A/N – Round three fic for the Quiddictch League Competition, with the optional prompts (words) Accept, Coated, (phrase) crystal clear and (narrative device) flashback.


He sat alone on the park bench, staring down at his battered combat boots.

They hadn't intended for him to hear. They probably hadn't even known he was there.

Lily answered the door before they could knock, ushering them both in with a hand gesture, the index finger of her opposite hand held against her lips in the universal signal to be quiet. The yelling coming from the kitchen would probably obscure any noise they made, but they were quiet none the less.

She pointed into the living room, motioning to the sofa in a gesture that was probably designed to invite them to take a seat, and held up her hands as she walked backwards up the first few stairs.

James heads over to the sofa, as instructed, but Sirius – ever curious – wanders towards the kitchen, adopting an innocent facade that's fooling no one.

"What do you think you're doing?" James hisses, his voice barely reaching Sirius over the muffled yells from the other room.

"Aren't you in the least bit curious?" Sirius inches closer, the words are indistinct but he easily recognises the voices of Lily's sister and parents.

"No. I can honestly say that I'm not."

"Really?" The disbelief shone through clearly in his voice.

"Okay, yes. I'mcurious," James pointedly ignored Sirius' triumphant expression, "but that doesn't mean that I'm going to go eavesdrop on my girlfriend's parents privateconversation."

"It's not very private if they're yelling," Sirius countered, ever the voice of reason.

"They don't know we're here. It's a private conversation."

Lily chose that moment to come running down the stairs, left hand lightly trailing along the banister and well-worn trainers held in her right.

"Ready?" She called from her position by the door, having decided to go against her earlier instructions for quiet.

"Yeah," James called cheerfully, jumping up off the sofa and clearing the living room in three long strides to stand beside her.

Sirius grunted in agreement, and walked over at a more sedate pace. He was hoping to pass it off as a lack of interest – the only reason they thought he was here was because he'd been staying at James' and Mrs Potter hadn't liked the idea of him being left alone while James went out. He had yet to decide whether that was in concern for him or her house.

He hesitated by the kitchen door, the words clearer now.

"-can't honestly expect us to be okay with this!" He catches the tail-end of what Mr. Evans was yelling.

"Mum-"

"You're father's right. You're not part of that world."

"But I-"

"Do you have any idea how dangerous it's gotten?"

"Dad-"

"It's bad enough Lily's involved, but at least she has some way to protect herself."

"I'm not-"

"That boy shouldn't be dragging you into this."

"He's not-"

"Even if he were... normal," Mrs Evans seems to struggle with the word, "he's still not someone we want you spending time with."

"It's not like we're-"

He'd heard enough. More than enough, really.

He followed James and Lily out the door.

He dug the toe of his boot into the ground, studiously ignoring the approaching footsteps.

No matter how much he tried to focus on the fine layer of dirt that now coated his boots, though, he couldn't help looking at he out of the corner of his eye; tracking her unhurried progress up the small hill towards the single bench where he was sat at the top of it.

She was looking down, and that bothered him more than he cared to admit. He didn't want to see her, but that didn't mean he didn't want her to want to see him. He frowned down at the hole he'd dug with his shoe. He was starting to sound eerily like James.

She slows down as she reaches the crest of the hill. He likes that even less.

"Hey," she greets. There's hesitation in her voice, but he can't tell if it's due to nerves or a reluctance to be having this conversation.

"Tuney," he knows she hates the nickname, but he felt a childish sort of delight at causing the flash of irritation across her face. Briefly. The feeling is gone before either of them can utter another word and it leaves him regretting the petty move.

He sighs and shakes his head, letting her start the conversation at her own pace.

She slowly lowers herself to the bench next to him, carefully arranging the fabric of her skirt, a small frown marring her features.

Neither of them look at each other.

"How long have you been sitting here?" She tries.

"A while." The clipped response it uttered before he can stop himself, and they once again descend into the awkward silence.

"So, I guess you heard..."

"Yep," he still doesn't look up. Some conversations are easier when you don't need to look directly at the person you're talking to. He's not sure if this is gearing up to be one of those conversations, but with the rising of the awkward tension he's thinking it might be.

"They're just concerned for me. They're my parents. They're supposed to worry." He can hear her fidgeting with her skirt.

"I know." He's determined not to make this any easier for her, but she seems to have accepted that.

"Well, you heard what they said. It's not really about you."

It wasn't anything they'd said, but he couldn't find the words to tell her that. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"It's not like we're serious, anyway. It's not going to last."

He'd heard, though.

Crystal clear.