"Why me?"

She turned her head too look at him. It was a dark, cloudless night, and moonlight streamed in through the open window.

"Hmm?

"I said, why me?"

She frowned. "What d'you mean, why you?"

Smiling, he said, "You're answering a question with a question."

She rolled her eyes. "But I don't understand!"

"Well," he said, and, to her surprise, he fumbled for words, something he usually never did. "Why did you—why did you...choose...choose me...I mean..."

She sighed. "Oh, Remus, you're not on about this again."

"But I'm a...I mean, how can you possibly lov—I mean, don't you mind, don't you care at all that I'm a...I'm a..."

"Of course I don't care that you're-"

"A werewolf," he finished bitterly, and there was a self-mocking tone in his voice that she rarely heard. "Admit it. There is a part in you—there always has been, and there always will be—a part of you that's disgusted, even revolted, at the fact that I'm a werewolf. However much you deny it, you do wish that I was normal, don't you?" His voice grew steadily louder. "That I didn't transform once a month? Become a...a hideous—hideous beast, a monster, a savage, wild, crazy...creature...thirsting for the taste of FRESH HUMAN BLOOD?!?"

Her smile became rather fixed. "Well, I don't...I don't really care..."

"Oh?" he said, sensing the hesitance in her voice. Then, in a sudden, violent movement, he rolled up one sleeve. She winced. He had never worn anything but a long-sleeved shirt and long jeans, never showed anyone anything besides his hands and face—and she could see why.

His whole bare arm had scars all over it. The scars were thick and nasty, and they looked like they must have hurt. A lot.

Bitter and mocking, he said sharply, "I know what you're thinking." He took on a disgusted tone. "I can't believe he's a werewolf. How hideous. How perfectly horrid."

"Well, I am thinking a bit along those lines..." she started, but as his face fell, she added hastily, "But a bit differently."

There was a short pause, and then he asked softly, and someone hesitantly, "What...are...you thinking?"

She copied his disgusted tone and echoed, "I can't believe he's a werewolf." Then she gently ran her fingers along one of the scars and said dreamily, "He's so brave..."

In a different part of the house, on the same night, two other people were in a room. (But there were no windows; it was illuminated instead by the soft gentle glow of candles.

"Why me?" he asked.

"Huh? What do you mean, Peter?" she said.

"Why me," he repeated. When she didn't reply, he gave her a disbelieving look. "C'mon. Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about. I hear what people say." He mimicked a valley-girl voice. "Like, oh my God, eww, Peter? Like, what could you, like, see in him?"

"Peter," she began, but he caught her off.

"Come on. You know it. There's nothing good about me, no redeeming qualities, no talent, no wisecracks, no—"

"You have brains," she interrupted.

"Brains," he repeated scornfully. "Yeah, a good head for math. So helpful when I'm failing Transfiguration. So helpful when someone makes a real clever joke, and I don't get it. Yeah, brains, but where's my common sense. Look—" he closed his eyes in exasperation "—I'm slow, alright, I'm slow!"

"Peter, you're good at technology—"

"Oh yeah, Muggle programming, real helpful." He put on another mimicking voice. "Look at Peter, no magical ability at all. What is he, a squib? I'm surprised they even let him in Hogwarts..."

He slumped back in his chair. "Why'd I even come here?" he asked. "Should've stayed at home...should've stayed at my old school...should've taken Tech or something..."

"You wouldn't've met me, then," she said simply.

He stared at her.

She smiled.

"Peter, I love you. I love you just the way you are."

And he believed her.

But little did either of those couples know that they were being spied upon, for another couple was bored. It was 1:00 A.M.

By 7:00, the sun had risen, and the spies were sitting in the backyard.

"Sirius, don't do that," she scolded, as he tilted his chair back.

"Fine," he snapped, and stopped. Then he grinned. "Well?"

"What?"

"Should I ask you?"

"Ask me what?"

"'Why me'?" he said, as though it were obvious. "Like they did!"

She rolled her eyes. He tilted his chair back again. "But I already know that," he said. "It's because I'm charming, talented, intelligent, strong, brave, and—" he let a little pause hang in the air "—oh-so-gorgeous."

"Not to mention modest," she grumbled. "And don't do that!"

He stuck his tongue out, but returned his chair to normal.

"Do you mind?" he said suddenly. She raised her eyebrows.

"That I'm not, well, sweet or romantic like all Remus, James, and Peter?" he said seriously.

She raised her eyebrows higher. "Now that was something I never expected YOU to say!"

He blushed, which he didn't do very often. She stared, surprised. "You really want to know, don't you?"

He blushed more.

She fought the instinct to say, Yes, yes I do, and then hastily add just kidding. That would be too cruel. There was a limit to even her jokes. She opened her mouth to reply Of course I don't automatically, but then closed it. He was serious. He deserved a serious answer. So she thought.

"Well, no..." she said finally. "I don't really mind..."

"Really?" he said happily, and grinned. "But I expect I make up for it with my-"

"Pranks?"

"Uh..." He gulped.

"Like the toothpaste in my shoes?"

"Those shoes were hideous! It was the only way to keep you from wearing them!"

"And the shaving cream on my pillow?"

"What shaving cream?" he said innocently.

"And you steal stuff of mine to use for pranks!"

"Like..."

"My water balloons!"

"You don't have water balloons! At least, not anymore..." he said guiltily. She couldn't help it. She laughed.

"Oh, you'll forgive me," he pouted. "Because I'm amazingly brave, astonishingly smart, fantastically strong, remarkably good-looking, exceedingly charming, and extremely talented."

She meant to say, "How modest," or, "And not the least bit egoistical," or, sarcastically, "Yeah, that's you, all right," but what came out instead was, "And funny. Don't forget funny."

"Yup," he smirked, put his feet up on the table, crossed his arms, leaned dangerously far in his chair...

And fell over backwards.

They stood next to each other. Well, not stood, but sat close together on the swinging bench, her head on his shoulder.

There was an awkward silence. Neither of them said much for a while.

He scratched his head as she looked up at the sky. He fixed his glasses as she sighed. He looked around as she closed her eyes.

Then, finally, they both turned, and looked into each other's eyes.

"Lily," he said.

At the exact same time, she said, "James."

And because they understood each other so well, that was all that needed to be said.