A/N: All right, well, this is my latest idea – my latest little brain-child, if you will. It was unexpected, and actually came to me in the shower one night, but I decided to outline the whole, long thing and just go for it, because writing Ainsley is a lot of fun and I wanted to experiment with the idea. So, I hope you enjoy this chapter, and depending on your responses, maybe soon we'll have an update!

Title: Stupidities of Man
As Told By: Ainsley Catherwood
Year: 4
Rating: M for language, just to be safe
Pairings: Mostly SiriusOC, but quite a lot of LilyJames along with it
Full Summary: For Ainsley Catherwood, Lily Evans, and the rest of their fellow Gryffindors, everything is about to change in these next tumultuous months in ways they'd never imagined possible – there's flirting, fighting, frolicking, fretting, and even some falling-in-love. As they embark on their latest journey through the misty, delicate marshes of teenage-hormones, Lily and Ainsley find themselves in some sticky situations they never expected to face before – and they somehow have to live through them. Much easier said than done.
Warning: The language is pretty foul in this story – Ainsley's tongue is a little more uncensored than my usual tongue if you've read my other stories, so it's only fair to warn you that there will be a lot of cursing, especially as the story goes on.

It's ten forty-seven AM exactly.

Sunday morning, bright and early. The autumn-worthy weather – deceivingly sunny with a wind cold enough to frostbite my ears – beats down hard on me, like it always does at this time of year. I retreat further under the sweatshirt I am wearing at the draft, and clutch tighter to my trunk handle as I look around the busy train station for the right platform.

I really, really, really need to get going.

My expression feels sullen, because right now, I am sullen – in my humble opinion, ten forty-seven is far too early to be able to think. I'm never awake until at least eleven, which causes a slight problem during the school-day in my first few classes.

Next to me in the gaggle of Muggle train-visitors, my mum, Eileen Catherwood, is craning her long neck around with me, but to a higher extreme. She looks like an ostrich from the angle I have on her – long legs, long neck, big mouth, prominent middle area.

I like to think that the doctors at the hospital gave me to the wrong mother, because I look absolutely nothing like her – all my features are small, and I'm an average height, if not a little bit shorter. It makes it easier for me to make fun of her and not feel too badly about it.

"Ainsley darling, please look for the damn platform," Mum begs me in her usual shrill voice. Even if she's not trying to, she always sounds like she's bleating. It's kind of depressing.

"I'm looking, Mum – unbunch your knickers, won't you?" I tell her irritably.

She gives me a look upon hearing my tone, but I ignore her. I'm immune to her 'glares' by now, and they are about as frightening as baby kittens. She has an unfortunate habit for forgetting that I am no longer four and easily frightened. I am fourteen and it takes a little more than a look to scare me – unless the look is from my best friend, Lily Evans. Then circumstances change.

But, at last, I do catch sight of the platform in front of me, just beyond a rather large woman saying a pitifully weepy good-bye to a bored-looking boy in his late teens. Peering over at it, I point, and say, "Right there, Mum. Can we go?"

"That's what I'm trying to do," she says crossly, brushing her blonde hair (so unlike my coal-black locks) out of her face. She shuffles me forward with my trunk, and tries to push past the woman I'd noted, but to no avail.

"Excuse me?" Mum asks the woman in her nasal whine, attempting to scoot her aside. "I'm trying to get through here – excuse me."

The woman doesn't move or even hear her, but continues to hug her son, who is attempting to edge away towards the train with an apprehensive look on his face. I want to comfort him – clearly, his mother is one of those horrifically clingy types that make me ill because they care so much – but I know I can't. Mum would freak out that I'm 'intruding on a stranger's personal life,' as though it's some sort of capital offense.

I've learned it's better, and easier, if I just to keep my mouth shut.

So, as a better use for my frustration at this lady, I ram her lightly with my trunk and holler, "Excuse me, ma'am, I have a train behind you that I have to catch in about ten bloody minutes."

Okay, so maybe it wasn't the kindest thing I could've done, but I had to do something, didn't I?

The woman whips around to look at me when she hears me, her eyes bugging practically out of her face with horror. I can only imagine what she sees – a slim, peevish-looking teenager, with dark hair, enormous grey eyes with long eyelashes, a fair complexion, and a goaded expression.

She cries out, simply to spite me and cause my mum to glare daggers at me, and says, "Well! Young lady, you ought to learn some manners."

Here, my mum gets a significant look – as though she's the boss of what mothers should teach their daughters these days – but the woman does finally move aside to let us speed past, hindered slightly by the size of my ragged trunk.

Like most of what I own, it's been through the mill, and is far too small for me to utilize properly – hence the difficulties I get into at train stations.

"Thank you," I shout back to the stupid woman I'd wound up as I sprint to the platform and charge right through, with Mum trailing along after me. I know I should be more subtle when I come through this platform, so not to attract too much attention from the Muggles, but somehow, I never am. I'm not too partial to the whole 'quietness' thing when I can be loud.

When we do get on the other side though – the wizard side with much noise and too many people saying good-bye – Mum rounds angrily on me, looking at me as if I'm a felon or something cool like that.

"What the hell were you on about there?" she demanded. "Are you crazy, Ainsel-puff?"

"Mum!" I groan. "For the love of Merlin's second-cousin-twice-removed, please stop calling me by that appalling name!"

Ainsel-puff is the nickname my mum came up with for me years ago, when I was around three years old. I'd been obsessed with Puff the Magic Dragon, and my mum used to call me Ainsel-puff because of it; even after the phase wore off, I'm still stuck with the name, as a dirty reminder of the times when my mother and I had been close.

Now though, she doesn't use it affectionately. Now, she ignores my pleas to forget about it and only uses it when she's angry with me – like she is at present.

"Ainsley Catherwood, never again do I want you to hit random people with your trunk or use the term 'bloody' in front of them, do you understand me?" she thunders, her face contorted with her annoyance and embarrassment as she stares down a couple of inches at me.

"Of course," I say, bored, waving the matter aside with a flick of my wrist. "I promise, I'll be good, I'll be great, I'll be wonderful – but only if I get to the train and go to school. So, I'm going to say goodbye now so I can take my time sticking my trunk into my compartment, yeah?"

Mum seems a little disconcerted by my rushed eagerness to get away from her, and blinks with surprise. I don't know why she reacts with such behavior, because I do this to her every year, but I look expectantly at her anyway until she says, "All right then, Ainsley."

I nod, and bite down the meanly sardonic remark itching to escape my throat as I put on my tightest smile and reach forward to hug her. "Good-bye, Mum, I'll miss you," I say, trying my best to sound believable.

In all likelihood, we both know that I will not miss her.

"Good-bye, my love," she says, so genuinely that it almost makes me feel bad. "I'll see you at the end of this year, yeah? Keep writing letters to me, and keep your grades up, and for goodness sake please study for your exams with that Evans girl – I want you to do well this year – and don't get into too much trouble with the teachers, I don't want a repeat of last year…"

"Okay, okay," I cut her off impatiently. "Fine. No putting live frogs down Professor Slughorn's basket-like pants this year, got it, got it. See you later."

I give her one more quick hug, glance at the clock above me (it reports the time to be ten fifty-two), and tell her I've got to get going. She looks quite despondent, now that I have to go – it's odd for me to see, because over the summer, I could tell she could barely wait to get rid of me. Being an only child to my divorced parents, I'm her only other family member – and I'm not the kind of make-up-and-fun-loving daughter she wants me to be.

But then again, this happens every year; I believed her at first, but I think that by this year, when I'm at my most "hormonal" (her words, not mine), she's only putting on an act when she says she's going to miss me.

That does make things bittersweet, but bittersweet is just how we are. I've learned to get used to it.

So, with this in mind, I decide against my better judgment to give into my sudden affection for her, kiss her quickly on the cheek, and saunter off towards the train, waving vaguely to give the impression that I care anymore about these pointless good-byes. However, my temporary guilt does not stop me from disregarding whatever she's shouting at me from a distance, so I'm able to turn my full attention forward to the train I'm trying to climb onto, hoping to ignore what's going on in my stomach now that I know I'm being a complete bitch to the woman who brought me into this world.

This is the thing about my mum – when you're with her, she annoys the shit out of you. But the moment you leave her, it feels like something's missing, like you've forgotten something of mild importance; you forget all the stupid things about her and you remember that you do, in fact, kind of love her.

I get these little twangs sometimes – these little twangs of honest-to-goodness daughter-to-mother love that the good girls get – but they usually pass pretty quickly, like a bad burrito lunch from the Mexican take-out restaurant a mile or two away from my house.

And sure enough, I'm pretty much unscathed a moment later.

With a wane sigh, I run the fingers from my free hand through the hair that I've been told is as black as my heart, and I board the train at ten fifty-four with six minutes to find a seat, dump my trunk, and hunt for Lily Evans.

This ought to be fun.

The train ride is, in all honesty, my least favorite part of the entire trip – I rarely have enough time to settle down before the thing lurches forward down the track, and I've made so many enemies through my short time at Hogwarts that there are very few people willing to sit with me. Ever since the first day, I've sat with the girl who became my best friend in the universe, the aforementioned Lily who has the ability to scare me with her 'looks' sometimes, but today, she is nowhere to be found.

Damn – I'd better find her soon.

Back and forth, forth and back, I search the many compartments for Lily's admittedly-noticeable head with growing frustration. Bugger – where did this girl go? She knows I like to sit with her on the train; have the past three years been absolutely no reminder for her whatsoever?

Anyway, she should be here – Lily's one of those anal-retentive people who love being at least ten minutes too early, which is good for someone as lazy as myself.

I'm about to give up and sit in a random compartment, when at long last, I see a red-haired someone shriek my name and run at me, throwing her arms around me and squeezing me so tightly, I fear I can't breathe. I let go of my trunk at last, in the middle of the aisle, and cautiously hug her back, wondrous and slightly dazed by her attack.

Yes, this must be Lily.

Taking in the nostalgic, blissfully familiar scent of sweet orchids and tangy honey-mustard that always lingers around her, I give her a final, awkward wring before gently separating her from me and affectionately taking in her excited expression.

For the first time since I last saw her, the smile on my face is absolutely true – summers are torturous at home, and I always miss Lily so much more than I will ever be able to tell her.

"Ainsley, my darling, my lovely, how are you?" she immediately wants to know as she grabs my trunk from me and drags it down the aisle to a compartment in the back.

"Erm…pessimistic, ill-tempered, and harassed by my mother; but what else is new?" I drawl, by way of my signature bitchy greeting, even to the only girl in this world that matters to me.

Lily laughs her usual laugh – loud, easy, and natural. "Merlin, I've missed you," she says, her sweetly green eyes (that I sooo wish I had) running me over in my messy attire. "Come in here, Ains, I want to take a look at you."

Just blissful that I am in the company of someone who is not my mother, I oblige by taking my trunk, stuffing it up top next to Lily's (very neat, pretty, and suspiciously new-looking) trunk, and retreating into the tiny cubicle that is our compartment. I awkwardly stand there in front of her, and say, "Ta da."

She laughs again, and comes in with me, and we both rake our eyes over each other, seeing with interest what the summer has done for us.

For me, it has done nothing. I look exactly the same as before – except my hair has grown out a little and even started to curl slightly at the ends, and I'm a little thinner than I was when I left. Minor changes, those are; negligible, easy to overlook, because they're so delicate.

But Lily – Merlin, she's changed almost too much for my liking; if she hadn't jumped on me a few moments before, I fear I wouldn't have recognized her.

This is definitely my best friend Lily Evans as I see the things that are so distinctive of her – her gorgeous, fiercely red hair, her tall stature, the faint freckles peppering her light cheeks – but today as I take her in, there's so much more about her that's different.

Over one summer, she's suddenly turned into something…else. Some variation of Lily that I'm not used to.

Sure, her hair is still red, but it's grown out to be really long – much longer than mine. She's still tall, but she's filled out a bit; she's got curves, and I bet she had to go emergency bra-shopping over the two months we've been apart. Her face, while freckled, somehow seems devoid of the young-girl roundness to me, and more adult.

There's no doubt about it – Lily did some rapid growing-up without me, and she looks beautiful. She's only fourteen, but she might as well be eighteen for the woman she's suddenly turned into.

And, seeing her so drastically diverse to me, I want to steal a Time Turner and relive third year again – relive the time when we were young and had no boobs.

It sounds mean, and almost explicit in that sense, but I can't help but think this way; Lily Evans is my best friend, my very best friend in the entire world, and it's hard for me to see her as someone different than the nerdy little kid she was when I first met her.

But, somehow, I manage to swallow down these thoughts, and I smile, although this time it's a little less sincere. "You look great," I say honestly.

"So do you, Ainsley," Lily assures me, flicking a strand of my hair with her pretty fingers.

"Thanks for trying," I say with a smirk as I plop down and spread out on my side of the compartment.

I'm known for my unbreakable pessimism, so Lily-the-woman just giggles giddily as she does the same on the other side – although she doesn't spread out as luxuriously as I do. "So," she says next, taking a mint out of her purse, "how was your summer, Ains?"

"Absolutely lovely," I answer sarcastically, reaching without invitation into her purse to steal a handful of mints. "I mean, I got to hang out with my mum all break, while she got through six boyfriends and put me through the whole relationship-cycle at warp-speed. I had to make dinner every night this summer for her and some other stupid man she'd picked up off the street. She even forced me to wear make-up for them. Now tell me; how does that sound for a kick-arse summer vacation?"

Lily laughs her choky laugh again – she loves hearing about my home life, which is the sharp and polar opposite of her own. "Sounds like fun," she teases me as she takes one of her mints back to unwrap and pop into her mouth. "Were there any good ones this time?"

"Of course not," I say with a snort. "My mother has horrible taste in men; these ones were worse than the other ones she's brought home. There was one, Michael, who started flirting with me when my mum was in the bathroom."

Lily blanches and nearly chokes on her mint. "Honestly?" she inquires with disbelief. "How old was he? What did your mum say?"

"He was this atrocious guy aged somewhere in his forties, and he smelled like cabbage," I report. "When my mum walked in, he was trying to smell my hair or something, and I was threatening to kill him. I have a theory that he's some pervert who recently got released from prison. My mum went berserk when she saw him, and thankfully kicked him out."

"That's a relief," Lily says, shuddering. "How revolting."

"You don't say," I say grimly. "My mother and her boyfriends are the reasons why I don't have any faith in the human race at all, let alone want to get married, love. But either way; let's discuss something other than the ghastly men I've acquainted with over these past few weeks – tell me about your summer."

"Fair enough," Lily says with a smile. "My summer was actually rather nice – my family and I decided to visit America for a few weeks."

"America?" My interest is caught – Mrs. Evans always has amazing summer holiday plans, and I am utterly jealous. I wish she would adopt me. "How was that?"

"Colorful," Lily says, grinning. "It's similar to here, only they have these flat, nasally accents, their prices are quite high, and there's flashy music everywhere. Everybody drives cars and they like lights, cinema, and glossy magazines."

"Where in America did you go?" I ask her.

"New York," Lily says promptly. "It's filthy, and there are a lot of people. But it was still exciting – more people walk there, and there are so many enormous buildings to see. I had American corn dogs!"

"American mystery meat?" I wrinkle my nose. "I don't like the mystery meat here; is it any good over there?"

"Actually, it is," she says. "I had two. Petunia wanted to eat a second, but after her first, she began to vomit and we weren't sure why. Now she hates American meat."

I laugh. "Haha – tell Petunia that we should get a hot dog together some time over the next summer."

Lily snorts. "She'll hurt you, Ains."

"Yes, but I'm a witch, in both ways," I remind her. "I can hurt her much worse if she tries."

"I suppose you're right," Lily muses. "She still hasn't forgotten the red bucket incident, you know."

I laugh harder this time; during the summer after our first year, I went to Lily's Muggle home for a visit, and met Petunia Evans for the first and only time. While we were there, sitting on the swings in the park and talking, Petunia arrived with her red bucket and a friend, and they were playing some stupid game with it together. I don't remember how, but the bucket somehow got in my way and annoyed me – I got upset and chucked the bucket back at her.

Somehow, my aim was straight-on, and it hit her smack in the middle of her face. She cried, and since then, Petunia has hated the very sight of me. I've been forced to conclude that she is even faster to judge than I am, and I hadn't expected that to be humanly possible.

Now though, I say reminiscently, "That was a lovely bucket actually, as I think on it. It was so big and had this bright yellow handle that blinded me. I think that's what knocked her out for a few minutes."

Lily makes this strange noise somewhere between a snort and a chortle – I call it a snortle. "She loved that bucket," she tells me.

"And I'm saying I loved it too," I say. "It's probably one of about three things we have in common."

"What are the other things?" Lily wants to know.

"We're human, and we're female," I say promptly. Then, I reconsider and say, "Well, actually, I have a theory that your sister is some scientific experiment for training monkeys to join human society, so maybe we only have two things in common. Unless she's secretly a man, in which case, we're only joined by our bond to that red bucket."

Lily gives her volcano-burst of a laugh and comes forward to squeeze me into another one of her hugs. "Oh, how I've missed you, Ainsley Catherwood," she says as she smiles affectionately at me. "With only my sister for company, one forgets there are other people out there who have a real sense of…soul."

Soul?

"Soul?" I ask her, a bit incredulously. "Lils, I am the most soulless person on this planet other than a dementor victim – although I appreciate the compliment nonetheless."

Lily smiles. "You know what I mean. You're more…lively, in this dry sort of way. You're funny and honest and crazy and I love you like the sister I wish Petunia was."

Her flattering remarks – so absent from my life in the summer – manage to tickle me pinker than I can recall going in a while. However, I can't think of a non-mushy way to phrase this, so I settle with saying, "Thanks, Lil. You're like the sister I might have had if my mum hadn't aborted the result of the relationship she had before my dad."

She laughs yet again – Lily is known for laughing a lot – but asks with intrigue, "You never told me your mum got an abortion before you."

"She hasn't either, but I'm a pretty good guesser," I say. "I know that my dad was her third husband – who's to say her other two didn't bed her at the right time of the month?"

My mum is what they call a blonde doll – she's a very pretty face, but beyond that, she's got no light on in the attic, if my drift is clear enough. Men like her for her large breasts and her large hips, as well as her height and face, but when her nasally voice and insipidity start working their way under their skin, the relationship falls apart faster than a mansion of cards.

Lily knows this, since I've told/ranted/explained this to her a million times and more over the course of the years we've known each other, so she is quick to nod and say, "You're right. But it still sounds rather strange, doesn't it? Why would she abort the other babies she might've had if she kept you?"

"That's because when she realized she had me, she wanted to get rid of me, but my biological father refused to let his baby die," I clarify. "He was the most virtuous of the lot, you see; it doesn't show in me, because clearly his genes flew over my fetal head and I got my mother's, but he seems like he's better than what my mum usually goes for. So, she was forced to keep me. But, I was his only baby, so when she got pregnant again – which she did, about four times since I was ten, only the Lord himself knows how – she just got a quiet abortion each time. I think she has a lady reserved for her by this point."

Lily listens to my story carefully, and I can see a hint of sadness as she does; Lily's never been too comfortable with my blunt stories about my mother's revolting love life. She told me once, when I asked her if she didn't want to hear it, that it was only because she feels that I was deprived of a solid childhood, and that she's just so grateful that I'm not at all like the woman I've grown up with.

I thank whatever Higher Power let me have her, really.

When she finishes pondering, though, she says, "Well, I'm glad you didn't get aborted – if you had, I wouldn't have my hilarious and sarcastic best friend, would I?"

"You wouldn't," I agree. "And I wouldn't be here, at Hogwarts, making fun of the stupidities of man!" I cackle rather evilly. "I enjoy doing that."

Lily opens her mouth to say something else, something to do with my remark on the stupidities of man I predict, but it is at this precise moment when someone knocks on our compartment door – it's loud and distinctive, but it still takes me an extra nanosecond to place the knock with the person.

And, when I do, Lily and I groan at the same time, "Go away, Potter."

"It's actually Sirius, but close enough," I hear a familiar voice say cheerfully, while another, slightly deeper voice chuckles along. "Now open up and give me a nice big bear hug, Evans and Catherwood!"

I swear loudly, but Lily is nice enough to say, "Just bug off, would you both? We don't really fancy the company."

"Aww, I know you love us, Evans," Sirius says in a sing-song voice from outside, only a slight wickedness colouring his tone. "Bang, bang, bang; open up, or I'll open it myself."

Lily is about to say something else, but I cut her off by shouting at him, "She's trying to tell you to fuck off, so do so!"

There's a moment of quiet, before Sirius's voice presently says, "Ah, Catherwood, you and your eloquent tongue. How I've missed it over this treacherous summer break without you."

I can feel my easy, dark frustration well up in me like fat in a blood vein, and it takes me a lot of strength not to go out there and kill him. Normally, I silence the impulse rather well, but it's been a whole summer of evil men my mother had dated – whatever patience I did have is waning, and today is just not the right day to annoy me.

So, my tone positively acidic, I say, "Ah, you and your pitiable stupidity when it comes to the ways and minds of fourteen-year-old witches; I certainly haven't missed it, but it appears to be here in full-force nonetheless. Remind me to kill you once no one's looking."

Sirius laughs merrily, then says, "Open up the door and give me the aforesaid hug, Catherwood."

Now, Lily looks warningly at me before whispering, "Ains, just let him come in for a moment and you can kick him out. Doing it like this will only inspire him to be even more irritating."

Her advice is sound, as it almost always is, which means I really have no choice but to listen to it. So, it is with a heavy heart that I unwillingly open the door of our compartment to Sirius Black and James Potter, who are standing there in Muggle clothes, waiting.

It's been two months since I've seen Sirius, so change is to be expected, but as was the case with Lily, a stranger with remnants of the old Sirius stands cheekily before me. Even James looks completely different; a summer has really done wonders for them both.

Sirius's face has lost all the last bits of baby fat he had last year, leaving his cheekbones looking sharp and his jaw looking strong. His hair has grown out admittedly nicely, reaching just a little past his ears, but his eyes remain the same – bright and mischievous. He's lankier than he was at our last farewell (which featured me kicking him in a sensitive male area and him calling me a string of curse words as I boarded the train) and – dare I say it – sporting some more muscle on his arms and legs. I can already tell the girls in our year are going to be swooning over him when they catch sight of him.

James, next to him, has undergone some maturation of his own – never quite as classically handsome as his best friend, his round face has thinned out a bit, although his hair is exactly the same. He's about an inch shorter than Sirius, but fuller somehow, as though all the gangly kid he'd been before has eaten something and evened out. He's basically gone from the cute boy next door to the hotter one down the street, and he, too, will definitely be subject to some female attention. I don't think he'll want it though – the way he's looking at Lily right now, expectant and elated, he's probably going to try for her attentions again, as he had during the second half of last year.

I take in the sight of them with some element of surprise in my face, as does Lily from beside me, and James obviously notices. Pleased that we're studying him, I presume, he smiles and says, "It was really Sirius's idea to pay a visit in here, but I'm glad we did – you look hot, Evans."

Lily blushes as red as her hair, but folds her arms and says, "If you think that's going to win you a date, you're mistaken."

"Well, at least I can say I tried," he says with a wink. "I'll try again once we get to the castle."

"Sod off," she says, tucking her hair behind her ear and eyeing James with the special disgust she's learned to save just for him.

Sirius beams at me, while James grins at Lily, and says, "Catherwood…you're not looking too bad either."

"Too bad I can't say the same about you," I say dryly.

Ignoring this, he looks me up and down and continues, "Really – have you lost weight?"

"Maybe I have," I say defensively, hugging my middle. "Are you trying to suggest that I was fat?"

"No, no, no," Sirius dismisses with another wide smile. "You just look a little smaller in your clothes this year. I like it."

I glance down at my attire – old blue jeans three sizes too big, my favorite faded purple sweatshirt, and filthy sneakers. Do I look smaller in them? Regardless of my weight, I probably would because they're so large, but I decide to let it go and say, "Well, you look too big for yours, so it all evens out."

Sirius glances at himself as well, but then flexes his arm for me. "This is all muscle, Catherwood," he tells me. "James and I were working out this summer."

"Doesn't look like it," Lily mutters as she gives James a quick once-over with her cat-green eyes.

James laughs. "Don't hate me because I'm beautiful, Evans," he teases her.

"Arrogant prat," she retorts, rolling her eyes.

James bats his eyelashes, while Sirius only laughs again, grinning affectionately at his best friend. But, his affectionate grin then falls on me, and mixes in with his usual naughtiness as he says, "I'm much obliged by your amusing presence, Catherwood; I'd ask if you and Evans would like to accompany us to our compartment, but I figure that would be asking too much of your politeness."

"Not so much our politeness, but more the capabilities of our stomachs," I say sharply. "Mine has not wanted to upchuck so much since you first began flirting with me a couple of years ago. And I nearly got permanent tissue-damage back then."

Sirius chuckles, but otherwise disregards my remarks as he says, "So I'll see you later, yeah?"

"I suppose I'll have to," I say grudgingly. "But spare me until then, would you?"

Sirius gives me a low, sarcastic bow. "As you wish," he says impishly.

James, on the other hand, says dramatically, "Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say good-night till it be morrow!"

Lily narrows her eyes upon hearing these familiar words, while I gag, since I loathe them. "Shakespeare," she says. "How do you know Romeo and Juliet?"

"My mum made me read it over the summer," James says with a wrinkle of his nose. "I didn't like it, but I knew you did, and I just happened to remember that line at the right moment. Funny how that works, isn't it?"

I smile triumphantly at Lily when I hear this, because I too have been putting Shakespeare's mushiness down for the years I've known her, but Lily carefully chooses to ignore me as she tells James, "You have no taste in literature, Potter. Shakespeare was a genius, and you should remember him for that reason, rather than my preference for him."

"Did you know that he was a homosexual?" Sirius adds in conversationally. "I think it was actually James's mum, Mrs. Potter, who told me."

James catches my eye when we hear this, and at the same moment, we giggle – in all honesty, I don't mind James at all, because it's his best friend I want to murder. James is, to be frank, a pretty kick-arse guy, and I don't know why Lily loathes him so much. I would've considered going out with him for at least a second or two before refusing, which is a pretty high compliment in my world.

So we share a hearty laugh at Shakespeare's expense as Lily folds her arms irately at all three of us. "Really, does it matter if he was gay or not?" she demands of us.

"Well, yeah," James says, pink in the nose with the intensity of his laughter. "If he was writing all those soppy poems for another man, isn't that a bit…I dunno…odd, since women like them so much? I mean, I believe in love of all types, sure, but I just don't swing that way, you know?"

I double up with laughter at this point, as does Sirius – even Lily can't hide her smile as she says, still very crossly, "So if you believe in love of all types, James Potter, then the rumor that he liked men shouldn't bother you – if it's good-enough poetry, then both men and women can enjoy it."

"Just saying, Evans, just saying," James says with an apologetic smile, putting his hands up in surrender.

"And so am I," Lily says huffily, highly offended that none of us appreciate Shakespeare the way she feels we should. "Now weren't you two about to leave this compartment before we got into this unappreciative conversation on one of the greatest writer's of all time?"

"We were, but you know I love you, Evans," James says, his smile both very sweet and very bothersome. "I'll spend all the time I can with you."

"Awww," Sirius and I say at the same time, although I give him a glare he does not notice the moment we've said the word.

Lily, however, is not amused. "Get out!" she orders, shoving James and Sirius out of the compartment door.

"Okay, okay, we're going, Evans – keep your knickers on, eh?" Sirius cackles at his wording, but allows her to herd him out of the room anyway, with James following along and laughing along.

When they're finally gone and Lily has safely locked the door behind them, I can't help but giggle and comment, "Wow, Lils, the moment they said the wrong thing about Shakespeare, your politeness went straight out the window. I'm proud of you."

Lily grimaces, but plops down on her seat again, as do I. "You can mess with me and I can usually get rid of you, but if you mess with Shakespeare, you're in for it," she explains.

"But I've messed with Shakespeare for years, but you've never killed me for it," I say uncomprehendingly.

"I know," she says. "It's because you're Ainsley Catherwood, darling; if you weren't, I would've been on you for it."

I smile proudly. "Never have I been so glad to be Ainsley Catherwood in my life."

Lily gives me a fond little smirk, but settles herself down once more and changes the subject, but I know that what I said to her was true – until I see her, and come back into her company, I don't usually like to be me. Lily's that rare person in the world that brings out a few of those nicer things about my disposition that are still left, and without her, I honestly don't know what I'd do.

She's my best friend and my guardian angel; and as I supply her with my sardonic end of our conversation, I can't help but think that no matter how aggravating Sirius is, no matter how much she loves the poet/playwright I can't stand, and no matter how ill-tempered I can be, Lily is going to make this destined-to-be-screwed-up year a little bit brighter than it would've been without her.

I mean, without attempting to put her and James together constantly as I did last year, how else would I ever get through an entire year of homework and shit? Honestly?