Hi everyone! Once again (I say this every time I start writing a new fic), I'm going to attempt to actually finish this one. This is going to very similar to The Art of Timing except... not. I don't know - maybe I'll pick that back up, but this is kind of going to stand in place as a sort of reboot, I suppose. That being said, I would love, love, love feedback on this - which will totally motivate me to keep writing - even the bad stuff!
Disclaimer: If I had written Harry Potter, I'd have already given you a seven book Marauders saga by now, but sadly, I did not.
EDIT 17/08/16: I have re-uploaded this with clarification in the prefect badge scene. I had assumed - in this narrative - that the prefect choosing works on a yearly basis. For example, Lily had been a prefect in Fifth Year but Snape had not been. This is to allow for room for students not having to commit to the title for an entire 3 years.
Summary: Lily J. Evans had rules - lots of rules - and she was the sort of person who would very rarely break them. James Potter, however, did not have much respect for rules at all. In 1976, Lily would find herself breaking all but five of her rules, and in 1976, James would find himself, more often than not, following them. And even though these two instances had everything to do with one another - neither of them would admit that. At least, not quite yet.
(Bitter and Melancholic)
Lily J. Evans, of Gryffindor House, Hogwarts, was proud to say that she was perfectly systematic, thank you very much. You see, Lily liked rules and Lily liked categories. Lily liked boxes in which she could keep things: books, trinkets, her feelings. To Lily, everything belonged somewhere and everything had a home.
It should be made clear that James Potter, also of Gryffindor House, Hogwarts, was proud of the fact (or so it seemed) that every inch of his life balanced on the verge between recklessness and chaos. James liked trouble and James liked adventure. From the toes of his scuffed dragon skin boots to the tips of his unruly hair, James breathed disorder. But he, being precisely seventy-seven point six miles away in Eastbourne, was not someone Lily made the effort to think about often.
(Though he would be soon enough).
It was the middle of July in 1976 and it was a late Tuesday afternoon. Tuesdays in Cokeworth were rarely remarkable, but on this particular Tuesday, Lily found herself clad in a cropped t-shirt and shorts, enjoying the first sunny day of the year. She was stretched out on a tatty, faded outdoor lounger, a dog-eared novel in her hand and her vibrant red hair tied messily in a top-knot. Like all British families on the first warm day of the year, Lily's neighbours battled with their barbecues as the smell of lighter fluid began to waft through the air. Soon, it would be replaced with the smell of overcooked sausages and smoke.
Lily had made an earlier point to ignore the existence of her own family's barbecue, tucked away in the garden shed.
This was the first summer in a while that Lily had spent at her home in Cokeworth with her muggle mother Eileen and her sister Petunia. Since she was thirteen, she had alternated summers between her friend Ambria's home in Brighton or Marlene's London townhouse. This was partially to do with the fact that her mother and father were often on holiday themselves, but mostly to do with the fact that she was avoiding Petunia.
She did a lot of that these days.
This summer was different though. She needed to be at home. Even when the hallways felt devastatingly empty and home no longer felt like home, she stayed because her mother couldn't spend it alone. And, in all honesty, neither could Lily. It was because of this that Lily found herself reading Tess of the d'Urbervilles for the sixth time while her usual companions spent their July in the north of France.
A radio on a small glass table next to Lily crackled to a new song as she turned a page. Margot Mewlie's sugary voice sang above a whimsical pop beat, one of the newest additions to the Wizarding Wireless Network's line up. It was a strange mix of comforting and unease; the small piece of her Wizarding world seemed to fit too well in her mundane garden.
That feeling didn't last long, however.
"Lily!"
Petunia Evans had been gifted at birth with sharp ears and an even sharper tongue. She hissed Lily's name across the lawn from the backdoor of the house before hurriedly making her way towards her younger sister. Lily bit back a sigh. The bright sky may as well have darkened with clouds as her contentedness dissipated.
"What on earth do you think you're doing?" Petunia continued, lowering her voice as much as possible while still retaining her shriek. She gestured towards the radio with wild hands, but her long neck craned over the fence. "Turn that off. What are the neighbours going to say about that horrid sound!"
Lily wanted to point out that not all of their neighbours were as inclined to snoop on one another as Petunia was, but she decided against it. Instead she replied, "It's music, Petunia. It's hardly satanic chanting."
"It might as well be!" Her shriek had now shrivelled into a harsh whisper and her narrow eyes flicked to Lily. Seemingly deeming Lily too slow in her actions, Petunia turned to deal with the radio herself. Twisting the dials erratically, her attempt seemed to fail. The mixture of music and static only grew louder. "Oh, what a ridiculous piece of-"
"Here, let me." Lily's voice was the softest it had been all holiday, as she gently put a hand on Petunia's wrist to stop her frantic fiddling. Petunia drew back sharply as if she been pinched and her lips pulled into a displeased line. Seeming as if she had not noticed this reaction, Lily placed her book down and silenced the radio with the flick of a small knob on the side.
Once the music had stopped, a tense quiet fell between the sisters. Lily was sat with her bare legs off of the side of the lounger and Petunia stood across from her, not sure where to look.
Lily looked up at Petunia. Sometimes she found that when she looked very closely, past the consistent looks of disdain and the pursed lips, she could still see parts of a younger Petunia - a nicer Petunia. The kind of Petunia that she had not spoken to since she was really only a child. Sometimes, when she looked at Petunia very closely, she wondered if Petunia ever looked back and, if she ever did, what she saw.
"You look nice," she offered, somewhat weaker than she had intended. Petunia did look especially nice. She was dressed in a blue capped sleeve summer dress with a pair of kitten heeled pumps, and her straw coloured hair was pulled back from her face in a simple chignon. It was an olive branch, and one that Lily was sure was going to fall flat.
Petunia sniffed, but looked surprised at her sister's compliment. "I have a date," she said shortly.
"With that Jason boy from Cheadle?"
Another sniff from Petunia, but this time it was full of contempt. "Goodness, no. I'm not wasting any more time on him."
This was surprising to Lily, considering the last time she had seen Petunia, Jason from Cheadle had been her sun and stars. In fact, Jason from Cheadle had been so important that when Petunia was told he was not invited to the funeral, she very nearly did not attend herself. Clearly her feelings had changed on the matter.
Perhaps he had made some faux pas in public that made it unbearable to be seen with him. Petunia would not put up with any form of humiliation, so he would have soon gotten the chop if that was the case. Or maybe he simply wasn't living up to Petunia's ambitious ideals, which is what Lily diplomatically called Petunia's tendency to go after men with strong career prospects. What Petunia said next confirmed the latter.
"No," Petunia continued, a small, smug smile pulling at her lips. "Tonight I'm going to the Duck and Hound with Vernon Dursley." When Lily didn't react to Petunia's prominent enunciation of her date's name, she rolled her eyes and continued, "He's a junior executive at a firm in London and he's quite marvelous."
'Marvelous' in Petunia's mind was almost always synonymous to 'unbearingly dull' in Lily's. Still, she could see that Petunia was excited under her smug expression and probably rather anxious. Where Petunia lacked tolerance, she made for it with a tendency to overthink.
"How did you meet him?" This conversation was currently breaking the record for the longest conversation held between the sisters since Lily was eleven, and some part of Lily did not want it to stop so quickly.
"When I was working at the tearoom," said Petunia. She picked up an invisible piece of fluff from the sleeve of her dress. "He came in with his senior manager and his wife for lunch last Thursday. He complimented my handling of the china, which was kind of him."
Lily made a noncommittal sound. "Sounds charming," she said.
"Yes, well, he is," Petunia went on, sort of shrugging a little uncomfortably. "I'm not sure what sort of boys you're used to hanging about with, especially if they're, you know - your type."
This was the part of their conversation where it usually began to go downhill. The teeth in the back of Lily's mouth ground together slightly at Petunia's tone, as if wizards were some kind of perverted criminals. It was the part of the conversation where Lily would usually say again and again in her head, that her sister's disgust and horrible behaviour was rooted in a fear of the unknown. This was where the fighting would usually begin.
"I'm sure my type are just as well mannered as your Vernon," Lily replied.
"That's a shame," said Petunia, though she made it quite clear she did not think that was the case. "Anyway," she continued, looking at her watch, "Vernon will be here to pick me up any minute and I'd appreciate it if you just kept out of the way."
Keeping out of the way was something Lily had grown accustomed to over the past five years and it no longer bothered her in the same way it used to. Still, she didn't think that familiar dig in between her ribs would ever go away when her sister dismissed her like that. Lily sometimes wondered if she was just the sort of person who would always love the people who were the cruelest to her. Like it was some masochistic punishment for being so completely obsessed with being in control of every other aspect of her life.
After a moment, Lily replied, "Sure. I'll just be out here, minding my own business." She pulled her legs back up onto the lounger and returned to her novel. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Petunia open her mouth to say something more but then change her mind. She turned, not without her signature sniff, and proceeded back towards the house.
An unpleasant feeling settled on Lily's chest like it often did when she returned home to Cokeworth. It was the feeling that she was slowly becoming less and less a part of her old Muggle world, and the fact that she wasn't terribly concerned about that worried her. She missed Hogwarts more and more with each passing visit, and with each visit she felt a part of Old Lily fade. She was bitter and melancholic and nostalgic, and those three emotions were never a pleasant mix.
She had made a rule once upon a time that she would be the bigger person in her and Petunia's petty feud, which is why she bit her tongue and suppressed her feelings. Lily followed her rules to the nth degree; she had rules about following her rules. But, in a moment of possible madness, stifled by a mixture of bitterness, melancholy and nostalgia, Lily turned her head to see that Petunia had not quite reached the house.
Just as her sister stepped to the door, but not out of earshot, Lily reached across, flicked on her radio and blared the sound of the Wizarding Wireless Network loudly.
Jim Evans' death had come as a surprise when in actuality they should have seen it coming. It was medically impossible for a man to abuse his body with that much alcohol and recreational drugs as a young adult and have him avoid all consequences as a grown man. Jim Evans had been a musician - Lily had a rule about musicians - and he had been a good one. From being nineteen years old, his weekdays were filled with sleep and his weekends with frenzy. Towards the end, he believed he was a young spirit trapped in an unfit body, and sometimes, Lily thought that too. He loved his music, but he loved his girls more.
At the age of nineteen, in a drunken stupor, he met a young waitress in a cafe who would serve him nothing but tea until his words weren't slurred. He sat there for hours in the early morning of a Sunday and drank tea and fell in love. Well, at least that's how he used to tell the story - Lily thought there was probably more to it than that.
He gave the life of carousing up and in return, found himself a loving wife, a warm home and two baby girls he named after flowers.
"The sort of names people write songs about," he had once said. Lily wasn't sure if that was true.
Lily sat on the floor of the spare bedroom, surrounded with cardboard boxes. In them were numerous artefacts that had belonged to her father - vinyl collections, a guitar which strings Petunia had once broken when she was eight, frame memorabilia. It had been months since her father's funeral but parts of him were still strewn about the house, as if he refused to let them forget about him.
Despite his ingrained lack of routine and Lily's stubborn need for structure, Lily was the closest of the Evans sisters to their father. While he looked like Petunia with his soft, blonde hair and blue eyes, he matched Lily in being headstrong and tenacious. He often joked that Lily got her red hair from him and his brutish Scottish heritage (though his ancestors had not lived in Scotland for at least a couple of centuries). He was trouble, but he was a loveable trouble, and Lily couldn't resist. He could make her angry, make her cry and make her laugh all in a matter of minutes, and she loved him afterwards all the same.
She fiddled with a photograph, waving it gently between two fingers. It was a little faded from exposure to the sun but it was still clear. Petunia must have been about eight years old, her blonde hair pulled into symmetrical braids and wearing a baby pink corduroy pinafore. Her father grinned as he lifted her up onto one shoulder while Petunia looked as if she was squealing. Lily peeked out from between his slightly spread legs - she was five, nearly six - and smiled sheepishly at who she supposed was her mother behind the camera.
That had been taken on their trip to Cornwall one Christmas, back when everyone was happy and her family felt whole.
"Do you think I should take these to the charity shop?"
Eileen Evans held up a pile of music magazines, their pages bent and front covers faded. Where Jim looked like Petunia, Eileen was much similar in looks to her youngest daughter. She had chestnut brown curls, cut short to her chin, and bottle green eyes that she had passed on to Lily. She was on the taller side of women her age and was slender. Her chunky black glasses perched on the very tip of her nose as she looked down at Lily in question.
Lily shook her head. "Not worth it, Mum. Those can probably go into the 'bin' box." She gestured to one of four cardboard boxes that were slowly being filled, labelled 'bin', 'charity shop', 'sell' and 'keep' respectively. She noted as she did, how little the 'bin' box had in it compared to the 'keep'. This was part of the reason Lily felt the need to stay all summer, otherwise her mum would hoard her father's belongings for the next twenty years.
"But," her mother began to counter, her fingers stroking the cover of the top magazine almost lovingly, "someone might really enjoy these."
"Those magazines are from twenty years ago," Lily said, standing up to take them from Eileen's arms, "I'm sure most people have moved on from Perry Como." She promptly dropped them into the 'bin' box.
Eileen let out a weary sigh. "You know, this is making me feel older than I want to be." She sat heavily onto the side of the bed in the corner and rubbed her forehead. "When did I become old enough to have two almost adult daughters? And have my favourite music become irrelevant? And…"
She left it there, but Lily knew the following question. When did I become old enough to be a widow? It had broken her heart when her dad had died, but it was breaking daily watching her mum struggle to piece together what was left of herself. Lily couldn't imagine what it must have been like to love someone so much that they became a part of your identity, and what it must feel like to lose that.
(Lily made a rule never to let herself become a half of someone when she was in love.)
"Don't be silly," Lily tutted after a moment, dropping to sit next to Eileen. She took her mother's slender hand in her own and gave it a squeeze. "You've still got years in you." Lily grinned and leaned into her mother, putting on a gossip voice akin to Petunia's, "I heard all the ladies in Book Club are jealous because they've started getting smile lines and you haven't."
Eileen gave a soft laugh. "Oh, stop it." She reached up and smoothed a stray red hair on top of Lily's head. "I've missed you, you know."
Lily's heart twinged a familiar twinge. She forced her lips into a small smile. "I write you every week, Mum."
"Yes, but it's not the same, is it?" she said. And it wasn't, but Lily couldn't think about that anymore.
Instead, she focused on her mum. Eileen was right; she was aging and she had changed from the image Lily had of her in her head. Her dark hair was lined with delicate strands of silver and while the ladies of Book Club were justified in their jealousy of her lack of smile lines, small crevices had begun to appear by the corners of her eyes. Eileen radiated the same soft sadness that Lily felt tug in her chest each morning and seeing it in her mother only made that feeling stronger.
She gave her mother a pat on the knee. "Shall I make us some tea? And by the time I get back, I expect that 'bin' box to be filled." Gesturing pointedly at the said box again, Lily pushed herself up from the bed and made her way to the kitchen.
The Evans' home wasn't particularly lavish but it was comfortable to say the least. With four bedrooms and two bathrooms, Lily had been made very aware as a child that she was lucky. Her mother had graduated from the local university with a degree in psychology before she was born, and Jim Evans had given up his musical career for a life of banking. Her parents had created a future for herself and Petunia, and for that she was grateful, yet it was disconcerting that she may very well have little to do with this Muggle future at all.
As she walked through to the kitchen, she noted how different it was after renovations she had not been present for. She didn't recognize the doorknobs on the kitchen cupboards or the tiles beneath her feet, but it still had a lingering sense of home.
She put the kettle on the stove to heat and turned to the pile of mail on the counter. Flicking through it, she came across an envelope addressed to her and stamped from France. On the front, there was a small doodle of the Eiffel Tower in the corner. She slipped it into her jeans pocket, saving it for later. It was bound to be from Marlene and Ambria, confirming the details of their Diagon Alley trip which would be in a week. Lily could barely believe the summer had gone so quickly even though she had spent it in the most mundane fashion, sorting her father's belongings and re-reading classic literature. There was a second envelope that also adorned her name; written in emerald green with a wax seal, the second letter could only have been one thing. She tucked that in her jeans alongside the other, and looked out into the garden as she waited for the tea.
She must have been staring out of the window for some time as her thoughts were interrupted by the squealing kettle. Lily quickly pulled it from the heat, poured herself and Eileen a mug each, and made her way back upstairs to continue the lengthy process of clearing the guest bedroom.
"If you could be anywhere right now, where you like to be?"
James Potter ran his finger along the edge of his teacup, his brow furrowed as he looked out onto the dock. Smaller yachts dotted the wall of the marina, shadowed by a single large sailing boat with mahogany colour masts and a blue painted hull.
Sitting across from him in the small cafe in Saint Malo was a local French girl. She was rather pretty - they usually were when in James' company - with straight dark hair that fell to her shoulder blades. She watched him expectantly for a response to her question.
"Peru," said James after a moment.
The girl raised her eyebrows over the coffee cup. "Peru? Why so far away?"
"I dunno," the boy shrugged. "I suppose I quite fancy myself as a Peruvian flute player."
For this, he earned a laugh. It was a pleasant sound; guttural but melodic, and not too sweet. "Fantastic. Your turn," she said.
Why James was sitting on the waterfront of Saint Malo with a local girl playing twenty questions was somewhat beyond him. It was these sorts of interactions that he ended up in when he had too much time on his hands and not enough entertainment. When Emilé had sat next to him on a bench down the road only twenty minutes prior, he had decided she was engaging enough to preoccupy him for the rest of the afternoon.
"Uh," he began, scratching his chin. "If you could be any animal, what would you be?"
"Oh, that's easy!" she said. Her accent pressed on the end of her sentence. "I would some kind of bird. Maybe a dove. So beautiful, and to fly would be so incredible."
James thought that maybe with her stark hair and loud voice she would suit being a raven much more than a gentle dove. He didn't say that though, and simply took a sip of his milky tea.
He missed England. France was nice enough, he supposed, and Saint Malo was brilliant to look at. The stone walled buildings and canals were plucked straight from the Middle Ages and James could practically hear the charging footsteps of Muggle soldiers marching down the waterfront. It had become a central part of Wizarding France a century or so before, but was still an attractive tourist hotspot for the Muggles. With enough glamour charms, the eccentric lanes of Wizarding shops was easily concealed, leaving the visitors none the wiser. But Saint Malo did not have his three missing counterparts, all of whom were suffering their only lonely summers somewhere else.
He had heard from Peter in a very brief letter (Wormtail was not one for words). His mother was fine, he was fine, and he'd had a really (and he said really) good steak and ale pie for tea. Remus had sent him a few letters but he was having a bit of a quiet patch, probably feeling under the weather due to the time of the month. James always felt uncomfortable at the thought of Remus dealing with that alone.
He'd actually spent quite a lot of time with Sirius earlier in the summer, but he'd been recalled to Grimmauld Place by his mother for his cousin's wedding. Narcissa Black, in traditional pureblood family style, was marrying into the Malfoys, simultaneously pleasing the majority of her relatives but losing her position of Sirius' second favourite cousin. James knew Sirius had been furious about and not once, but twice, had made it very clear to Narcissa that he considered her a cop out but his words had fallen on deaf ears. Lucius Malfoy had been a prefect two years above the boys in school and was - in James and Sirius' opinion - a complete and utter tosspot.
It was a little worrying to James that he had not received a single letter from Sirius since he had returned home, but it wasn't surprising. His mother was known for making Sirius' life miserable and somehow blocking his correspondence with James would be in her arsenal.
"James?" He had been looking out to sea and clearly not listening to Emilé's avid description of what it would be like to be a bird. James looked up at her, grinned sheepishly and ran his hand through his hair.
"Sorry," he said, though he wasn't very. "Long morning."
Emilé simply smiled at him, understanding. "That's quite alright. I just asked if you'd like to take a walk along the front. We could go visit Plumescriptes - have you been before?"
He had, but he nodded nonetheless. "Sounds great."
The pair began to walk along the northern wall of the town, tucking their light jackets around their chests. Even though it was mid-July, brisk gusts of wind came rolling in from the sea raising the hairs on their skin. The road along the wall was relatively empty. A few tourists milled around taking photographs of the stone features, and a mother walked a stroller along as her toddler stumbled after her.
Emilé walked closely to James, her arm almost brushing his, and when she glanced at him sideways, he had a panicked moment in which he thought she might reach for his hand. While James thought she was lovely (in fact, she was quite lovely), he tucked his hands into his coat pockets and internally scolded himself as he did. You see, there was a common thought that James Potter might have been a ladies man, but in actuality he was rather prone to spending his evenings alone.
There was a reason for that, but that's a story for a later time.
His companion had clearly noticed his sudden need to warm his hand, and out the corner of his eye, he saw her mouth open to make a comment. Only, the voice that next filled his ears was not hers.
"Oi, Potter!"
James wheeled in around in surprise. The voice that had not been Emilé's belonged to a tall, blonde girl who was jogging merrily towards him. Trailing behind her rather airily was her friend, a petite, blue haired young woman.
James grinned and his mood improved instantaneously. "Alright, McKinnon?"
"Friends of yours?" Emilé asked curiously, and James noticed that she'd stepped away from him a little. He nodded as Marlene McKinnon's jog came to a halt. Next to Emilé, the difference between the two was very apparent. Marlene neared six foot, with honey coloured hair that was almost always thrown into a tight ponytail.
"What are you doing here?" James marvelled, grinning at cobalt-haired Ambria as she joined the group. The two girls were going into their sixth year at Hogwarts alongside James, and were also sorted into Gryffindor house. When he noticed that the usual third addition to their party was missing, he tried his hardest not to feel disappointed.
"Dad's here for some tribunal, so me and Ambria tagged along for the culture," said Marlene. She looked at Emilé and nodded in greeting. "Hello."
"Oh, Merlin, sorry - this is Emilé. I, uh - we just met actually."
Ambria gave a bright smile. "How wonderful. I love meeting the locals. I'm Ambria." She stuck out her hand rather forcefully towards Emilé.
Emilé took her hand rather weakly. "Nice to meet you."
"Are you here for long?" Marlene had turned back to James now, seemingly disinterested in introducing herself. "We've done the walk along the front about five times now and if I have to do it again, I might go off the end of it."
"'Til the end of the week," he replied, grinning at her exaggeration. "Not one for historical towns then, eh?"
Marlene rolled her eyes. "Not if I can help it. It's been alright though, I suppose. We've been here for four days now." An afterthought, "I could do with something to eat though."
"Oh, yes!" Ambria piped in. "I'm a bit famished. Do you know anywhere good?"
He did, but he didn't get a chance to give a suggestion.
"We were actually on our way to the bookstore," Emilé interrupted. The tone of her voice startled James slightly; it was more annoyed than he had expected.
Her annoyance didn't seem to register with Ambria who responded, "Oh lovely! We'll come with you." She looked at her friend who seemed less than enthused. "Food can wait for ten minutes, can't it, Mar?"
Marlene shrugged but exchanged a look with James. "I guess so. Is that alright with you?"
She was clearly concerned that Ambria was inviting herself along on James' date with Emilé, but James was welcoming of the company. The pair of them might have been the little bit of home that he needed.
"'Course not," he grinned. Emilé' may have grimaced beside him, but nobody else seemed to notice.
The four of them turned to continue on the path in which James and Emilé had previously been headed. James listened to Marlene and Ambria chat about their holidays: they'd visited an art gallery where Ambria mistakenly flirted with a Muggle and charmed her hair pink in front of him, Marlene had been following the European Women's Quidditch League religiously, and both of them had received their Hogwarts letters for the upcoming year.
There wasn't a single mention of Lily.
Now, this struck James as odd due to the fact that Lily was as much of a counterpart to Marlene and Ambria as he was to the rest of the Marauders. He knew this because, while he hated to even entertain the thought (much less actually admit to the fact), he had been harbouring some rather reckless feelings for the redheaded witch. He had been trying to forget about those for the most part, but he wasn't having very much luck.
James supposed it was hard to shake feelings that you had been harbouring since you were thirteen years old. They stuck with him like his old habits, like running his hand through his hair and doodling snitches in the margins of his school books.
After walking for a little while, they reached Plumescriptes, what could be called the French equivalent to Flourish and Blotts. Ambria stepped inside excitedly, followed by Marlene. James being the gentleman that he thought he was, stepped to hold the door open for Emilé. The gesture was not notably successful in cheering his new acquaintance's expression.
Plumescriptes was exactly the sort of shop you would expect in a town like Saint Malo. Tall, rosewood bookcases reached for the glass ceiling, and followed the curve of the walls the entirety of the way around the room. Smaller, more decorative cases stood in the middle as aisles, with creeping plant vines curling around the edges. The shop was quiet, with only a few patrons milling amongst the shelves, and the group kept their voices low as they wandered through.
"How'd you meet her again?" Marlene murmured into James' ear. Her blue eyes were trained on the back of Emilé's head as the dark-haired girl inspected a book.
Marlene McKinnon was the closest thing James could claim as a sister - though, they'd both balk at the sentiment if you said it aloud. They had been fast friends in their first year, making her his friend for as long as the Marauders. She was a wicked Beater and an asset to the Gryffindor Quidditch team, something vital to James as the captain.
James shrugged. "I was bored and she sat next to me on a bench. I asked her to tea."
"You were bored."
"Well, if you'd shown up earlier…"
He stifled a pained laugh as Marlene dug her elbow into his ribs. Neither Emilé nor Ambria seemed to be paying much attention to their antics and continued their browsing.
"Where's your usual shadows anyway?" Marlene asked as they paused in an aisle. "I thought you always spent the summer together."
"Not always." James chewed the inside of his lip. "Sirius is at his cousin's wedding -" (Marlene grimaced - she, too, disliked how Sirius' family worked) "- and Remus is spending some time with his mum. Peter's doing the same thing too, s'pose."
"And you're here in France… alone?"
"Not alone. My parents are here."
Marlene grinned a little. "Ah, the elusive Potter parents. How are old Fleamont and Euphemia doing?"
"Fine. They're delighting in some terribly boring theatre that I refused to attend."
"Which is why you are here, bored."
"I would've have been bored there too."
"Maybe not," Marlene contested, leaning back against the bookshelf. "You could have learned something. Gained some culture."
James shot Marlene a look at mock hurt. "I am thoroughly cultured, thank you very much."
"Yeah, like mould," she quipped in return.
This time it was James' turn to send Marlene a jab, albeit softer and less accurate as the blonde ducked out of his way. She simply grinned at him.
It was at this moment that James had two options. The first was to give into his childish whim and blatantly point out the absence of their usual comrade, therefore bringing up the conversation of Lily (which he was secretly desperate to discuss). The second was the reign in his feelings like an adult and move on to another subject. That would be the sensible thing to do.
But when had James Potter ever been sensible?
"What about you then?" he asked, digging the toe of his trainer into a scuff in the carpet. "Where's Evans? I thought you three were inseparable soul sisters."
Marlene made a face at the term 'soul sisters'. "She went home for the summer."
"She doesn't usually though, does she?"
A blonde eyebrow curved on Marlene's forehead. "Have you amounted to stalking now, Potter?"
James rolled his eyes, then raised his eyebrow back at her. "Don't be ridiculous." Marlene didn't look convinced. "I simply wanted to make the point that if she was here, you'd complete the set."
"What set?"
"Well, you know, you're in France… Red," he then gestured to Ambria's hair, "Blue… and white, sort of." He finally gestured to Marlene's own blonde hair. "All together you would have made up a French flag." Grinning, his expression implied that his joke was much funnier than it actually was.
Again, Marlene rolled her eyes but this time she fought back a grin. "Prat."
James left his Lily inquiries at that.
Dearest Lily,
Petunia sounds like a - forgive my French (get it? Because we're in France!) - complete bitch. Like, unnecessary amounts of Moody Cow Syndrome. From your stories, I'll never understand how the pair of you could possibly be related because you're a ball of sunshine (most of the time) and she sounds like a wet rag.
But anyway -
Saint Malo hasn't been quite as drab as I expected! Ambria is having a lovely time, she says. Well, actually she said to say she was having a splendid time but then asked me to lessen her enthusiasm in case you thought she wasn't missing you. She is, if you hadn't noticed, and she won't shut up about it.
You will never guess who is here though. Here Amby and I were, wandering along the waterfront (for the fifth time) minding our own business (because there's not much else to do here) when I spotted in front of me a beautiful sight! Actually, no, not beautiful, he would never let me live that down if he knew I'd referred to him as beautiful. But anyway, it was the back of James Potter's head!
And I know you're not his biggest fan at the moment, and that's okay, but I just thought - what are the chances? I mean, yes, Saint Malo is pretty popular at this time of year and they do some excellent brie at the Wizarding Agricultural Market (honestly, so good), but still - James Potter, who would have thought. And despite what he might say, I did save him from the clutches of a terrible date whether he thinks so or not.
I hope we're still on for next Wednesday for London. I have my eyes on a new pair of velvet lined robes because I think I've had mine since I was thirteen and the sleeves come up to my elbows. Amby also wants to get a new old because Fidget has lost the ability to fly in a straight line so she's leaving her at home this year. How is Claude, by the way? Hopefully adapting to Muggle life. Give him a scratch under the chin from me!
Remember - London on Wednesday. We can meet at the Leaky Cauldron at ten thirty and head through to Diagon Alley then. (Don't forget, says Ambria! As if I haven't reminded you enough).
We love you very much and miss you horribly!
Marlene (and Ambria).
P.S. We also hope you're feeling a bit better, lots of love to Mama Evans.
Lily tucked Marlene's letter neatly back into its envelope. She sat cross legged on top of the bed in her childhood bedroom. Horse posters still lined the walls from when she was ten and had an obsession with ponies, and in the corner sat an antique doll's house with one broken window.
She had another unopened letter in her hand, this one much bulkier. It was her Hogwarts letter for her sixth year and she was a little apprehensive to open it. Sure, it would be exactly like the previous five letters (except for perhaps the supplies list) (oh, and of course, the first one when she found out she was a witch), but she fought with the anxiety that, maybe, this year, she wouldn't have been chosen.
It was sort of a given that Lily wanted to be a prefect for a second year. She was above average in most of her classes, if not excellent, and she had a penchant for rules (which is sort of a characteristic one would like in a prefect). Sure, she wouldn't be devastated if she didn't get it - she had learned what being devastated really meant earlier that year - but she would have been disappointed not to have carried on with her title. It would have been nice for something to go her way for once.
With a small excited hold of her breath, she tore into the parchment envelopment and uncharacteristically emptied the contents onto the bed.
Sitting on top of her welcome letter and supplies list sat a very shiny, very golden badge.
Not so far away in Spinner's End, another prefect's badge had made its way into a Hogwarts envelope. Severus Snape sat at his wobbly dining room table and inspected the badge between his fingers. His first thought was predictable, and it was correct; Lily would be joining him in the prefect compartment of the train this year. That first thought both thrilled and concerned him. They hadn't had a proper conversation since the end of the exam period a couple of months before, and it had been an unpleasant one.
He'd sent her a letter but there was no response. Severus wasn't the sort of person to reach out a second time but the anxiety of the matter was eating him up inside. He had been fighting with the feelings he'd spent his first five years at Hogwarts pushed to the back his head; he was bitter at what he felt like was injustice. No matter how brightly he might have once shone in Lily's opinion, he was never going to be enough - he knew that. It was just that he struggled with the idea that it took him five years to realize the fact.
Closing his fist around the badge, he felt the pin dig slightly into his palm. The whole thing seemed like a poorly timed joke. He hadn't been chosen for a prefect position in his Fifth Year - Daniel Rubio must have pulled out - and he couldn't quite understand why he'd been chosen now. In a matter of months, he had been initiated into two polarizing groups, with responsibilities that contradicted the very nature of each other, when all he had wanted in life was to be included, to be wanted. Now, he was torn between two sides, and the one he was most unsure of had the strongest appeal.
Maybe if the last conversation he'd had with Lily hadn't been so awful, the choice of his allegiance wouldn't have been so easy to make. But he could see her slipping away from him. Even if he could get her to forgive him, to move past a stupid utterance of a stupid word, he doubted she would ever smile at him like she used to. He wondered at what point did Lily stopped viewing him with reverence and instead with a disappointed contempt.
The phone on the wall in the kitchen rang, jolting him. It was an unusual sound that startled him often - despite growing up in a mixed household, he had forgotten what it was like to be around some Muggle artefacts.
He stood up and crossed the room to answer it.
"Snape household," he answered, his voice low and apathetic. The voice on the other end of the line crackled into his ear, his face paling considerably as it did. "Okay," he said in response. There was another beat in which the crackling continued. He nodded along, chewing the inside of his lip.
After a moment, he hung up. Turning towards the front door, he walked past his coat and his badge and his disregarded Hogwarts letter. He simply took his wand, shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans, and left.
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