❝𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘭 𝘵𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘴...❞
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Lily Evans was the first ever witch not to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in attempt t...
This chapter is dedicated to Anna for being a great friend and having a lot of interesting conversations literally covering just about any topic in the world! Love you! killerqueeeeeeeeen ♥️♥️♥️
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(5th July 1977)
The weather was in a splendid mood that afternoon. The sun beamed with jocose and the clouds provided places for the beams to play hide and seek with and dance in between. This summer was seemingly a pleasant one thus far and so Lily and Alice took full advantage of this, armed with Polaroid cameras and smiles worthy of accord.
They strolled side by side through the meadow on the other side of Lily's Hill. They called it Lily's Hill because she often found herself at the top of it and watching the small town of Derbyshire go by at any given time of day when she was particularly melancholic. Though today she walked by her friend's side with a spring in her step (metaphorically despite the spongey grass that was somehow finding its way into her trainers).
Lily enjoyed shooting Polaroids for two reasons. The first was the effect it displayed and the immediacy of the print. The second was the memory it seemed to capture, the way the moment seemed frozen, collectible, sentimentality was safely Lily's forte and so she tended to keep piles of Polaroids; her favourites of which were pinned to her wall opposite her vinyls and the rest kept in a large box under her bed. She'd dig them out when the world closed around her and she'd relive the moments arrested within them.
Memories could be just as alleviating as they were malignant and so it appealed to her to live in them when her daydreams became somber. This, sometimes, could do her more damage than good; she was much too erudite to know that to live in the past is to slowly kill ones soul and hope of the future, however she was not quite didactic, or self disciplined, in herself in order to enforce her own ideology. And so she took more and more Polaroids, in hopes of one day filling the box under her bed with places she could visit when she the world was particularly cruel.
Another deduction about memories is that they were not always entirely her own. She shared them, and therefore she didn't not perceive it the same way as she did dreams. One can not give another their dreams; a wizard by the name of Albus Dumbledore had told her that just about seven years ago. Memories, she thought, couldn't have been anything like dreams. Dreams can be magical or dire and yet one can perceive them any way they wished. Memories were not like that. They were factual. And imperfect, and therefore much easier to dwell on.
She spent far too much time pondering such ideals. Living in memories and wondering in dreams. She thought of little else...
"What are you thinking about, dreamer?"
Lily realised with a crash that she hadn't any recollection of walking the last twenty yards, at least, and yet she found herself by Alice's side; her chestnut hair billowing around her like a halo in the soft wind and her eyes glittered dazzlingly against the sun that seemed to be blushing in her presence.
