Chapter 2

"The Night Before"

"Remember Halloween?"

"How could I forget?"

"What about August?

"To be honest, I've tried to forget about August."

"Why?"

"Because it was embarrassing!"

"It was when it all started."

"It was stupid."

"Well—yeah, but still. Do you really not remember?"

"Of course I do silly. I was walking barefoot and my hair was a mess."

"You were watching the stars. I knew I was a goner when I saw you watching the stars. Remember April?

"Mmm, I'll always remember April. Remember December?"

"Which one?"

"All of them."

"Yeah. We should take Harry this year."


(August 22, 1996)

James lay on his bed, tossing a Quaffle into the air and catching it for what seemed like the hundredth time. His mother disapproved of the habit, she said he'd break his glasses and require a very unpleasant trip to St. Mungo's one day, but James was apt to do it anyway when he was bored.

And just then, James was very bored. For him, September 1st couldn't come fast enough. He missed Hogwarts. He missed Quidditch; he missed the squishy armchairs in the Gryffindor Common Room; he missed playing pranks on Filch; damn it he even missed his classes and professors. He didn't miss the Marauders though—no, to admit he missed them would be to admit he hadn't written to or seen Sirius all summer.

The next time he caught the red Quaffle, James held on to it and sat up to stare once again at the letter sitting on his desk. It was from Remus, who was vacationing with family in Ireland at the moment. The long letter was breezy, but James knew his friend better than that. Moony had probably gone through several Sugar Quills as he wrote paragraph after paragraph about ancient Celtic warlocks, using up parchment and time until he finally whipped up the resolve to slip in at the very end what he'd wanted to say all along.

Ireland's brilliant, but I'll be back for Friday. I think Wormy's really looking forward to it. Padfoot too—he said he wouldn't miss it, even if his bloody dad had put anti-apparation charms around the house.

He asked about you, Prongs. Have you written to him recently? Regulus got made prefect, so Padfoot's probably been sulking and sticking up more Gryffindor banners in his room all summer. It's a good thing we're all meeting up on Friday—any longer with just his family and I think he'd do something stupid…

He bought a flying motorbike, but more on that later.

Anyway, hope you're having a good summer. Haven't heard from you much, but no matter, because I'll see you on Friday, right? of course. 9 o'clock sharp—remember that. See you then!

Cheers,

Moony

The letter had been sent Monday. It was Thursday night now, and James had read and reread those last three paragraphs until he could recite the words by memory. Sometimes he still stared at the piece of parchment, though, as if deciphering the meanings hidden between the lines of Remus' loopy handwriting could somehow help James understand his own thoughts.

Remus so rarely asked for anything, and what he received he tried to repay in threefold. So when he wrote about Friday as if it was a certain plan, James felt morally obligated to go along with it. Still, James was angry. He didn't know why though—he was just angry, which made him feel even worse. He was angry with Sirius, which was understandable if annoying, and angry with Remus, which made him feel horrible because Remus hadn't done anything wrong. And he was angry with Peter because, well, the youngest Marauder seemed to be fine while James himself was feeling terrible.

Meeting up the last Friday before school started was a tradition with the boys—it was a ritual. So why did James still not know whether he wanted to go or not?

With a frustrated yell, James thrust the Quaffle at the wall across from him. It hurtled toward a framed photo of him and his friends, but bounced off the wall an inch above the image with a dull thunk. The ball had hit exactly where James had aimed.

It was an old photo of them from fourth year—James could quite clearly remember the day it'd been taken. He was still wearing his Quidditch robes, Sirius' and Peter's faces were painted scarlet and gold, and even Remus had on a large lion's hat. All four boys were wearing wide grins on their faces, as Gryffindor had just won the Quidditch Cup. Some Hufflepuff had been taking pictures after the match, and Sirius had gathered them all up "to save the memory for posterity." Later, though, he'd laughed ruefully and told James it was also to flaunt in front of Regulus. The photographer had disappeared amidst the frenzy later, but Remus had somehow managed to procure the snapshot and frame it for his friends.

James pounded the wall again. They were Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs—why wouldn't this bloody problem just go away?

Maybe a walk in the night air would do him some good.

James grabbed a cloak off the back of his chair, and after quickly peeking out into the hall to check that the light in his parent's bedroom was out, opened his window. There was a large branching tree that crossed directly in front of it, and he had learned to shimmy down it even before a curfew had necessitated use of the escape.

Plus, the main staircase creaked, and James preferred to sneak out with class.

(Godric's Hollow)

Godric's Hollow was one of those places Muggle therapists suggested stressed patients visit. The gold digging shrinks would swear the country air did bundles of good—in truth it was likely the leaking effects of health and luck enchantments cast in multitude across the village. After the Statute of Secrecy had been passed in the late 17th century, masses of wizards and witches had collectively withdrawn to the area. Hence it wasn't that uncommon to see owl's flying about in broad daylight or mysterious colored fumes rising out of chimneys—the Ministry had tried in vain to curb it, but eventually the Muggles had come up with their own roundabout explanations for the town's "charming quirks," and Godric's Hollow had become one of the last havens for the English wizarding community.

True to the wizarding population's old-fashioned nature, many of the brick houses retained the elegant towers and Gothic arches long out of style in modern cities. Contrarily, the gardens, overflowing with asphodel flowers, wormwood trees, and other potion ingredients, were eccentric at best and messy at worst. Most people found them somewhere in the middle. Lily found them quaint, and rather liked them—so did James. They wouldn't know that about each other for quite some time though.

At this very moment, Lily Evan's heart rate was racing as she contemplated for the tenth consecutive time in as many minutes whether to knock on the door or not. She didn't remember exactly how she knew this was the Potters' home, but here she was, standing in front of it at two in the morning.

The story of how she'd ended up there was something Lily would laugh at in the future, but that night especially there was no humor to it at all. The emotions running through her head ranged from hurt and sad about breaking up with her boyfriend; confused about the circumstances it had been under; angry that he'd left her stranded in Godric's Hollow; self-indignant that she'd been brought to this point; qualmish at the thought of actually knocking on James Potter's door, even if it only was to ask to borrow a broom; scared because she knew her only other option was to spend the night in the streets; and slightly nauseous from all those feelings churning inside her but also because she'd had her first (and second, and third) taste of firewhiskey that night. And in the corner of her brain, crowded by all the more daunting thoughts but firmly staking it's territory nevertheless, was thrill over having this small sort of adventure.

For Lily, nowhere in the mix of any of those feelings was the urge to laugh or even chuckle about the situation she was in just then. But when they told the story together for the first time, she wouldn't be surprised at just how much James laughed. By then she would know that laughter was how James dealt with turmoil inside his head. It wasn't a show, or a defensive play; it was just how he dealt with the harder things in life. Humor didn't make light of the situation; it helped him sort things out in his own way, organizing thoughts in the most positive way possible so that he wouldn't drown in them.

The second time they mulled over the story, nearly two years later through a quiet conversation in an empty Gryffindor Common Room, she'd find out exactly what James had been thinking. But witching hour on August 23, 1976, Lily was too flustered to deduce anything. She didn't know that James had spent the last three nights and this one wandering the perimeter of Godric's Hollow because he couldn't sleep. She didn't notice that the shadow of the lamppost by the front gate had suddenly changed shape, like a lanky sixteen year-old boy had decided to duck behind it, not knowing what else to do. She didn't hear the quickening thump thump thump of his heart, either, although he was sure it was loud enough for the whole village to hear. She didn't realize his head was about to burst as he grappled with bewilderment, elation, amusement, and weariness. And she didn't know that her hair burned a breathtaking bright auburn under the porch light, or that when James finally spoke, it was because it felt like his stomach was going to jump out of his throat otherwise.

"Hello Evans."

She did know it had been a bad idea to wear such high heels.

"Potter!" Lily spun around to stare at the wizard, wobbling slightly on the uncomfortable shoes (how Petunia manage to get around in them, Lily could not fathom). She gestured confusedly at the door, and house, behind her. "You live in there."

"Yes," said James, bounding up the porch stairs to stand next to her.

"I didn't knock on the door yet." Lily made this statement as much to herself as to James.

"No," he replied. The corners of his eyes crinkled in a half-moon curve. "I thought I'd save you the trouble and time. It's two in the morning, Evans."

"I know that, do you know that?" asked Lily. "What are you doing outside at two in the morning?"

"I was taking a walk," James said. "You?"

"I was…" Lily stuttered, then crossed her arms. "Same as you, taking a walk."

"In Godric's Hollow?" James raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know you lived here."

"Maybe I just took a very, very long walk."

Lily didn't know why she said that. This was a time to be civil, not cheeky.

Thankfully, James seemed to find it amusing, although his chuckle was more acerbic than Lily had expected. Obstinately not saying a word even as her cheeks slowly grew redder and redder, Lily chanced a look at her Hogwarts nemesis. He looked older than she remembered. Under the porch light, she could see the circles under his eyes, and when he ran a hand through his hair, it seemed more weary than vain. She was suddenly very aware that this—coming to ask James Potter for help—had been a horrendously bad idea. This was his home. She was trespassing, encroaching on what should be his refuge, the place where he was most himself and vulnerable. Lily Evans had no right to be here.

James was thinking very far from those lines, namely that he only had seven hours left to decide if he would meet up with the Marauders, and whether Lily being here was a good thing for him or not. They'd ended fifth year on relatively good terms, compared to right after their Defense O.W.L. anyway. He'd apologized, she'd said some stuff too, they'd shaken hands and waved goodbye; he thought they'd both been very mature about it all. Still, at this moment James was tired and preoccupied, so his next sentence came off a bit like this:

"No offense, Evans, but what the hell are you doing here? If this is something where you're going to mouth off at me about Snape, or…"

"Oh, no! It's nothing like that," Lily hurriedly exclaimed, shaking her hands to accentuate that point. "I just… I'm in a bit of a bind, and you're the only person I thought could help."

"Good," said James, taking a step back as the full effect of what Lily had said washed over him. "I mean, good because I'm not exactly in the mood to be yelled at right now, not good because you're in a bind. Because being in a bind isn't good, it's horrible, and…"

"Are you in a bind too, James?" the redhead asked quietly. Her eyes, normally as sharp and bright as the jewels they resembled, gazed softly at the black-haired boy.

That caught James off guard again, but he quickly recovered and flashed a smirk. "Well you could say I'm in a bit of a pickle. Lily Evans just called me by my first name and now I don't know whether to call her 'Lily,' or 'Evans,' or 'darling flower.'"

"I only called you James," countered Lily, snapping back, "because I thought the usage of first names might push our… fractious relationship to the level where we can ask each other for favors."

Both were full of bullshit. Neither, exemplary Gryffindors though they may have been, was brave enough to call the bluff.

"You needed my help, Evans?" James finally said.

"Yes," said Lily, taking a breath. This next part she had rehearsed. "I was wondering if I could borrow a broom. The person who side-along apparated me here didn't send me back home by the same manner, so basically I'm stranded here unless I could, like I said, borrow a broom."

"Hang on," said James, his eyebrows scrunching as he tried to make sense of the situation. "Someone just left you here, alone, in the middle of the night with no way to get home? It's dangerous, haven't you—you were out with Fletcher, weren't you?"

"What makes you say that?" asked Lily, frowning.

"It was a logical conclusion," said James. "Apparating means that the person was a seventh year."

"And Derek Fletcher is the only seventh year I know?"

"The only seventh year you'd be out late at night with dressed like that," corrected James, raising an eyebrow.

"It's called a sundress!"

"It's called showing off your legs."

"Stop staring at my legs, Potter."

"I wasn't. Why, do you want me too?"

"I just said," Lily huffed and crossed her arms. "Fine, you were right. I was out with Derek, and… the date didn't end well."

"That's still no excuse to leave you stranded," said James.

"If you must know," said Lily, feeling like she should be more annoyed at James than she actually was, "I didn't give him much choice."

James' expression suddenly brightened and he leaned forward on the balls of his feet, excited. "Did you hex him? Oh tell me you hexed him, Evans. That bloke just really needs a good Bat Bogey Hex to the face."

"I didn't hex him, Potter," said Lily.

"Did you at least yell at him, then?"

"Well, I—," Lily looked up at the sky so James wouldn't see the smile creeping up on her face. He was acting like a five year-old who'd just been told Christmas had come early. "I might have yelled a little."

"Yes!" James exclaimed and punched the air in front of him. His antics finally broke Lily's resolve and got a real grin out of her, which made both of them feel suddenly self-aware. Neither could remember the last time they had laughed together, unadulterated with sarcasm or baleful glares.

"So, about the broom, Potter?" Lily said.

"Oh, yeah, of course you can borrow one," said James, nodding his head. "Wait here."

Lily nodded silently and watched James run off toward the back of the house. She let out a sigh of relief as he disappeared around the corner, allowing herself to finally take in the complete situation and let it sink in. This was good—her plan, although not enacted fully to its original specifications, had been a success. Potter was going to lend her his broom, she would fly back home before her parents found out she was missing, and then her problems would be neither here nor there until September 1. Now what she would do when school started again would require a whole new plan, thought Lily, but that could wait till morning.

Besides, there were stars to see tonight.

Ever since Lily had been a little girl she'd been enraptured by the stars. It was hard to see them in Cokeworth, where the smog of the city and numerous street lamps clouded the sky—a fact she tended to deplore to anyone who might listen. It all really fell back to her love of reading, and the Olympian mythology and medieval love stories that had prevailed throughout her childhood. Lily Evans was a romantic, and had grown even more so with age. She loved the picturesque lake by the comparatively dingy Railview Hotel, with its abundance of overgrown ivy and patches of wildflowers. She adored the vintage prints and flowing skirts of the 50's her mother would sometimes wear. She clung to the Beatles when all her friends had moved on to Pink Floyd, and she loved watching the stars. To her, the stars were untouched gems, surviving remnants of times past when lovers would meet under the gaze of Venus or weary warriors would follow the Little Bear home. And the stars were shining brightly, glowing, undimmed, over the streets of Godric's Hollow. Taking off her heels, Lily smiled and raised her arms to the sky, feeling her feet glide into the motions of an unrehearsed dance. But that was the best type of dance, because its steps were pure and the product of unabashed bliss. The stars were beautiful tonight.

She was beautiful.

James watched in silence, a soft smile unconsciously on his face as he leaned against the dark shelter of a tall oak tree. He had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that it was wrong to stare so blatantly at a girl. More obviously, he knew in his head that he shouldn't be feeling this way about Evans. Not again, not anymore. She'd made it perfectly clear last June that even with Snape no longer her friend, she would never reciprocate any of the feelings James had harbored for her since the beginning of fourth year. But there she was, dancing in the starlight, feet moving delicately to the tune of a song James could not hear.

"Evans," James called out, finally emerging into the open garden. He held out the broom, his very own Nimbus 1000, at arm's length in front of him, like a talisman against the silly thumping of his heart. "Here," he said, thrusting the broom towards her.

Lily stopped mid-spin when she heard James' voice, and stumbled a bit until he reached out with one hand to steady her. Both cleared their throats nervously as they moved back into the right positions—James standing upright, feet apart and back straight, and Lily with her feet crisscrossed and arms hanging nervously behind her back. Her cheeks were still flushed and her lips were still smiling, but James could see the reverie fading from her eyes and he knew he was the cause of it. So he said nothing, because grasping for words would only push her further away.

"Thank you," finally said Lily, stammering out words, any words, she could think of to fill the empty space between them. She took the broom, which James was still dumbly holding out in front of him, careful to grab a part of the handle far away from its owner's hand. "I'll owl this back to you tomorrow, I guess."

"Yeah, sure," replied James, although he wasn't really aware of what he was saying. He was remembering the girl twirling under the stars and trying to block out the thump thump thump that had returned to his heart.

"Alright then," said Lily, offering a shy smile in thanks. She turned the polished wooden broom right side up in her hands but hesitated in mounting it, suddenly very aware that James Potter, star Chaser of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, was watching her. She could handle a regular broom just fine, but riding a racing broom was altogether quite a different feat.

That is what Lily was contemplating when James suddenly broke the silence.

"Wait."

He had been mentally preparing himself for the last minute to give the redhead a cheeky salute goodbye, but something she'd said earlier was still bothering him. "What happened between you and Fletcher tonight?"

"That's none of your business, Potter," said Lily, blushing bright red. A bit of the familiar enmity was back in her eyes.

"No it actually is," said James. He took the broom back out of Lily's hands and held it behind his back, raising it out of reach when she snatched for it. "This is a Nimbus 1000; I can't let someone who's emotionally unstable and maybe a little bit tipsy just fly off with it."

"I am not tipsy," Lily retorted.

"You're talking too fast, stumbling," said James, narrowing his eyes.

"So I'm a high strung and clumsy person. I'm quite aware of that, Potter."

"Your eyes are glossy, pupils are constricted, you're not aware of your surroundings at all," continued James. "And you didn't notice I'd taken back the broom until five seconds after it'd happened."

"What's your point, Potter," snapped Lily.

"I'm asking what happened between you and Fletcher tonight."

"Nothing!"

James shook his head. "It's two in the morning, Evans, and you're drunk. I'd say I'm not trying to be nosy but I bloody well am, and if you don't tell me what happened I'm going to ask Fletcher myself."

"No!" exclaimed Lily, hair flying up for a second. "It's not a big deal, okay Potter? Just let it go."

"How can I? You and your boyfriend out late at night, drinking. You wearing that dress. And then you said it didn't end well," flung back James.

"It wasn't," stammered Lily; her cheeks were the same color as her hair now. "It wasn't like that."

"Then tell me what it was," said James, "Because I have a long list of hexes I want to try and right now Fletcher's sounding like the perfect subject."

"No, he," started Lily. She sighed. "I snuck out to meet Derek, alright? We had a late dinner, he took me to a bar, and… I guess he thought I'd had a few more drinks than I'd actually had when he took off his pants."

"Oh," replied James. He then realized that maybe he shouldn't have pressed Lily so hard for an answer. It wasn't like he had the right to be protective of her. She'd made that very clear last June. "I know you can take care of yourself, Evans, but Fletcher's still a slimy bastard."

"Potter, I appreciate the chivalry, but the only person who's going to be hexing Derek Fletcher is me."

"But you didn't hex him."

"But I will."

"But you didn't."

"I wasn't in my right mind just then, alright?"

"So you're going to hex him when you see him at Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"Good, because I'm going to want to watch that."

And then both Lily and James both couldn't help but crack a smile, because the situation was just too unbelievable.

"I'm sorry," said James, ducking his head and glancing hesitantly at the redhead in front of him.

"No it's, it's fine," replied Lily, the corners of her lips still curled softly upward. "If anything I should be thanking you. You cared enough about me to be an annoying pain in the arse, and I think I really needed that."

"Well you know me, always happy to be of service." James chuckled, his clear voice ringing through the empty street. "So Lily Evans—" he continued, shaking his head with exaggerated motions, "—Gryffindor prefect and potions extraordinaire, got drunk. I'm impressed."

"I didn't get drunk," insisted Lily jokingly, suddenly feeling much lighter, like a huge weight had been taken off her chest. "I was inebriated."

"It means the same thing, you know," said James.

"Yes," said Lily, daintily taking James' Nimbus out of his loose hands, "but it sounds so much more elegant. Don't tell everyone at school now, will you though? I've got a reputation to maintain."

"What, you expect me to keep this to myself?" asked James, faking incredulousness. "But my mates would get such kicks out of it."

"Oh all right," said Lily. "Just leave out the bit about Fletcher. In fact, tell them about everything except Fletcher. Tell them about the taking forever to knock on your door, and the two in morning, and the sundress—"

"And the dancing?"

"And the dancing," repeated Lily, grinning in spite of herself. "Maybe laughing about me, you guys can get past whatever idiotic stubbornness is stopping you all from being friends."

"Oh, you know about that then?" asked James, his tone abruptly subdued.

"I think all of Hogwarts knows," she said. Lily spoke softly, changing her tone to match James'. "Look, Potter, I don't know exactly what happened in the Shrieking Shack that night, or who is really in the wrong. But I do know that Remus misses his friends."

"You've written to him?"

"Yeah." Lily paused, and then spoke again, leaning on the advantage she hoped she'd gained. "There are times, in the fast five years, that I wished you four weren't friends. Like when you'd use Remus' position as a prefect for your own good, or when you and Sirius would make it your own personal mission to disrupt Potions classes. But there were also times, after I'd quarreled with Marlene or Severus, that I'd look at you guys, and…"

"And what?" James said, pushing Lily to continue.

"All of you would huddled up around the fire, planning your next escapade or even just talking, and as cheesy as it sounds," Lily crossed her arms in defense as her tone signaled she giving in, "it'd be like my faith in friendship was restored."

"Your faith in friendship?" repeated James skeptically, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes Potter," said Lily didactically, having expected that reaction. "So patch things up between yourselves, will you? Because if you four boys can't make it through a spat, then what hope do the rest of us have?"

"What if it's not a spat, though?" asked James, steeling himself for an argument. "What if one of us has betrayed the others, and told someone a secret, and that secret was a fundamental part of our friendship."

"True friendships can't be based on secrets," said Lily. "I should know."

And the retort of "know-it-all" died on his lips as James' saw the pained look in Lily's emerald green eyes. "What is it about nighttime, Evans," he said instead, cheekily referencing another incident in fourth year, "that makes you so nice to me?"

"I don't know," replied Lily, shrugging. She raised her gaze to the sky. "Maybe it's just hard to be mad at someone when there stars shining over your head."

"Why do you like stars so much?"

"Why do you care?"

"I don't—." James shoved his hands into his pockets. "I like watching the stars too, that's all. My dad used to take me on trips just to see them. He was a bit of an enthusiast when it came to that stuff, you know, constellations and the like. Said they were a—"

"Whole other type of magic," Lily said softly, finishing James' sentence with him. "You told me about that, fourth year," she said, in way of explanation to James' quizzical smile.

"Right," he said. "I didn't think you remembered."

"It was the first time I thought you might not be such a toerag after all. Of course you proved me wrong, afterward when you left me alone in the rain…" said Lily, drawing a laugh out of James. She smiled, "What is it about nighttime that makes you so talkative with me, Potter?"

"I've always been talkative with you," said James.

"No," responded Lily, shaking her head. "You've flirted with me, and you've argued with me, but we've rarely talked like this before. Do you realize this is the longest functioning conversation we've ever had?"

"What about that one in fourth year?"

"That wasn't a conversation. You talked and I listened."

"So you like this one better?"

"It's… different," said Lily, grabbing at word in her head. There was "different," sitting alongside "interesting" and "fine."

"Different good or different bad?" pressed James.

"Different different," retorted Lily, putting her foot down on her word choice. "Don't go trying to change the subject now, Potter. Are you going to make up with Sirius or not?"

"Well, seeing as you insist, Evans," said James, making of show of bowing down to her demand. He laughed halfheartedly, though. It was one thing to decide he would forgive Sirius for betraying Remus; James knew it was another thing to actually do it. Because in truth it wasn't Remus that Sirius had betrayed anymore, it was James.

Merlin he needed another walk.

He'd figured more out in the past half hour with Evans than he'd had in three nights by himself, though, thought James. "C'mon Evans," he said, making a spur of the moment decision, "I'm flying you home."

"What?" stammered Lily, caught off guard.

"I'm taking you home, Evans," repeated James. "It's late, you're drunk, and I'll bet ten Galleons that you don't your way home from here."

"I was going to follow the North Star?" offered Lily, smiling through her teeth because she'd known this had always been the weakest part of her plan.

James laughed again as he once again took the Nimbus out of Lily's hands. "C'mon," he said, mounting the broom first. "I want a ride in the fresh air, and if you don't get on I'm leaving without you."

"You wouldn't," said Lily, narrowing her eyes.

"Maybe I would and maybe I wouldn't," James replied cheekily, "but how do you know?"

Lily sighed and got on the broom behind James, hesitantly linking her arms around his torso.

"Ready?" asked James, his voice kept carefully steady to conceal the stupid thumping his heart had got up to again.

"Ready."


(The Marauders Again)

If you had no idea who the Marauders were but had to guess if they were friends, you'd probably guess wrong. Who could believe that the bookish, sandy-haired prefect was best mates with the elegantly arrogant and roguish troublemaker? Or that Hogwarts' residential Quidditch nut and prankster had taken mousy Peter Pettigrew under his wing? Even James and Sirius appeared like an unlikely leading duo; one was all gold and cheek while the other was all stormy-eyed and brooding.

None of them remembered when they became best friends.

There were actually five boys who slept in the strangely shaped dormitory at the very top of Gryffindor tower: James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Gideon Prewett. Gideon Prewett was a perfectly nice mate and a brilliant Beater, they would all agree on that, but somehow he wasn't part of the Marauders. Maybe it was because of the one night he'd been doing homework with the Hufflepuffs instead of in the dorm chugging Pepper Imps with the rest of them… or maybe not. Either way, five years had passed and Gideon was closest with his Hufflepuff year-mates while Messrs. Moony, Padfoot, Wormtail and Prongs were calling themselves the Marauders.

All of them remembered when they became the Marauders.

Or rather, all of them thought they remembered. Remus remembered calling his friends that after learning about pirates in Muggle Studies and coming to lunch to find that the other three, while in Care of Magical Creatures, had hijacked a boat out onto the lake and spent the hour observing and learning about the Giant Squid. That was after the first day of classes in third year. James remembered the name sticking after Lily called the four of them "philandering, obnoxious, insufferable marauders;" three long words in a row plus one he liked the sound of. That was near the end of third year. Sirius fancied it all started after Professor McGonagall told them to stop marauding around after they pulled a welcome-back prank at the start of second year. That actually never happened, since the prank had been rather a failure and McGonagall had just wearily given them detention. And Peter, having been present for all three incidents, reckoned correctly that Remus was right.

That was all insignificant, though, in comparison to the only thing about the four mates you really needed to know. They were each other's family, and depended on each other like brothers. Sirius, Remus, and Peter had all not come from particularly happy households, and James had joined their ranks when his father passed away near the end of fourth year. Hogwarts was already their escape, but friendship had made the castle their home. So when Sirius had put Remus' secret on the line for a petty prank on Snape, he had betrayed the three people who trusted him the most.

But brothers always forgave.

That was what James kept thinking to himself as he pushed open the door to the Leaky Cauldron the next morning, bracing himself for the sight of his should-be best friends.

He caught sight of all three of them sitting at their usual booth, in quiet conversation. Remus was nursing a root beer while both Sirius and Peter had ordered cold pumpkin juice. And then Sirius said something that made Remus laugh, an infectious and merry sound that made James smile in spite of himself.

He wondered what Sirius had said.

The next few minutes seemed to rush by for James, as Peter spotted James and the latter's feet moved mechanically towards the table. The other boys busied themselves scooting around the booth to make room for James, who was dreading the moment where he'd sit down and one of them would have to talk.

"Hi James," said Remus, offering a kind smile. Remus had always been the most mature out of all of them, James thought. "How've you been doing?"

"Fine," replied James, all too aware that it was not enough. He wanted to say more, for Remus' sake if nothing else, but the words he so skillfully spun in pleasanter situations were lost to him right then.

Tell them about the taking forever to knock on your door, and the two in morning, and the sundress and dancing.

James glanced at Sirius, who was immersed in tracing the lines of his empty goblet. The latter's sweeping black hair prevented any eye contact from being made and he seemed to like it that way; but there was that tilt of his head, the back of which James had watched often when under the Cloak, eavesdropping on teachers or waiting for them to pass. Sirius was grabbing onto every word being said at the table, and James knew it.

Tell them about everything. Maybe laughing about me, you guys can get past whatever idiotic stubbornness is stopping you all from being friends.

"So Evans came by yesterday," said James bluntly. He wished he had a more elegant, cheekier way to introduce the subject, but it was all he could do to start talking.

Thankfully, Sirius didn't miss a beat.

"You're kidding," he said, looking up and matching James' casual expression. Shining eyes, though, belied his composed demeanor.

James shook his head enthusiastically—a bit too enthusiastically, but all were in a particularly forgiving mood that morning. And this time when he opened his mouth, the words practically tripped over each other in their eagerness to get out.

Everything that had had to be said—all the anger, all the apologies, promises to forgive and forget—had been shared two months ago during that strained train ride back to King's Cross. Now it was just the matter of knocking the hinges back into place, of blowing off the dust and giving it a few good shakes so the natural rapport could start again. And a story about Lily Evans, someone whose presence in the boys' lives was as old as their friendship, was just the push that was needed. As James regaled his friends with the tale, a sense of normality returned. Padfoot grinned and shared knowing looks with Prongs at all the right places; Wormtail asked just enough questions and told a joke that made everybody laugh; Moony rolled his eyes but chuckled and drank in the story all the same. The Marauders were once again, weaved back together by the girl who at times in the past and future was their greatest enemy.

Miles away, Lily Evans had no idea of her influence on the group of boys sitting around the corner booth in the Leaky Cauldron. She'd woken up with only a vague recollection of what had happened the night before, but the gradual return of her memory varied directly with the growing pain in her head. She'd had more to drink than she'd let on to James, although no amount of alcohol could erase the regret she felt. She could still hear the prefect-Lily in her head saying it was a bad idea to sneak out with Derek, and an even worse one to agree to go to a bar. But it had all seemed so exciting at the time, such a romantic adventure to be swept up in the arms of a handsome seventh-year.

Until it had turned sour. Until she'd gotten in over her head. Until she'd ended up helpless in front of James Potter's house.

But in some way that had been an adventure too. If Lily had been in a more sentimental mood, she would have appreciated more James' kindness last night. She would have remembered the rapture of dancing under the stars, smiled at the image of him bouncing on his feet, been perplexed, been embarrassed, been strangely uplifted. Those thoughts, however, would only come crashing down around her a few days later when she told Mary and Marlene the story and be forced to remember the night in vivid detail. Those thoughts would swamp her in a mess of confusion and ruefulness, because they would come after she'd sent the letter.

The letter. It was short, simple, not terribly sweet. Lily had thought herself quite calm and collected while writing the letter, although hindsight would serve to show she'd still been in the throes of teenage regret and distress. She wished she could just forget about it (out of sight, out of mind, isn't that what they said?) but the words remained hauntingly clear in her head. Dear Potter. Thank you for being so obliging last night. I'd had more than a little to drink and am equally ashamed and sorry. I don't quite remember what happened, or everything that I said… I think it'd be best if we just both forgot about it all. Pretend it never happened, and for Merlin's sake please don't bring this up at Hogwarts. In fact let's just not talk at all when we get to Hogwarts; it'll be easier on both of us. I'm tired of yelling, and I'm sure you're tired of it too. Thanks anyway, and I hope you patched things up with your friends.

For Lily, the letter was discomfiting and nagged at the back of her mind, but she thought it polite enough. For James, it was a nightmare. The events of last night had snuck into his head and replanted the seeds of hope, and then she'd gone and crushed them. She wanted to pretend it hadn't happened? Fine. He was completely on board with forgetting the stupidity and the funny pangs in his heart—completely on board. It had never happened.

Except it had.