A/N: I've always loved star signs, so when the idea for this fic dawned on me, I decided to just go for it; I did my research on what Lily's and James's star signs would be, and I got some creepily good results, as you will see as you read the story. You can Google them yourself if you're interested – it's actually pretty neat.

A million thank you's to Rissa (hpobsessedrissa) for beta-ing this fic for me as well; you don't even know how much I love you, girl. :3 The ending, which was ten times shittier in the first draft, should definitely be accredited to her.

So...just read, enjoy, and review when you're done!

One of my least favorite classes, out of all the ones I am taking this year, has to be Astronomy.

I honestly loathe it; it's utterly dull, and too open-ended for my liking. I prefer something with a bit more order, with more structure, where there is only one right answer and anything else is wrong. That way, I have a sense of what I'm doing and where I still need to go – things are plain and simple, black and white, easy as pie if I know what I'm doing.

However, Astronomy is nothing like what I prefer; it's pretty much the exact opposite, which means I'm terrible at it and struggle atrociously with everything we do. It's a miserable situation.

Not only that though, but the stars are always in different sky as well, depending on the time of night. In the early evening, when class begins, the North Star might be straight ahead from the Astronomy Tower where we have our lessons; but after a while, it might shift the tiniest amount, which greatly irritates me when I'm trying to draw what I see through my telescope. I can't draw very well to begin with, so at the end of class, I leave the tower frustrated, incensed, and ready to blow up any star that meets my eye.

That's definitely not a good thing.

So, today, when Professor Sinistra announces once we get to our usual spot on the balcony of the tallest tower in the castle, that we are going to have a break from staring at star patterns for just over an hour, it's easy to imagine how elated I feel. I nudge my friend Allison Walters as our peers cheerfully pack up and begin to walk towards the stairs in pairs; she looks back at me as I sling my bag back over my shoulder, and we both exchange grins as we join the throng of fifth years heading back inside.

Ally, like me, is notorious for loathing this tiresome subject.

"What good luck!" I say as we walk, the glee inevitably shining in my tone. "I really, really hate this subject."

"Oh, don't be a sour-puss just because you've finally found something you can't do with your customary and annoying effortlessness," Ally teases. "Not everyone can do everything, Lils."

"I'm not being a sour-puss," I object. "I'm simply voicing an opinion. Aren't you the one who always says opinions are only made to be voiced?"

"Yes, but that goes for the mortal population of Hogwarts," Ally explains with a flash of her killer, full-toothed smile. "No goddesses counted."

I grimace and nudge her slightly to the left as we descend down the staircase, making our way down to the Astronomy classroom. Its usage is so seldom that it's tucked away in a corner of the school, musty-looking with an inch of dust coating the ground beneath us. It smells vaguely of ash – did something burn in here before we came?

I wrinkle my nose as the aroma nestles into my nostrils, but Ally doesn't appear to notice it as she drags me to a table with two chairs together. The class slowly filters in, joining those of us already in the room, and we all take a lively interest in our surroundings; we haven't been here since third year. It hasn't changed much since then – only the smell, in my case.

There is much fuss going on about the seats around me, as we wait for Professor Sinistra to bring down her materials from wherever her room is. I find myself chuckling with Ally as we watch two girls in our class, Chelsea Baker and Lauren Hillter, fight over who is going to take the empty seat next to a smirking Jeremy Albert; it's amazing how much energy previously-lethargic fifteen-year-old girls can find when they are faced with a situation revolving around a boy they somehow find attractive.

Ally is doubling up with her laughter, her turquoise eyes sparkling like gemstones as she enjoys the scene before her. I can practically read her thoughts through her transparent, unabashed eyes – this, to her, is quality entertainment.

"Look at that," she says, chuckling as she points to the unfortunate girls and Jeremy. "Don't you love watching two shitheads fight over the biggest shithead of the lot?"

I smirk, and am about to make a very clever remark about how stupid those girls really are for choosing Jeremy Albert as their husband-to-be, but it is at this exact moment when Fifth Year Royalty – the very kings of the term 'troublemaker' – enter the room at long, long last to their waiting subjects.

Yes, it is the Marauders who have graced us all with their presence after such a lengthy, strenuous wait.

Several girls look up the moment their ultra-Marauder-sensitive noses pick up the beastly fumes radiating off of them, their faces shamefully hopeful and obsequious, as is a daily occurrence. I, on the other hand, know that I look disgusted; and, next to me, Ally does too.

"Look at them," she says, repugnance as only Ally can muster coloring her tone. "It's like they expect to have flags, fanfare, and rice to be thrown on them or something."

And it's true; the conceit and self-importance exuded from their very presence are remarkably high. Well, maybe not for Remus Lupin – to be fair, he is the most levelheaded and intelligent of the four buffoons (though he's not here today for whatever reason) – but certainly for the rest of them. Sirius Black, in particular, looks like he's the ruler of the universe, but James Potter does run a close second.

Ally makes a face at Sirius as his black eyes sweep around the room; she dated him last year, when we were fourteen, on a whim because he asked her. He made out with her once before dumping her for another girl, something she had never quite forgiven him for just yet.

She claims to wish she could get a tongue transplant since hers had been in Sirius's mouth for several minutes, but I know she wouldn't if she got the chance; despite her allegations, I know a part of her loves him to this day somehow, even though she'll never admit it.

Plus, tongue transplants sound bloody painful.

Still, Ally is content with giving him her famous glare all the same, and when he catches it, he smiles and his eyes sparkle. He loves seeing Ally mad more than any human with a sense of self-preservation should; I reckon it was one of the reasons he dumped her.

"Hey Walters," Sirius says merrily as he strolls up to our table, his voice as refined as a newly polished wooden floor. "How are you?"

"Rather ill," Ally snipes. "Lily, would you get me one of those Muggle aspirins? I've got an enormous pain in the ass I'd like to get rid of."

Lately, Ally has fallen into the habit of saying the American version of certain words, rather than our English ones, and coupled with the stupidity of her pun, it's not altogether astonishing when Sirius laughs at this statement.

"All right, all right, I'm sorry, I'll go," he says, though sounding more amused than remorseful. "I'll see you two later."

"Of course," I say, taking over for my friend, who's too busy arranging a far more nefarious expression on her face to speak. "Good-bye."

Sirius waves ever so sweetly to us before finding two tables next to each other that happen to be in close proximity to ours and beckoning his friends over. Ally groans just as Peter Pettigrew brushes past us to say something to Sirius. "Here they come," she mutters to me.

I groan with her – James, who is currently lounging about at the door surveying the class, looks like he wants to talk to me again. He often does, because his current favorite pastime is annoying the bloody hell out of me by asking me to go to Hogsmeade with him. He started this grating habit some time at the end of third year, using that summer before fourth to come up with an endless list of ways to pose the question, and it appears that by now, he's developed a bit of a fetish for it.

It's all a game to him, but to me, it's like one of those bothersome commercials in the middle of a television program that keep interrupting what people really care about seeing. The glint just visible in his eyes from this angle suggests that this is another one of those commercials, so I internally brace myself for the day's newest endeavor.

"Good evening, Evans," he says, his voice similar to Sirius in its suave, sophisticated quality as he walks over to me. He's got an amazingly deep, rich voice for someone his age, but I've gotten so accustomed to its usage in tomfoolery on every level that it is now no different to me than a mosquito buzzing in my ears. "May I ask how you are?"

"I'd rather you didn't," I say, giving him the chance I always grant him to swallow my politer response and move on. But, as he's so capable of doing, he does not do what I'm implying for him to, and allows his grin to become more defined as he continues to talk.

"I am anyway," he says. "You don't have to answer though, because I have something more important to ask you."

"Do you?" I'm unimpressed. "In that case, then, I would like to say, no, I am not interested in going out with you this weekend." These are, most of the time, the questions he ends up asking me if he has them, and I'm pleased with myself that I've beat him to the punch-line.

However, it appears that I've answered the wrong joke, because he bursts out laughing at me.

"I was merely going to ask you if you knew that the neck-line for your shirt was a bit low, but since you brought it up, I will definitely ask you if you want to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend," James says, lightly but with an enormous undertone of impishness.

Sirius and Peter roar with laughter, as does my traitorous best friend, and I can feel warmth under my cheeks as I instinctively pull my shirt up to my neck; I must be blushing a storm for him, something I know he loves to see.

How unreservedly humiliating.

To satisfy and fuel the laughter of those enjoying my pain, James proceeds by getting onto his knees and inquiring, in a theatrical type of voice that attracts the attention of anyone with functioning ears, "Lily Evans, will you please go out with me this Saturday night to the Three Broomsticks?"

Many heads turn instantly to look at us, and I can only imagine the sight they see – James with his messy hair in his eyes, on one knee as though proposing marriage rather than a date; Ally, Peter, and Sirius doubling up in their seats, silent with their mirth; my own beetroot-red cheeks and torn expression. Even Lauren Hillter looks up to laugh at me, which is music to James's ears – there's nothing he loves more than hearing his jokes reach the rest of the classroom. I hex Lauren and the rest of them in my head. They break out in hives. How I wish that could happen in real life.

However, I am thankfully rescued from the situation by the sudden, hurried arrival of our teacher, who is holding her Astronomy textbook in the crook of her arm and looking thoroughly enraged. After I am done hexing the fifth years, I bless Professor Sinistra; in this moment, she is my savior, and I am forever in her debt.

"Sorry, sorry, I couldn't find the book," Sinistra says by way of explanation, her dark eyebrows knitted together in her haste and dissatisfaction. "Thank you for finding the room and not wreaking havoc in it. Yet."

Her eyes come up to us now, rather than remaining on her desk, and she sees James still on his knees, looking rather astounded by her appearance, with the rest of his Marauders standing up to get a better look at my frozen features. In less than a second, it's obvious that she is not in the mood to deal with them today.

"Please, sit down, boys," she orders, rather than requests. "We have a lot to do, and not too much time to do it." She wrinkles her nose. "And what in the name of Merlin are you doing on the floor there, Potter?"

The class giggles; but – far from being embarrassed under their watchful eyes – James's eyes shine even brighter as he grins cheekily. "Nothing, I'm sorry," he says, giving her a mock bow as he takes his seat next to Sirius. Peter draws a chair from an unused table and sets up beside the two, and Professor Sinistra loses interest as her attention reverts back to her textbook.

"All right," she says, business-like as she scans over the page she's opened the book to. "Today, I'd planned on looking at the position of stars on any given day of the year in the book, but seeing as we don't have as much time anymore, I reckon we can do something a bit more fun."

Ally tries to catch my eye to exchange a happy-glance with me, but I refuse to permit her to; I can't talk to her right now, because Sinistra is in such a bad mood and I can't risk it, but I will be sure to reprimand her for laughing at me when we get started with whatever this activity is going to be. I think she's realized this already though, because I can feel her eyes withdraw from my face, and she pretends to pay attention again while really staring out the window, something she does whenever she can't talk or pass notes to me.

"So," Sinistra continues. "You all know what astrological star signs are, don't you?"

There are scattered yes's around the room.

"That's good," she says, satisfied. "Because today's work is going to deal with those star signs – in a minute, I'm going to give you all a piece of paper and a copy of the class set of books. Or," she pauses. "Miss Walters, do you mind passing these out for me?" She snaps her fingers to recall Ally's responsiveness and gestures to the books and blank papers next to her on the desk, plainly impatient.

"Sure." Ally bounces out her seat as though she'd been awake the whole time and begins distributing the two items around to each table, while Sinistra goes on to say, "When Miss Walters gives you one of these, I would like all of you to look up the star signs, and draw for me twelve pictures that show me where the sun, earth, and moon would be for each month of the year, along with what star sign correlates with it."

There is a lot of moaning going on when she finishes this statement with the air of a grudgingly 'lenient' mother allowing her children two sticks of broccoli rather than one with their dinner; nobody in our class likes to draw astrological diagrams, nor do we care where the sun, earth, and moon are for each sign.

However, Sinistra is highly aggravated with the lack of enthusiasm coming from us, and she begins to scold us by saying, "Come on, this isn't that hard – you'd best stop giving me those sounds and work, because if you bug me too much, I'll have these due by the end of the period rather than tomorrow."

Not a peep can be heard – even James and Sirius are silent, petrified by the thought of having to turn in all this work for a grade at the end of the hour. This inspires a grim smile on Professor Sinistra's face.

"You lot need to buck up a little bit more," she comments as she watches Ally pass out the last of the materials and retire to her seat. "If this gets your heart rate rising, I shudder to think what you all are going to do once you get to N.E.W.T. level classes."

The class exchanges looks – nobody likes to think about N.E.W.T. classes when we still have the O.W.L. exams at the end of this year to worry about, something Sinistra should know. It seems to me that she is either genuinely oblivious, or she simply doesn't care (which is admittedly a real possibility in this case), because she ignores the anxious silence by clapping loudly.

"Get to work," she barks at us, her dark eyes flashing in a way that signals extra homework if we don't cooperate. "You have plenty to do."

Jumping first and then sighing, all of us reluctantly open the Astronomy textbooks Ally presented us with and begin the profoundly dull process of looking up star signs and attempting to sketch accurate pictures based on the information given. This is, truthfully, one of the most atrocious assignments I've ever had to do in my life, but I keep reminding myself that this is better than sitting outside and pretending to see what Professor Sinistra declares we should see – that helps at least a little.

Next to me, Ally has not opened her book; instead, she waits until I've started my assignment before she says, "Lily, what's up with you? Why aren't you talking to me? It's been five whole minutes – you can't still be mad at me."

I sigh and ultimately decide to lock eyes with her – she looks both annoyed and innocent by some means, a feat only she can achieve properly. "Okay, I guess I'm not mad anymore," I allow. "But don't you know you can't betray me and laugh at me when James Potter is flirting with me?"

"I thought it was funny!" Ally says defensively. "Do you expect me to pretend it wasn't?"

"Yes," I say resolutely.

Ally huffs with irritation, so I say, "Well, if that's how you feel, keep that in mind next time I laugh at you while you're attempting to kill Sirius."

This does the trick – Ally makes her whine-groan noise, which means I've won, and gives me a look of the deepest repugnance. "Fine," she says after a moment's struggling. "I won't laugh at you anymore."

"Thank you," I say, smiling slightly at her. "Now please; do what Sinistra asked us to do before she notices your not working and punishes the entire class."

Ally looks with distaste at her book, as though it has an infectious disease. "Do I really have to do this?"

"Yes," I confirm.

"Ugh." Ally gags as she gingerly opens the cover and looks at the table of contents, her expression of discontentment only deepening. I watch for a moment, holding back the laughter about to burst its way out of my throat, but I go back to my own work – I can't afford not to finish it, because I've got other things I've got to do tonight.

Ally and I then begin to laboriously illustrate our twelve pictures in peace; I strive for accuracy, double and triple checking my angles, while Ally strives to finish it as quickly as she can while being relatively in the right spot. She's actually quite a clever girl, if she chooses to exert herself, and it rather saddens me to see her throw away her brain this way. I know better than to say it though; Ally hates the word 'potential' and the discussions that follow. Her parents use it enough around the house, she says; she doesn't need it from me too. So, I keep up my soundlessness, and I get a lot of my images done in a somewhat shortened amount of time.

However, all is not the same way around the classroom, whose noise level is slowly rising as Professor Sinistra sits at her desk, keeping it in tow – behind me, I hear turmoil going on at the Marauder table. From the sounds of it, Peter has spilled ink all over Sirius's drawing, and instead of magically removing it with maturity, like anyone else would, Sirius has chosen to complain loudly about his friend's clumsiness in a remarkable impersonation of Professor McGonagall.

"Pettigrew," he shouts at the top of his lungs. "This is inexcusable! What have you done with this, boy? How will you ever succeed past N.E.W.T. level? You have O.W.L.'s this year, get it together!"

I exhale roughly to myself, breathing through my nose to keep myself calm – I'm trying very hard to convince myself that killing the Marauders is a bad idea, but somehow, I'm not doing very well. Normally, they're pretty easy to ignore, but today, Sirius seems to be in a particularly raucous mood – he's not going to let me have any peace today, whether or not he realizes this.

I long to turn around, to tell him off, to do something that might shut his abnormally large mouth up, but I know I can't. I'm in the process of deciding to threaten them with detentions to keep them on-task when, all of a sudden, I hear my name.

"Evans?"

It's James's voice – I know it well, because it has been responsible for publicly humiliating me for the past two years. Keeping my face purposefully blank, I twist around slowly to look at him.

"What?" I ask through gritted teeth.

"Your birthday is January 30th, right?" he checks.

"Yeah, why?"

"I wanted to see what star sign you were," he says matter-of-factly. "They have descriptions for each star sign, you know."

"You should be looking at the position of the stars, not what they claim to represent," I remind him. "Stop bothering me, Potter; some of us here are truly trying to finish, unusual as it may seem to someone like you. That stuff is a load of waffle anyway – stars don't find your personality for you."

James is unperturbed as he scans the page for the star correlating with my birthday. He finds it swiftly, and when he's finished skimming it, his grin is wicked as his eyes find mine.

"It's actually spot-on," he informs me. "You are an Aquarius, Evans – they call you 'the sweetheart.'"

Sirius and Peter promptly 'aw' at me after this pointless revelation, unmistakably listening to our conversation even though they had been laughing about the Head of our house not moments before. They're undeniably good at eavesdropping – which is, of course, never going to be a good thing.

"Really," I say skeptically. "And what else am I, may I ask?"

James smiles as though he was waiting for me to inquire this, and says with a flourish, "It says you're optimistic, honest, sweet, independent, inventive, intelligent, friendly, loyal, unique, engaging, energetic, benevolent, charming, and open-minded." He stumbles across one at this point that makes him grin playfully at me. "It also claims that you are attractive on the inside and the outside." He rumples his hair in his most flirtatious manner as he says, "I think I love the stars."

Sirius whistles, and Peter laughs once more, while Ally turns to join us – she obviously can't resist.

"Ooh, what else does it say about Lily?" Ally wants to know, excited.

I shove her in the arm, not bothering with subtlety, and say, "I don't have time for this, Potter – we have real work to do."

"Then go do your real work, I like this," James retorts. "I can read it to Sirius, Peter, and Alison."

He knows fully well that leaving me out is going to make me stay, no matter how ill tempered I am – his quick glance at me says it all. Deciding to play along then, I sigh and allow him to clear his throat for the second time and say, "It says a bunch of bad things too. Do you want to hear those?"

"Sure," Sirius says. "But let me read this 'em." He snatches the book neatly out of his friend's hand, and looks for the paragraph James had been studying. After a moment of examining the text, he lets out a bark of a laugh.

"You're going to enjoy this, Evans," he tells me, his eyes glinting with mischief. "There a ton of adjectives and small phrases here that list your negatives – things like unpredictable, stubborn, seemingly unemotional, rebellious, opinionated, outspoken, dogmatic, resentful, cold, judgmental, difficult to endure sometimes, rude without tact, self-absorbed…"

Peter's mouth is in a small 'o' of surprise, and James is torn as he gazes at me; he doesn't want to hurt my feelings by agreeing with Sirius, but at the same time, he knows that some – most – of them are validly true. Ally has been silenced as she looks tentatively at me; she is bracing herself for the explosion. For a moment, I'm tempted to provide one, but I think better of it in the next.

"Let me see the book," I say tonelessly, taking it from Sirius without waiting for his answer.

"Right there," he says, pointing out the section helpfully for me. "In black and white, Evans."

And, sure enough, it is – each thing he said about me is scattered through the small text, and somehow, it hurts me to know that. Various people have called me each one of those things in the past, and seeing them all together like this is causing my stomach to flip and coil inexplicably. It sounds so terrible when it's displayed so bluntly – am I so unbearable?

James interrupts my musings though, by gently prying the book out of my fingers and returning it to Sirius, who continues to look through it. I am forgotten, in these few seconds of awkwardness, so I am quick to grab my own book and open it up to the page the boys had been looking at.

"Your birthday is March 27th, is it not?" I ask James suddenly.

"It is," he says, pleased that I remembered but wary of the manner with which I asked. "How do you know?"

"Your fan-girls take care to remind me every year during March, ever waking moment I have, with their relentless shrieking both in the dormitories and in the corridors," I snipe. "Anyway, would you like to hear about your own personality now?"

"I could always look at it for myself, but if you insist," James says, winking.

My jaw set as I attempt to look for the worst adjectives on the list, I presently say in a quick, hurried tone, "You are an Arian – your sign is Aries, 'the dare-devil' or 'the ram.' And, according to this, Mr. Potter, you are spontaneous, extremely impatient, easily angered, sometimes selfish, quickly bored, egotistical, show little subtlety, arrogant, domineering, a poor follower…wow, all the things I've ever said about you are here, in this book you deem so accurate."

I smile humorlessly at him – it's more of a leer. "And you all thought I was barking mad."

James is visibly stung by both my tone and the suitability of the adjectives – this gives me a sort of sadistic sort of pleasure. I give him a challenging look as he opens Sirius's book once more and looks for the Aries portion. When he finds it and reads it, he contradicts me by saying, "Yeah, but it also says I'm quick on my feet, energetic, adventurous, confident, enthusiastic, fun, challenge-loving, lively, passionate, sharp-witted, outgoing, assertive, courageous, and athletic. People call me those things all the time too."

"In your case, however, the bad outweighs the good," I say with a definitive flourish.

Smelling a fight brewing on the horizon as James gives me a stunningly bitter look for my cattiness, Peter says, "Ooh, what are you going to say to that one, Jamesie?"

"Are you going to punish the future Mrs. James Potter for her insubordination?" Sirius inquires, his tone suggesting that he is becoming quite hungry for another famous Potter-Evans row.

I shoot him a filthy glare, but most of my irritation is directed at James – he was the one who brought up the whole stupid subject anyway. Ally, who is hushed in her awe, can't decide whether or not to be amused or frightened by the hostility rays that are coming off the two of us. We pay her no mind, though, as we stare at each other, with me shooting daggers into him and him coolly receiving them.

"You're going red," he tells me eventually. "You're mad."

"Of course I am," I retort. "You decided to go and tell me all the bad things that the stars apparently say I am, completely unwarranted! How is that fair, Potter?"

"You did plenty to deserve it," Sirius interrupts, silencing James by poking him in the arm and taking over. "If you hadn't acted like all those adjectives before and were nice to us, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

Yet another unwarranted blow; is there no end to the penalties they're dealing out for righteous self-defense? My expression is antagonistic as I regard Sirius, and my voice is cutting as I ask in a near hiss, "I was doing my work over here, not disturbing a soul, only five minutes ago. Was I, or was I not?"

"Well, yes, but –"

"No," I say, not letting Sirius finish. "Wait. And, did I or did I not ask you to leave me alone? Nicely?"

"Kind of," Sirius admits, "but –"

"Did he (I point at James) or did he not begin to flirt with me and tease me without my doing anything offensive to him?" I continue, my voice a bit louder to smother his.

"I guess, but Lil –"

I don't want to hear it; I brandish my hand in his face to quiet him and inquire, "So, with all this happening to me, is it really such a big deal if I retort back with some self-defense?"

To answer my own question, I finish by saying, "No, not really; so I'd appreciate it if we didn't interrogate me on my mood, which you have just ruined. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some damage control to do on this picture, and I'd appreciate it if you lot could please leave me alone so that I may correct it in peace."

I am about to impressively turn back in my seat to return to my paper, but I am rendered helpless when Ally astonishes me by holding fast to my upper arms and not letting me go.

"Don't get all worked up about nothing," she says to me. "That's why you can never get along with James; you give him opportunities to make a fool out of you."

"Oy, don't blame Prongs for Evans's calamities," Sirius interjects acerbically. "This girl's more of a do-it-yourself type."

I throw him the most riled look I possess, but he doesn't flinch – he simply looks back at me, challenging me to say something more. And I do.

"I am through with this conversation," I inform them. "I have better things to do than argue about stupidity of this sort."

"Then stop talking to us and turn around," Peter advises me abruptly.

Sirius and James crack up together when they hear this; so I give Peter another glare (I seem to be glaring a lot this period) and say, "Sod off, Pettigrew."

I finally do turn around by this point, and when I do, Ally begins to giggle almost right away. I give her the same glower I gave Peter, but she's practically immune to those by now, and continues to grin stupidly at me.

"What?" she asks.

"Thanks for all your help back there," I say acidly. "I really appreciate it."

"You were doing fine on your own," she tries to convince me.

"Yes, and that's why I had to take a recommendation from Peter Pettigrew," I say sarcastically. "I did fantastically."

Ally sighs and shifts slightly in her seat. "Well, I was hoping you would back off gently, because you were kind of going downhill near the end there. But, of course, you didn't."

"No, I didn't, because I never back down just because a situation is not going the way I wanted it to go," I tell her. "I loathe Astronomy; stars are so stupid."

Since she agrees with me and has nothing more intelligent to contribute, Ally averts her eyes back to her half-completed project with distaste, leaving me to my own annoyed thoughts – which I have a lot of, at this moment in time. Bloody Marauders…

I blow a strand of my hair out of my face irritably as I perfect one of the lines demonstrating the angle between the sun and the earth; even by my low standards, this has not been a good Astronomy period.

&

At the end of the class, which to me could not come fast enough, Professor Sinistra takes pity on us and allows us to take our assignment with us to turn in the next day. Since I need to fix up a couple more things later, I sigh in relief and pack up when she gives us the signal to, Ally doing the same next to me. She, too, is relieved to hear about the time extension – she's barely finished anything.

We collect our belongings in silence, since conversation has dried up quite effectively because of my rotten, Marauder-induced mood, and I look forward to a shower before dinner, seeing as this is my last period of the day.

However, as I linger by the table, waiting restlessly for the bell to ring, James throws his bag over his shoulder and comes to stand next to me, effortless as anything. I turn to look incredulously at him – this boy literally does not seem to have any kind of fear to speak of. It is extremely exasperating.

"Yes?" I ask him impatiently, but he only smiles pleasantly back at me.

"Hey," he says, his tone so amiable that any average girl would be stupid not to pounce on the attempted conversation—or him.

But who said I was a normal girl to begin with?

"Would you please just leave me alone, Potter?" I request shortly. "I've had more than enough of you today."

"Well, Sirius took reign of my conversation with you, and I just wanted to say that even though I don't see what the big deal is, I'm sorry I brought up the star-sign issue," he says. His tone is easy, but I can still detect the sincerity, if I listen hard enough – but, in this case, I choose to put on my selective-listening ears and don't let myself catch on.

"You should be," I say stiffly. "Astrological signs are a waste of time."

"Yeah?" James grins, and I can tell that we've now reached the real motive behind his quick visit. "I don't think so. Want to know why?"

I wait grudgingly for him to clarify, but he doesn't – he looks expectantly at me all the same, obviously waiting for an auditory confirmation. I sigh loudly to show him that I'm not happy about it, but I say nevertheless, "All right then, Potter, why are stars not a waste of time?"

James's mouth curls up in that half-smirk of his like it always does when he's got a bombshell he is eager to throw at me.

This can't be good.

Without delay, he pulls a spare Astronomy book from my table over to him and opens it up to a page number I'm sure he's temporarily memorized, merely to use it as a weapon of mass-irritation, something he's gallingly good at doing.

He rapidly scans over the page, searching for something; and when he finds it at last, he shows it to me with a grand flick of his wrist.

"Read this paragraph," he says, gesturing to a small lump of text. "Go on, read it."

I shoot him a look, but read monotonously, "The sign Aries is highly compatible with several of the star signs, including Taurus, Gemini, and Leo, but the most harmonious relationship for an Arian would most likely come from an Aquarius."

When my lips form the very last word and James's enormous smile has reached its climax, I finally let my horrified features catch his smug-looking ones.

I shove the book back him, utterly disgusted, and somehow resist the enormous urge to sock him the stomach.

"Well, you've clearly got some Taurus, Gemini, and Leo people to choose from, as well as several others, so I suggest you leave me alone," I snipe at him. "All right? Because this Aquarius is simply not interested, nor will she ever be."

James's smirk is still firmly in place and it bugs me; it tells me that all of my negativity is only bouncing off of his arrogant and too-thick skin, but I don't say so – instead I stalk over to Ally (who mysteriously melted away to another table during my short-lived conversation with Potter) and drag her over to the door with absolutely no warning. I would leave, but because of the unwritten Law of Evans's Shitty Luck, I am stuck waiting impatiently for the bell to ring before I can make my dramatic exit.

However, Ally does not fully comprehend my dilemma – instead of comforting me like she should, my bloody best friend Ally laughs the moment she gets a good look at my stormy expression.

"What happened to you, Lils – did a cat get your tongue?" she teases.

"No," I say through gritted teeth, practically feeling his prat-like presence behind me, seeking me out in the small pack by the door. "No, this time, it was a bloody ram that got my tongue; and if things go right, I will be able to hex him into the next damn week."

It is now that the bell finally chooses to ring, which I must admit is some pretty darn good timing. Gratefully, I yank Ally's arm and attempt to escape the classroom; but just as we are close to turning the corridor and separating ourselves from that maddening prat I don't even care to name, I find that his maddening voice is haunting me yet again, from the room I thought I'd fled:

"We'll see about that, Evans," I hear him say in that smugly-irritating tone he knows makes me want to slap him right across his face. "We'll see."