A/N: A little ficlet I decided to write, dedicated to walkingcensure. Thanks for the reviews and support! I greatly admire you as a writer. Anyways, I had some fun with this. Tell me what you think!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters and things do not belong to me. *Points wildly at J.K. Rowling* SHE DID IT! *Stops pointing because pointing is rude.*

I am Lily Evans and my life is unfair.


Because I have red hair!

Yes, red hair. Actually, it's more of a bright orangey color, and I don't know why people call it red, because it's really not. It's usually a mess and looks like it never quite decided whether to be wavy or straight. Which is just plain wonderful, because it's almost as thick as Potter's head and really, really annoying. Some days I would like to just have plain old cow brown hair.

Today would be one of those days.

So today, Potter just had to decide to take advantage in the most unfair way possible of my red hair. He constantly called me a fireball this year, but I never took him seriously. Why should I?

Well, I found out today that he was quite serious about how much I resembled a fireball. In History of Magic, he charmed my hair.

That's right. He put some ruddy charm on my hair that made it stand straight up and sway this way and that as if it was blowing in the breeze. And then that cursed Black added a blasted charm that made some grayish puff float out of my hair every ten seconds or so.

It looked like a bonfire after that. A ruddy bonfire on my head!

Potter would not stop asking if he could roast some marshmallows and crumpets with me throughout the day, after many pointless demands that he take the charm off.

So here I am, in the common room, reading by the—don't laugh or I'll positively smack you with this very, very heavy Potions book—fire. All the little first-years are staring at me, and Potter and Black snigger every time they walk by.

Life is so not fair.

It's not fair that Potter never does any of his homework until breakfast of the due date. That he never has to study. That the teachers love him. That the students love him. That everyone loves him (but yours truly, of course). That he is so talented and blessed with all these things. That he flaunts them shamelessly in front of people. That he is looked upon as some sort of idol at Hogwarts. That he hexes people without getting caught.

That he's taking up so much of my brain power from thinking of ways that he makes my life unfair.

It is slowly driving me insane. Day. By. Day.

And believe me, slowly being driven to insanity makes the victim all the more insane. I would choose supervising (read: babysitting) a load of first-years screaming at the sight of Blast-Ended Skrewts over…this—I don't even know what to refer to it as—any day. At least screaming first-years drive any babysitter insane within the first three minutes or so.

This…this is just torture. Slow, slow torture. Can the tortured one quickly be beheaded now? Quickly being the key word?

I know, I know. All of this is so clichéd, it's almost funny.

But it's not.

Boy likes Girl. Girl hates Boy. Boy chases Girl around. Desperately. Girl hates Boy all the more. Boy finally becomes tolerable, and un-big-headed, and un-pratty, and finally grows up. Boy stops chasing Girl after realization that he will never succeed. Girl becomes utterly confused.

Utterly and totally confused.

I want to ask him what has managed to get into that very thick head of his. First the Head Boyishness, now this. I want to ask him so, so bad. Ly. Badly. (You would think that a seventeen-year-old would learn proper grammar by now.) I want to have the right to be angry with him and scream at him until my voice gives out. But I don't have it.

I don't have that right.

And I also want to say that it's not fair, it's not fair at all. But I also don't have the right to say that either.

I wonder if it will be better to pull out all my hair at once, or strand by strand?

All is not fair in love and war. I can personally attest to the veracity of that statement, that age-old saying.
You know what's unfair? The way James treats me.

I don't deserve it. I don't deserve him. I don't deserve James Potter.

It's not fair.

It's not fair that he likes to sneak home in the early afternoon and cast a Silencing Charm on himself so that I can't hear him make dinner just so he can surprise me after an exhausting—but wonderful!—day taking care of Harry.

It's not fair that he still infuriates me to the point of screaming like a Mandrake, then grabs me and kisses me until my mind dissolves into a dreamy state. He does it on purpose, you know. It's like some arithmetic formula that he figured out. And it's fun to him.

Life's not fair at all, and I think I like it that way.


A/N: Review, criticize, praise, burn, poke, prod, laugh at, proofread, throw rotten fruit at, ANYTHING! I would love any and every kind of feedback you, as a reader, have to offer. Thanks for reading!