world hidden from view, but waiting there for her very special daughter.

"And the crowning glory of that world is Hogwarts Castle," Tonks said. "All you have to do is agree to come, and I'll show you how to get all your supplies and how to get to Hogwarts. Would you like to go, Lily?"

Smiling, looking at both of her parents in turn, Lily nodded happily. "Yes!"

"Good girl!" Tonks roared with approval.

"There's just one thing," Lily said, still dreaming. "Can Petunia come to?"

"Uh, Lily, sweetheart, Petunia attends Wimberley. Its an excellent school for young ladies," Beatrice said.

"Yes, but, if I'm a witch, surely she's a witch?" Lily asked Mr Tonks.

"I'm sorry, Lily, but if she were a witch, she would have been asked to attend already," Tonks explained. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't come." With that, Mr Tonks, Dr Evans and Mrs Evans began arranging an opportunity to take Lily to London to retrieve her supplies.

That evening, Dr and Mrs Evans told the other children that Lily was to attend a special school, in Scotland, for people with her special talents. Petunia had not taken it as well as they had hoped.

"You mean, Lily isn't coming to Wimberley? But, we've planned it all out, Mum, we're going to have so much fun, and she'll meet Iggy, and we'll play doubles at tennis and win our league, and she'll act and I'll sing. I'll help her with her schoolwork, Mum, I promise," Petunia finished, seeing that all her and Lily's plans weren't going to sway their parents, and hoping that a plain plea would.

"It's important that Lily learn how to use her talents without tipping cakes onto them, or causing them to break out in boils, Petunia," Dr Evans said. "Surely you can see that?"

Petunia did, she said. However, she was so upset, she shouted at Mattie and William over (truthfully) spilt milk, and spent an entire month pouting and trying not to play with Lily and the boys. William's birthday, at the beginning of August was painful for everyone, and the next morning when the children emerged for breakfast, she asked if she could spend the rest of the summer with her friend Jane, in Bristol. Lily didn't see Petunia for the rest of the summer and was miserable until her first visit to Diagon Alley, a week before school started. Even Dr Evans admitted it was a marvel. First her robes, then her books, her Potion supplies, writing supplies, until finally, they stood in front of Ollivander's, a wand shop.

"I'll warn you, Lily," Mr Tonks said, escorting them to the last stop on their list, "Ollivander is an odd man, almost certain to give you the chills." Lily looked up at him, a determined look on her face.

"He won't scare me," Lily said stubbornly, opening the shop door and stepping brightly into the dark, murky interior of the shop. There was another pair in Ollivanders, what appeared to be a mother and son team.

"Elladora," Mr Tonks said politely, then promptly ignored the witch, who seemed particularly unpleasant. "Sirius," he said, referring to the young boy waiting for a wand. "How are you? Ready for Hogwarts next week?"

"Yeah, you bet. Just getting my wand, and I'm ready," the boy said, unfettered by his mother's sneer. "Can't wait to take the place over," Sirius said, licking his lips in anticipation.

Tonks laughed roundly. "Andromeda told me you were quite the scamp," he said fondly, then shot a glare at Elladora. "Not that I ever got to spend much time with you, of course," he said as the woman paid for the wand Ollivander had matched to Sirius before the group had entered.

She turned about and ushered her son out of the shop. "Just because Andromeda is willing to stoop does not mean we all are," she said, rather politely for how rude her words were.

"What was that about, Mr Tonks?" Lily asked.

Mr Tonks looked down at her, smiling sadly. "In-laws, Lily. Pray you never marry."