Summer Surprise


Disclaimer – I own nothing. It's all JK Rowling's. I should have added this earlier, but as pointed out by someone, this story has been greatly inspired by Molly Raesly's Boyfriend. The plot idea is similar, as you can tell by the summary, but as the story progresses, it becomes completely different. So I request you give this story a chance because apart from a few of the first chapters, the story is nothing alike to Molly Raesly's amazing work.

Oh and another thing, the writing in the first few chapters is really just…bleh. I've gone back and tried to improve it as much as I could, but I don't know. And you can clearly tell the improvement by the time the story ends. So really, it's not just a huge blob of grammatical errors. You've been warned. Now you can go ahead.


The Wake-up Call

Rrrriiiinnngg Rrrriiiinnngg

What the hell is that–?

Rrrriiiinnngg Rrrriiiinnngg

Merlin, shut up.

Rrrriiiinnngg Rrrriiiinnngg

Oh for fuck's sake!

...

"Bloody freaking ow!" I shriek, lurching up into a sitting position as I grumpily stare at my hand. I frown at the rapidly forming bruise on my palm, courtesy of the metal handle that was attached to the alarm clock I just beat to death.

I, Lily Marie Evans, a 17 year old witch, attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, am not a morning person! And since I've always made sure everyone knows that fact...

"Who on earth put this monster of an alarm clock in my room?" I bellow out loud, making sure all the neighbors hear me because no one has a right to sleep while I have been awoken so cruelly.

Knock! Knock!

"What?" I scream, glaring at my bedroom door.

The door opens and reveals my horse-like sister, Petunia, who looks like she has just swallowed something extremely bitter. I groan in misery, grimacing at her. Petunia Evans is the most control-freak, annoying, rude, and thick-headed sister one could ever have.

I mean, seriously, who in their right mind breaks off their friendship with their own freaking sister? That too a sister who was utterly devoted and charming to her for as long as she remembers—just because she found out that said sister was a talented witch?

Certainly not someone sane.

Petunia crosses her arms across her chest and look down at me like dirt under shoes. I roll my eyes, nowhere near patient enough to deal with her usual crap. Merlin, it was too early to play nice with her! Petunia clearly ignores my very unwelcome expression and opens her mouth.

"God, Lily. Will you stop screaming? I am sure the entire street has heard you by now."

I narrow my eyes at her suspiciously. "You put this bloody alarm clock in here, didn't you?"

"So what if I did?"

"Petunia!" I glare daggers at her, hoping I was conveying my anger properly.

"What?" Petunia raises her eyebrows, "Lily, it's eight in the morning and everyone else is up. Why the hell shouldn't you be?"

"Eight?" I splutter disbelievingly. Oh, she was kidding me. "Why did you wake me up at bloody eight o'clock?"

Petunia smirks, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Mum asked me to wake you up, so I did."

Feeling my blood boiling inside me, I stare at my mentally challenged sister incredulously. It is bad enough that I have to wake up at seven every morning when I am at Hogwarts. But having to wake up at any time before eleven at my own house is something I won't tolerate.

I mean its summer, for Merlin's sake! The Gods were really not being kind to me this morning.

"Mum asked you put this bleeding alarm clock in my room? Are you serious?" I ask her dubiously.

"Not directly, no. She just asked me to wake you up. It's better to let the alarm-clock do the job rather than getting kicked by your fat legs." Petunia replies, pretending to examine her shocking pink fingernails in a bored manner.

"Well, it's doing nothing other ruining my morning! And I do not have fat legs!" I cry, tucking the subject of the conversation under the covers none too subtly. It's really just all the delicious treats the house elves prepare. It's not my fault. I frown up at my sister. "Oh please. You're the one who could do with some flesh on her body, Petunia."

"You're so rude in the morning, you know that right?" She asks, narrowing her eyes.

I sigh, feeling an uncomfortable tug in my gut. I don't know why, but despite Petunia's less-than warm behavior towards me, I'm never able to throw back the same at her. The guilt slowly climbs into my mind, ridding me of the sleep haze, and I let out a deep breath. Gah! I'm too nice for my own good.

"Well you're the reason for it," I retort, albeit a bit more gently.

"Let me tell you something, freak," Petunia begins, and my eyebrows shoot up at her tone. "I am not dying to see your face early in the morning every day." She says, going slightly red in the face.

There you go, I think inwardly. That's what you get for being gentle. Ugh.

I soon feel a headache building up. Add that to my bruised palm and boiling anger, and I can already predict that this was just not going to be my day. At all.

"Why did you wake me up then?" I ask in an attempt to keep my voice steady.

"'Cause Mum asked me to. Didn't I tell you that already?" Petunia replies. "You have a horrible memory."

I bite my lip so hard to control my anger, that moments later, I feel blood pool into my mouth. Great, let's add that to the list of reasons for why this is turning out to be a horrible morning, shall we?

"Listen Tuney, just tell me why Mum wanted you to wake me up," I ask her, resisting the urge of whipping out my wand and hexing her off the planet.

"Because she is going to one of her kitty-parties and Dad's not home." Petunia finally—mercifully—replies. "She wants us both to be up while she is gone so that we can take care of the house. And do not call me Tuney; I am not ten anymore, Lily!" She hisses, stomping her foot like a child.

Merlin. I control my laughter at the last moment,the irony of her statement and action not lost on me.

"Petunia? Is Lily up, honey?" Mum calls suddenly from the kitchen. "I have to leave now. Lily, are you up?"

"Yeah Mum, you go on." I reply dryly.

After hearing the front door close shut, Petunia glares at me one last time before turning on her heels and stomping out of my room, haughtily. I snort at her retreating figure. I wasn't craving your presence either, you know.

Slowly, and none too happily, I rise from my bed and enter the bathroom. But definitely not before taking revenge on the alarm clock by breaking it. That serves you right, you little monster!

Yawning hugely, I drag my body over to the mirror and look up. The reflection I find staring back at me requires everything I have to not scream at. My back-length crimson hair looks like a bundle of rope that has been knotted wherever possible and then left on my head. My face looks as pale as porcelain and my ridiculouslybright green eyes are still groggy with sleep.

Splendid, I sigh, shaking my head dejectedly. Living life as a five foot six inch poodle with red hair, a sleepy mind and a bad temper is really hard.

As I slowly start combing my finger through my knots to feel something close to a human being again, I let my mind wander.

I start wondering why people always try to tell me that I am a gorgeous girl with everything a guy wants and a girl envies. 'Cause honestly, I really don't think that they see me properly. This is probably the only thing Petunia and I would agree upon—my beauty, or lack thereof. In the name of Merlin, which girl that has her genetics attacked by Christmas looks gorgeous? Certainly not me.

In fact, I've always believed that if you think something is ugly, then you should say it outright. Otherwise, it can lead to a lot of misconceptions. Take my darling sister's boyfriend for example; I'm sure no one's ever told him exactly how much he resembles a walrus. And look how conceited and arrogant it has turned him.

On second thoughts, it's Vernon Dursley, I think, chuckling to myself. So I really can't be certain that he wasn't born with that pride and that horrifying mustache.

Of course, I'm not crazy enough to claim to be hideous or ugly. I know it's not all that bad. And yet, I can hardly be called beautiful either. I suppose it's just one of those things that come along with being a redheaded teenage witch. You can never really be satisfied with anything that makes you look like a red beacon practically begging for everyone to stare the life out of you.

Oh well.

Anyway, I am pretty convinced that when people say that my green eyes are entrancing and my red hair is captivating, it's all just a huge load of bull shit they come up with on the spot. Because after living with yourself for seventeen years, there is only so many compliments you can take before you start looking for the validity behind them. Besides, friends and relatives practically exist for that precise reason—to not let you feel bad about your faults, I mean.

Releasing a huge sigh at my scary reflection one last time, I brush my teeth and step into the shower. After scrubbing my body for half an hour, excluding the bruised palm, I wash my hair with my lilac-scented shampoo for another fifteen minutes before finally turning off the water. Wrapping myself in a towel, I magically dry my hair—thank Merlin I can use magic outside school now—and carefully brushing it.

I step out of the bathroom then, making my way across the hall and into my room. Opening the wardrobe and scanning it quickly, I fish out a pair of shorts and one of my dad's old t-shirts. Loose, baggy, and comfortable.

Perfect.

After I check myself in the mirror and apply very light make-up so that my abnormal red eyelashes turn black, I skip down the stairs, acutely aware of the fact that my shirt is hiding my denim shorts. And even though it gives off the idea that I may not be wearing anything under it, I just can't find it in myself to care.

After all, I think, It's not as if someone's gonna barge in the house, right?

As I notice the greenish-blue bruise in my palm while pouring the cereal, I make a mental note to apply first-aid later, and make sure that the world is free from alarm clocks when I am an adult who is capable of bringing a change in the world. I carry my bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice to the counter and peacefully enjoy my breakfast.

That obviously does not last long, however

"Lily, I am going to meet Vernon at his house and won't be back till evening." Petunia shouts, bounding down the stairs from her room. I look up with disinterest. "Mum will return by afternoon though. And why the hell are you wearing that? It makes you look half-naked!" She stops in front of me, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

I roll my eyes at her before setting down my glass of juice. "No one's here other than us, Petunia. Who cares what I wear? Anyway it's none of your business and—"

I stop short, frowning as I go over what she just said. She can't just leave the house to go and have fun with the Walrus! Though I doubt they know what fun is. But that's beside the point.

"No, wait wait wait. What else did you say? How can you just leave?" I ask her, slamming my hands down on the counter. "I thought you said Mum wants us both to take care of the house?"

"Oh c'mon, Lily, just because you don't have a boyfriend, and will never have one, may I add, doesn't mean no one else is supposed to enjoy their time." Petunia scoffs, an impatient expression on her face.

"What makes you think I don't have a boyfriend?" I retort, crossing my arms across my chest and getting up from the chair.

Well, okay. So I don't have a boyfriend. But Petunia hardly needs to know that, does she? Besides, what right does she have to go off and assume these sorts of things about me?!

"Really? So do you have one then?" She asks with wide eyes as if she can't possibly believe something like that.

Who does she think I am? I wonder, shifting my weight uncomfortably. Now, if I were her walrus of a boyfriend's female version, it would be an entirely different thing altogether.

But as things stand, and despite how chaotic my appearance may be, I wasn't one of those girls who couldn't date. In fact, I had had my fair share of proposals over the years—mostly from one particular bloke, but that's just nuance.

"Yeah I do," I answer without realizing what I am doing. "In fact, practically the whole female population of our school swoons over him."

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, the image of two jerks instantly pop into my head without warning;

1. Sirius 'Ladies man' Black, as he likes to call himself, has long and perfect hair that falls over his eyes, giving him a bad-boy look. Girls practically worship the ground he walks on. I won't deny that he is extraordinarily hot, and that his grey, mysterious eyes give him a mischievous look to go with his attitude. But attitude; that's exactly the problem. He is play boy number one and is known for not having a girlfriend that lasts more than two weeks. Not to mention that his 'I-am-so-great-and-mighty-nature' doesn't really put him on a high level of respect in my mind. Pompous, Prankster, Pig-headed prat who helps his best-mate ruin the life of yours truly. That's who Sirius Black is.

Ah...that brings me to the next person on my list—

2. James 'Arrogant' Potter, as I like to call him, has an infuriating mop of unruly hair that never knows how to lie flat. He has pair of hazel eyes that are—Ugh, Fine! I'll admit it—gorgeous and dreamy, hidden behind wire-rimmed glasses. I'll also admit that he is not that bad-looking. Oh, alright! He is pretty cute. But the day I admit that publicly will never come 'cause I'll be dead.

I don't even know where to start with his problems though—Potter's an arrogant, conceited, annoying toerag who has an ego the size of an ocean. The boy is a complete git who doesn't get the simple message that a girl just doesn't want to go out with him. Now that I'm finally on the point, I'll tell you the rest of it as well; James Potter has been chasing after me for the past four years and won't bloody get the message that I could never go out with a prick like him. I mean, why should I? I haven't had a boyfriend since third year that lasted more than a week. I know, I know—It's worse than Black's record. But the only reason I haven't had one is because of James Bloody Potter. You see, he thinks that it's oh-so-amusing to hunt down and prank the life out of anyone who dares to make a move on me other than him. So please excuse me while I don't fall at his feet like the other bints at Hogwarts.

"God Lily, you're such a liar," Petunia's voice breaks me out of my train of thoughts. I snap my attention back to my sister to find her eyes narrowed in an accusing glare and her lips pursed tightly.

"And why would you say that?" I ask with a raised eyebrow. Her accusatory tone bristles something in me, and I cross my arms across my chest.

"Because…because you never told us about him and you never brought him home."

I blink, wondering if she's actually serious.

"Well, we recently got together and I didn't get time to tell as I just came yesterday." I lie smoothly, inwardly patting myself on the back.

"Well, then, what's his name?" Petunia persists, pressuring me to no end.

Oh hell.

I control my groan of annoyance. I chew on my lip, tapping my feet as I struggle to quickly respond to her question. Okay, Lily, don't panic, I tell myself. There are thousands of blokes at Hogwarts. Just give her any name; it's not like she's gonna find out anyway.

But Petunia's expression grows more and more smug as the seconds pass by. In a hurry, I open my mouth to reply to her. And somehow lose my sanity in the process as well.

"James Potter." I say before my brain even has the chance to process what I'm actually doing.

Holy Crap! So much for going with any name.


To be continued...

AN - Hey guys...this is my first fanfic so I am hoping that everyone can write reviews and tell me how to improve my writing. I will keep updating every chance I get and I am gonna try and make the story as interesting as possible. Thanks. Love you guys

Claudia