Post by Lily Evans on Aug 30, 2012 19:48:11 GMT -5
LILY AVA EVANS
Lily Evans was born January 30, 1960 to two muggle borns in northern England. She grew up in Spinner’s end, England, with her parents and older sister Petunia, living a comfortable, if not wealthy lifestyle. Bright and vivacious, she excelled in school, and always had many friends. With her charming smile and willingness to give everyone a chance, she got along with almost everyone, and most people, even the other students, having a hard time finding fault with her. Except of course, when she lost her temper. Which, unfortunately, was an easy thing for her to do. Little things upset her. A shove here, a name call there. Things that went unnoticed by others, but stopped her dead in her tracks. Small voice full of authority, she would yell and scream, and one time, only one, she punched another little boy for calling her sister ‘horse face,’ and making her cry. Pink slip for that one, and a meeting in the counselor’s office with her parents.
Reprimanded for her choice of action, not the intent, Lily learned at an early age she needed to work on her temper, but it would be a long time before she mastered it, and even then, even later, sometimes, sometimes she couldn’t help but lose it. But, in that moment, she’d had to defend her sister. Her sister was her best friend…and, quite frankly, her sister didn’t have a lot of friends. She needed Lily, and Lily loved to be needed. The two were nearly inseparable. Playing games, hiding under the bed after bedtime, giggling about their dreams of being astronauts and princesses. Living on the moon! Someone had gone to the MOON. If an American could do it, they could too!
Of course, there were a few differences. Differences that neither girl could explain, nor often acknowledged. Lily…Lily could do things that Petunia could not. Little things. Sometimes, when they wanted a book or a toy neither could reach, Lily would stomp her foot and the object would zoom down into her hands. Twirling flowers between her fingers, petals would change colors. And then. At the park. When Lily was nine. When she leapt from the swing, soaring just a little too high, a little too fast, a little too far, landing perfectly without harm. When she met Severus Snape for the first time. When the difference between the two sisters was given a name. Witch. Lily was a witch. And Petunia? Petunia was not. At first, the word stung. Why was this boy whom she’d never met insulting her like that? But the explanations continued. He said he was a wizard. Lank, greasy hair and torn ragged clothes…but something about him…was sincere. Lily believed him. She became friends with Severus…and began to drift away from Petunia.
The stories Severus told seemed like fairytales. An entire wizarding world! With magic and spells and owls! Oh, how Lily wanted an owl. Two more years passed without much change. She attended school, played with her sister, and traveled to London in the summers with her parents. But now, on weekends, she met with Severus in the park and dreamt of wands and Hogwarts and pumpkin juice, waiting for the time when they could attend the school together. It came all too quickly. When Lily turned eleven, she received a letter…beautiful, loopy handwriting addressed to her and her parents. An invitation to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The dream had arrived. And shattered. On platform 9 and ¾. With one word. Freak. F. R. E. A. K. The letters imprinted on her skin and across the soft gray of her mind. Stained. And no scrubbing, no washing, and no bleach, would ever get them off.
But the letters did fade. They faded quickly when she met Severus upon the train, when they sailed in enchanted boats with flaming lanterns towards the most beautiful castle she had ever seen in her entire life. The sights and the smells and the people! And the moment. THE moment. The moment that would define her entire Hogwarts education, her life, and quite possibly her future (all according to Severus). The sorting. Slytherin was the best, Severus insisted. Gryffindor, was the worst. But…though Lily never explicitly said so, she did not like the sound of Slytherin…she did not want to go there. Unless of course, her best friend was going there, well then…she should go with him. Right? The nerves etching through her stomach disagreed. Evans. Lily. Her turn. She barely noticed the eyes that watched her as she hopped onto the stool, hands shaking against the wooden sides, as the hat slipped over her eyes. The entire moment was blurred in her mind, but she remembered bits and pieces—remembered asking about Slytherin tentatively, only to have the hat laugh in her ears, tell her that the courage and the strength and the kindness in her heart were too strong, to radiant, to live in a pit of snakes. GRYFFINDOR.
Lily did not look at Severus. Did not want to see him cringe. She took her seat among the roaring red and yellow, and applauded loudly when Severus was sorted into Slytherin. It was what he’d wanted, after all. Besides. It couldn’t be THAT big of a deal. They were at the same school! They would have same of the same classes. They would still be best friends. It would be okay. It had to be okay. There was pumpkin juice! And food everywhere! And a man with twinkling blue eyes with spidery hopeful words. It. Would. Be. Okay.
And it was okay. It was more than okay. Lily made friends nearly instantaneously within her house, and her dorm mates and her became like sisters, chit chatting late into the night, working on assignments together, talking about the classes, and their families, and, well boys. Her first few weeks had been tough, and full of doubt, that she couldn’t do this, wasn’t meant to do this, but she found that if she worked hard, she COULD do it, and do it better than most. Of course, she really did have to work hard. Study harder, practice more, spend more hours on assignments than the others, but it was all worth it. She was learning MAGIC. Real magic. A term that for most of her life had been an oxymoron.
She still remembered her first week. Insecurity craves praise. First year. Professor Flick’s charms class. Wingardium leviosa. Basic first year spell. A spell that the Professor insists will be difficult for them to master the first time. Says it may take several classes before anyone is successful. The wand movements must be spot on, precise, the words enunciated with clarity and will. Other students are waving wildly, yelling out, she notices a boy with messy hair and glasses stand up, clear his throat, and perform the spell. His feather hovers. For exactly 1.5 seconds. The class cheers. Panic seizes her. She is in the wrong place. They have made a mistake. Petunia was right. What was she thinking? Her? Here? Doing MAGIC? Yes, she’s read the books several times, yes she’s struggled to keep the spells in memory, yes she’s practiced the wand movements painstakingly, her fear of being behind driving her forward.
But now? Her fingers are clenched and clammy against her wand. The words feel thick and foamy on her tongue. Eight times eight is sixty four. Nine times nine is eighty one. The multiplication table. Over and over and over in her head. Because that’s all she knows, and that King Henry the VIII had six wives and… “I reckon no one can do that. I’m the best in the class.” That boy. Again. Something inside her flares up, something about him has sparked something inside her. Closing her eyes, the flash of emerald fading behind her lids, Lily opens her mouth, and says with absolute clarity and will, ‘wingardium leviosa,’ wand flicked in precise movement. Her feather rises. And rises. And rises. She opens her eyes. Her feather hovers above the class, for five full seconds. And then falls. Professor Flitwick looks at her—“Well done, well done! That’s how it’s done! What is your name, dear?” Lily. Lily. Evans. A little girl who can, in fact, do this.
Everything was perfect, she’d even made friends in the other houses, specifically Amelia Bones, who even though they were the same age, she found herself looking up to. And she still saw Severus. Not as often as she wanted…but they made time to meet up in the library, she helped him with charms, he helped her with potions, and sometimes they wandered around the grounds. Unfortunately…things were not working out as well for him. He was not making friends as easily, not loving the experience like she was. She wanted to fix it. Wanted to help him. But every time she tried he pushed her away.
Her next few years went by in a similar fashion. Every year she returned home to marveling parents, parents so proud and happy for her that they could burst, and a sister. A sister who barely acknowledged her anymore, except to insult her. School remained challenging, and her friends remained strong and loyal. She even dated here and there, dabbling in the world of boys. A group that were slowly starting to become known as the Marauders were quickly moving into the spotlight…pulling prank after prank after prank, rising to a sort of Hogwarts fame. Peter Pettigrew. Remus Lupin. Sirius Black. And James Potter. Four kids who not only thought they were above the rules but that they were above the entire school. The coolest to walk the earth. They did whatever they wanted. Teachers tried to reign them in, but it was to no avail. Still, with the exception of Pettigrew, the three were some of the brightest in the class, her competition to be the best. Perhaps, perhaps it was in the classroom that James Potter first noticed her. Hexing in the hallways, romping around after hours, and torturing her best friend Severus Snape. It was that last one that made her furious, that led to her confrontations with them. Time and time again. Their paths were crossed. Wand to wand.
And as time went on, their paths crossed more often, much due to the persistence of James Potter, and his insistence about being in her life, a persistence that soon changed to that of being her boyfriend. Arrogant. Toe. Rag. And when she became a prefect! The battles raged on as she tried to smother the Marauders in discipline, enlist Remus’ aide, only to fail miserably. However, it wasn’t until fifth year that everything changed completely. That everything was very much not okay. Not anymore.
The world was changing. Maybe it had been all along. Maybe Lily had been too swept up in herself to notice. Maybe it was just getting worse. No. It was definitely getting worse. People. Were. Dying. Whispers of death eaters and Voldemort (though this was quickly changing to ‘he who must not be named’) and pureblood supremacy became the undercurrent of every conversation, every look. Several muggle borns families had been murdered. Killed. Dead. They were dead. Amelia Bones parents…were dead. It had hit too close to home for her when one of her closest friends parents had been killed. Her family could be next. Stomach clenched into a ball. And didn’t let go.
People said Severus was planning to become a death eater. That he was hanging out with death eaters. Lily vehemently denied it. Constantly stood up for him. Begged him in the night not to associate with death eaters, tears that no one else would ever see blatant on her face. He never made any promises. That day by the lake changed everything. Potter and his gang by the tree. With a snitch. How exactly Potter always managed to have a snitch outside of quidditch, Lily may or may not have spent too much time wondering about. He wanted her attention…she knew that/ She tried not to look, but every now and then, she found herself peering over, only to turn away in disgust as he ruffled his hair, grinning that stupid, cocky grin of his. In-fur-iating.
She wasn’t surprised when they started to pick on Severus. When they taunted him, hexed him, wands drawn, lifted him into the air. Not surprised, but still just as angry as every other time. Marching over, she demanded they put him down, and THAT RIDICULOUSARROGANTMORONICGIT had the NERVE to ask her on a DATE. AGAIN. The conflict went on. She didn’t even remember most of it. But she remembered Severus cutting in. One word. Mudblood. That was it. That was all it took. He begged her later to forgive him. Begged her to understand. Begged her not to ask about the death eaters. It was the last straw. It was over. How could he not have known…how could he associate with people killing muggles? Killing…people…like her? Death eaters may not have invaded the school that day, but they had forever entered Lily’s life. How many times can a person have a second chance? One, two, six?
With the beginning of sixth year, Lily felt heaviness in the air not present before. A darkness in the distance. Conversations were becoming more and more strained, tears more and more common, laughter more and more rare. Things were changing. She hoped she could keep up.We keep on walking, walking, r u n n i n g for miles
Lily is a fighter. It’s in her nature. She fights in everything that she does and always has. To her, every spell, every paper, every exam is something she must fight to conquer. And she does. She perseveres. Studious, hard working, stubborn. She puts her all into everything that she does. Once Lily decides something, she doesn’t give up. It is sometimes not to her advantage, because even when she’s wrong, blatantly and utterly wrong, she struggles to let go, to admit her loss, to give up. This, paired with her ever bubbling temper, have led her astray various times, and mostly led her to hex James Potter with creative and vicious curses. But this is masked behind a cool and collected surface and a charming smile. Beneath it all, there is a kindness pulsing through her, a softness for people, a passion for compassion. It is this that drives her. It is this that gives her the courage and the strength to try and do what’s right, to stand up for others, to hold her ground.
Despite the fact that she deeply cares for those around her, sometimes her own fights and struggles take priority, and in that respect she has a tendency to be a tad bit selfish. It is easy for her to get caught up in her own on-goings and forget about those around her. She is not good at remembering birthdays. Though she may not always notice that a friend is upset, or a classmate in need, once it is brought to her attention, she immediately acts. Lily is a fixer. She wants desperately to fix what’s broken, fix problems, fix people. And when she can’t? It kills her. There has to be a solution and she can’t rest until she finds it or collapses in exhaustion trying.
Her wit, she owes much to Severus, who introduced her to sarcasm, who sharpened her tongue. She enjoys playful banter, likes being challenged and kept on her toes. When with her friends her wit is used for fun and humor, and she loves to laugh and giggle over careless and senseless things. But, it can easily be turned into a knife, words used like blades to cut skin, bone, heart. Perhaps that’s what lies in the depths of her eyes, that knowing gaze, that intuition she has always had about people, an understanding. An understanding of human beings—their hopes, their dreams, their fears. With that understanding comes a responsibility to protect them, and yet too often she finds herself using it to destroy them. It is a battle she constantly fights within herself, striving to be a better person.
When alone, the wall of confidence slips into the shadows, and she is left only with worry, worry, worry gnawing at her mind, prickling her skin. Worry that she isn’t smart enough, won’t pass the next exam, won’t mix the ingredients just right. Won’t be strong enough. Won’t fight hard enough. That she will fail not only herself, because she could handle failing herself, but everyone around her. When this happens, more often than not her body takes over, feeling worked into a lather. Weary from the stress, it lulls her to sleep. It is only in sleep that her face is still, relaxed, completely unshaped by the world around it, and just her. Lily.
There are quite a few things Lily likes. Lily immensely enjoys charms class. Something about the intricacy of the wand movements, the idea making things behave in ways that they usually do not, fascinates her. Perhaps it is that charms could be so unexpected, there is a spontaneity about charm spells that excites her. A touch of spontaneity in her world of order. Blotting between the rows of the rules and schedules and proper social etiquette that line her life. She likes most of the school subjects, never ceasing to be amazed or surprised by the magical world and all of its wonders. It is because of this that Lily doesn’t mind studying, in fact, sometimes she even enjoys it, although sometimes it wears on her that she has to study so much more than everyone else, that she must read a chapter three times to be able to do (and often surpass) what other students can do after reading it once. At least, it seems that way to her. In truth, Lily, though she refuses to admit it aloud, does, on occasion, watch the English soap opera Emmerdale, while in her pajamas and a bowl of cereal in hand, spoon poised just in front of her gaping mouth. This has, unfortunately, led to a dislike of cereal, because by the time she remembers it is in front of her, it is too soggy to eat. Among her other likes are swimming, blankets just out of the dryer, chocolate chip cookies, carving pumpkins, earl grey tea with two splashes of milk and one lump of sugar, and one upping the ever so one uppable James Potter. With hexes.
And speaking of things she dislikes… James Potter. And his little gang of pranksters, with the exception of Remus Lupin, whom she feels a bit of pity for and sees as more of a victim in the Marauder’s crime than a willing participant. Though most of her feelings of dislike revolve around who James Potter is, how he acts, what he does, and the situations he creates or is involved in, another thing Lily cannot stand is bullying. Of any kind. People who put others at their mercy, simply because they can, disgust her. Something tugs at her heart to see people preyed upon, forced to their knees, weakness splayed across their faces. She sees a strength in everyone, a strength she believes should be cultivated and grown, polished. Those who try and snuff it out, who step on the weaknesses of others to somehow seem taller, stronger, splinter her nerves, sending a pang to the very core of her being. She also dislikes doing laundry, Shepard’s pie, arrogance, the needles and pins feeling of sitting in one position too long, and… oh yes. Speaking of dislikes…James. Potter. Git.
From another site—Nymphadora Tonks
It never actually occurred to Tonks that she might run into Narcissa. Why that was now, she couldn’t say. It seemed silly. They may not run in the same circles but they certainly were apart of the same picture, the strokes painted with the same brush. In truth, Tonks did not know much about Narcissa, Tonks knew more about the Malfoys. The family. As a unit. And specifically, about Lucius. But Narcissa? The woman in front of her an enigma. Andromeda did not speak about her family very often and when she did… she only told facts, not stories, and not memories. Tonks felt that her mother, though too stubborn and stoic to admit it, missed her sisters. Yes. SisterS. Plural. Narcissa and Bellatrix, though Andromeda had long given up on Bellatrix. Tonks tried to hide it from her mother that Bellatrix had been the one to hex her into St. Mungo’s. Didn’t see the point in telling her. Didn’t want to tell her. Didn’t want to hurt her. In the end, Andromeda found out. Tonks was marked by that one. Good to have so much attention! She simply must be the favorite niece. Blood meant nothing. Blood meant everything. Bloody bleeding blood.
The use of her first name made Tonks flinch slightly, though she said nothing. Protesting would only give Narcissa more ammunition and clearly she had plenty of that. Besides, it was unlikely, improbable, impossible, that the woman would ever refer to her as Tonks. Slumping against the wall, Tonks shoved her hands into her pockets, shifting her weight back and forth, feeling the need to move and fidget next to the pristine statue of a woman in her presence. Must have rods for bones, that one. “Yes, I am rather fond of existing,” Tonks added mildly, noting the severity of her tone, each word sharp and cold, flung off her tongue like chips of ice. “Well. Looks like we agree on something!” Nodding to affirm her point, she continued on with a shrug. “That blood means nothing that is. Didn’t think I’d ever hear you say that though. I am pleasantly surprised.”
A crooked grin played onto her lips and she raised her eyebrows, unable to hide the lines of amusement etching around her eyes. “It’s all the same anyway, you know. Bunch of red cells coursing through a bunch of vessels pumping in a bunch of hearts. You think that you and I are so different. Why? Because of blood? I don’t think that’s it. Cut down to the bone and look at that, all the same.” Stretching her hands out in front of her, chipped black nail polish stark against bitten finger nails, Tonks continued on, tone light. “It’s not actually blood that makes you my aunt. See, there’s these…well… things. I can’t think of the technical term,” And her brain just could not be bothered to stretch itself for something so trivial, “I read about it—oh! DNA.” She announced. “Muggle word. Looks like a coil, I think. Not sure what it stands for. Although in OUR family,” particular emphasis on the word ‘our,’ “probably Do Not Associate,” she snickered, composing herself. “Anyway. That’s what makes us related. It’s very fascinating. My point, Auntie, and I do have a point, is that you always have been my Aunt and you always will be!”
A flash of anger clenched at her stomach at the way Narcissa spoke of her mother, but it washed away soon enough, flame turned to smoke. The fact that Narcissa spoke of her with any hint of emotion at all meant that somewhere in that frozen chest and somewhere in that black little heart, Narcissa still cared—or at least thought about-- Andromeda. “You abandoned my mother, not the other way around,” Tonks said quietly, tugging on the end of her sleeve. “I mean, really, what’s being a pure blood ever done for you?” Don’t, Don’t, Don’t. “You now have a big, EMPTY, house and a husband in prison.” Stop. Stop. Stop. “And if you want to keep it that way, your son is basically going to have to marry a Weasley.” Just couldn’t keep her mouth shut, could she? Not known for holding her tongue, that Tonks. Sirius would be proud. About to go on, because when she was on a roll she couldn’t possibly cease, but the words were suddenly knocked out of her. Literally.
The elevator lurched, slamming to a halt, sending Tonks stumbling forward into Narcissa, boots c L u N k I n G together. “Oops! Sorry about that.” Quickly pulling away, she stood there for a moment, before kneeling down to rap her wand on a few of the lower buttons. “That… didn’t… sound… good.” Nothing. “I think we’ve stopped.” Ever stating the obvious. Grey eyes glanced up to Narcissa from her kneeled position, one hand tangling in her hair as she tilted her head to the side. “Funny. There’s something about you that reminds me of mum.” Fingers snapped in the air suddenly. “Aha! Congratulations! I think you dropped the temperature in here by ten degrees! That’s it. Impressive.”
