Thank you for all the kind messages of support! I'm excited to get back at it, and to be on Christmas break and to have all this time to spend not being stuck in the library or something. Hope you like it! Even though James and Lily are definitely not friends yet. What can I say? I'm a sucker for the long drawn out stories with all the build up. :p
September 2, 1977
Except I was wrong. This is hard. Now what do I write about? What do people write about when they don't have anything to complain about?
Later
Scratch that: I do have something to complain about! Out of all the classes I've attended so far, not a single professor has failed to forget to emphasize just how crucial our N.E.W.T.s are. Sometimes, it really feels like they're just expecting us to crash and burn. Is that normal professor behavior? I wish I could look up the statistics of seventh year students that never make it to the actual end.
You should have seen my classmates and I before our O.W.L.s. Everyone was panicking, whether they chose to reveal it or not. The only people not panicking were probably Sirius Black and James Potter. Although I did catch Potter frantically studying one day in the library. Never Sirius Black. Besides, if he were to study, he'd make sure to do it in private so he could keep his I'm-effortlessly-great reputation.
I think Mary ended up using fifty meters of parchment to help her study. She claimed that if she rewrote all of her notes, usually more than once, then it would eventually stick with her. Granted, I think it did help because she could practically recite all her notes and she did well on her exams, but she walked around with hand cramps, three extra quills in her pockets, and ink covering her hands. After exams were done, she slept for a solid fourteen hours.
Diana first claimed she wasn't concerned with her O.W.L.s because Witch Weekly, the most popular magazine for witches, could care less about her scores when they hired her to run the magazine, but I'm pretty sure that was just a ruse to try to keep herself calm. When we asked her why she was then meticulously pouring over her notes and textbooks, she said her mother would kill her if she didn't do well. Then she started stress eating. When Diana is sad or stressed, she likes to eat. Don't get me wrong, I'm probably the first one to scarf down an entire chocolate cake after I'm done crying, but Diana ended up eating so much she claimed she gained almost five kilos. When exams were done, she couldn't believe we had let her eat so much (even though once she had physically snapped at Mary when Mary tried to eat some of the pie from her plate), and she went on a crash diet right after.
I got sucked into my studying. Everything was about my notes, my textbooks, and my notes. Anyone who tried to pull me away from my books and parchments usually found themselves on the receiving end of some very short remarks. If I hadn't practically locked myself in the library, I would have probably gotten on the bad side of a lot of people. Whenever I feel upset or stressed, I easily lose my temper. Not so much anymore, but a lot of fifth year. Hopefully no one judged me based on fifth year. That was a weird time for me.
September 3, 1977
First Saturday of the school year and I'm stuck inside writing a Transfiguration essay. I mean, really, who cares about Conjuring Spells? Sure, the ability to create things out of thin air is cool, but do we really have to write an entire essay on it? We touched on this last year already, too. I think Professor McGonagall just wants to let us know as soon as possible that she's all seriousness this year, no funny business. As if anyone has ever in his or her life questioned that.
I should've dropped Transfiguration. I hate it. I could have continued Care of Magical Creatures, but I didn't. Why? Because, one, I was told Transfiguration is impressive regardless of career, and, two, I'm a stubborn bugger who thought that since I struggle with Transfiguration so much I must continue it.
Oh, hold on.
Mary and Diana have just come to ask me if I want to go watch Gryffindor's Quidditch tryouts, which Potter certainly wasted no time in arranging. Technically, Quidditch captains are supposed to wait to set up tryouts until they get the okay from the Head Boy or Girl, so tryouts aren't usually until two weeks after school starts. But I guess because Potter's Head Boy and captain, he's got the advantage.
I would say that I'd be surprised if word about it managed to reach everyone in this short amount of time, but I wouldn't be, because he's Potter and this is Hogwarts.
Later
This will be the only comment I will ever pay Potter, but I genuinely mean it: he sure knows how to play Quidditch and captain the team.
It's easy to understand how, though, since he's been on the team since he was a second year. He then became the youngest captain that anyone could remember as a fourth year.
Not to say it was a bad decision, but it was unusual. I think it can all be fairly blamed on a certain twat named Ashby Vance. See, while Ashby was a talented Seeker, and he won us the Cup three years in a row, he clearly didn't look to the future. Or he didn't care about his team once he finished school. Either way, when he was a seventh year, and Potter was a third, he somehow managed to captain a team comprised of five seventh years (including himself), two sixth years, and one third year—Potter. Luckily, Vance had the limited knowledge to know he needed to leave the captaincy to Potter.
Fourth year came around, and Potter had to find practically an entirely new team. The players he found weren't terrible, and he trained them up well enough, but the fact was that they had just never seriously played Quidditch before. Let's not forget that the two sixth years—both Chasers—had dated, which led to an incredible partnership on the field—until the bloke caught the girl snogging Hufflepuff's Keeper. After that, he neither passed the Quaffle to her nor acknowledged her. So while Potter is a good Chaser, he wasn't good enough to deal with all that drama on the field. I heard Potter threatened to kick the guy, Mark, off the team, but he just said, "Go ahead, Potter. You won't be any better off with Julie," a skinny second year who was the reserve Chaser. She was good, but her nerves overcame her talent, and the one time she was in a game, she froze.
Potter kept Mark (I think he should have told him to shove it then kicked him off anyway), and Gryffindor somehow managed to lose every single Quidditch match. I think that was the biggest embarrassment Potter has ever suffered.
Diana told me Potter put the team on a summer training schedule before fifth year, and it definitely worked. We didn't win, but we were good, winning almost three-fourth of our games. Sixth year we won the Cup, and I swear, to celebrate we had the biggest party you could possibly imagine.
Gryffindor Quidditch tryouts are actually a pretty big deal because while Potter is selective, he tries to keep two reserves and he doesn't avoid younger students since he personally knows what can happen when you have a team of all older students.
As Diana, Mary, and I walked to the Pitch, Diana tried to convince Mary to tell us what she knows about Ravenclaw's Quidditch team (Ben is one of Ravenclaw's Beaters).
"I'm telling you, I don't know anything," Mary said adamantly.
"I don't believe that at all, Mary MacDonalad."
"It's true," Mary said, looking over her shoulder. "Besides, if I did know something, such as that Ben wrote to William over the summer to see what he was planning, but that William said he doesn't care about Quidditch anymore because Melanie won't take him back, I wouldn't tell you."
Diana and I grinned.
"I sure wish you could tell us, though," I said in an attempt to sound somber.
"Me, too," Mary said, looking around once more to make sure no one was nearby. "If I could tell you that Ben said some of the other players want to have the new members—because they need to fill four spots—spread the gossip that they've never played and play really badly when there's a crowd so that the other teams will put their guard down, I would tell you. Like I said, though, I can't."
Diana put her arm around, Mary. "We understand, Mary. You're such a loyal girlfriend."
I nodded vigorously, grinning. "You put the Hufflepuffs to shame."
Dropping the pretense, Mary told us what little more she knew about the Ravenclaw team. Turns out they want to be sneakier than the Slytherins this year. I doubt it would work, though. Ravenclaw has always been a big competitor, especially recently.
Diana weaved her way through the stands to find us good seats. Unfortunately, the seats she picked meant we were basically sitting with Remus, Pettigrew, and Black. I gave her a look, but she didn't see. Mary did, but she shrugged it off, not caring. She gets along fine with our male classmates, more so with Remus and Pettigrew than Potter and Black.
"Hullo, boys," Diana said as she placed herself on the same bench as them. Mary sat next to her, and I next to Mary.
Black ignored us, eyes focused on the field, but Peter and Remus both said hi.
Black suddenly turned to Peter and Remus. "I changed my mind. I bet eleven."
"You can't change your mind!" Peter said. "We already picked our numbers." I looked to Mary and Diana to see if they knew what the boys were talking about, but they didn't.
"But I did. You can change yours, too, Pete, if you want," Sirius offered, sounding as if he cared less.
Peter looked to the players standing on the field. His blue eyes slowly scanned the people, but then he shook his head. "No, I'm staying with seven. Moony?"
"Still four," Remus said. "Hogwarts' girls have more decency than you two think."
"I know plenty of birds here without decency," Sirius said while flicking his long black hair out of his face. Peter snickered. Remus rolled his eyes.
I'd have to admit that Sirius was probably right. A number of girls do seem to lose a least a little bit of their dignity when it comes to Sirius. Unofficially declared the most handsome boy in school, Sirius seems to have it all: the looks, the brains, the charm.
"What are you guys betting on?" I asked.
"How many girls are trying out just to get the attention of the blokes," Remus explained. "I bet four, Peter seven, Sirius now eleven."
"You did not bet on that," Diana said incredulously.
"Of course we did." Sirius turned to face us. "We've gone to tryouts for the past three years for this sole purpose."
"Not fourth year," Peter corrected.
"True. Fourth year we only came to laugh at the twitchy second years trying out."
"But there were too many girls," Remus said, "only there to try to impress James and the other boys with their lack of ability to even catch a Quaffle standing on the ground. Most of them just wanted attention. We started betting on how many of those girls would show up to tryouts the next year."
"That's terrible!" Mary said. Remus looked slightly ashamed for a moment.
"Don't get your knickers in a knot, MacDonald," Sirius said. "If you show up to Quidditch tryouts in broad daylight knowing that people will be there watching, and you've never ridden a broomstick in your life, and you don't even want to be on the Quidditch team, you give the audience full right to mock you however they please. We just happen to do this with an exchange of two Galleons."
I could tell that despite her inner moral compass, she agreed. "So…how many showed up last year?" she asked casually.
Sirius smiled at her approvingly. All the Gryffindors trying out were divided into five groups. I wondered by what.
"Thirteen," Peter said.
"And Remus bet four?" Diana asked.
"They know by now that, if anything, it just makes Prongs madder, which irritates the other serious players, and blokes hardly find it attractive," Remus explained.
"No, they don't," Sirius said. "The second years think that now they can try out for the Quidditch team everyone will want to snog them."
"Gross, Black," I said. "They're twelve."
"Jealous?" He waggled his eyebrows.
"Definitely not." I turned back to the tryouts. Mary kept talking to Remus and Peter about their bet. She got very interested. Pretty soon our innocent Mary's going to be corrupted into a gambler.
All of the players on the field, about thirty, kicked off their brooms and soared into the air. As they flew, Potter intently studied them. I knew what he wasn't looking for: almost as soon as one girl was in the air, she started shaking and didn't move. Just hovered there in the air, twenty-five feet up. Potter was calling up to her, but she just shook her head, frozen. Potter sighed and got on his broom. The rest of the potential players zoomed around the field—some wonderfully, others terribly—while Potter flew up to the girl. He grabbed her and placed her on his broomstick, holding the one the school owned that she had likely borrowed. She looked a little too pleased at the contact, and when she touched the ground, she bounded off, red-faced and smiling.
"That's one," Peter said, marking a tally on a scrap piece of parchment.
"She was a second year." Sirius smirked at me.
Potter dismissed three more girls, who could fly only marginally better than the first girl.
"That's four…," Peter chanted.
"Thanks, Peter," Remus said, "I hadn't counted that for myself."
Peter blushed, but a small smirk appeared when Potter dismissed a fifth girl with a rub of his hand across his face. She had flown into one of the better fliers…backwards. She looked to be a sixth year. I was embarrassed for her.
Peter made another mark. "Dammit," Remus muttered.
Tryouts got more interesting when the Quaffle, Bludgers, and Snitch were released. At that point, a good bit of people had showed up.
When Peter saw me looking around at the crowd, he said, "James has tryouts in the middle of the day and makes sure people will come so he'll know who gets nervous."
I nodded. Smart. At least Potter can claim he's a better captain than Head Boy.
In the end, exactly seven girls appeared to be a part of tryouts for a purpose other than Quidditch. Peter happily accepted two Galleons each from Sirius and Remus, who looked less than pleased. On a more positive note for everyone, from what I could tell, Potter collected a pretty talented group of players.
"Do you think we'll win the Cup again this year?" Diana asked no one in particular.
"It's our last year. James'll probably be even more barmy with the training than the past years. But at least we'll win." Sirius sounded so sure, it was oh-so-easy to taste the victory.
The crowd began to disperse, and we followed. The boys went their own way to meet up with Potter, but as Diana, Mary, and I trudged towards the castle, I remembered I needed to tell Potter we had to create the prefect schedule for patrols. I had started to arrange it all myself, but with nearly twenty-four other students bound to complain about the schedule and how they were patrolling four times, while she was patrolling three, but he had extra responsibilities so he needed to go to sleep earlier, and other nonsense, it was taking way too long to do it myself.
"Bollocks," I said. "I have to go tell Potter we need to make the round schedules tonight."
"Okay, we'll see you back in the castle," Diana said. They turned to go.
"Hang on—won't you come with me?"
"Lily," Mary said exasperatedly. "It's just Potter. Tell him you two need to get it done and then just ask what time would work best for him."
"But you're actually going to leave me?"
"Yes."
"Rotten mates, the both of you," I grumbled. I don't see how they just couldn't wait.
I walked back towards the Quidditch Pitch, which was now almost completely empty. A couple of Slytherin Quidditch players walked past me. I resisted the urge to glare at them, even though it was so blatantly obvious they were spying. No matter. Sneakiness wasn't going to make a bit of difference in us winning the Cup.
Looking through the groups of people walking towards the castle for a messy black head of hair was reasonably easy. Potter was heading up the hill with his mates, broom in his hand, Quidditch gear still on.
I hurried towards him. I was just there with Mary and Diana. We probably walked right past one another. "Potter! Hey, Potter!"
He turned, and when he saw me hurrying, he paused to wait. Remus, Peter, and Sirius stopped as well, all of them looking at me. See? His friends didn't just leave him in the dust. I should be friends with them, I thought. I had to resist the urge to snort at the ludicrous thought. They were, after all, staring at me as I made my way towards them. I couldn't look like a loon.
"Potter, hi. I was wondering—"
"Evans. Hey!" He cleared his throat. "Hey," he said, his voice slightly deeper. "Did you watch tryouts?"
I was a little surprised at his attempt to strike up what appeared to be a normal conversation. Potter? Normal? Yeah, right. That boy's as normal as the fact that we live in an abandoned castle of magical beings and creatures where people live to be like two hundred. "Oh—yeah, yeah I did."
"We looked pretty good out there, huh," he said proudly.
Typical Potter. "Yeah, we just might have a good team this year. Anyway, we need to make the schedule for rounds. Can you do it tonight?"
He made a face. "Does it have to be tonight?"
One of the first tasks we had to do as Head Boy and Head Girl and he's trying to skiv off. Ask me if I'm surprised, Professor. Go ahead. Ask.
'Are you surprised, Miss Evans?'
No I am not.
"Yes it has to be tonight. Do you have better plans?"
Potter looks behind him at his mates. Pettigrew is rapidly shaking his head, Black is making slashing movements over his neck, and even Remus is eyeing him with a look of desperation. "Well, actually…"
"There's this thing called a rhetorical question, Potter, and that means that you shouldn't have better plans, no matter what your mates want you to do."
"Oi!" exclaimed Sirius.
"All right, all right. Don't get your knickers in a knot. I just figured we could talk about it considering this is a partnership here."
I cringed inwardly. I'm cringing now as I think about it, honestly. God. The one thing that always assured me these past two years is that—officially—I was superior to Potter. I was a Prefect! He was not! I couldn't claim much else over him. I detest it every day, but the facts are that Potter is more popular and charming and witty than me, and I'm not much better than him in classes. That he wasn't a Prefect always made me feel a bit better. Yet now he's Head Boy, and you know who's superior to the Head Boy? Not the Head Girl, I'll tell you that. We're equals.
I feel lightheaded.
"All right, point taken. When would you like to do it?"
"Eight thirty?" His mates seemed pleased with this.
"Okay. Eight thirty in our Common Room." I stood there, unsure of what to do. We were all heading in the same direction, but that thrilling conversation was going nowhere good. I wondered if I should just stalk off like usual. Seemed a bit immature at this point. Too fifth year. And we had come so far since then. (We became experts at avoiding one another, honestly.)
"Well…" Potter awkwardly gestured forward with his hands. We turned to resume walking to the castle, and the other three walked alongside. For a heartbeat, no one said anything, but then Peter started telling Potter about the bet and the four Galleons he received. I didn't say anything the whole way, nor did anyone address me, so I might as well have just been walking by myself at the same pace as the other boys. Whatever. When we entered the castle, I took off in the other direction with a nod to my classmates.
Creating the schedule shouldn't be a problem. I mean, the task itself will be arduous, but we'll get it done. Plus, if I shut down Potter every time he tries to talk to me about non-Head Boy/Girl duties, it might be—dare I write it—easy. Yet whenever I think about associating with him, I cringe. Diana says I'm being a baby. Mary thinks I'm coming down with the flu. I think Potter's the one making me ill.
Later
I did not survive. At approximately a quarter after eight, I went down to the Common Room with the lists of all the prefects, an abnormally large calendar, three quills, two bottles of ink, and a roll of parchment. Potter came down a minute late, and he brought nothing. I was shocked.
I hadn't even bothered to attempt to place my materials on the table. I merely spread them all out on the floor. I nodded to the spot across from me on the other side of the large calendar. Potter sat down.
"Merlin, how did you ever get a calendar this big?"
"I made it."
"You made it?" He sounded so incredulous it was almost insulting.
"Yes. All I had to do was find a square parchment, charm it larger, and then add the lining and details to make it look the way we need it to. Is there something wrong with it?" I was daring him to criticize it.
"No," Potter said. "I couldn't even tell you made it. I thought you bought it or something. It looks good."
He sounded sincere. It was nice—albeit unusual—to hear him sound genuine. "Thanks. We only have to patrol from nine to midnight. Students might sneak out later than that, but they usually don't. If anything, they aren't going to leave the castle, and Filch likes to do sudden patrols in the middle of the night, so he might catch some." Potter nodded. "It's easy that they're broken up this way, because everyone patrols for one hour on their night. I figure we give fifth years from nine o'clock to ten, since it's their first year and they have to deal with O.W.L.s. Sixth years patrol from ten to eleven, and because the seventh years are the oldest, we patrol after the sixth years until midnight. That's how we've done it before."
"Except we have N.E.W.T.s. A lot of the seventh years are going to pitch a fit if they have to patrol late into the night and won't have enough time to study."
"They will have enough time to study."
"They won't think so. I don't know about you, but I'm not too keen on listening to those buggers complain endlessly." He had a point. I don't know why, but prefects loathe patrols. It's not too terrible, but in my past two years, I've seen many try to argue their way out of doing it later or altogether. "Granted, no one studies nowadays, but they'll probably swear on the Founders' graves they need the time."
"So what—we make the sixth years do the late patrols? The seventh years are the oldest; they're supposed to take on the most responsibility."
Potter shrugged. "We can have the seventh years on late patrol the first month, sixth years on late patrol the next, then seventh, and so on. That way everyone does a little bit of the midnight patrolling. Except the fifth years."
I nodded. Why was he coming up with all these good ideas? I prepared myself mentally, emotionally, and spiritually with the expectation that he would be arrogant and lazy. Now he's going to be nice and intelligent? Call the Ministry—we've got a suspected case of the Imperius curse at hand.
Focusing on the task at hand again, I jotted that down on my parchment. "Should we have one or two sets of prefects patrol every hour?"
"Are they sticking together?"
"For now, yeah."
"Then we should have two. One pair patrolling the whole castle is useless."
"We could have three patrols."
"No way. People would have to patrol nearly every day. Honestly, this whole patrol thing is a joke." He ran his hand through his hair. I gaped at him. What was he talking about? He's Head Boy! He can't call his duties a joke! "It's mostly a formality. There's no way we're going to be able to catch all the students sneaking out. There are too many secret passages and the castle is too big. If anything, only the utter cabbages will get in trouble."
I wanted to be the perfect Head Girl that understood and expressed the importance of rules and patrols and how there's a system in place, but even I knew that was a load of dung. Potter was right. In a year of patrols, I'd probably only catch no more than thirty students breaking curfew, not including the ones genuinely heading back to their Common Room from spending too long in the library or such. Most students don't know how easy it is to not get caught, even if occasionally the professors will patrol (although not really). Students usually stay in their dormitories only because they know we're out patrolling, and they're scared to be caught. Everything's practically for show. That doesn't mean the students have to know this, though, nor will I admit it aloud.
"We'll stick to two pairs per hour. Let's start with the fifth years…"
And so it continued. We wrote down names and scribbled across the calendar, trying to make sure no pair was patrolling more than another. It was mind numbingly boring. It was so boring, I was almost tempted to start a conversation with Potter. Almost. We all know where conversations between us end up.
We said nothing but names, times, years, and houses. After about an hour, I was really confused. Why wouldn't Potter try to start up a conversation? He tried to today, he messed with me on the train, and he never passed up an opportunity before. So why was he sitting there, pretending to be responsible? Is he ill? Should I have checked him into the Hospital Wing?
"We have an odd number of seventh years, so how do you think we should do that?" Potter asked, looking at the list of seventh years. It's true: with Potter Head Boy even though he wasn't a prefect, we don't have even pairs. Remus is left alone since I was his partner, but now… Potter's mine.
"Oh," I said. Truth is, I thought of this last night, and I already decided what to do. "I don't think Remus should do patrols." I casually organized the quills in front of me. "He's already got so much on his shoulders, with his mum and all, that it'd be pointless to have him patrol when he doesn't even have a partner. He kind of deserves a break, don't you think?"
I braced myself for his response.
"Yeah," Potter said. "You're right."
What? I'm not a big fan of change. When things and people start to change, you become a seventeen year old witch with a dead mother and a sister and an ex-best friend that hate you, and you find yourself at the top of the hit list of a certified maniac. But this… This I could get used to.
When we neared the end, I couldn't help but voice my thoughts.
"This was a surprise."
"What was?"
"You were actually helpful and not a pain." I wanted to hex myself. That was the total opposite of mature and appreciative. If only there was a spell to put the words that just came out of your mouth back in your brain.
"Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence, Evans," Potter said. "I'll finally be able to rest at night knowing I have won your approval."
"Don't be dramatic," I said, feeling defensive. "I'm just pointing out that you almost seemed like a real Head Boy." Potter looked at me incredulously. Bugger. I was not bringing my point across well. "I almost want to wait a bit and see if you're actually Remus under the influence of Polyjuice Potion," I joked. Potter loves jokes. I figured a joke would lighten the mood. That's like waving a bone in front of a dog. He's got to bite.
Unfortunately, I need to reevaluate my understanding of the animal kingdom.
"Yep, that's right," Potter said, his voice dripping with annoyance. "Just an hour before, I was pacing in my room, wondering how on earth I could create a schedule with you without being totally incompetent. The question was eating away at me when the answer suddenly appeared. Obviously there was no way I could be a decent, helpful person on my own, so what I had to do was act like Remus. God bless Lupin, because he is always the solution."
Er…
What?
"Your tone tells me you're joking," I said, "but this sounds like an entirely plausible explanation and I'm still wondering if you actually thought that."
"When are you going to get over yourself, Evans?" Potter groaned. "Not everyone is going to be the dung on your trainers forever."
"Hey! I didn't say you were! Pardon me for wondering why you were acting like an obedient house elf rather than a person, let alone yourself."
"I'm a house elf now? Brilliant. Keep them coming, Head Girl. Truly, you are a grand role model to the students."
"Oh, shut up," I snapped. "Look me in the eye and tell me you weren't gagging at how you were acting. I'm surprised you hadn't called me 'ma'am' yet. That was not James Potter and you know it!"
"Yeah, you're right, as always. Cooperative, polite, and serious—that could never be James Potter. Go on, you know me so well, who's the real James Potter?" His vindictive and short tone had me fuming. He hadn't made me feel like this since fifth year. I stood up.
"An irresponsible toerag with a fat head who thinks he's better than everyone else and who has no business being Head Boy," I said quickly, as if the words had been waiting to pour out of me. I towered over him. He was still sitting on the floor, as if using the energy to even stand up to be level with me was a waste.
"Good one. Haven't heard that since fifth year. Want to hear who the real Lily Evans was her fifth year? Plenty of people would say Defense class had some good examples."
That shut me up. My jaw snapped shut and my body stiffened. Everyone knows that fifth year is a forbidden subject. It's like your awkward puberty years or the time you thought the bloke you liked was going to ask you on a date but he was just telling you that you had food in your teeth: it didn't happen, and if anyone mentions it, you kill them. No questions asked.
Looking back, murdering Potter would have been relatively easy. It was just us in our Common Room, and there was a cupboard on the other side of the room, a perfect place to hide a body.
"That was different and you know it," I said. My voice sounded shaky. Bugger. My vocal cords deserve a stern lecture about how they need to keep it together when I'm in a row. Especially when I'm losing. It was like they wove a little white flag. You let me down, Vocal Cords. You let me down.
"And yet no one goes around yelling at you about it every day!" Potter exclaimed.
"Things changed!"
"Yeah, they did!" He quickly stood up. He is much taller than me. I wanted to tell him to sit back down because I did not appreciate feeling vertically inferior.
"I don't think they did," I said coolly.
"I think you're right." If my voice was as cold as the Blake Lake on Christmas, Potter's face was like Antarctica.
I held his gaze for as long as I could. As we stared at one another, daring the other to back down, I replayed our conversation in my head. Then I stopped doing that because I began to feel guilty. I broke eye contact.
"Since this bout of helpfulness is clearly about to run dry, how about you finish this up? That way you can make up for me having to do the whole meeting on the train by myself."
"All right. You better go, anyway. The effects of the Polyjuice are about to end."
I couldn't come up with anything to say to that one. I opted for a dramatic storm out instead. It would've been better if I hadn't jammed my foot into the leg of one of the armchairs and nearly fallen on my face.
I think that says a lot about me, Professor. But I try not to think about it too much.
I stomped towards my door, ripped it open, and let it bang shut behind me. Without even thinking, I snatched my nightgown, robe, towel, and toiletries. My feet led the way to the Prefect's Bathroom, my mind completely ignoring the fact that it was past curfew and I really shouldn't be out. I am Head Girl. If I have to put up with Potter as my partner, then I will get special privileges.
The monstrous sized bathtub, which is really more like a pool, was empty. Good. Peace and quiet… I started running the taps of the bath. Purple and blue today, with vanilla and lavender. The water and foams quickly poured out. My bath shoes slapped against the ground as I threw them to the side.
"Lily?"
All I wanted was to sink into that wondrous bathtub with too-many-to-count salts and soaps, and potentially never emerge. I did not want to talk to anyone. But upon seeing the round face and short blonde hair, I realized it could be worse.
"Bobby, hey."
I tried to smile, but I suppose I failed spectacularly, because Bobby, in his pajama pants and shirt, hair still wet, said, "Are you all right? You're not mad I'm here are you? Technically, I know unless we're doing rounds that night we can't be out past nine, but I lost track of time…"
"What? Oh, no, no!" I smiled again—a genuine, if small one. "You're fine. I know you're not here vandalizing the bathrooms or anything. I mean, I got here later than you. I was doing Head stuff with Potter…" I had the sudden urge to hex something. Correction: to hex Potter.
Bobby shifted the pile of neatly folded clothes in his hands and leaned against the wall. "Oh, yeah. How's that going?"
"I don't even know why Potter's Head Boy," I said, feeling that that was enough of an answer.
"Dumbledore knows."
"I have a theory that Dumbledore's brain was addled over the holidays. I'm just a bit behind with evidence."
Bobby laughed. "At least you're honest. I wouldn't worry too much about it, anyway. You did well at the meeting on the train."
I groaned. "Even when I told everyone prefect was like perfect with the letters rearranged?"
Bobby chuckled again, his blue eyes bright. "I guess you learn something new every day."
What a polite way to admit my idiocy. I grinned at him before a puddle of water spilled over the edge of the pool. "Oh!" I turned off the faucets.
"I'll let you get to your bath then," Bobby said.
"Okay, goodnight."
He turned to go, but he stopped and looked back at me. "I wouldn't let James get you down. Dumbledore knew what he was doing when he appointed Head Boy and Girl, and since you were definitely the right choice, I know James is too."
I smiled. "Thanks, Bobby." Why couldn't he have been Head Boy? Why couldn't it have been anyone else but Potter?
Once I was alone again, I dived into the tub. I would go there whenever I felt like everything was becoming too overwhelming. I always felt better. Except this time. The tub of purple, blue, lavender, vanilla, hot water, and bubbles didn't make me feel any more relaxed. And that's when I realized it was going to take a lot more than magical soap to turn this around.
September 4, 1977
Potter finished the calendar in time for the meeting, so now patrols start tomorrow, a Monday. Most of the prefects thought it was a fair arrangement of patrols, but a select few felt the urge to try to bargain with their times. Potter told them to shut it because everything was staying the way it was. I glared at him. He ignored me. We ignored each other the whole time, in fact. With Potter and I trying to both direct the meeting without acknowledging the other, we got some funny looks from the prefects. We are the worst Heads in the world.
Later
I don't know why, but McGonagall is a wonderfully terrible bearer of bad news. I think it's the spectacles. Even though the lenses of glasses are transparent, it's still like her eyes are hiding behind the squares of glass. You can't see to her eyes, and you certainly can't tell what she's really feeling, so you assume based on other things. Like her mouth. Which is in a perpetual state of straightness. I can count the number of times I've seen her smile on my hands. She's not a mean professor, though. If anything, I know she cares for her students as if they are her own children. Especially when…. Well, anyway, McGonagall is pretty strict, and the use of the word frightening wouldn't be terribly off, so when she walked into the Common Room this evening, you could easily guess what most of the students thought was going to happen.
There are usually only two instances McGonagall visits the Gryffindor Common Room: Either someone is in trouble (usually Potter and his friends, but there was one instance where all of Gryffindor was punished) or something bad has happened. Considering school started less than a week ago and the Marauders have been playing it cool (not to mention the current circumstance of the wizarding community), nearly everyone assumed it was the second option.
The entire room fell silent. The only noise to be heard was a female voice coming from the radio, singing something about a pub and Polyjuice Potion. Oh, and a third year hiccupping. He had been standing on his head before McGonagall came in, trying to get rid of his ailment.
McGonagall scanned the room, and as she looked past the students, I swear you could see them intake their breaths before exhaling with relief when her eyes moved past them. What was it this time? Death? Missing person? Hostages? The eyes behind the glasses finally found their way to their destination. Ignoring the other students, the serious looking woman made her way towards the couch, where I was sitting with Diana.
I was going to faint. My stomach plummeted and my heart jumped out of my chest and out the window. I wondered if something happened. Was it Petunia? Was it Dad? Merlin, no, I thought. Not Dad, too. McGonagall stood in front of me in her green robes and said, "Miss Evans?"
Vomit was making its way up my throat. I was sure she was going to tell me my whole family was gone in front of everyone. Everyone would know I was an orphan. Oh, God. "Yes?" I croaked. No one breathed.
"I'd like to let you know Professor Dumbledore requests that when you assign prefects their patrols, you organize them to be in pairs. He does not wish for students to be wandering the castle late at night alone. It is my understanding you had a meeting yesterday and patrols start tonight."
Prefects. Patrols. Head Girl. Fine. Everything is fine. My brain was practically patting itself in a soothing manner. "Oh—yes, we did. Everyone was placed in pairs already."
"Good. Then no prefect should be patrolling alone. Have a good night, Miss Evans." She swept out of the room more suddenly than she arrived. Almost mechanically, everyone turned back to what they were doing before. The rapid beatings of hearts were slowing down.
"Merlin…," I said, leaning back on the couch.
"I thought she was going to say something bad," Diana admitted.
"Me too. Not that that news was any better. Now I have to patrol with Potter, too?"
Diana rolled her eyes. "Come on, Lily. Don't change the topic and act like that's the worst thing in the world. Everyone thought—"
"I know what everyone thought," I snapped. "But nothing happened, so there's no reason to dwell on it like something did. I don't want to stop and imagine what it's like to find out another parent's dead, thank you very much."
I didn't. I don't. If something happened to Dad… Even if something happened to Petunia, I don't know what I would do. Would I cry? Would I become empty? Could I still function? I don't know, and I'm not going to sit and ponder my actions in case I really do end up alone. I'm not. I shouldn't have snapped at Diana, and I should have apologized (I didn't—I continued our conversation on when the first Hogsmeade trip should be). Diana knows, though. She knows what happened after my mum died. She knows I hate talking about these things. I hate writing about them, too. I feel like I'm going to throw this journal across the room any minute.
Back to the point. Merlin, can you believe my luck? Can you believe that Potter and I are really going to have to patrol together? Before I figured because we are Head Boy and Girl… Hold on. McGonagall said she doesn't expect any prefects to patrol on their own. That doesn't mean Heads can't. Ha! Looks like I can avoid Potter for just a little bit longer.
September 5, 1977
Technically, it's the next day because it is ten minutes until three in the morning. I can't sleep. I can't get the Common Room incident out of my mind. And not because of Potter.
McGonagall walked in and everyone just…froze. No one panicked, per say (at least not verbally or physically), but everyone's minds jumped to conclusions. We all assumed the worst. Sure, no one said anything, but I could tell. Everyone stopped talking. Everyone watched McGonagall as she walked towards me. Everyone started breathing again when she started talking about patrols. Everyone started talking only after she had completely left the room. We all feared the worst.
It wasn't like that a couple years ago. Whenever McGonagall would come in our Common Room, everyone got excited because it usually meant Potter and his friends were going to get in trouble, and that was always exciting. Not anymore.
The part that's keeping me awake is that we did fear the worst. Because of how we are living now, we expect these things to happen. Why does death and murder and missing people and orphans have to be so common? That's not the way it should be. Students shouldn't have to fear seeing their professor because it means their parent was killed. That's not how it should work.
But that's how it is. That's how it's happening. I can't seem to wrap my head around it. How could one wizard cause so much fear and pain? Why is he doing it all? Why hasn't he been stopped yet?
The part that keeps me up the most, the part I can't seem to stop thinking about, is that, with every fiber of my being, I want to stop You-Know-Who. I don't know how, I don't know if I can, but I want to. Is that supposed to be scary, Professor? Are you allowed to be scared to do something your heart is screaming at you to do? If I'm so sure I want something like this, why doesn't the rest of me feel so completely sure?
Why do I start thinking about these emotional, life-changing things at night when I should be sleeping? I'm going to be a vegetable tomorrow if I don't get some rest now. I've got Potions tomorrow, too. If I'm not wide awake, I'll hear fifty comments about it from Professor Slughorn.
"Write honestly about what you fear"—check.
(Actual) September 5, 1977
More professors emphasized the importance of N.E.W.T.s. I don't know what to write about unless I am bashing Potter. That seems to be difficult considering we're still ignoring one another. I never thought I'd say it, but I would probably pick the typical Potter over this one. They're both pretty awful, though. Our first patrol is tomorrow. Only if you dragged my rotting carcass would you be able to get me to patrol with him.
This journal thing is still a stupid idea.
Later
I've got patrols soon, and I was going to do something with Mary and Diana, but Mary is off with Ben and Diana is writing in her own journal. Silly journals. She suggested I write in mine, too. Might as well, since currently all the other torture tools are being used.
Potions used to be my favorite class. Even more than Charms. Potions just seems so easy to me. Severus and I are—pardon the arrogance—easily the best in Potions. We would partner up whenever we could, and—this is just an assumption—Slughorn seemed to prefer partner assignments much more after he saw Severus's and mine creations.
Now that Severus and I (obviously) stopped partnering up, sharing tidbits, and good-naturedly competing, Potions is now just another class. Sure, I'm still good at it, and yeah, it is better than Ancient Runes or Transfiguration, but still. It's just Potions.
When I walked into the familiar, chilly room, Professor Slughorn grinned broadly and practically wobbled to me. (That's kind of mean of me to say, huh? Especially considering how kindly he treats me. I take it back then.) "Lily! Why, you've grown into a lovely young lady over the summer. I hardly recognized you for a moment!" I blushed. I hadn't changed, not really. "An old student of mine just started working in the Ministry of Magic on the research committee for new and effective potions. He is a handsome bloke and owes me a favor. I'm sure you two—"
Er… Was Slughorn trying to set me up? Yikes. "I take to heart all your advice, Professor, but I think trying your hand at matchmaking sounds like a disastrous idea, sir," I said.
Slughorn laughed. "I've missed your cheek, Miss Evans! But you're right—I could never find a gentleman worthy of your expertise!"
I hoped no one heard that. Slughorn loves it when I'm straightforward with him, though. He says I'm cheeky. Mostly it's just me saying what I really think. Yet when I say it with a smile, he eats it up.
"But of course! Oho—Mr. Black! It's so good to see you again. Tell me…" Professor Slughorn moved on to Black, who just walked in with Potter and Remus. Black's almost a special project of his. Despite Slughorn's insistences, Black refuses to be a member of the Slug Club. (Oh, right. That's the name of the group of students Slughorn gathers because… All right, it's his favorites. I wouldn't have joined, but I heard he has great connections. Being a Muggleborn, I don't have much of those.) Anyway, Black won't participate, except for the occasional party, but he's more of a crasher than a guest. I expect it's because he truly does like doing the opposite of what he's expected to do.
The tables are arranged in groups of four. I sit with Mary, Marlene McKinnon, and Marlene's sister Kara. Their other sister is Josceline. Since they're all in Hufflepuff, the triplets are pretty close. Usually it's them and Jane. Josceline isn't in this class, though. Neither is Jane.
We're a pretty small class. The three girls and I. Severus. A Slytherin girl and boy. Black, Potter, Remus. (Pettigrew dropped the class after O.W.L.s. Thank goodness. He was kind of, sort of atrocious.) Two Ravenclaw boys, one girl. Bobby, a Hufflepuff.
"Hi, Marlene, Kara," I said as I sat in my seat. "Did you have a good holiday?"
Kara nodded, a serene smile on her face. "Mum and Dad let us and Josceline go to Spain with Jane. It was amazing."
"Spain? Wow. How long were you there for?"
"A month."
A month in Spain. I caught Mary's eye. How nice it must be to have pureblood money. Not that the McKinnon girls think they're above anyone else. No, nothing like that. They really are very kind to everyone they meet.
"Well, class, shall we begin our first day of seventh year Potions?" Slughorn said, standing at the front of the classroom and broadly grinning. His long mustache even perked up. "Hopefully your summer wasn't too long that you've forgotten our little tradition." Who could forget? Every year Slughorn challenges us to make a difficult potion, and the one with the best concoction wins a (usually pretty valuable) potion. Severus won last year, damn him.
"Unfortunately, I don't have any potions to show you today." Last year, he had brewed Polyjuice Potion and made us all smell the gag-inducing potion. "You've already heard and seen the best of them, and if you haven't… Well, you will this year." He smiled.
"Now, I had said that by the end of your N.E.W.T. year you would be capable of making the potions I've showed you through the years. And you will. In fact, we'll begin brewing one particularly tricky N.E.W.T. level potion. But first…"—Slughorn leaned forward as if sharing a secret—"another friendly competition to start off the year!" Has Potions class really even started if we don't go through this? "The prize is"—he pulled a bright purple bottle from inside his robes—"a bottle of Coro Fortitudo." I'm embarrassed to say I had never heard of it. Severus had, apparently, because out of the corner of my eye I saw him hastily straighten up. "Does anyone know what this is? I assume you do, Mr. Snape."
"It strengthens your magical core," he said, a hunger in his eyes.
"Correct! When a witch or wizard drinks this, his or her center increases. That isn't to say that a first year will suddenly be capable of N.E.W.T. level spell work, but if, say, one of you were to drink it, your magical capabilities will be sharpened. Your spells will be more powerful, you will be more capable, things like that." I looked at the potion. Sure, it sounds great, but when could we actually use it? Assuming that… "Unfortunately, the use of this potion is not permitted for exams or schoolwork of any kind. It is unlikely any employers would encourage use of this brew either, unless you were an Auror, perhaps."
An Auror. Huh. I'm sure something like this would be useful since they capture dark wizards. Why don't they just… "Coro Fortitudo takes six months to brew, which is why I am offering this to the student who proves they deserve it. If you turn to page two hundred and seven in your copies of Advanced Potion Making, you will see the instructions to create the Ageing Potion. You can retrieve your supplies from the closet, and you will have the entire class to work. Now… may the best brewer win!"
Everyone else rushed to the cabinets, but I took my time and read the instructions. It was a long potion, and especially tricky. Add three dandelion roots, thinly chopped, to the left side of the cauldron while stirring. Stir horizontally seven times. Sprinkle in exactly three wings of lacewing flies. I scribbled adjustments in my book, a habit I picked up from Severus, before going to get the ingredients.
Quickly, the room filled with silvery vapor and a disgusting odor I presume was from the toadstools. Marlene and Kara do well in potions, although they never win because they are so preoccupied quietly and slyly helping the other. Slughorn never notices—or if he does, he doesn't say anything. It doesn't really matter: they're E, sometimes A workers, not O. Mary struggles. When she tries so hard to get it right, she focuses solely on a particular step, and then she forgets to do the next one. If she relaxes and just does the potion, she can be amazing. Overall, though, the class does well. We're N.E.W.T. level for a reason.
I stirred my black mixture for one hundred and thirty taps of my foot. The Slytherin girl, Ana Marie, a prefect, tied her black hair up with a tad too much aggression. Her potion was brown and bubbling over. Bobby's face was shiny with sweat as he carefully cut the knotgrass. Potter's hair was sticking up even more, but it got bushy, nearly frizzy. It was not a good look for him. Black casually stirred his potion, watching everyone else in the room. Remus snapped at him, and Black jolted up before hastily throwing something silver in his cauldron.
I peered into my cauldron to see it was grey. It was supposed to be a glittering silver. I frowned. Where had I gone wrong? I had crushed the dandelion roots instead of cutting them, but that was supposed to make it easier to dissolve. The last step was to add a sprig of mint, directly in the center, and let it set for a minute. What did I need to do now?
Even though I had pointedly looked everywhere except at him, I chanced at glance at Severus. He was slowly pouring his potion, a perfect silver, into a vial. He lightly smiled. He knew he won. Bloody hell, he's not supposed to win. After he stuck the stopper in the vial, he looked up and caught my eye. I hastily looked away. No way was he going to win this year. I turned back to my potion and twisted my finger around my necklace.
"Lily?" Mary whispered. "Help." I looked at her cauldron. Her potion wasn't terribly off course, but it was too thick and still black, but with splotches of silver. Her bottom lip stuck out as she continued her circular stirs, and her hair was falling out of its ponytail.
"Try choppily stirring." I made harsh horizontal and vertical movements in my own cauldron. "It should separate the ingredients more evenly and get them to react quicker."
She nodded and started to do so. I turned back to mine. I had no idea what to do. I added the mint anyway, to see if it would get my somewhere. It turned the liquid only the slightest shade closer towards silver. I knew I had added everything correctly. It should have been cooperating. The ingredients should have been reacting…
If you can't figure out why it's not working, add a leaf of aconite. The poison in it amplifies everything. If that doesn't work, nothing else will, Severus had said.
Oh bloody hell. I looked over at him again. Slughorn was there, and he clapped Severus on the back, saying something with a smile on his face. He had obviously succeeded. But just because he had didn't mean I couldn't. I could figure something else out.
Yet no other method seemed to work. Stirring did nothing. No other ingredients seemed likely. Class was going to end in ten minutes. Just because I followed something Severus had told me didn't mean he was helping me. It didn't. I hurried to the closet and searched through the faded brown boxes for aconite. When I saw the lilac of the flowers in the back, I ripped the box out, nearly spilling a container of newt eyes, and plucked off a leaf.
Back at my desk, I dropped the leaf in and waited. And waited. And then it was like the sun had risen over my potion. It got lighter and lighter, and then it began to sparkle. Diamonds were filling my cauldron—or so it looked. It was better than Severus's. I smiled proudly. I had done better. I started to clear up.
A few minutes later, Slughorn said, "Time is up! I will now evaluate all of your potions." He grimaced at some, nodded approvingly at others, and did other stuff I wasn't really paying attention to because I was too busy thinking about my potion.
Oh, who cares? Hex me for feeling good about myself. Whatever.
The point is, that by the time Slughorn reached my group, he peered in my cauldron and looked, not saying a word. Then he looked again. And then he mixed it. Only when he started sniffing it did I start to feel nervous. Did I overestimate it? What if it's supposed to be only shiny? Not glittery? Did I fail?
Slughorn backed away. "Miss Evans, you never fail to impress me!" My heart soared. "This Ageing Potion is better than the one I had to make a few years back. The color… Look at it! It almost looks as if you liquidized diamonds. It smells exactly as it should, too. I'm sure if I took a sip of this potion, I would age precisely how I was supposed to. Of course, I won't. I hate to imagine how I'll look in twenty years; I don't think I'd like to see it." He chuckled. "You are the deserving winner, Miss Evans." He pulled out the purple bottle again and handed it to me.
"Really?" I squeaked, too excited to try to control myself. Me! I won! Merlin… Coro Fortitudo!
Slughorn smiled at me proudly. "Really, m'dear." He pulled a sparkling gold pocket watch out of another of his pockets. "Goodness, look at the time! Class, clear up your area. No homework today, but just this once."
"Congrats, Lily," Marlene said.
"You deserve it," Kara added.
I smiled at them. "Thanks, guys." When everyone was exiting the room and it was just Mary and I again, I muttered, "Sweet success."
Mary giggled. "You're just glad you wiped the floor with Snape."
I shrugged. It's true. "Perhaps. But still… Coro Fortitudo!"
"I've never heard of it before today, to be honest."
"Me neither, which is surprising. I mean, when he was telling us about it? It sounds wonderful."
Mary nodded. "When would you use it?"
"Dunno. I guess I'll just wait for the right opportunity."
"True… Seriously, though, Lils." She stopped and smiled at me. "Good job."
I automatically grinned back. "Thanks. Hey, you too. Your potion was a lot better this time." We finally reached the end of the stairs we had been walking up and turned left, making our way towards the Great Hall to meet Diana.
She waved her hand in the air. "Hardly. I would have been completely off if not for you. I just can't seem to get the hang of Potions…" She tugged on her bangs before pushing them behind her ear.
"You will. You'll get better."
"Yeah, well, we can't all be perfect like you." She shoved me, and I knocked into a boy—fourth year, I think—who looked right pleased that my body had just fallen on top of him.
Uh, no thanks. I pushed Mary back, ignoring the boy. "Piss off."
When I told Diana about Potions, she rolled her eyes and said she wasn't very surprised. Which in itself is a compliment.
When I got back to my room, I tried to find a good spot to stick my prize. A part of me wanted to place it on my nightstand so I could look at how pretty the deep blue liquid was, especially when the light caught it just right and it looked like dissolved sapphires. All I could see, though, in my mind was an owl flying in through my window and spilling the entire potion on the floor.
I dug to the very bottom of my trunk until I pulled out a sunflower yellow purse. Severus got it for me for my thirteenth birthday. I haven't used it in ages, but it is a splendid purse. He adapted it so anything can fit inside, but there's also a cushioning charm around it, so I know nothing can break the glass vial inside. I stuck it in a pocket inside and then hung the purse in my wardrobe, but at the very back so I won't have to look at it much.
In all honesty, winning the potion isn't the reason I'm so happy. It's—Oh shit. I'm going to be late for patrols. Whatever, Potter's going to be even more late.
Later
Potter and I were supposed to meet in the prefect room—basically an unused classroom now filled with a large table, a bunch of chairs, a decaying couch, and the giant calendar. It's where we have our meetings. I arrived right at eleven. I should have just left and started rounds on my own, but I wanted to make sure Potter eventually showed up. He did—ten minutes late. Edward Brinley and Josceline McKinnon, the Ravenclaw Prefects, had already left for their rounds.
He casually strutted in, hands in the pockets of his trousers, and he didn't look the least bit concerned he was late. Not a bit.
No, instead, his eyes were relaxed, and his pink lips were slightly curved up, as if someone had just told him the most splendid joke. I wanted to hex him.
"How nice of you to show up on time."
Potter grinned. "Sorry, I had some business I need to take care of."
"More important than your duties as Head Boy?"
"Most definitely."
I stared at him. He's got to be kidding. He couldn't be serious. What is wrong with him? "Don't expect me to shed a tear when they rip that Head Boy badge off your robe. Now, we patrol until midnight. You can do the second and third floors of the castle, and I'll do the first and the dungeons."
"Hang on. Aren't we supposed to patrol together?"
"No."
"McGonagall said—"
"McGonagall said prefects need to patrol in pairs. Heads don't have to."
His eyebrows rose behind his spectacles. "She actually said that?"
"I said it. I'm not patrolling with you."
He pushed himself off the desk he was leaning on and crossed his arms. "Fine, it doesn't matter to me. I can bunk off easier then. I was hoping to turn in early tonight."
"Don't you dare, Potter," I growled.
"I'm joking, Evans. Merlin. Do you even know how to laugh?"
"I've been laughing ever since I found out you were Head Boy."
Potter genuinely laughed in response. "Good one! Glad to see that sense of humor is finally developing."
"Must be your great influence," I said.
"It turns out being your partner hasn't sucked all the happiness out of me yet."
"Are you comparing me to a Dementor, Potter?"
He lifted his hands in the air innocently. "You said it, not me."
What a slick git. "I feel like I'm in Azkaban when I'm in this room with you. Give it more time. You'll realize how miserable this really is soon enough." I smiled sweetly before quickly exiting the room.
Patrols were mind numbingly boring. The most eventful part was when I heard some disgustingly loud panting coming from a broom closet. After I braced myself, I ripped open the door to find William and a sixth year Slytherin girl I had recognized only from the occasional passing in the corridors snogging the living daylights out of each other. Thankfully, they had all their bits and pieces covered up, but barely. Only looking at them straight in the eyes for fear of seeing things I didn't want to, I told them to head back to their Common Rooms, and ten points from Ravenclaw and Slytherin. But when I realized they were still panting as I lectured them about curfew, I took five more. Merlin. Did anyone have any decency?
After that, I just walked around, waiting until midnight and thinking about today.
"How about you try thinking a bit harder?" a voice quipped from my side.
I turned to see Sirius Black coming towards me, arms casually dangling at his sides, long black hair shining, walking around as if he had zero care in the world. "You aren't supposed to be outside of the Tower this late, Black," I said.
He nodded. "All right." As he stood in front of me, I realized we could act no more different—me trying to be a firm leader, he looking as if it didn't even affect him if I knew what he was doing or that it was breaking school rules.
"I'm going to have to give you a detention."
"I wouldn't go."
He wouldn't. "You'd have to eventually."
"But until then, you would be setting aside time to ensure I went to my detention, when I probably never would."
I glared at him, but I could see myself day after day appointing his detention, only to wait for him to show up—which he never would.
"So I would say detention's out of the question, yeah?" he said smoothly as if reading my mind.
"Then I'll just take points." I walked ahead to let him know there was no question about his punishment. He didn't get the message.
"Except that I'm sure that since this is your last year at Hogwarts, you really would like to win the House Cup, just once."
I faltered. He's right. That would be nice.
"Which means taking points is unlikely, too."
"Gee, I wonder how Gryffindor's managed to have the least amount of points for six years straight, and the first time Gryffindor was last for three decades mysteriously happened only after you and your mates came to Hogwarts." I pointedly looked at him.
He shrugged. "It's Wormtail's fault."
"Peter's?" Yeah, right.
"We've got to entertain him somehow." He flicked a strand of his long black hair out of his face. "Isn't it nice knowing you can control that now?"
"What? Peter? You? I could only ever dream of controlling you and your mates."
"Fair point, but I meant who wins the House Cup. All you've got to do is take points from the troublemakers in the other Houses and let the Gryffindors be."
I gasped. "I would never abuse my power like that!"
"Then why haven't you taken points from me yet?" he asked smugly.
"Two points from Gryffindor!" I snapped.
Black smirked. His eyes were glinting as if to say, Two? Really?
"Where were you anyway?" I asked him.
"Around."
"Were you keeping Potter company?"
"Merlin, no, I don't like him that much." Involuntarily, I laughed. A little laugh. Practically a baby laugh! But I laughed at something Black said.
"You have a nice laugh, Evans," he said. I don't. It's obnoxious and almost always too loud. You can especially tell when I finish laughing, though, because there's this great silence like, Lily's annoying laugh was taking up all that sound.
"Don't try to change the subject, Black. Where were you? Were you snogging it up with some bird?"
"Snogging it up?" He snorted. "No. Speaking of, aren't you supposed to be patrolling with Prongs?"
I'm still not quite sure what the 'speaking of' was in reference to. "Aren't you supposed to be in your room at this hour?"
Black grinned. He had a nice smile, although I hate to admit it. He walked with me for a few more minutes before we reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, the entrance to our Common Room. Before he went in and I continued the long boring task of simply walking, he said, "Let's just say I came to keep you company, all right?" And then he left me alone. As I patrolled the rest of the floor, I realized Sirius was right: I did want Gryffindor to win, and that's why I went easy on him. Bugger.