Chapter Three: Practicality

"See you, mate," Black says to Potter at the door. I'm at the breakfast table, alone, but I can hear their conversation, and breathe a sigh of relief that he is finally leaving. I barely spoke to Black the entire visit, and he was certainly less annoying to Melina than he usually is to Lily, but I was still glad to see the back of him. I heard a crack and he Apparated away. Black is always doing that; Apparating, I mean. He doesn't have his license, of course, but somehow he figured it out and he keeps doing it to show off. Just the kind of stupid, cocky thing he'd do. I hope he gets splinched someday.

"Bye, Remus," I hear James say.

"Hold on a sec," Remus replies. "Where's Melina?"

"Kitchen," says James, and I hear footsteps. Remus comes back into the kitchen, with James in tow, looking confused. "See you round," he says to me, to my great surprise, and gives me a smile. I smile back, before realizing I'm in the middle of eating and cover my mouth with my hand. Smooth, Lily. Real smooth.

"See you," I say after a short delay where I chew and swallow my food like a normal person. Remus nods, says goodbye to Potter again, and then I hear the click of the door. I go back to my eggs. Damn, these are good. Those House Elves sure can cook. Potter, however, is leaning against a wall, surveying me, with his arms crossed. I ignore him, hoping he will go away. Surprise, surprise, he doesn't.

"What was all that about?" Potter demands. Okay. What is it with people talking to me while I'm eating? Would it kill everybody to wait like ten seconds before asking their questions so I don't look like a total prat?

"What?" I ask through a mouthful of egg. Attractive, I know.

"That!" says James, pointing to the door Remus just exited. "With you and Moony!"

Have I mentioned how much I detest their stupid nicknames? "Moony?" That makes zero sense.

"Um, he said goodbye to me?" I try, completely bewildered. Is this a trick question?

"Why? He doesn't even know you!"

I have to say, this is the longest conversation I've had with James in the past three days, and so far, I'm not a fan.

"We've been friends since second year," I tell him, trying to convey as much annoyance into my voice as possible. I hope he gets that I'm done with this conversation and goes away, but…no.

"Remus has been friends with Lily since second year," James clarifies. Now he's talking to me like I'm six. Condescending prat. "However, he just met Melina, and seeing as he has only said about six words to her total, I don't understand why he said goodbye to you!" And then, all of a sudden, his eyes go wide. At first, I think he's going to yell at me, but then he lowers his voice to almost a whisper: "You didn't tell him who you are, did you?"

"Do you think I'm stupid, Potter?" I snap at normal volume. "No, of course I didn't. It just so happens that Melina and Remus had a nice conversation in the library this morning."

"You talked to him?"

Oh my God. I talked to him. How will I ever live with myself.

"Yes, I talked to him. Please can we get to the point of this unpleasant conversation so I can go back to being as far away from you as possible?"

"As long as you stay away from my friends, I'll gladly ignore you," says Potter nastily. Now, that set me off. I actually stood up and crossed the room to where he was standing.

"Now, you listen to me, James Potter," I say, a hint of a snarl in my voice. "You do not, under any circumstances, get to tell me what to do. I'll talk to whoever I like, and I never want to hear a word about it again."

"I just don't want you messing with my friends," says Potter, and he doesn't look the least bit scared of me.

"'Messing with your friends?' Did I hear that correctly? I'm not messing with anybody! We were talking. We had one, little conversation and he was polite enough to treat me like a human being and say goodbye before he left! Now, if you don't mind, I'm going for a walk." And I brush past Potter a little more forcefully than necessary and fume my way out the door and into the garden.

Leave it to James Potter to have me in a rage before lunchtime. I really wish I knew his middle name so I could use it while yelling at him. I feel that using one's full name really helps emphasize your point when you're angry with someone. But I digress. Who does he think he is? I mean, honestly. Don't talk to my friends. It's not my fault I'm incredibly charming. I say that sarcastically, but hey. I'm nice to people, and then they're nice back. Why does Potter have such a problem comprehending this concept? I suppose it's because kindness is rather foreign to him. He's just so…so…

SMACK.

Wow, did I really just walk into a tree? Why am I such a loser?

Potter and I don't speak at all the next few days. I'm talking literally no words. Which would all be fine and dandy, but being stuck here in the Potter manor is just so damn boring. I have no idea how I can be so bored in a giant house with every possible means of entertainment in it, but I just don't feel like swimming (read: drowning), playing Quidditch (read: killing myself), or reading every minute of my life (read: fulfilling my image as the nerd Potter constantly tells me I am). I really miss my friends. I miss human interaction. Hell, I even miss yelling at Potter, because at least then I'm engaged in something. All I do is wander around the house, trying to avoid Potter, read books, and eat. Well, at least I'll be over-prepared for Defense Against the Dark Arts next year.

However, it is completely by accident that I break our silence.

Potter and I happen to be both in the kitchen at the same time, about a week after my arrival, and a thought pops into my head.

"Where is your dad?" I ask him. He does a little double-take, as though surprised that I'm talking to him at all. I have to admit, I'm surprised I'm talking to him myself. Potter just shrugs.

"Not here."

It's responses like that that make me want to kick him in the face. I take a deep breath and decide not to lose my cool before I respond.

"Seriously, Potter." I don't really trust myself to say more than that.

"Why do you care? He's not even your dad," says Potter. Wow, rude much?

"Fine," I grumble. "Sorry I asked." I stalk out of the kitchen and take the stairs up to my room, stomping a little louder than necessary. I flop down on my bed and stare at the ceiling. My silent fuming, however, is interrupted by a knock at my door.

"Come in," I say, because it's polite. I don't really want to talk to anyone right now. Especially not the person who comes in the door. Betcha can't guess who it is.

Spoiler alert: it's Potter.

"He's an Auror," Potter says, and it takes me a second to realize he's talking about his father. He leans against my doorway as he speaks.

"I know that. You used to brag about it all the time." I can't help this little bit of wit, which for once, Potter ignores.

"Don't expect him to be home much," Potter continues. "He's out looking for Voldemort."

I feel like I already knew that, but hearing Potter say it makes it seem so much scarier.

"Oh. I see," I say, because I can't think of anything else. Potter does a weird sort of flinch, like he's going to leave but decides not to at the last minute.

"Why do you care?" he asks again, but this time his tone is curious, not rude.

"I guess because I haven't seen him since my first night here," I answer, shrugging. "I only wondered where he was. Sorry. I didn't mean to offend you or anything."

"You didn't," says Potter. "Don't worry about it. I—sorry I snapped at you."

Whoa, hold up. Did Potter and I just apologize to each other?

I sense that Potter just had the same unsettling thought, because he lingers awkwardly at the door and then leaves without another word. What a strange boy.

After our conversation in my bedroom, Potter and I are back on speaking terms. Not that we speak a lot, but we will acknowledge each other's presence civilly. That's an improvement, I suppose. We don't insult each other constantly, and he's yet to ask me out, so I guess we have never been on better terms. Not to say that I like him, of course. In fact, I still find him to be obnoxious, but I suppose I can learn to find him obnoxious quietly. He has become more tolerable, however, especially because he can't do magic outside of school, which means no mean pranks. Remus and Black come round quite often, which is a bit of a double-edged sword, because I absolutely abhor Black, but Remus is the only friend I will have contact with all summer.

On one particularly nice day, I've brought my book outside with me. I decide to sit underneath a tree, from which I have a pretty good view of Remus, Black, and Potter playing Quidditch. I don't much like the sport; I'm terrified of heights. To be honest, that's one of the reasons I blew up at Potter so much after the Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL. No one should be forced to be raised high in the air, especially when they least expect it. If he had done that to me, I'm sure I would have cried and peed my pants. I shudder involuntarily at the thought.

Even though Quidditch isn't really my thing, it's nice to have something else to look at besides my book. Every so often, I look up and watch the boys play for a while, and then I get bored and return to my book. Just my way of keeping life interesting. I don't know a whole lot about Quidditch, but from what I gather from their distant shouts, no one is really playing by the rules. For instance, in a Hogwarts Quidditch game, I have never seen another player jump off their broom and onto another player's to tackle them. It's impressive that Potter was able to stay on his broom with Black wrestling with him, though I did slightly hope that Black would fall off. I mean, I don't want him to die, but I'd like him to hurt just enough to wipe that stupid smirk off his face.

"What are you doing, you lunatic?"

"There is no hair pulling in Quidditch!"

"You can't throw the Quaffle at people!"

"Hey! You're out of bounds!"

"That is not ten points for you; you scored it in my goal posts!"

"No, Quidditch would not be more fun if we all played upside-down!"

I catch snippets of their conversation from my spot on the ground. What silly boys. I shake my head and go back to my book.

"Enjoying yourself?"

I look up from my book. It's Remus, and he sits down next to me.

"I'm sick of Quidditch," he explains. "I mean, I like it and all, but four hours on a broom is enough." I laugh a little in agreement.

"Can't say I blame you."

"Do you play? If we had a fourth player, we could actually have fair teams," says Remus, and I actually laugh out loud at the idea.

"Quidditch? Me? Yeah, right. I have enough trouble not falling over with both feet planted on the ground." Remus laughs appreciatively at my joke.

"You remind me of a friend of mine," says Remus. "Do you know Lily Evans?"

Oh no. My mind goes into overdrive. Does he know who I am? Is this a ploy to get me to admit that I am her? Okay. Calm down, Lily. Maybe you just remind him of Lily. Which would make sense. Because you are Lily. He's looking at you funny—quick, think of something to say before he thinks you're an idiot.

"Lily Evans? The Gryffindor prefect?" I say smoothly. Oh aren't I clever.

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I've seen her around," I tell Remus vaguely.

"She doesn't much like Quidditch, either," Remus explains. "But she reads nearly as much as you do. You should get to know her. I think you two would get along."

"Maybe we would," I say. "I'll have to make a point to talk to her next term."

Hahaha, if only he knew.

"How have you been?" asks Remus.

"Pretty good," I reply. "I've been doing so much reading; the Potter's library is really fantastic. Although I wish there was more to do around here. I'm basically inside reading all day."

"What about your friends?" Remus wants to know.

"They're…all on holiday," I lie quickly. "So it's been a little quiet."

"I see," says Remus, and all of the sudden he looks a little nervous. "I mean, if you're that bored, maybe sometime we could—"

"Moony! Are you coming?"

Potter interrupts Remus' sentence, and we both turn to see that Black and Potter have landed and are carrying their brooms back to the house.

"Yeah," Remus calls back. He walks away, looking a little disappointed, and says to me, "see you around, Melina."

I nod. "See you."

And then I'm alone again.

I decide to take my shower at night this time. You know, to spice up my life a bit.

I have got to be the most boring person in England.

But I digress. I had quite a bit on my mind as I stepped into the chilly water, the first being, what is Remus' deal? If I didn't know any better, I would have thought he was about to ask me out.

Then again, he hasn't really treated Melina any differently than he treats Lily, and he certainly doesn't fancy Lily. He even said that I remind him of Lily. I mean, Melina reminds him of Lily. Man, being two people sure is confusing.

But he kind of did ask me out. I mean, if Potter hadn't interrupted him, he would have.

But he is so nice. He was probably just being polite. He knew I was all alone. Oh my gosh, he must think I'm such a loser. Of course he didn't mean to ask me out. Who would ask out a weird girl who talks with her mouth full and reads books about Dark wizards at all hours of the day?

But he definitely was about to ask me out.

But was he? Maybe he was about to say, "maybe sometime we could go read comic books with Black and Potter." That's not the least bit romantic.

…But that would be so stupid.

Okay, Lily, you are so over thinking this. Remus and Lily hung out, just them, all last year, and that didn't mean they fancied each other. Maybe Remus just wants to be friends with Melina. Yes, I'm sure that's it.

As I step out of the shower, I can't help but think about how crazy I sound. I'll probably be diagnosed with multiple personalities soon. I wonder if Remus will still want to be my friend when he finds out that I'm diseased. What a freak I am turning out to be.

Remus didn't stay overnight, but Black did. Awesome. They kept mostly to themselves, thankfully, but they sure made a lot of noise. It's very difficult to sleep when small explosions keep erupting from the room across the hall. Around half passed ten, I got so fed up with it that I actually stalked over there in my pajamas and pounded on Potter's door.

"Keep quiet, will you?" I yelled. "Some people are trying to sleep!"

"It's ten-thirty!" I heard Black laugh from the other side of the door as I went back over to my room. "And it's summer. You think she'd at least try to have some fun."

It's official. I'm horrifically lame.

The next morning, I'm up early, as usual. Potter and Black stumble down for breakfast about two hours later, and Mrs. Potter walks in with the mail.

"I think your OWL scores just arrived," she says, and before she can even get the whole sentence out, I make a beeline for her and take the envelopes forcibly from her hand. I find the one addressed to Melina Potter, toss the remaining envelope to Potter, and rip mine open.

Melina Elaine Potter has achieved:

Astronomy _O

Arithmancy_O

Care of Magical Creatures _O

Charms_O

Defense Against the Dark Arts_O

Herbology_O

History of Magic_A

Potions_O

Study of Ancient Runes_O

Transfiguration_E

Instantly, I am flooded with relief. I did alright! I did more than alright; I owned those exams! I suppose History of Magic could have gone better, but honestly, that's the most worthless class I've ever taken in my life, and I don't care that I barely passed. Transfiguration, however…why is it that no matter how hard I try in that class, I can never get an O? I worked my bloody arse off in that class. I studied twice as much as anyone else. I practically lived in the library the week up to the exam (yes, I realize that's not something to be proud of). I mean, that grade will get me into the NEWT class, but seriously? I seem to have this stupid block about Transfiguration. I immediately resolve to start reading up on Transfiguration; I'm sure the Potter's library has plenty of books. I am not going to settle for less-than-perfect next year.

When I finally look up from my letter, I see that Potter is still examining his in silence. Mrs. Potter looks at me and smiles.

"Well?" she asks, and I break into a smile as well, and show her my letter. She reads the grades, and her face lights up. "Oh, Melina!" And before I know it, she is hugging me. At first I don't know what to do, but then I'm hugging her back, and I feel the love and sincerity in her hug. I almost tear up a little, because it is so touching that someone who has only known me two weeks is this excited about my success. And at the same time, I feel a pang in my stomach because I wish I was sharing this moment with my own parents, not with Potter's.

"How about you, James?" asks Mrs. Potter, finally releasing me. I quickly go blow my nose in the kitchen so Potter and Black won't see my slightly red eyes. Mrs. Potter hugs Potter, too, so I assume he got top scores as well. There's another thing I hate about him; he doesn't work half as hard as I do, and yet I'm still fighting tooth and nail to stay top of my class.

"Well, you two certainly deserve a reward," says Mrs. Potter, letting go of her son and standing back to examine both of us. "What do you say we take a trip to Diagon Alley this afternoon, and you can each pick out a present?"

"Cool, thanks, mum," says Potter, and he turns back to his best friend, who is putting on his jacket. "You coming?"

"I think I'm going to get home," says Black. "I want to get my scores before my dear old mother burns them to destroy the evidence that a Black was ever in Gryffindor."

Potter nods, and Mrs. Potter acts like she didn't hear anything. I, however, am a little shocked at what he has just said. I mean, everyone knows the Blacks are a powerful pureblood family, but I had no idea the amount of animosity Black had between his parents. It makes me feel bad for him, in spite of myself. He Dissaparates, leaving Potter and I with his mother.

"Go on, go get ready!" says Mrs. Potter excitedly, and she bustles out of the room. Potter and I walk up the stairs together.

"So I gather you did well," says Potter.

"Yeah, I'm pretty happy with my scores," I reply. "What about you?"

Potter runs a hand through his hair. "Best I could have hoped for. Completely flunked History of Magic, but it's not like that class matters, anyways." I laugh.

"Too true. It's such a relief to know our scores."

"I bet you've been stressing about them all summer," says Potter, and for a second I think he is making fun of me, but he is smiling, and I understand that he is trying to laugh with me, and not at me for a change.

"I have been, actually," I agree. "And I bet you stopped caring the moment you put down your pencil." I flash him a smile so he would know that I'm kidding as well.

"Evans, you know me too well."

We have reached the top of the stairs, and each of us go into our respective bedrooms to change for Diagon Alley. I can't believe I actually had a conversation with James Potter that didn't make me want to kick something.

We travel by Floo Powder, as Potter and I are too young to Apparate, and don't do it illegally like certain other people we know. Actually, I have no idea if Potter Apparates or not. It's something he would do. Anyways. We arrive in Diagon Alley, covered in soot, but excited for the day.

Being Muggle-born, I only come to Diagon Alley once a year, but I realize that since the Potters are pureblood, they must come here all the time. Potter doesn't look quite as excited as I do, but I don't really care about looking dorky in front of him.

"Where to first?" I ask.

"While we're here, I have a few errands to run," says Mrs. Potter. "Do you two mind going into the Apothecary for a bit?"

I nod, but Potter groans, "Mum. I hate it in there. It smells."

"James, stop whining. You sound like a five-year-old."

"C'mon, Mum, how about you go do your shopping and Lily and I can go do ours?"

Mrs. Potter thinks about it for a moment. "I think that would be alright. Be sure you stick together, though, and meet back in the Leaky Cauldron in two hours. And James." She motions for him to come closer, and Potter bends down so his mother can whisper in his ear. "Whatever you do, don't call her Lily in public."

"Right," says Potter, accepting a handful of gold from his mother. We watch as Mrs. Potter walks down the cobble-stone road to the Apothecary before turning around and walking the opposite way.

"Shall we go?" asks Potter, leading the way. I roll my eyes and follow reluctantly. "What?" Potter has noticed my demeanor. How perceptive.

"Nothing," I shake my head. I shouldn't go off on him. Especially since we have been getting on so well lately. Well, more like just today. But even so. Unfortunately, my mouth has other ideas. "It's just you're so immature."

"What?"

"I can't believe you just whined like that," I tell him, unable to stop myself. "Your mother offers to buy you a present, and you won't even go with her to buy potions supplies because the shop smells bad."

"Why do you insist on nit-picking every aspect of my personality?" Potter demands, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

"I don't—"

"Yes, you do! You just yelled at me because I whined to my mother—as if you've never done that!"

"Well, it was a little rude!"

"Who are you, my conscience?" says Potter loudly.

"Potter, shh! People are starting to stare," I hiss, and it's true. An old witch is watching us from a doorway as though we were an after-school special. Potter spies the old witch, and appears to be a little creeped out, so he puts a hand on my back and pushes me faster down the road. I shake off his hand.

"I just don't appreciate being attacked over every little thing," says Potter, at a more normal volume this time.

"I had no idea you were so sensitive," I reply darkly.

"Well, you obviously don't know me at all," Potter says grumpily. I actually laugh out loud at this melodramatic statement. "Excuse me?" he says, sounding offended.

"James Potter? Sensitive? Give me a break," I laugh.

"Just because someone's not some namby-pamby girly-man doesn't mean he doesn't have feelings."

Huh. There's a thought. James Potter has feelings. That makes me sound heartless, but look at it from my angle: for the past five years, I've seen him torture younger students, show off, pull off cocky pranks, and pester me to date him. I have always viewed this boy as an annoyance, a nuisance, like a dog that won't go away. Is it possible that maybe, just maybe, Potter feels things other than his own conceit?

"Fine," I concede. "I suppose I have been a little…harsh…in the past. But you have to admit, you are quite inconsiderate."

Potter considers this. "Maybe I've been harsh, too."

"Well, I'm glad we're in agreement."

We have fallen in step, I notice. Potter's feet and mine hit the uneven street at the same time, and we walk on like that through the streets, with not an unpleasant word between us.

I lost the game of rock, paper, scissors to decide who gets to pick the first shop, and Potter drags me—where else?—into Quality Quidditch Supplies. I feel a little pathetic inside the shop; I have no choice but to follow Potter around because I don't know anything about the sport. He doesn't really say anything to me, which is just as well. He's examining Chaser's gloves with interest, picking them up and turning them over in his hands, feeling the grip. He tries on a few pairs as I lean against a broomstick display, clearly bored.

"James!"

It's Frank Longbottom, my friend Alice's boyfriend. I like Frank, and begin to say "Hello," but Potter surreptitiously kicks me.

"Hey, Frank! What brings you down here?" asks Potter loudly, to cover up my half-spoken greeting.

"I'm looking for a new Beater's bat," says Frank, gesturing to a Beater's display in the corner of the shop. "My old one has too many dents."

"Cool," says Potter. "I need a new pair of gloves, myself."

"Who's your friend?" Frank wants to know.

"This is my sister, Melina," says Potter, without skipping a beat. Perhaps it's a good thing that Potter is such a good liar. At least his tactics to worm his way out of being blamed for a prank are coming in handy. I wave (why do I always wave? It's such a weird and awkward thing to do), and Frank extends his hand to shake.

"Hi," I say with a smile, but he's looking at us weird.

"Your sister? I didn't know you had a sister," says Frank, his brow furrowed.

"I'm in Ravenclaw," I explain. "I don't really see much of James' friends."

"You know, I think I've seen you around," says Frank, now surveying me with interest. "Did you take Muggle Studies last year?"

"Yeah, that's right!" I lie. "Well, it's nice to formally meet you, Frank."

"Same to you, Melina," he says. "See you 'round, James." He walks off to find his Beater's bat, and the instant he is out of earshot, Potter drops the gloves he has been admiring and grabs my arm, pulling me out of the shop.

"We really have to get our story straight," says Potter. "We can't have half of my friends thinking you're my cousin and the other half thinking you're my sister."

"What was I supposed to say to Remus and Black?" I demanded, instantly on the defensive. "They would have seen right through that lie!"

"L-Melina, I'm not mad at you," says Potter. "Calm down. I know. We just have to come up with a better explanation."

"I think we have to stick with me being your sister," I tell him, lowering my voice once we get out on the crowded street. "The Ministry has it set up where all my documents say I'm your sister."

"Yes, I know," says Potter, running his hand through his hair. "But what are we going to do when we go back to school and you have to pretend to be my cousin and my sister? We'll never be able to keep it up."

"Yeah, well, I'll be in Ravenclaw when we go back to school," I remind him, "and Gryffindors and Ravenclaws don't really cross paths. I should be able to blend in. How many Ravenclaw friends do you have?"

"You have a point," Potter agrees, though he sounds distracted. "But I think we should talk to my dad about all this when he gets home. He should be able to sort this all out." I nod, satisfied with this answer. "Where to next? It's your turn to pick where we're going."

"Flourish and Blotts," I say automatically. Truth is, I hadn't really thought about it, but one could always do with a new book. Potter shakes his head, but he doesn't make fun of me. Instead, all he does is a laugh a bit and say,

"Lead the way."

And lead the way I do. I breathe in the familiar smell of books, and what a wonderful smell it is! Fresh new paper, with words that I've never read before printed on them. Potter looks just as bored as I felt in Quality Quidditch Supplies, but that's not my problem. Thankfully, he doesn't complain, and I am free to peruse the books in the shop in peace.

"There are so many books," I gush, running my hand over the spines. "I can't decide."

"It's a book," says Potter. "They're all boring. Just pick one."

"Maybe I should get this one," I say, pulling The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6 off the shelves. "I'll need it for sixth year, anyways. It would be practical."

"Li-Melina," says Potter, sounding exasperated. He takes the book and replaces it on the shelf, to my protests. "Why does everything have to be practical with you?"

"What kind of a question is that? Do you have a problem with practicality?"

"I just don't understand how someone can be so incapable of doing anything fun. Come on. When was the last time you did anything impractical? When was the last time you did anything just for the fun of it? Just for the rush?"

I was aware of what was happening; Potter was baiting me. But even though I knew what was going on, that didn't stop me from biting.

"And what is your idea of fun? Hexing defenseless first-years? Showing off on your stupid broomstick? Pulling dangerous pranks?"

"I could ask you the same question," says Potter, though he flinches a bit at those (very accurate) accusations. "What's your idea of fun? Sucking up to teachers? Reading every book you can get your hands on? Writing extra-credit essays for Slughorn?"

Potter and I stare at each other. We have reached a crossroads. No matter how much the other didn't want it to be true, Potter and I had each other's measure. We were never friends, but when you live with someone for five years, you tend to get to know them. Maybe we didn't know everything about each other, and maybe there were a few misconceptions, but overall, I knew who James Potter was, and he knew who Lily Evans was. We had been getting along so well all day, but it didn't surprise me how easily we fell back into our old, bickering ways. This is supposed to be the part where I blow up at Potter, calling him names and telling him to stay away from me. This is supposed to be the part where I stalk off angrily to fume to my friends about what an arrogant berk he is. This is just how things go. It's the natural order.

And that's why it shocks me when instead of screaming at Potter, I whip The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 6 off the shelf again, tuck it under my arm, and without a second look at anybody, I walk out of the store.

I continue to walk down the street, careful to keep my eyes straight ahead. I hear Potter's footsteps behind me, and so I don't bother looking back to make sure he has followed. I take a few sharp turns and then find a promising-looking dark alleyway, where I stop. There, I turn to face Potter defiantly.

"I can't believe you just did that," says Potter, looking both shocked and on the verge of laughter. "That's stealing. I didn't know that Lily Evans was a thief!"

"Shh!" I say, chastising him for the use of my given name. I also feel a pang of guilt for stealing the book, and another twinge of annoyance for being referred to as a thief. However, my body feels like it's on fire, and the adrenaline coursing through my veins is such an addicting feeling. I can't seem to get enough of it. This is not something that Lily Evans ever felt. Melina Potter, on the other hand, is a daredevil.

"What, is this too impractical for you?" I smirk at Potter, surprised by my own wit. His mouth is hanging open. Haha, weren't expecting that one, were you, Potter? I'm not boring. I'm unpredictable. I'm wild. I'm impractical. I do things and don't care about the consequences. I'm bad. Oh yeah.

"I can't believe you stole that," Potter says again, and now he's really laughing, and before I can stop myself, I'm laughing with him. Can you imagine? Lily Evans, Prefect, holding a stolen textbook in a dark alleyway with James Potter, laughing like a loon. What has this world come to?

When our laughter finally subsides, I take a few deep breaths and look at the book. "We really should go pay for this."

James nods in agreement, and together, we walk back to Flourish and Blotts, still chuckling about our little adventure.

A/N: And there's chapter 3! I was going to wait a little longer to put this up, but I wanted to show it to you guys now. Thank you to: Howl To The Moon, LunaInTheSky, hpfan, mselphabathropp109, Niamh Cullen, Queen lover, Just-As-Loony-As-Luna, LanaDeLuca, ilovemybestfriends, dgdh, iloveveronicamars, crocadile1986, KatAngel16, Beautifullyfucked, H o r i z o n s, and icebend28 for your lovely reviews! Also, a shout out to Agnes Wernek, who is amazing and is translating this fic into Portugese! Check it out-the link is on my profile.

Please drop by and leave a review! I would really appreciate input. Two of you mentioned you don't want anything Melina/Remus...is that the general concensus? Because what I have planned is necessary for James and Lily's relationship. Also, reccommend some fics to me! I'll give you guys some of my favs next chapter :)

This is a long author's note, so I'll wrap it up!

-Dem