I have expanded this one. 'Twill be six chapters, 'twill be silly, 'twill hopefully be enjoyable.
Plot Summary:
"And bloody hell, now that I've told you all that, I suppose you're going to get some stupid idea into your head that I fancy James Potter." Six chapters about the most important, stressful, and physically taxing twelve hours of Lily Evans' young life, although if she'd stop bloody running away, perhaps she wouldn't be quite so tired. In fact, perhaps she will stop running...but only to conserve energy, of course.
October 3rd, 1977, 9:15 AM (just after breakfast)
Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts Castle, Scotland
Certain snotty, messy-haired, arrogant toerags named Potter might have suggested to you that I could only have seen the incident I'm about to relate if I had been intentionally spying on him. But as you'll soon see, I couldn't help it; he was simply in the way of where I was trying to look.
"But, Lily," I hear you whinging, "your homework was right in front of you, and James Potter was all the way across the room! How could you possibly have needed to look over at him?"
But honestly, can't you mind your own business for once? I'm trying to tell a story here.
Potter and Black were lounging around the common room like the good-for-nothing, lazy layabouts they were, taking up perfectly good couch-space that anyone could have been using to study. Not that anyone actually wanted to be sitting there at that particular moment, per se, but it's the principle of the thing.
In fact, the common room was empty except for the three of us, and given Potter's recent inclination to spew tacky pickup lines whenever he saw me, I had put up a quick charm when they walked in the door, so as far as the two boys were concerned, they were alone. Not that James has actually spewed many of those since we became Co-Head students, or any at all, to be precise, but, well. I mean it was early morning, and since I hadn't had class yet, I was still in my
I mean I hadn't had class yet, so I was still in my pyjamas, and hadn't even touched my disaster of a hairdo. I wasn't really ready to be in the company of any witch or wizard with eyes, let alone with very hazel ones and extremely defined Quidditch muscles and a recently developed sense of maturity and a shockingly quick wit and bloody excellent hair.
Or the pick-up line thing. Yeah, let's go with the pick-up line thing.
And never mind about that maturity, anyway, because they're seventeen-year-old blokes with nuts where their brains ought to go, and they were avidly debating how many girls Dumbledore had shagged.
"Two, I reckon. McGonagall, 'course, and, er, some buxom country bumpkin from back home."
"Merlin's pants, Padfoot, two? Give the bloke some credit! Didn't you see the way Pince was ogling him when he popped in the other day? She even let him eat his sodding candy in the library, what was it, that revolting fruity rubbish…?"
"Lemon drops! Alright then, there you go. No man who spends mornings wandering into libraries to enjoy a lemon drop is spending his evenings humping naked women up against walls."
"Walls, no. Bookshelves, maybe." Potter grinned crookedly, and my stomach flipped over. Breakfast probably wasn't agreeing with me.
"Bookshelves, Prongs?" Black waggled his eyebrows. "Screw broom cupboards, that's what you should have suggested to Evans."
Potter rolled onto his stomach and flung something gold at his mate – that Snitch of his, I realized an instant later – and growled, "Where I shag my future wife is of no consequence to you or your filthy ilk, Padfoot."
Future wife?
"My ilk?" Black gave Potter a dark look, and Potter groaned theatrically.
"You know, mate, you can't just spend the rest of your life using the 'my family are filthy prats' line for everything," he sighed, rolling his eyes.
"Really?" Black grinned, "Because it hasn't led me wrong yet."
Right then, Gawain Robards and John Dawlish practically fell out of their dormitory, emitting an awful sort of giggling noise that no self-respecting Gryffindor would be caught dead making, let alone two 7th years on the almighty Quidditch team.
Black gave the two a casual, irritatingly elegant nod, Potter a grin and a wave. The two morons stumbled over to Potter and Black and bent down next to them to whisper quietly.
Unluckily for me, they hadn't quite mastered the art. Of course, it didn't help that I seemed to have accidentally scooted my couch back, putting myself three feet closer to their conversation.
"Guess what we figgered out?" John drawled stupidly. P'n'B exchanged baffled looks, but before they could reply, Gaw, sniggering even harder now, answered for them.
"Marijuanos Potion."
Let me explain.
You know how Ravenclaw's always looking for that lost Diadem? And Slytherin believes in some rot about a Chamber of Secrets? And Hufflepuff…well, I don't think Hufflepuff has lost anything in particular, actually…maybe personality. Well, the Gryffindor equivalent is the recipe for the Marijuanos potion. Supposedly, ol' Godric discovered a potion that could make you feel better than firewhiskey, send all your stresses floating out the window, and multiply how good everything tasted and smelled and felt by ten. And if Johnny and Gaw had really worked it out, well, that would pretty much explain the way they were behaving, actually.
Potter and Black leapt to their feet, their excitement uncontainable.
"You offering to share?" "Holy hopping gargoyles, tell me you've got some left!" The yelling is particularly distracting because, bafflingly enough, the couch seems to have moved a few feet closer yet again.
The older boys grinned even wider. "Why do you think we came down? You two are cool, and we've got plenty. Come on up." Gaw gestured to the door to their dormitory, still hanging half-open.
There was a moment of silence, as Potter and Black simply looked at each other, gazes filled with awe. James looked like a man who'd just been informed that his birthday and Christmas had both come early and also he'd singlehandedly defeated Voldemort and Filch was fired. Black...well, I seem to have forgotten Black's precise expression, although I definitely spent equal amounts of time looking at each of them. Same sort of expression as Potter, I imagine.
But as Black cackled like a madman and started for the dormitory, James tore himself away, moving toward the portrait hole instead. "Mate, Remus and Peter won't wanna miss this. I'll go get 'em from the library, you go on up."
John stopped giggling. "Remus and Peter? You talking about Lupin and Pettigrew?"
"Yeah…?" James seemed confused, as if he didn't quite recognize Dawlish's tone – ironic, since it was the exact same one he used to use every time I mentioned Sev.
"Yeah." Robards was the only one still laughing, but it didn't sound so friendly anymore. "Dumbledore's pet and the wormy little wanker? Yeah, right. Come on, mate, let's go." He slapped James's back and jerked his head toward the dormitory stairs.
I swear the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
"What exactly are you saying?" James' voice dropped too, and suddenly the situation felt dangerous.
Dawlish didn't seem to notice that, though. "I'm sayin' come upstairs, man. Let's go."
James and Sirius didn't move. They didn't speak. Dawlish and Robards had both stopped laughing by now. If I were writing stage directions in a play, there would be quite a few beats.
These four boys play Quidditch together. Granted, I have always considered this an absolutely pigheaded activity, but the fact remains that there are only seven people on the team, and the four in front of me have all been on it together for three years (though Potter made it long before that). The Marauders are best mates, always have been, always will be, I imagine, but these four blokes bleed scarlet and gold.
Add to that the fact that Potter and Black are bullying berks most of the time who have as far as I know never really given a rat's ass about anyone but themselves, (never mind if Potter has gotten a little more mature the past two years), and that Marijuanos is such a legend that I myself felt a twinge of jealousy, and I was frankly baffled why they hadn't already shoved off upstairs to try it. And I was even more baffled when James ran his bloody hand through his bloody hair, which he only does when he's nervous, and tapped the fingers of his other hand against his thigh back and forth, back and forth, which he only does when he's really nervous.
And I was downright shocked when he looked Dawlish in the eye and growled: "No! We don't want your filthy potion if you won't let Remus and Peter have any."
Dawlish gave James a scathing glare and turned, with his eyebrows raised, to Sirius, who looked like a deer caught in headlights.
Sirius looked at James. He gazed longingly at the stairwell. And then he squared his shoulders and glared at Dawlish and Robards. "No. Peter and Remus are my best mates, so...so..." he trailed off, and James threw an arm around Sirius' shoulder and snarled:
"So take your filthy happy juice and sod off!"
Alright, you're not gonna believe me about this next part. But I swear to Merlin, the couch I was sitting on dragged itself straight across the room, with no help from me whatsoever, and slammed itself into James Potter.
Oh, no.
I am one of about three people in the whole school who doesn't sleep through History of Magic, so I can tell you with complete certainty: never in Wizarding history has anyone's face been as red as James Potter's when my invisibility charm crumbled and he found himself staring straight into my eyes.
With the possible exception of mine.
My head whipped from James, to Sirius, to Robards, to Dawlish, back to James, and then I lifted it high in the air and announced primly, "Well, as a Prefect, I can assure you all that you, Dawlish and Robards, are about to sod your stoned arses off to detention." I turned to James and Sirius. "And Potter, Black? Ten points to Gryffindor."
And I booked it. My speech done, I turned on my heel, knocked the Fat Lady aside with my shoulder and collapsed into the hallway.
Angry SwF pitchfork-bearers, I love you, I have not abandoned you, expect an update by next Tuesday (please hold me to that:). HP readers, please review!