A/N: This is an extended and improved version of an old drabble that was recently deleted from this account. I apologize if you fell in love with the grossly-developed characters from the previous version of this story, but I can assure you that, at the very least, this version will be much longer and is better-written due to my being three or so years older now. Thank you to anyone who reads it, and feedback is always appreciated. I have no clue when I'll put the next chapter out. But I definitely intend to do so soon-ish.

James Potter, like most male teenagers with a high Shag Count, had a set of rules that he followed religiously to ensure a lack of, for a better word, mess. Messy Sex, as defined by my best mate, was the kind that led to things like dating or liking another human being, which James Potter just did not do. This was not, of course, to say that James was a sex-driven, egotistical maniac like he pretended to be. No. James didn't even partake in the sport of one-night stands as often as anyone would like to think. He was just a young boy who sought to enjoy the many splendors of the opposite sex on occasion without having to also carry their bags around Hogsmeade for six months, decide he was better off without them, and break their hearts.

At least, that was what I'd always told myself.

The rules were few and, like James's approach to life, simple. Black and white.

No one ever stays overnight.

Everybody gets one.

No dates.

Naturally, there was the unspoken Golden Rule that no one, female or otherwise, would ever be able to separate he and his mates, but James never felt the need to speak that one aloud. It was a given, because James' loyalty to his friends and to his house and to his school was as much a part of James as his prick.

I drove myself insane thinking about the aforementioned rules. More so, probably, than anyone in the entire world apart from James. More so, even, than the girls that he slept with.

It all started the night that the rules were made up. James, Sirius, and I were out far past curfew, roaming the castle in search of our friend, Cass, a short little minx famous for the unlawful shade of white that was her hair. We were fourteen, if I recall correctly, and it was either very late at night or very early in the morning, depending on who you ask, and Sirius and I had been doing our best to get James to tell us, all night, what had happened between him and Georgette Collins. Georgette was a pretty fifth year in our house with honey-colored hair and an ample bosom. She and James had snuck away earlier that Saturday night, up to boys' dormitories, while everyone else stayed downstairs in the common room and celebrated the fact that we were Gryffindors or something like that. Really, we have a great deal of parties for no good reason other than our obvious love for people, food, and laughter.

But James wasn't budging.

"Yer killin' me, Mate," Sirius reiterated for the umpteenth time that night. "I am sure that it is entirely improper to speak of such things in front of ladies," he continued, for James had made my presence his excuse for silence, "but Dizzy isn't even a lady. She's probably got a prick bigger than both of ours put together. I swear I saw her shagging a seventh year the other day." He imitated a female in the throes of passion and, in an awful high-pitched wail said, "Oh, Daisy Miller you are my hero! Oh, oh, Christ in heaven, I can feel it in my stomach! I will never again sleep with a normal man! You've ruined me!"

James laughed, and I shoved Sirius, though only for show. I was laughing, too. "Fine, fine," James consented. "I'll tell you. But only because you begged." James was the bragging sort back then. Actually, all of our fourth year he went through a sort of phase where all he did was brag about himself. So Sirius and I both knew that he had every intention of telling us what had happened. After all, it was Georgette Collins we were talking about.

He took a deep breath, made a big show of looking at each of us in turn, and then, said simply, "I, my dear friends, am no longer a virgin. Huzzah!"

The three of us threw our heads back and yelled, "HUZZAH!" as was customary when some important milestone was reached. The huzzah, of course, had only been initiated on three occasions prior to that night, as it was a scared and holy tradition. Our voices rang through the corridors, a cheerful echo of youth and mischief.

A few moments later, James's gazed fixed itself upon a spot on the wall, and he stopped our progression by holding an arm out in front of Sirius and I. Sirius, with all the grace and the world, simply ducked beneath it and went around to peer at James, a curious and amused expression on his face. I, on the other hand, ran right into James's outstretched arm and fell backwards onto my ass. "Git," I grumbled, picking myself up clumsily.

"Guys," he said. "Since the girls will all be throwing themselves at me now, I think I need to set up some guidelines as to how these sorts of things will, well, how they'll happen." We then spent the next hour not, indeed, searching for Cassandra, but throwing around ideas for James. Eventually, though, he deliberated for five minutes, announced his three rules, and we commenced our hunt.

Since then, though, I had grown fond of my friend. Too fond. I would have loved nothing more than to go on a stupid cliché date with him and do stupid cliché relationship things, but, alas, James was very strict about his rules. Ironically enough, anyway, as he was a firm believer in the idea that rules were meant to be bent, if not broken entirely.

It was that very same belief that led us all, that is, James, Sirius, Remus, Peter, Cassandra, and me to the night that James would break, by his own estimation, 47 rules, two wands, one arm, and his mother's favorite wine glass.

Everything began the summer of our seventh year.

As I recall, the day was rather normal for my place of residence—hot, quiet, and incredibly dull. School had been out for only two weeks, and already I missed it. As I was a bit odd and never at home, I had very few friends in the muggle town where I lived with my mother, two sisters, and brother, so I was usually home alone while everyone else was either working or, in Bradley's case, doing very normal teenager things.

That day was the same as all the others. I rolled out of bed around noon, padded downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast. I made oatmeal in a chipped yellow bowl, then sat at the dining table and stared blankly around at my surroundings, blinking slowly and haphazardly shoving sugary slop into my mouth. As I had just woken up, those were the only two things I had the mental capacity to do. As cramped as things got, I loved my house. It was open, with a ton of windows, and everything was old—we lived in the middle of nowhere, at the edge of a field, six miles from town—and mismatched, but it was clean and well-loved.

I registered an incessant tapping from the kitchen, but for a while, I only wondered why anyone would be knocking at the garden entrance rather than the front door at the opposite, and much more accessible, end of the house.

After several minutes, when the tapping became more annoying than curious, I stood up and padded over to the kitchen. Without even bothering to check the windows like I should have, I angrily swung open the small blue door that led out to the garden, and was utterly confused when there wasn't anyone standing outside and the tapping continued. Slowly, as though a band of murdering thieves were about to descend upon me, I closed the door and stepped back into the kitchen. Finally, using my superior observational skills, I located the source of the tapping. There was a familiar brown owl at the window over my sink. James Potter's owl, in fact.

I hurried over to undo the latch and let her in. I gave her a cracker in exchange for my letter, and she flew off with it into the living room. I had no doubt in my mind that there would be bird shit to clean up, but, whenever Missy was around, there was always bird shit to clean up, so I let her be and sat down at the table with my letter.

Dearest Ditzy Dizzy Daisy Miller,

I write to you today, my favorite of all females, to inform you that this weekend there will be a small gathering at my home, which, undoubtedly, you are dying to see. Sirius is already here. Arrived last night, actually. He brought his gorgeous mane of hair with him, and will be staying here indefinitely. Remus and Peter are going to be here Thursday afternoon, and Cass will do whatever it is she so pleases, but she has assured me that she will most definitely be here by Friday.

As for you and your spectacularly hideous mug, I am sending Mum to fetch you this evening. Mostly because she is leaving on important business tomorrow, and your mum is a muggle and I am not entirely sure how it is that she would be able to get you here.

See that, Diz? I always have your best interests at heart! Now, go and get packed. You'll be staying as long as you like, so bring as much clothes as you can fit into one bag, and do not forget a swimsuit or your wand. Sirius tells me your birthday is today, so you're officially legal, you lucky broad. Do you feel any different? Tingly in places you've never before been tingly? Good, good. Invite my Mum in for cake, if you're having any. She hasn't eaten any since last October.

With love,

James Pricky Pratty Potter

P.S. I apologize that you are probably receiving this before you have fully woken up. Missy probably confused the shit out of you. But, really, you deserve it. Normal human beings get up with the sun, you lazy nub.

James was never the best letter-writer, but he did get his point across.

I walked into the living room, dug around a bit for a paper and pen, and scrawled a reply.

Dear Twatface,

I will do everything in my power to secure permission from Mother to attend your "get-together". No promises, though.

I will certainly invite her in for cake if there is any. If not, I will invite her in anyway because your mother is just a ball of fabulous and I love her to death. I'm awaiting her arrival more anxiously than I have ever awaited anything in my entire life, except for perhaps my first O. And no, Potter, I am not referring to the kind one scores on wizarding tests.

Tell Sirius that I said hello. And Cass, too, if she arrives before I did. And then shove them both off of a tall cliff for being so annoyingly in love with each other.

Sincerely,

Lazy Nub

I tied the note to Missy and sent her off, wondering why on earth James Potter had given his poor owl such a pathetic name. Then, it was back up to my room to pull out a dusty overnight bag and stuff in as much clothes as possible and the new swimsuit I had gotten just the day before, with the promise of a trip to the beach sometime this summer. When that was done, I dressed in a pair of black shorts, a pink tank top, and an old yellow t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. I slipped on a pair of flip flops and stuck my wand in the waistband of my shorts after charming my messy, frizzy mass of curls into what might pass for a ponytail.

Ah, to be a legal witch.