Dear Alice,

I know what you're thinking. I've written more about James Potter than I have about anyone else so far in these letters to you. Well, there's a perfectly valid reason for that: I can't find anywhere to complain about him to you or Sandy without either he or one of his Marauders turning up. At least one of them is in every one of my classes, and neither my study nor the common room is safe. Black is currently seeing (or seeing to might perhaps be a more accurate term, and rather vigorously if the noises are anything to go by) Amelia Johnson, who shares a dorm with you and Sandy, and Lupin seems to live in the library. Nowhere is exempt.

Why do I need to be so secretive in my completely justified disapproval of Potter, you ask? Because I promised him I would try to be nice. And he is being rather well-behaved around me, considering his record, so I feel a little guilty. But that doesn't mean I'm not bursting to rant about him.

Especially after today.

Tonight was our first night of patrolling, and we'd decided that it would be a practical idea to have our next prefects' meeting straight beforehand, so that we could ensure the new fifth year prefects were adjusting to their new roles and have a chance to discuss the meeting afterwards, the two of us. So, at seven-thirty our study was filled with a variety of students waiting for the meeting to commence.

One particular prefect, in a green-and-silver tie, whose name shall not be mentioned, waited with a sour expression and an inability to meet my eyes. I noticed how disgusted he looked by the gleaming badge on Potter's chest. But I didn't approach him: that part of our lives is over, now.

Instead of letting me lead the meeting, like the first meeting on the train, Potter jumped straight in. He welcomed the prefects, and told them that they could find us here in our rooms if they ever needed us (I do rather hope Severus doesn't take him up on that offer - I can't think of anything more uncomfortable). He reassured the couple of new fifth year prefects who were unsure of various details of the point docking system (I didn't know he even knew about the point docking system, Al), and then opened the floor. I hate to say it, but he seemed completely confident and in control - I hadn't expected it at all.

The event on everyone's minds seemed to be the Yule Ball. The prefects have a large part in assisting with the organising of the Ball, and, in the absence of actual Triwizard Champions for the last few hundred years, the Head Boy and Girl traditionally open the Ball itself. Dumbledore will hold an organisation meeting in November, but the prefects were excited to begin discussions now - I could see Sandy practically squirming in excitement at the very thought of it. Can you imagine what she's going to be like when the Ball comes? Like some kind of overexcited puppy I should imagine.

Potter handled it well, encouraging ideas and discussion, but reminding everyone that these ideas would have to be brought before the Headmaster in November. All in all, the meeting appeared to go rather well, and the prefects seemed to be remarkably respectful towards Potter; considering how many of us have docked him and his fellow Marauders points over the last few years, it was surprising. Or, maybe, in light of his new attitude, not so surprising.

We wrapped everything up fairly sharply to allow Potter, Lupin, Sandy, the two sixth year Ravenclaws and myself to get to patrol. Each pair were to take three floors - Sandy and Lupin were headed down to the dungeons, whilst Potter and I were headed up to the eighth floor to work downwards. Poor Sandy cast me a look of not even fear but abject misery as she silently accompanied Lupin from our study.

Potter and I were equally silent on our way up to the eighth floor.

"So, is this how things are going to be?" he suddenly asked me, halfway up the second flight of stairs.

"What do you mean?" I asked, innocently, as I hopped over the trick step.

He raised an eyebrow, and gave me a look that spoke volumes.

"Alright," I broke, "I'm sorry. This is just… strange."

"What, patrolling with me?" he asked, with an undertone of ironic self-deprecation.

"No. Well, yes, but that's only part of it," I hesitated, unsure whether to try and clear the air. If it were you, or Sandy, or even Lupin I would share how I felt, but Potter… I guess I might be trying to be civil, but I just don't trust him.

He raised a hand, gesturing me to continue. I took a deep breath. A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, after all.

"I find that, in trying to give you that chance you asked for, I feel very off-balance. I'm so used to being at odds with you, Potter, that trying to be civil feels very unnatural."

We walked in silence a moment longer, and I watched as Potter's hazel eyes went from darkly considering to glittering with amusement.

"Well, then. Maybe being civil isn't an option," he said with a half-smile. I looked at him with bemusement.

"Maybe we should just be friends. Then you can be at odds with me all you like."

I frowned, unsure. I'll admit it, I'm more comfortable coming up with witty retorts to his ridiculous comments than I am conversing with him like this. Could I translate our antagonistic ripostes into friendly banter that I felt more comfortable with?

"It's possible," I smiled, slowly, "Although you'll have to take to wearing a paper bag on your head. I can't possibly have people thinking I've gone mad - they need to respect their Head Girl."

For a moment, his eyes flashed, but then he seemed to catch my tone.

"Oh Evans, what's the point in having arm candy like me around if you don't flaunt it?" he gave me a dazzling grin, his very white, straight teeth suddenly painfully obvious.

"What's the point in having you around? I've been asking myself that for years."

And it's funny - it was very, very easy to throw insults at him with a smile instead of a scowl.

We then started talking again. Only, instead of making small talk about the price rise in the Leaky Cauldron, or the new coat of paint on the third floor corridor, we actually talked. We talked about our parents (mine, Muggles, and James' both retired aurors), our worries over the Headship, James' plans for the Quidditch team and the new players he chose at tryouts today, mine for the Charms Club, our favourite wizard sweets (mine, Chocolate Cauldrons, his, Droobles' Best Blowing Gum), and our favourite Muggle music (mine, Fleetwood Mac, his either Pink Floyd or the Sex Pistols).

I'll be honest, Alice, I was having a great time. I will even admit that I was starting to see what all the other girls (particularly Mary Macdonald, who just continually extols his virtues) mean. When he's really interested, those hazel eyes light up and almost look green, and his face seems all planes and angles that catch the light and cast shadows. And I noticed how he's grown, just an inch or two, but it's perceptible; and how his shoulders have definitely gotten broader, and seem to fill his robes in a different way.

We were just comparing out favourite Beatles hits, when we met a student. I was surprised - it's not very often we meet students on patrol, especially not outwith the Astronomy tower or the third floor broom closet - but Potter just laughed.

"Oi," he shouted, "Padfoot!"

The troublemaker turned round, and I recognised the leather jacket, long dark hair, and high cheekbones combination.

"Black," I groaned, "Seriously?"

"Always," he said with a half-smile, before turning to Potter, "Are you done? Fancy nipping to the kitchens with me? I haven't had a chance to get fags, and you know how hungry I get… and looks like Moony's going to be a while..."

I waited. I knew this would be awkward for Potter, but I would back him up. I wasn't even going to nag him to dock points, I decided, not the first time - just to send him back to Gryffindor tower.

"Alright, mate," said Potter with a laugh, turning to me with a brow raised, "Fancy shacking off the last fifteen minutes and coming for some treacle tart and a butterbeer?"

I went cold. Any slight lessening of my intense dislike towards James Potter was gone in an instant. It had taken him less than one patrol before he revealed himself for the… Marauder that he really is, Al.

"Actually, Potter," I said, cooly, "I would rather deduct five points from Gryffindor and see Black back to the common room."

Both boys froze. Black looked frustratedly disbelieving, but Potter looked totally bemused.

"I'm sorry. What?" he asked, running a hand through his ridiculous hair. He has to encourage it to look that dishevelled: it's beyond pretentious.

"You heard. Black? I'll fill the paperwork in tomorrow, and as we only have fifteen minutes left, we'll walk you back to Gryffindor tower."

I'll admit, I was pushing him. But that didn't excuse the reaction that followed.

They both burst into guffaws.

"Good one, Evans," breathed Potter in between laughs, his hand lifting to catch his stupid glasses before they fell off the end of his stupid nose.

"Yeah," Black sniggered, "Imagine you docking points off me, Prongs. Ridiculous. You don't send family back to the common room."

I glowered at him.

"I'm sure if you thought your brother would listen to a word you said, you'd do the same, Black."

Then Black's face twisted into a scowl.

"You dare, you prissy little -" Black stepped towards me threateningly.

"Calm down, Pads," Potter said, his arm wrapping around his friend's chest and hauling him backwards. My hand went to my wand, hidden in the pocket of my robes. "Let's just head back just now, yeah?"

The look in his eye said that they wouldn't go back for long. But by that point I was beyond caring. Black narrowed his eyes at me once more, and then stalked off, like an enraged panther.

"That wasn't necessary, Evans. You just made me look like an idiot."

I looked to Potter, and his eyes, looking brown now, were disappointed behind his thin-rimmed glasses.

"You looked like an idiot all by yourself. The first patrol, Potter? I can't believe Dumbledore was so stupid as to think you wouldn't just take advantage of that badge like you do every other good thing that's been handed to you on a plate."

"Every other good thing?" his voice was low, and so controlled that it seemed almost dangerous.

"Don't act naive. Life is just a breeze for James Potter. Great at Quidditch, top marks despite doing no work, a different girl on his arm every week, king of the pranksters yet still bloody Head Boy, spoilt rotten by his parents, and -" no, I should never have said it, but I didn't even think, so I did, "a Potter to boot: all daddy's money to play with, and a precious pure-blooded wizard too."

I never should have said it, Alice. I don't know what came over me. This was Potter, and he's an arrogant toerag, but he's no pureblood elitist. That isn't my problem with him. I know the troubles with the death eaters have been on my mind, but…

He walked up to me, slowly, carefully. But I could see the tightness in his jaw, and the way his nostrils flared. He looked like he might erupt with the slightest provocation. And then he spoke, his voice soft, and full of bitterness.

"I'm not the one who called you a Mudblood, Evans."

A set of dark eyes in a sallow face, framed by even darker hair, flashed before my eyes. I flinched.

He snorted in derision, and turned, leaving me there in the corridor, alone. I might have been a little red-eyed on my eventual return to the Head's study.

Potter was nowhere to be seen.

Yours ashamedly,

Lily Evans


Dearest Darling Lils,

I don't really know where to start. It's been a pretty good week I guess… other than Charms, where I can't either actually speak or pay any attention to what Flitwick witters on about (I'm so actually going to fail… thanks for this), or the entire Gryffindor common room making jokes about the colour of my knickers, or everyone else asking if I intended on changing colour again any time soon… Ok, so not a 'pretty good' week, but certainly not my actual worst ever, and at least it's almost over, right?

And tonight. Well.

I felt really, horrifically ill at the thought of patrolling with him. But now it's done, I don't really know what to think. Or what to feel. To be honest, I really just want to go to bed, but I came back to find a really overexcited Alice in my bed (I know, very out of character) waiting for me, yapping on about some party plans, and totally unaware of my shellshocked state.

I'm actually writing this sitting on the toilet (weird how that seems to keep happening) with the shower running. I told her I needed a shower, but I just needed five minutes alone. I need to think. And that's pretty out of character for me.

Don't tell me you've actually ended up in a fistfight tonight, or else I'll say there's been personality switches going on.

So, we left your study after the prefects' meeting, and headed down towards the dungeons. I'll be honest, if I wasn't so weirded out by being on patrol with him, I might have been a bit scared. You know, I heard Elise Pendleton tell Juliet Sanders that the Slytherin common room was down there somewhere… can you imagine meeting Mulciber's gang down there at eleven o'clock at night?

"I have to admit," he said to me after a long silence, his voice gentle and careful, "I'm a little surprised that we ended up with the dungeons. I'd have thought James would quite like catching Slytherins and docking points from them."

I wanted to say that of course Lily wouldn't have let James patrol the dungeons - being out of bed warranted loss of points, or in some cases detentions, but not a Jelly Legs Jinx or a Levicorpus, which would undoubtedly be James' way of dealing with Slytherins. But, as you well know, I couldn't say that.

I shrugged.

We walked in silence for several minutes more, before he turned to me, grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop, facing him.

"Alexandria," my name is 'Sandy', you can call me 'Sandy', "we are going to be patrolling together for the whole year. Surely we can talk to each other, right?"

I couldn't look up at his face - not if I wanted to be able to breathe. But the sight of his long fingers wrapped around my upper arm was so mesmerising that I couldn't tear my gaze away, anyway.

"I mean," he carried on, an undercurrent of enthusiasm in his soft tone, "Alice told me that you have a bit of a crush on me. But I promise I won't make things awkward, or tease you about it like James or Sirius would. I actually think we could be good friends: you're really funny, Alexandria, with all the catastrophes that seem to follow you around and I could easily help you out with Charms, I know you find it hard. What do you say?"

For once, I didn't know what I wanted to say, but found myself speaking something anyway.

"Yeah, Remus, that sounds like a really sensible idea."

Sensible? When have I ever been sensible? I just get ideas in my head and try to roll with them - I've never been sensible in my life. That's why I'm friends with you, Lils. But he didn't seem to realise this, and smiled, and started chatting about classes.

I had spoken to Remus Lupin. A full, complete, sentence that vaguely made contextual sense. Why wasn't I overjoyed?

Because the only reason I'd been able to was because I seemed to have been gutted.

Alice had told him? That was bad enough - you two are supposed to be my friends. You've kept this a secret for years - why betray me now? But then he said he wanted to be friends.

I can hear you now, telling me how silly I'm being - it's a good thing he wants to be friends, Sandy, that's the first step in him getting to know you. But you don't understand. Part of harbouring a crush is the hope - the hope that, if you ever manage to get your shit together enough, you might say something witty, or intriguing, and your crush might start to think of you differently. But he found out, and I didn't have my shit together, and turns out he wasn't secretly in love with me and just too afraid to tell me. Not that I ever thought he was, but you always hope, don't you?

And what's worse, even than that? Is that he knows all those things about me. That I'm a magnet for disaster, and always fall for Black's stupid pranks. That I'm rubbish in school. And that it's funny. I know that all those things are true, but I'm also enthusiastic, and ready to drop everything for my friends, and surprisingly good at Exploding Snap, has a ridiculous number of slang words and sayings that makes everyone laugh, and despite being gullible and oblivious to a lot of things, I'm very good at listening to what people aren't saying. But none of that was important. None of that made a difference. I'm just that girl that breaks everything she touches, and has panic attacks when everyone starts laughing, but that manages to laugh at herself afterwards so no one realises.

I can't actually be friends with him, Lily. But I can put on a great big Sandy-smile and be nice, and have a polite excuse for why I don't need help with Charms (even if I do).

It's weird. I'm not even having a panic attack. I just feel… empty.

Next week will be a better week. The dates go out for Hogsmeade, and then sounds like Alice is planning some sort of a party… It'll all be ok.

Sandy


Dear Future Sandy,

I'm so angry right now, I'm physically shaking. Hence the handwriting. But if I don't write another stupid shitty letter then I might accidentally blow up the common room in rage.

I'm just back from Quidditch tryouts. Now, you may not remember as far back as our good old school days, Sands, especially as you have a brain like a goldfish and can't remember things that happened five minutes ago let alone ten years in the past, but I am usually at my happiest having returned from the Quidditch pitch. It normally gives me a bit of stress release, or, as you say, lets me 'release the inner bitch in corporeal form'. However today was just so… urgh.

To start with, Potter was in a bit of a vile mood. He's always tough on the pitch, whether tryouts, training, games, whatever, and pushes us hard without any acceptance for failure, but when he's in a bad mood he stops noticing the things we get right and just sees the shit. It makes it really hard to remember we're supposed to like him.

On top of that, the quality of tryouts was god-awful. We needed a Keeper and a Beater to replace Shacklebolt and Frank who both left last year, but Potter warned me when we arrived at the pitch that he may ask me to try for Keeper, depending on what sort of talent he found. That was bad enough (I'm a Beater! Always have been!) but then David McKinnon, the Seeker, and Marlene in our year's fourth year brother, made this stupid comment about me being quite happy 'whatever position as long as I had balls flying at my face'…

Yes, I know. I should have risen above it. I'm a seventh year now, for crying out loud. But I did.

I hit the little fucker in the face with my bat.

Obviously, Potter benched me so hard I saw stars. McKinnon got taken to the hospital wing: Black told me he's fine, and nobody has ratted me out to McGonagall, although McKinnon is pretty pissed at me, and so is Potter. But Potter's hands are tied, because the tryouts for Beater were crap, so he can't drop me from the team without facing losing the Cup. But because I got benched, I then had no say in who was joining our team.

In case you've forgotten, we have Potter, Black and Gideon Prewett from fifth year Chasing, and McKinnon Seeking, plus me Beating. Potter took on Fabian Prewett, Gideon's third year brother, to Keep - apparently he's not bad, practices a lot with Gideon so has had to get pretty nifty as a Keeper.

But who did we get as my companion Beater? Martin Scott. Whilst he is a relatively attractive specimen, and is reasonably brawny, he is also a complete idiot. He is the complete stereotype of a Beater, and doesn't seem to know the difference between right and left, despite being a sixth year, and therefore it being reasonable to assume that he did in fact pass five years worth of school, although it beats me how.

I miss Frank. I mean, he was quite good, and we flew really well together. Scott is going to be crap, and need completely breaking in.

I've just been to have a look and see if I can find you or Lily, but Black tells me you're all patrolling tonight. Potter totally worked it so that he and Lupin were patrolling the same nights, so that we could maybe find time to all hang out in between studying and Quidditch and prefects' stuff. Shame Lily isn't quicker to use her status to make life easier/more fun.

Like, for example, having a party in the Heads' dorm.

I gave that as an example, but I really, really like it as an idea. We could invite all the Gryffindor seventh years - thirty people would be a bit of a squeeze but we'd manage. Maybe invite that Ravenclaw prefect that's into Lily - the good-looking one, what's his name? Would be quite fun.

And if Lily says no, I'll get Black to ask Potter. The Marauders have been very, very quiet this year… this could be their belated welcome back prank. And Black could smuggle us in some mead, and maybe even some Firewhisky.

Yours deceptively,

Alice