Describe me, Remus, please? Don't be boring—

Is that another one of those yearbook things? You're wasting your time, Lily—

Go on, describe me, am I weird? Funny? Pretty?

Lily Evans is the epiphany of an era, how about that.

Wow, Remus, she saysand she's immortalizing it in her loopy handwriting, I didn't know you were a poet.

I'm not. For you, maybe.

"Hey Evans," she hears, and she feels Black even before he sits down beside her on the heavy oak bench in the Great Hall.

"Black, if this is another one of your--" He holds up a finger to quiet her, and she stops without knowing why. Maybe it's the centuries of pure blood running through his veins, or the aristocratic arch of his eyes, but he holds an air of command, something she's noticed about him and Potter. Not Remus though.

"You're half right, Evans, yes, James still wants to ask you out, but no, that's not the reason I'm sitting here." He pauses for dramatic effects. Lily thinks he should have joined the theatre club. He certainly has the looks, skilled actor or not.

"Then, what are you talking about?" She crosses her arms, hoping to look forbidding.

"Well, the quidditch game is coming up," he begins, "and, since we all know James is going to beat the bugger out of those Slytherins, then, well, I plan to hold a party in advance."

"I still don't see what this has to do with me, Black." Her porridge is getting cold, and she remembers reading somewhere that brains have the consistency of cold oatmeal. Not a very appetizing thought.

"Well, what's a party without a little butterbeer, right?" Pause. "And firewhisky?" Pause. "Albekirky's Absinthe--"

Even Black knows when he's pushing it too far, because he stops. He even shifts a little further away from her, discreetly.

"Black, alcohol isn't allowed to be brought inside the school grounds." She's explained this once, a hundred, a thousand times.

"Ah, that is the nut, my little flower." Another dramatic pause. "We found a stash."

"A stash."

"Inside the school."

"A stash of alcoholic beverages inside the school. I hope you aren't talking about Slughorn's personal--"

"No, no, not Professor Slughorn's. We found it in the Room of Requirement. You have no idea how much alcohol people have stashed there over the years, Lily my love. Aged. And ripe for the picking."

"Black, if it hasn't crossed your ever thickening skull yet, I am a Prefect, I do not condone these kinds of activities.Prefects in general, do not condone these types of activities."

"Remus is a prefect," Black says.

"Prefects in general," she stresses.

"So, no alcohol."

"Are you going to listen to me anyway?" Being a Prefect, Lily decides, is not as fun as you thought it was when you first received your shiny little badge. Then again, being a teenager is not as fun as you thought it would be when you were ten, and watching your thirteen year old sister put on lip gloss and high heels.

Prefect means being the one to call off the fun.

Prefect means being the one everyone else is afraid of.

Prefect means—

"Remus is going to help us, you know."

Black.

She wants to fling her brainy oatmeal all over his floppy hair do. She really does.

"Remus can do as he likes." Nonchalant is the key, she tells herself. Shrug it off.

"Gents," Black says loudly, standing up on the bench with arms wide open in a gesture of surrender to an audience of about twenty Gryffindor boys, "I tried." He bends down and kisses her hand, the picture of innocence. "Thank you for your time, my little wallflower."

Laughter.

"I'm going to kill you, Black," she mutters.

He smiles.

If I kill you his eyes say, you would enjoy every bit of dying.


Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JKR. All of its characters belong to JKR. The plot is mine though :p

Author's Note: Thank you to Melissa for reviewing, I love reviews, and if you do read, do review :)