Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own very little, if not nothing…

Insanity…

Lily Evans gazed at the girl that looked steadily back at her. She sighed. The girl had dark red hair, almost auburn, that flowed in gentle wave to fall below her shoulders. Her hair was thick and glossy; in short, it was hair that many other girls would envy deeply, if only they had the opportunity to see it. This girl also had a flawless complexion—creamy skin, few freckles (with the exception of those seven golden specks scattered across her nose), and rosy cheeks. Her mouth was small, and her lips were naturally blood red in color—the lower lip being slightly plumper than the upper one. However, the thing that was most captivating about the girl that insisted on staring back at Lily Evans was her eyes. They were startlingly green, almost-shaped orbs framed by long, elegant lashes. Her eyes were bright and inviting, but if one looked closely, they could possibly—just maybe—see hurt deep down inside. Alas, nobody ever cared to look close enough.

Anybody that saw this green-eyed, red-headed girl would have claimed that she was very pretty—almost too pretty. Some would have said that she was too pretty for her own good. Others would use less complimentary, far less sophisticated terms to describe her aesthetic appeal. And then, there were the select few that would have deemed her appearance exotic—beautiful, even. They would have complimented her about her "luscious" hair; praised her for her "eyes-like-none-they-have-ever-seen-before;" asked her about how she had such "nice skin;" smiled adoringly at her "cute mouth;" and proclaimed their desire for her "envious" figure. Anybody that saw this same reflection Lily Evans saw would have admired her appearance.

However, most people that saw Lily Evans nowadays ignored her. Nobody at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry even spared her a second glance. Not a soul in that school thought her to be beautiful—nobody thought that she was even remotely pretty. Anybody that saw Lily roaming the corridors of Hogwarts found her plain—some would go as far to say that she was ugly.

It's funny how different people's opinions could be, Lily thought absent-mindedly, smiling as though she was the keeper of a particularly "clever" secret. She pulled out her wand and pointed it at her head. No, she was not going to kill herself. Sure, it would put her out of her partially self-inflicted misery, but it was not the solution she had chosen.

Lily muttered a few charms under her breath, first directing her wand at her hair, then her face, and finally, her lips. If anybody was standing by to watch, they would wonder what in the world Lily Evans was doing to herself. Alas, nobody was standing by, so there was no one there to question the poor girl's obviously deteriorating sanity.

Her once vibrant, red hair was altered to a dark brown. Its glossy sheen was now gone, and was replaced by a dull hue. Her hair, no longer smooth, was frizzy and coarse—quite an unappealing look for a young lady such as herself. Her flawless skin lost its fair complexion, but somehow, Lily could never remove the pink tinges on her cheeks. However, the blood red lips she possessed were lightened to a soft, pink color, one that was exceptionally average if not below average. Her eyes, she did not dare change. Instead, she settled for wearing a pair of thick-framed glasses. Even with her insane desire to appear as unattractive as possible, she could not bear to change her eye color. It was her one vain spot—her "one beauty," as she deemed it. She had inherited her eye color from her father, whom she loved very much, and decided to keep them as they were. As she saw it, it was less complicated, anyway.

Lily made her way towards her trunk to pull out the day's attire—her school uniform. The clothes she wore generally appeared to be a bit baggy on her. Mainly, it was because loose-fitting clothing was comfortable, but it was also because it hid her slim figure. It was only a few years ago that she began looking less like a gangly, awkward girl, but a young lady—or "woman," if you must. This, she had discovered from her sister Petunia, during one of their numerous quarrels. Apparently, the latter was, once again, jealous of the attention Lily got from boys.

Lily Evans had, in short, the figure of a ballerina. Or, at least, one of which most amateur dancers could only dream of. It was a pity that Lily did not do ballet, for she would have been quite good at it. Instead, her talents lied elsewhere, but that is to be discussed in another time and place.

Her legs were long—seemingly endless; her body was slender and elegant. She was not stick-thin like Petunia was; instead, Lily's slimness was more natural-looking, and she was not just skin and bones.

Lily hastily pulled on her uniform, tugged on her tie, and slid her arms through the sleeves of her robe. With a final swipe at her glasses, she dashed out of her dormitory and down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

….

"Tuney?" a voice called through the darkness. It cracked slightly, the way voices generally did when one was holding back tears.

"Tuney?" the same voice called again, this time a bit softer, gentler.

There came a groan from the mattress at the far corner of the room, and then there came the sound of shuffling feet. In the soft beam of light that seeped through the window, a nine-year-old Lily Evans could make out the silhouette of her older sister. The latter of which was coming towards her, rubbing her eyes blearily in the dark.

"What's wrong, Lily?" Petunia asked, her voice still a bit thick with sleep.

Lily looked up at her sister, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Am I—am I a—a freak?" she asked, choking with poorly contained sobs.

Petunia, nodding understandingly, pulled her sister into a tight hug. She rubbed the girl back gently. "No, of course not, Lily. You're not a freak. You'll never be a freak," she whispered soothingly. "They're just jealous that you're prettier than they are."

Lily was crying now. She wiped away the tears that had flowed from her eyes with the back of her hand hiccupping slightly.

" Why do people care about 'looks' so much?" Lily sobbed mournfully. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"They're just shallow like that," reassured Petunia.

"But why? You could be very beautiful but very cruel. You could be absolutely hideous but extremely kind. Why?" Lily asked, her voice filled with childhood innocence.

"They don't know that," explained Petunia. "They don't know that there are more important things than how a person looks."

"They should learn," Lily sniffed, ever the romantic. "Thanks Tuney," she whispered again, giving her sister a small hug. "I know you'll never judge anybody by how they look."

"Of course not, silly," Petunia whispered back. "I'd never do that."

With that, Petunia gave her younger sister one last comforting squeeze. "You should go back now, she suggested. Mum doesn't like you walking around in the middle of the night."

Lily nodded her consent and silently climbed off the bed. She slipped out of the room and into the dark hallway.

Petunia just sat there, watching her Lily's retreating figure, wondering if she had possibly—just maybe— lied to her own sister for the first time. If it was, then it would not be her last.

Author's Note: Well…yeah…I don't have much to say. This is probably the fasted update I've ever had. This chapter's probably a bit confusing to, but oh well. I don't feel like changing it too much. I don't have time. As always, I apologize for any typos I may have (if they bother you, of course).

And please, I'd really appreciate it if you reviewed. Thanks for reading!

-Delia