I washed my hair and rinsed, then got out of the shower, wrapped a towel around myself and went out of the bathroom in search of clothes. I found a pair of long comfy jeans in my cupboard and a dark green turtle neck which I tossed onto my bed. I then opened my top drawer and found a bra then in my second drawer to find underwear. But wait – It was empty.

I walked down the halls in a daze. It was my last hope. This stupid life-ruining letter was my last hope in getting my knickers back in a safe condition without actually doing anything for/with Potter. In this case with is a more appropriate.

“We could go to Zanzibar!” I said, my voice becoming louder. “We could go to Zanzibar, and say it was a pre-arranged surprise!” when they both continued to look at my oddly, I rolled my eyes and said, “You know…to get out of going to the ball?”

I swiped at the cake sliding down the wall and stuck my finger in my mouth. Had I been alone, I would have licked the wall. I gave a snort of disgust. I was a cakeaholic.

I wanted to cry. I repeat: there is a small ecosystem, complete with animals, now in my gorgeous red curly long hair.

That alone could make a girl cry. But no. I also had fallen off a balcony. And called James Potter my sister. And James Potter had seen me in my underwear. And my dress was ruined because the quiche had dribbled out of my mouth and onto my dress.

Could my life get much worse?

I settled on some cold spaghetti bolognaise and started to eat it cold. It seemed like a bit too much effort to heat it. My mother suddenly become nervous and twitchy and, by the way her hand was inching towards the plate before she slapped in back, I could tell she really, really wanted to heat the stupid spaghetti. I groan and stood up and slid the spaghetti into the microwave. My mother looked extremely relieved. I could feel her thoughts practically radiate off her.

My daughter isn’t a total loser. She heats her food like a normal person

I know, I know. Why did I let them in my compartment? I didn’t. They barged in. Now, I was squished into the corner with James Potter next to me, Sirius Black opposite me with Remus Lupin next him. Buttons, while still on my lap, had curled up into a small kitten ball on lap, apparently not the slightest bit miffed her territory had been invaded.

I looked at the papers on the floor in disgust. I couldn’t help myself – I had to pick it up. HAD TO.

So I did. And gave them to James. Who just looked at me. Like I was some sort of freak. That had nothing better to do. Than pick up papers. Which I was. I sighed and headed for the door.

Her eyes flitted over the paper and a smile graced her face. ‘Ah ha!’ she said triumphantly, shoving the parchment under my nose. ‘This isn’t my handwriting! I write larger and fatter than this person! And, you never told me you thought about sleeping with Barry Kingston! I was away those holidays in Aspen with my parents! Ella told me when I got back...’ Her eyes darkened as she fell silent.

‘Lily,’ he said, sadness seeping into his voice, ‘please, don’t cry. It’ll be alright. Don’t cry. Ella will be fine. She has Remus, he’s been through this.’ He brushed the tears off my face with his thumb. I closed my eyes tightly, trying to compose myself. Keeping my eyes closed, I sniffed, feeling rather pathetic.

However, all these excuses led her to believe the obvious truth – she had lost her mind, because no one in their right mind would even think about losing concentration in this magical forest, the Forest of Norsay, which was renown for the werewolves, vampires and other supernatural creatures that warred in it’s bowels.

Especially if they were dim witted enough to leave their wands in their coat pocket.

The she was up, growling menacingly, her oddly pointed teeth sparkling and her normally blue eyes, shifting to a golden colour. “You didn’t let me sleep for half the night because, for some strange reason you think getting me to join a Quidditch team would solve all my problem and she didn’t let me sleep because she wanted a werewolf to replace some stupid bint who got knocked up! And you wonder why I’m angry?”

“I’m so proud of yoooooooou,” I slurred, leaning over the arm of the lounge in the Gryffindor common room to grin sloppily at Ella, who grinned back and snuggled closer to Remus, who was looking smug.

But why were there two of her?

The only way I was going to live through this potions lesson would be if James Potter spontaneously turned into a scrumptious cake...or self-combusted.

...that always seem to fail.

I was bald; my eyelashes, eyebrows, hair - everything was gone. I looked like my bald Uncle Joseph.

Well, after eight weeks of mutual silence, having the boy you’re still in love with (because you are a complete and utter masochist) come up randomly and says “Hello”…well, it sort of rings alarm bells, does it not?