A/N: Hey.. welcome to my story. *blushes* I'm thrilled you've stumbled across it. When you're done reading, do your "thang" and please review! This is my first story on fanfiction.net and I am in need of a beta reader. If you are one, or if you know of one, please shoot me an e-mail: [email protected] . Thanks, and enjoy the show!!

I hate Narcissa Black. Not to be mean. Wait. Actually, I do mean to be mean. Hah.

I hate Narcissa Black. And she knows it. I've told her before. But she hates me too. So I guess we're equal then.

But acording to Narcissa, we will never be equal. I am a mudblood in her eyes. And she is a pure-blood. So of course, she feels she is better, but she will never be. She's a prissy bitch. Hah.

The problem is, she's not the only one who thinks she's better. There's her twin Bellatrix, for one. Luckily they are fraternal twins, because I don't think I could stand two Narcissa's. Or two Bellatrixes. One of each of them is enough already. Bellatrix and Narcissa romp around the school together, dating various, pure-blood, Slytherin boys.

Lucius Malfoy is one who also thinks he is better. Unfortunally, Lucius is one of the hottest guys in school. Fortunately, he flirts with me when he is drunk. But as soon as Narcissa sees me doing my so-called, , she pushes me away and hogs him. I could get him back, but it won't matter anyways. It's an unsaid fact that Lucius and Narcissa will be wed one day. It's a pure-blood thing for two parents to arrange the marriages, to keep the line of pure-bloods strong. I won't be a bridesmaid at THAT wedding. Bah. Another reason to hate Narcissa. She gets to marry a hot guy.

Narcissa had to gossiped about, so that's why I have Tracey. My best friend, my other half, my soul sista. I fucking love her. And she fucking loves me. So it's all good. We have that friendship that everyone hopes and wishes they had. But they don't have it, so screw them. I know Tracey will always be there for me, until my dying day. And I will be there for her. We have that freaky, but extremely helpful, read-each-others-mind thing, going on. We finish each others sentences, combine closets, hey, I'm lucky I never get sick of her either. She's funny, brilliantly intelligent, bold, and has a great sense in style. (BONUS! She also has a kick-ass wardrobe. That I get to share!)

I met Tracey in Diagon Alley, in Madame Malkin's Robe Shop. We were getting fitted for our robes at the same time. We introduced ourselves to each other and began talking immediately about the ugly, black robes we were forced to wear at Hogwarts. We were already finishing each others sentences by the time our robes were done. Then, on the first day, at Kings Cross station, Narcissa called me a mudblood. I began crying and Tracey rushed to my defense, calling Narcissa a, Fucked up bitch, to her face. That year, I learned a lot of curses from Tracey and I taught her a few, too. We both have extreme foul mouths now.

I planned to meet Tracey two days before she was leaving to go to Italy with her parents, and older brother Jack. Lucky bitch.

I was meeting her in Flourish and Blotts and with a few minutes to spare, I went to go buy myself an ice cream. Chocolate Brownie in a sugar cone of course. I'm not a vanilla girl, vanilla is too plain. And I am not a plain person.

Licking my ice cream, I walked down Diagon Alley, dodging through the tightly packed throng of wizards and witches.

Wizards and witches.

I stopped suddenly, and looked at my reflection in the Olivander's store window.

Wizards and witches.

If you had told me when I was nine or ten that I would be going to a wizarding school when I was eleven, I would have laughed.

But then again, I always knew I was different from Petunia. Because when we played pretend witches when we were little girls, my spells worked and hers did not. She was always in awe how I could make a lamp turn on and off whenever I wanted, and how I could levitate leaves and flowers by just thinking about it. It was never any big magic, just a few small things here and there, nothing like vanishing spells or Apparation.

Witches and wizards.

I was one of them. I was a witch, going into my seventh year at Hogwarts.

Hey you!

I spun around quickly, interupted of all thought. It was Tracey, standing there in a light blue skirt and cream colored tank top. Her blonde hair fell, layered onto her shoulders and it shone brilliantly, sparkling in the sun. She was obviously using some of the Sunshine Shine, I had given her earlier.

I smiled at her. What's up? Are you all-

Packed? Hah. Of course not. Jack is though, he's-

Really excited. Yeah, you said that. Are you not excited or something? I asked.

I kind of am.

But you'll miss me. I said sadly.

Of course dahling. I'll think about you everyday. But I'll bring you back some nice Italian clothes. Tracey compromised.

I concluded, then changed the topic. Should we go to Flourish and Blotts then? I have to pick up a few things.

Yeah. Let's go. Tracey linked her arm through mine and we strutted our stuff over to Flourish and Blotts, me still licking my ice cream.

Ah.. I need a fag! Tracey called out to the street as we walked out, arms weighed down with shopping bags.

I reached into my purse, and grabbed two cigarettes out of the back of Marlboros lying next to my perfume and wand.

Tracey asked, with the fag between her two lips.
I fumbled around in my purse again and grasped the lime green lighter. I tossed it to her after I lit up.

My parents would be pissed if they found out I smoked, hell, they would be pissed if they found out a lot about me. Btt they could point their fingers at Potter, that bastard. He was the one who got me addicted to nicotine anyways.

Tracey took a long drag from her cigarette and then spoke, smoke emitting from her mouth. Smoking can kill you.

I cocked my head back and laughed. You're over there smoking, who the fuck are you to tell me smoking can kill me?

My name is Tracey Amelia Wood, and I am seventeen years of age. I shop constantly, my best friend smokes and I have a tattoo on my lower back of a butterfly. I may be blonde, but I have a strong head on my shoulders. I am a witch. And I think I want to be a singer.

I responded by blowing smoke in her face.

And you are...? Tracey asked me smartly.

A wild, red haired, emerald green eyed girl who is seventeen years old. My best friend smokes and I like having a little down time in life. I want a tattoo and I am a witch whos best subject is charms. I am brutally independent and I never leave to go anywhere without my black eyeliner on. My name is Lily Evans and I want to make my death count because I know I am not someone to be forgotten quickly.