Comedy/Tragedy: The Story of a Doomed Existence

Comedy/Tragedy: Story of a Doomed Existence (L&J)

Prologue

The fourteenth of May was a stormy day, to say the least. The wind was strong to the point that it felt like the lashes of an invisible whip, and it beat upon the windows of the small clinic in Winchester with similar ferocity. Precipitation of unknown specification - it was a bizarre combination of hail, sleet, rain, and snow, pertaining to the least desirable aspects of each type of weather - crashed onto the ground as though it were far heavier than any worldly substance.

Inside the small hospital clinic, a beautiful, red-haired woman cradled a small, plump baby girl. The child had a tuft of violently red hair on her head to match her mother's, fingers that wouldn't stop latching onto things, and lungs that gave everyone nearby a splitting headache. A mere four hours after the little girl was born, and after she had desisted her constant screaming, Lily's sister, Petunia, who had wished fervently for a sister at Hanukah, was holding the long-awaited baby. It was in these moments, as the four-year-old blonde child gazed for the first time into the face of her sister, that Lily's eyes turned green. Unlike, well, unlike normal children, Lily's eyes did not take months to turn slowly into their color. Instead, the moment that Petunia looked into Lily's eyes, the blue eyes that all Caucasian babies possess turned instantly to a bright, deep, emerald-colored green. Petunia had shrieked and dropped Lily on her head.

Perhaps one who looked quickly back on the early lives of Lily and Petunia Evans would see this as the point where the relationship went sour. But that person would have to know the real history behind the Evanses to come to any conclusions.

Seven years after the day she'd met her sister, Lily Evans sat on her knees next to an oak door, pressing her small ear to the wooden framework. Inside, she could hear occasional loud squeals and exclamations of delight from her sister and the three friends who had been invited over. Now, Lily wasn't the type of person who idolized and stalked people like Petunia - self-absorbed, squealing, girls with little brains - but, perhaps for that reason, Lily had never had any close friends. It felt like her last hope to follow Petunia when the older girl had friends over. Normally, Lily could quench this strange desire by deeply immersing herself in some book, but her mother had actually forcibly forbade her daughter from laying a hand on her treasured books. In Mrs. Evans' opinion, Lily spent far too much time emerged in the fantastical worlds of poetry and fantasy. She would be better off, well, better off like Petunia.

It had been all that Lily could manage to convince her parents that, no, she didn't want to invite the peppy, squealing Amanda Blathers over. But in exchange for that small luxury, Mr. and Mrs. Evans had told Lily to socialize with Petunia and company. When the older girls had kicked Lily out (much to the latter's intense gratification), Lily's parents had told her to go right back into the room she and her sister shared. Lily knew that her parents would notice and grow angry if she were in any other part of the house, so she had resorted to sitting out in the hall, until either her sister let her in, or her parents passed by and commanded Lily to go inside.

But a good forty minutes of staring at the burgundy carpet had finally grown tiring; there was only a certain amount of time that the seven-year-old could remain engrossed in her own thoughts, particularly at eleven-thirty at night, the evening after her skull's size felt as though it had diminished considerably from all the time she had spent with the 'Twitter Gang.' So Lily had resorted to attempting to listen to what was going on inside the room. She wasn't the slightest bit interested, but it was better than counting the flecks of brown in the otherwise red carpeting. As Lily sat there, unable to discern anything besides the occasional 'Oh my!', 'You didn't!', 'He never!', etc., her thoughts wandered back to Petunia and why the eleven-year-old hated her so much.

Only vague incidents flew through her mind of times that had proven Petunia's spite, but Lily knew that, thinking back on it, she could find more, if she wanted. There was of course, the dropping-on-head incident, one that, to Lily's complete annoyance, simply had to be brought up every time she entered a conversation. Lily, for one, did not see the humor in being dropped on her own head. It wasn't her fault, and it hadn't lessened her brain capacity that much. At least Lily didn't think it had. She got poor marks in school because she 'didn't care' and 'didn't try'. This was balderdash, but Lily was the only one to think so. She understood the concepts very well, and read into very advanced arithmetic and sciences. But no one knew this. Lily was used to being compared to Petunia at her own expense, and she didn't want to give anyone any more reasons to find her inadequate. They had enough: Petunia was prettier, Petunia was 'smarter', Petunia was nicer, Petunia was more outgoing, Petunia was more popular...the list went on and on.

Another instance Lily remembered was the time when she and Petunia had been helping their mother to bake latkes, the winter before Lily turned five. Well, it could be counted as helping if one twisted events a little: Petunia spent most of the time debating whether or not to get her hands 'starchy' from the potatoes. Lily, on the other hand, dove into the flour sack the moment they began and twirled happily around the kitchen, using the exotic movements of a made-up dance and leaving glittering trails of flour everywhere she stepped. Mrs. Evans had really been the only one who got much done. But any work going on had been completely interrupted when Petunia decided that she wouldn't mind helping a little, as long as she didn't have to touch anything with her bare hands. She had stepped forward and Lily, still twirling and not expecting her sister's decision, had crashed into her.

It was like a scene out of one of the horrible sitcoms that Mrs. Evans watched so much: Before she slid across the floor, Petunia grasped the edge of the batter-bowl with her fingers and caused it to catapult across the room and land, perfectly, on her own head. Potatoes covered the eight-year-old from head to toe, and the powdery flour that Lily had been sprinkling everywhere seemed attracted magnetically to Petunia's form. Needless to say, that incident had gotten both Petunia and Mrs. Evans very angry with Lily, though Lily didn't understand how it was her fault and why it really mattered that much. She did accept that it was a tad unusual that the bowl had landed so perfectly on Petunia's head, despite the blonde girl's sliding movement across the floor, but Lily pushed it aside as mere coincidence.

Once, when she was six, Lily had been curled in her favorite rocking chair, reading the Laura Ingalls Wilder books. Well, more like pretending to read; Lily loved looking at the words on a page even if she couldn't completely decipher their meaning. Strangely enough, for a girl who wound up loving books so much, she was very slow on mastering how one begins to interpret the words. Mr. Evans had brought the books back from America after a business trip there, and though they had originally been for Petunia, the older girl never read anything. Lily had 'abducted' (her phrase of the week; for a little girl she was very literate) the book from her sister's dusty shelves and was almost-reading over the first few chapters of 'Little House on the Prairie.' However, before she could get very far, an enraged blonde girl stomped into the room and snatched the book from Lily's hands, slamming it down on the stone hearth and hereby breaking the spine.

"W-what did you do that for?" an equally infuriated Lily had half-yelled.

"It's my book, It's my stuff, don't touch it!" Petunia had replied, her lengthy neck protruding even further than Lily had seen it do before, giving her a very ugly look that differed immensely from her 'youthful beauty.'

Normally the younger sister would meekly give up the glory of 'winning' one of their little arguments to Petunia, but not that day, she wouldn't. Lily could very well remember how mad she'd been. The words on the book's pages were really making sense now, and the small girl wanted to keep reading them.

"If I don't touch it, who will? You never read anything, Daddy just got you a book because he's ashamed at how stupid you are!"

"I'm stupid? I'm stupid?! This coming from the six-year-old who can't even read, and sits there looking at the pictures to amuse herself and make herself think that she's smart?" Much as she hated the leisure, Petunia had learned to read when she was three. "I only don't read because I know how smart I am, and wish not to flaunt it in other people's faces!"

"There aren't that many pictures in Little House On The Prairie! And at least I don't spend the day twittering madly with people at least as dumb, if not more, than myself! Books, even those I can't read, are far better than the company of a stupid, jealous sister, and her idiot, simpering friends!"

At these words, Petunia was flabbergasted. She wasn't particularly bright, and from her point of view the redhead (a good three heads shorter than Petunia) was very intimidating and an excellent arguer. To top it off, Petunia was one of the few people that did know Lily was smart; she often forced her younger sister to do her simple homework.

While the older girl muddled through confused thoughts, Lily enjoyed a few more moments of her sister's goldfish-like mouth, and then flounced away at the proper dramatic moment.

Lily had thought that she had outdone herself, put Petunia in her place, but she wound up getting in trouble; Petunia had told Mr. and Mrs. Evans that Lily had walked in and slammed her book on the floor, not the other way around. Petunia also seemed to have derived some cock-and-bull story about Lily, insisting that the younger girl had done something to make Petunia unable to speak. No amount of explaining on Lily's part could get her out of the coming punishment. She tried saying, again and again, that she wished she could shut Petunia up occasionally, but unfortunately didn't possess the power. The other members of the Evans' household deemed Lily's story childish and dishonest. For some reason unfathomable to Lily, Petunia remained jealous and angry long past the duration of Lily's punishment. Lily tried to be good-natured toward her sister, but it was difficult when Petunia was, well, such an idiot! And she thought I was good at arguing? Lily remembered thinking as she underwent her punishment of helping to bake pie after pie in a hot, crowded kitchen, for her mother's catering service.

Lily's thoughts were interrupted when the door she was leaning against flew open and she collapsed onto the ground. She'd been leaning against it without noticing, and when it opened inwards she fell back onto someone's feet.

"LILY!" Came a shriek from behind the now-horizontal redhead. Lily sat up. "Look what you've done! LOOK AT IT!" A foot, presumably the one she had been laying on before, was thrust directly into Lily's face. Before she had lain back on it, the toes of this foot had been painted a deep, bluish, hunter green. Lily recognized it as a batch of the homemade polish that was the result of a mother-daughter activity that had happened the summer before. Lily had participated as well, but the nail polish was soon discovered to be most temperamental: it always got on carpets and never came off one's nails. Petunia, for some reason, loved it. She'd been scandalized at Lily's quick removal of her own and had spent a most unPetunia-like afternoon rooting through the trash bin, looking for it. However, her attempts had proven futile, so Petunia had gone back to using her own at every available chance.

Now, however, Petunia's toenails were completely smeared up, and much of the polish was missing. Lily felt the back of her own scarlet hair and realized that this was where the rest of the polish was. The redhead looked back up at the still-screeching Petunia. By this time, however, Mrs. Evans had shown up, and she didn't look happy.

"Lily, what have you been doing? Your father is trying to watch the evening news!" Mrs. Evans asked her youngest daughter.

Lily was bored. Lily was tired. Lily had nail polish in her hair. Lily was not happy.

"WHY DO YOU ALWAYS BLAME EVERYTHING ON ME? IT'S NOT MY FAULT! IT'S NEVER MY FAULT! PETUNIA KICKED ME OUT OF THE DAMN ROOM AND BECAUSE YOU'RE SUCH HORRIBLE PARENTS I KNEW YOU WOULD YELL AT ME IF I WENT ANYWHERE ELSE IN THE HOUSE. AND THEN PETUNIA OPENED THE DOOR, I FELL BACK, AND SHE PRACTICALLY HAD A SEIZURE BECAUSE HER BLOODY NAILS ARE RUINED!" Lily screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Lily Jacqueline Evans! Where did you learn such language? I will not tolerate this in my house. If you were a little more agreeable, you would have been in the room, having fun, and none of this would've happened. Go to your ro-go to the attic."

"It's-it's not my fault," Lily said softly. As she walked away, she couldn't restrain the sobs that poured from her chest, portraying a most unusual depiction of the normally courageous, independent girl. She broke into a run and climbed up the rickety staircase to the attic.

Collapsing on an ancient trunk, Lily cried her heart out. The small girl never cried; not after being a baby who wailed so much. But now she cried for everything. Her parents treating her so poorly, Petunia's constant abuse, and the dislike everyone at school felt for her. Her soul had been eaten at for so long without her realizing it that the final blow caused her to break down completely. By the time Lily had gotten control of herself, her vocal chords were sore and her small nightgown was very damp. Vainly trying to wring this out, Lily glanced around the attic. She almost reached her hand up to the light switch, but the moon was so beautiful and gave off so much light that she decided against it. Instead, Lily glanced down at the trunk she was sitting on. It was made of polished wood and faded red crushed velvet, and was very large. It could easily have fit Lily inside, along with a good number of her favorite books. The lock was so ancient and rusted that it was barely hanging on. When Lily's pale, moonlit fingers brushed against it, the handle disintegrated completely. Lily bent down, the light of adventure kindling in her heart, and ran her fingers over the barely visible gold letters. If she squinted carefully enough, she could see that they spelled out Jacqueline Monique Evans, the name of her great-grandmother. Lily took a deep breath, overcome with the excitement of finding some family treasure, and pushed the lid open.

And treasure she found. Not gold from foreign places, not jewels of unknown origin, not deeds to wealthy property. No, this was the kind of treasure that Lily desired above all else: books. Ancient, well kept, leather and cloth covered books. There was Jane Eyre, Treasure Island, Our Town, Crime and Punishment, The Importance of Being Earnest, a whole collection of Jane Austin books, numerous pieces by Dickens, at least a half-dozen Shakespeare plays, and many others. There were easily twenty-five or thirty books, nearly all age-old classics. Some came from as early as Jacqueline Monique's childhood, while others were as new as J. R. R. Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings. And upon opening each one, Lily found signatures of the authors. She held Moby Dick to her chest, breathing in the wonderful, slightly musty scent that pervaded both the books and the chest. After she had reveled in the beauty of the volumes she'd found, Lily glanced into the trunk one more time. At the edges of the maroon cushioning, small leather pouches rose up the sides of the chest. Inside these were all sorts of amazing things: feather quills from all sorts of birds (cardinal, swallow, snowy owl), ink in colors like green, scarlet, and blue, and yellowed parchment. Some of this was blank, but the rest had beautiful, loopy cursive writing and was gathered into a bundle. Dates occasionally adorned this, and though Lily couldn't read French, she could tell it was a diary.

A smile to rival the tears Lily had been experiencing before spread across her face. This was beautiful. There actually was someone in her family she could relate to - many someones, for these books were from at least three different generations. She did belong, in some strange twisted way, to this family. Clearly Jacqueline Monique had loved reading, just like Lily did, for many of the signatures in the books were addressed to her.

Lily did not know how long she sat there, cradling the French diary, and staring up at the gigantic moon. Eventually, it occurred to her that someone might think to come looking for her. Not, of course, because they cared where she was, but because they thought she might do something to the attic. After piling all of Jacqueline's things into the trunk, Lily resolutely pushed it towards a back wall, behind the giant portrait of a ladle her crazy uncle Howard had painted. She winced slightly at the scratching noises the trunk made on the floor, but the few times that she did pause revealed that no one in the rest of the house was stirring. Brushing the dust from her hands, Lily walked downstairs. She rather wanted to sleep in the attic; unlike many such places the windows gave it great openness, but she wanted a blanket or something else that might warm the cold floor. The only blankets in the attic were moth-infested and smelled of her Great-aunt Charlimae.

On her way back from the hall closet, Lily paused slightly at the family room door; the flickering light she could see within looked as though they were coming from a television, but she knew everyone was asleep. Much as it annoyed her that she noticed as much, Lily knew that Petunia breathed differently (in a less forced, high-pitched kind of way) when she was sleeping.

Lily set down the blankets at the doorway and stepped inside. What she saw froze her heart even more than the way her parents treated her. Petunia was sitting, curled up in a ball with her head in Mr. Evans's lap, on the couch between him and Mrs. Evans. All three were asleep. Mr. Evans had his arm draped gently over his wife and daughter, while Mrs. Evans's hand rested on Petunia's blonde hair. They made the picture of a perfect family. Mr. Evans's blonde hair and horse-like jaw was identical to his daughter's, and Mrs. Evans bore the body structure of her daughter: both had long necks and very skinny limbs. Lily glanced down at herself. The only similarity she bore to her parents was her mother's crimson-colored hair; no one knew where her green eyes had come from. Lily secretly hoped that she had inherited them from Jacqueline Monique. Thinking about her appearance reminded Lily of the nail polish encounter. She reached back and felt the sticky substance. It had completely encrusted a few strands of her hair; it seemed as though it were permanent.

After switching the television to off, Lily glanced once more at the sadly perfect picture the rest of her family made, then went off to sleep in the attic, alone.

Chapter One: A Magical Discovery

The passing of four long years brought little change to the Evans household. The largest difference was that fifteen-year-old Petunia had lost much of her childhood beauty. But no one noticed the change; Petunia's appearance now matched her personality. How she stayed popular was a complete mystery to Lily.

As for the younger Evans daughter, she also had changed considerably from her seven-year-old self. She had learned more languages, for one: French to understand Jacqueline Monique's diary, Hebrew in early preparation for her bat mitzvah in two years. Upon reading Jacqueline's diary, Lily had begun to idolize the young woman. The diary was written when Jacqueline was seventeen, before she had married Lily's great-grandfather. In trying to be more like Jacqueline, Lily had converted to being a vegetarian, (How can you eat something that once thought for itself?) grown more outspoken, read more, and wrote more. Lily had to cut her hair, after the unfortunate nail polish fiasco, but she was working like mad to make it grow again. She dreamt of the day it would be down to her knees like Jacqueline's.

Her family, teachers, and peers continued to be disgusted with the opinionated girl, whose hair was as fiery as her temper. But Lily didn't mind. In fact, she liked it better this way.

But not all the effects of Lily's slightly altered personality were good ones, especially according to the people who experienced Lily's attitude. The July she was eleven, six weeks before she would be starting secondary school, Lily's mother pulled her aside.

"Lily?"

"Yes, Mum?" Lily was too shocked to be rude to her mother, who never came into the attic.

"Can I talk to you?"

"You are right now, unless I'm very much mistaken. Though perhaps not, now that you mention it. A dissimilar reality could actually be the correct reality, and in that reality we might not be conversing with one another. Were that the circumstance, I still would not know, because I have no motivation to believe that you are capable of carrying on a conversation with me."

Mrs. Evans blinked. Lily turned back to the rising sun.

"Um...what?"

"I fail to see why it is compulsory that I elucidate my logic and philosophies to someone who evidently cannot comprehend them."

Mrs. Evans blinked again.

Lily smiled inwardly at her mother's confusion. It rather frightened her, but Lily found strange confidence, strange satisfaction, at seeing her mother suffer. After a few moments passed, Lily turned to see the woman staring uncomfortably at her.

"Did you need something?"

"Lily Jacqueline Evans, your rude and uncontrollable tongue is exactly what we need to discuss. Your father, sister, and I have grown very annoyed with all of your antics. They are disrespectful, they are unnecessary, and we are sick of them. We have tried to punish you, we have tried to reason with you, but everything has failed. So that's why, come September, we're sending you to St. Catherine's Institute for Unreasonably Discourteous and Improper Girls."

"What?" Lily spluttered. This was horrible, this was awful, this was terrible news. Lily had been counting on going to Fairview, the small private school that Petunia had attended, for it was well renowned for having both a fabulous library and very good teachers. And now she'd miss out on that experience, as well as the experience to meet someone who cared about something other than the direct angle your hair must be pinned up to qualify for a 'bob.'(Lily had actually witnessed Petunia and a friend having a blazing row about this very subject.)

"Mum-you-you can't do this to me!" Lily wailed.

"I can and I will. Lily Jacqueline Evans, you must be taught that your behavior is unacceptable!" She rapped the doorframe sharply with her knuckles for each syllable of 'unacceptable'. After she'd finished her little drumming escapade, she turned and strode as dignified as she could down the rickety stairs.

"You don't have to call me by my entire name whenever you speak to me! I'm your own daughter!" Lily shouted after her before collapsing onto the small cot that had been her tenth birthday present. "Not that you'd know it..." she mumbled softly, before burrowing her head into the pillow.

Lily had screamed, pleaded, cried, cursed, yelled, and done just about everything in her power to try to convince her family not to send her to 'impending doom', as she called it, but nothing worked. Lily was willing to do just about anything to convince her parents not to send her to someplace like St. Catherine's. Little did she know that the one tiny opportunity was headed her way at that very moment.

A tense silence pervaded the dinner table two nights after Mrs. Evans had told Lily what was happening. It was the first meal Lily had come down to eat with the family. As Lily was still absolutely furious at the lot of them, she kept looking up from her minestrone and glaring forcefully at her parents and Petunia. Whenever Lily so much as laid an eye on Petunia, the older girl would make frightened squeaks and manage to upset something on the table. Out of the corner of her eye, Lily could see how much Mrs. Evans wanted to send Lily to her room, but she didn't because, angry as she was at her daughter, she didn't want to be detested indefinitely. So Mrs. Evans, in turn, glared at the shakers of salt and other condiments that continued to upend themselves in Petunia's vicinity.

It took a very long time to get through the soup; it would have felt long even if it hadn't lasted for the time that it did. As Lily mopped up the remaining soup with a piece of bread, she could see a muscle going in Mrs. Evans cheek, undoubtedly caused by the condiments all over the floor.

Lily chewed the soup-covered bread and stood up, slowly, pointedly not asking to be excused, but before she could retreat to the attic, a sight through the open kitchen window caused her to pause and stare. Slowly noticing the direction of Lily's gaze and the frozen attitude of the girl, the rest of the family glanced in the same direction Lily was. Mr. Evans still had his spoon in hand, Mrs. Evans gripped her tea cup incredibly hard, Petunia's eyes had doubled in size and she seemed too frightened to scream, and Lily stood with her arm extended, about to push in her chair. As the Evanses stood, transfixed, a large barn owl that Lily recognized from one of her grandfather's birding books sailed in and landed on Lily's arm. Each head turned to stare at Lily, though no other part of their body moved. Lily herself glanced nervously down at the bird on her forearm and gave a small inward gasp. The owl was shaking its leg at her, in what might have been some absurd jig - if owls could do jigs - except for the fact that there was a letter of yellowed parchment attached to it. The owl seemed to want it off.

Trembling slightly, Lily reached down with her spare hand and untied the letter. The owl nipped her fingers lightly, though it didn't hurt, and sailed off into the night. Lily dropped the letter onto the table and sank down into her seat once more. The Evans' stared at the letter, which had landed address-down. The strange seal on the back was made up of a badger, a lion, a serpent, and an eagle, all surrounding a large H. In the few seconds they stared at it, Lily wondered vaguely what H could stand for. Hampshire? That was where they lived, certainly, but since when had Hampshire adopted such an unusual seal? However, before Lily could contemplate on the matter any further, her father reached forward and turned the envelope over so that the whole table could see what it said. Written on the front in emerald green ink were the words:

Miss L. Evans

The Kitchen Table, Northwest Seat

12 Magdalen Hill

Winchester, Hampshire

England

Lily read this a couple of times, to be sure she understood right. Glancing around the table, she realized that she was in the northwest seat. There could be no mistake. This letter was for her. She peered in her father's direction, wondering vaguely whether she should open it. Instead of the annoyed, ashamed expression that normally adorned his countenance when seeing her, he seemed curious and interested. The expression on her mother's face was similar; she appeared to even have forgotten about the salt on the table, which was a big deal, for her. Petunia seemed terrified that the letter would explode, but then again, this was Petunia.

In a movement that everyone in the kitchen watched with immense interest, Lily reached across the table and picked up the envelope, turning it once more so that the seal was visible. As Lily slit the envelope, her mother let out an audible gasp. Lily might have been inclined to laugh, but she was just as excited so felt it would be hypocritical. She had also never received so much attention that wasn't negative before. It was a nice feeling.

Inside the envelope were two sheets of paper. Trying to exercise self-control over the hands that wanted to rip out this mysterious letter, she pulled the top one out first and peered down upon the writing there:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Miss Evans,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Hogwarts is a most esteemed school at which the students are taught the magical arts.

We understand that all members of your family are not of magical power (Muggles), so we ask that, do you decide to attend Hogwarts, you also attend a short seminar on July 27^th at 2 pm about the magical world. Parents are welcome. The seminar is located at the Leaky Cauldron Pub in London. As long as you keep the name of this area in mind, you will find the pub easily.

Please find enclosed list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

Lily stared at the parchment, wondering, hoping, wishing that this place truly existed. But even if it were, she realized, heart sinking sadly, she was destined to spend the rest of her time at St. Catherine's. She breathed a deep, world-weary sigh and chanced a look at her parents. Both seemed simply itching to see the letter; after all, how many people get mail delivered to them by an owl?

Lily resolutely handed her father the parchment, a tiny fragment of her mind still hoping fervently that he would let her go. She was too preoccupied to even be amused at the way her mother had dashed around the table to see what was going on. However, Petunia's bony neck peering over Mr. Evans's shoulder was enough to make Lily crack a smile. As much as Petunia hated things out of the unexpected, she was incredibly nosy.

While the other members of her family poured over the letter, Lily drew out the next slip of paper within. This was, apparently, the list of necessary books and equipment the first letter had opened. Across the top was the same imposing title that the letter had:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM:

First-year students will require:

Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS:

All first-year students should have a copy of the following volumes:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade One) by Miranda Goshawk

Wizarding Events in Early History by Clayton Batten

Transfiguration for the Young by Frank Gadders

Common Wizarding Plants and Organisms for Basic Potions by Fungillus Garter

Basic Wizarding Potions by Fungillus Garter

Danger Where You Least Expect it: Rudimentary Defense Skills by Herman Horsepepper

Fifteen Hundred Magical Creatures; a guide to survival by Leslie Hasting

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size two)

1 set crystal or glass phials

1 telescope

1 Miniature Guide to the Night Skies, by Orion Moonstone (optional)

1 set scales

Students may bring one of the following: an owl, cat, or toad

Broomsticks must be left at home until second year.

It didn't sound very sane to Lily, but she had spent so much of her life immersed in fantasy novels that she half believed in this anyway. And, she would welcome virtually anything that might rescue her from impending doom.

Lily looked up at her parents, to see if they had finished reading the letter yet. Both had, apparently; they were looking at their youngest daughter as though they had never really seen anything like her. Petunia was nowhere to be sight, which made sense, Lily supposed; even her nosy nature would be quelled by seeing a title like "HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY." Lily waited for her parents to say something, but silence continued to encompass the atmosphere of the kitchen.

"Mum, dad, I'd really like to go," Lily spoke softly after a few more moments of unbearable silence passed. "I-I understand that I haven't been...cooperative...but I can change that. I'll do my best - which I must admit, I haven't been doing - to be a good daughter: if I want to, I can get good grades, be nicer to people, anything you want - if you'll just please, please, please let me go." She breathed heavily after speaking, laced her fingers together, and gazed hopefully at her parents.

"Oh, sweetie -" her father began. Lily was amazed to hear his tone of voice; that was how he spoke to Petunia, not to Lily. Lily's heart rose a little. Before her father could continue, however, Mrs. Evans let out an indecipherable noise, across between a scream and a gasp, and ran around the edge of the table to wrap her arms tightly around Lily.

"I'm-I'm so sorry," she said, drawing away from her daughter. "I can't believe I was about to send you off to that horrible place, when you could instead go - go here! A witch - oh honey, we're ever so proud!" She exchanged a look with her husband, who stood up as well.

"Of course you can go!" he announced. "A witch...oh this is too amazing! The twenty-seventh, did they say? We have a week, then," he finished briskly, smiling down at Lily.

"Oh...oh, thank you so much!" Lily told them. "You won't regret it, I'll do better than my best at-at Hogwarts." She gave each of them a hug and walked out of the kitchen, pausing only to say an additional thank you before she turned up the stairs.

For the rest of the week, Lily was content to simply read and occasionally engage in conversations with her parents. The only noticeable difference between Lily's life before and after the letter had arrived was that Lily's parents loved talking to her. Before Lily knew it, it was eleven o'clock on the morning of Tuesday, the 27^th. She and Petunia piled into the back of the car and they were on their way to London.

As they entered the city, Lily closed The Hobbit and reminded her parents of what the letter had said: keep in mind where they were going, The Leaky Cauldron, and they would find it. Remarkably, this worked: later on Mr. Evans told his family of the odd feeling that passed over him, as though his mind weren't his own, and helped him to reach the parking space outside of a large bookstore to the right of the small, grungy, Leaky Cauldron.

Lily pointed out the shabby pub to her family; for some strange reason, they had a lot of trouble focusing on its being there, particularly Petunia. Once everyone had seen the pub and understood that it was there, Lily checked her back pocket to make sure that she still had the letter, took a deep breath, and strode through the door. The pub was no more extravagant within than it was on the outside. All that was good to be said about it was that it was large, moderately clean, and the bartender, despite rather crude dental health, appeared kind.

As the door shut behind Petunia, the small bell at its summit jingling slightly, the bartender glanced up and saw Lily and her family standing awkwardly, not sure what to do next. Lily opened her mouth to ask where the seminar was, but the bartender spoke first.

"Ah, you must be another first-year!" He exclaimed. "The seminar for muggle-born students is right down this hall," He pointed at a room behind a closed door at the end of the corridor. "The instructor should already be there." He smiled encouragingly, and waved as Lily started off across the rough wooden floor, followed rather more closely than was necessary by her parents, and less closely than was polite by Petunia.

Taking a deep breath, Lily pushed the door open and walked inside. For someone who had been expecting a place of deep mystery or obvious magic, Lily was greatly disappointed. The room was fairly large and sun-filled by the great windows on the sides. A good number of tables were arranged, all chairs facing a tall, thin-lipped woman. The only sign of the unusual purpose of the meeting was the woman herself: she was wearing long, black robes, and a hat was pinned over the tight bun that was her hair.

She looked up as Lily and her family walked in, and nodded at Lily in what was probably supposed to be an encouraging gesture, though it was ruined by the fact that she wasn't smiling.

"Welcome to Hogwarts' Introductory Seminar. Please cross your name off the list so that we know that you have decided to attend our school," she pointed to the table in the corner, in front of which the only other family in the room was gathered.

While they waited for the family in front to finish crossing off the names of their twin daughters, Lily and her parents observed the scene through the windows. Each pane of glass was almost the full length of the walls, but Lily wished they were bigger. Through each one was an incredibly detailed, moving sight. Each view was so different that Lily was sure they couldn't be actual windows; even in the magical world, she doubted that the bottom of the ocean could be found next to a bazaar from ancient Egypt.

Lily's parents were just as fascinated by the panoramas as their daughter was. Mr. Evans kept excitedly pointing out the moving figures. He seemed particularly amazed by a miniature scene of numerous people on broomsticks playing some kind of sport. There were two colors of their robes, so Lily assumed that there were two teams. Three players from each team were tossing a red soccer ball-like ball to each other, trying to get it into one of the three opposing goals. A single player from each team guarded the team's goals. Two members of each team were carrying short clubs that they used to hit the independently moving black balls toward members of the opposite team. These cannonball-like objects seemed intent on unseating the players. And lastly, one person on each team sailed high above their teammates. Lily wondered what they were doing for a few moments, then saw the two go into a spectacular dive for a tiny, speedy gold ball.

A loud, forced cough from behind Mr. Evans brought the family back to reality: they were now holding up the sizable line. Smiling apologetically at the people behind her, Lily found her name and drew a trembling line across it. The line's unsteady aspect portrayed Lily's frazzled nerves quite well.

A last glance at the windows was all that Lily allowed herself before following her parents to join Petunia at the table in the far back. Petunia had clearly chosen this spot because it was as far away as possible from the witch in the front of the room. Feeling slightly annoyed at her sister for choosing such obviously inconvenient seating, particularly when so many better tables were available, Lily tried her best to observe the windows further. She had so little luck that she finally gave up and instead spent the remaining minutes watching the other nervous first-years. Finally, the witch in the front of the room cleared her throat, stood up, and began to speak.

"Hello, and welcome. My name is Professor McGonagall. I am the Deputy Headmistress and Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am pleased to see that so many people have turned out for our seminar; it's nice that most people are sane enough to not throw away their letter the moment they get it." There were nervous titters through the surrounding families, and Petunia, on Lily's left, gave a derisive snort. Clearly, she didn't think that someone who wore robes and a witch's hat in public was anywhere near being sane.

"First, to assure the less convinced families, I have prepared a short demonstration of magic," she pulled out her wand and waved it at the sign-in sheet. The small leaflet of papers rose quite unaided and sailed over to Professor McGonagall, who caught them deftly. Nearly everyone in the room 'oohed.' But McGonagall wasn't done: next she turned the papers into a parakeet and back, turned them purple, shrank them to a quarter of their original size, and finally, she turned the language into Arabic.

Merely for her own amusement, Lily chanced a glance at Petunia. The blonde was staring, openmouthed, at Professor McGonagall, mouthing wordlessly and managing to glare as forcefully as possible at the witch. Snorting inwardly, Lily turned back to see the papers disappear with a poof of orange smoke.

"Now that we have cleared up that this isn't some kind of nonsense-" Professor McGonagall smiled at the looks on people's faces, ranging from surprised to awed to alarmed. "-let me continue by saying that you should be most proud that your child has qualified to attend Hogwarts. As your letter mentioned, our school is very prestigious. Unlike in the non-magical world, we accept everyone we can, but let me say to you right now that it will be hard work. Students must be serious at getting a magical education. It isn't all wand-waving and Quidditch playing." A few people looked very confused at this word. McGonagall quickly indicated the pane of window Lily and her parents had been watching, then continued to speak.

"In order to attend Hogwarts, students must have all that is on the list we sent out with your acceptance letters. Don't worry," she continued as some people looked nervous. A few families had begun muttering to one another, including a boy in front of Lily, who murmured to his mother that he didn't know they were supposed to bring the letter. "Don't worry, we have spare first-year lists for those who did not think to bring their own."

"As those of you who read the letters know, the objects on the list could hardly be found in downtown London. The wizarding world has an alternative shopping center, comprised of various marketplaces. For buying school materials, Hogwarts recommends Diagon Alley. The shops along this street have everything that you could possibly need in your days at Hogwarts, and the shopkeepers are known to be most helpful if you may have any questions. We have small maps of the alleyway, pointing out the most helpful stores." The witch pointed to the table that had held the sign-up sheet. "As for the belongings you wish to bring to school, Hogwarts asks that all students have a trunk of some kind."

"As for the school year itself, the Hogwarts Express leaves from King's Cross, Platform Nine and Three Quarters, on September first at eleven in the morning. We have tickets here for every student taking the train. In order to get onto the platform, which is entirely impenetrable to Muggles - nonmagic folk," she explained to the numerous confused faces. "In order to get onto the platform, one must simply walk through the wall between platforms nine and ten. This wall is solid only to Mugg - nonmagic people," she corrected herself just in time, "and to those who are frightened of colliding with it. Students must remember not to be afraid that they'll crash into the wall, or nasty things can happen." She didn't go into any details. "Nonmagic parents may enter, but only when accompanied by their magical children. It is essential that no one sees you entering the platform."

"Now, are there any questions?" She surveyed the soon-to-be students, again smiling slightly at the mixtures of expressions that adorned their faces. At these words, a good number of hands went up. "Yes? You, in the back?" Professor McGonagall pointed to the boy sitting in front of Lily, who had muttered to his mother earlier.

"This whole wizarding thing sounds right magical," he spoke loudly, in a strong Irish accent. "But how do we know that we actually are wizards? That we actually do have the power to do stuff like what you showed?"

"Ah, I'm glad you asked," Professor McGonagall smiled at him approvingly. "It is often a matter of doubt between students who come from Mug - non-magical backgrounds." She peered at the boy from across the room, examining him closely through her spectacles. "Have you ever made something unusual happen? Something out of the ordinary that you couldn't explain, when you were angry or feeling some other magnified emotion? Witches and wizards, young and old, have been known to use magic when they are feeling particularly distressed, often unknowingly."

At these words, a new bout of murmurs broke out across the hall. Thinking back, Lily thought of the bowl landing so perfectly on her sister's head. It was the only real sign of any magic she'd done - unless she counted having the wonderful talent of making people mad at herself without trying. Trying desperately to think of something else to prove that she was magic, Lily remembered Petunia's complaints of Lily making her unable to speak, back when they were younger. Could that, perhaps, be another show of Lily's true magical self?

Lily shook her mind free of those thoughts and turned back to see Professor McGonagall call on another unsure student, who asked about the word 'Muggle.' Lily only half paid attention as McGonagall explained that the word 'Muggle' is the wizarding reference to non-magical people.

"Where's Diagon Alley?" the next girl asked bluntly.

"Diagon Alley is located right behind this very pub. You must go into the small courtyard and use your wand to tap the brick three up and two across from the trashcan. You obviously cannot do that until you get a wand - also available in Diagon Alley - but any witch or wizard would be glad to help you."

"I will answer one final question, then let you get on your way. I would be happy to answer or discuss any other concerns that you have; I will be here all afternoon, so feel free to come back from Diagon Alley if you can think of anything that I've missed." McGonagall paused briefly, then pointed at one of the twin girls Lily's family had stood behind earlier. "Yes?"

"I was just wondering...you said that we needed a trunk, right? Well, where are we supposed to get those? How big do they need to be?"

"Just like anything else necessary for Hogwarts, trunks can be found in Diagon Alley. There is a standard school size that we prefer our students stick to; however, if you find it absolutely necessary, you may go one size smaller or larger."

"Now, if that is all, the seminar has come to an end. Any pamphlets, maps, train tickets, or spare letter information you might need are on this table." She waved her wand carelessly and stacks of brightly colored papers appeared. "Wait," she held up her hand to prevent a few people from rising. "Let me just say, welcome to Hogwarts!"

She stepped back and walked over to a corner where she and any who had questions would be more isolated from the rest of the families present. A number of people ambushed her, but Lily had no more reservations. Instead, the redhead walked briskly up to the table that held information and used her small height to reach through the jostling parents. Finding the map and ticket she had been looking for, Lily turned and joined her parents at the doorway, following them out into the small courtyard McGonagall had described. Unsure of what to do next, the family waited uncomfortably, noticing that the only people who joined them in the courtyard were from the other wandless families from the Hogwarts seminar.

But they didn't have to wait long; just as the courtyard was becoming very full of first-year families, the innkeeper came out and did them all the favor of tapping the brick McGonagall had mentioned. A small hole appeared where the innkeeper's wand had been. It grew larger and larger until it was a giant archway into a bustling shopping center. Trying to calm her nerves and excitement, Lily took a deep breath and stepped forward.