A/N: So, here is the next, and by far the longest, chapter. I'm breaking my own rule in this chapter by having rather freakishly detailed journal entries. But I looked back at some of my own journals, and occasionally, if I felt the incident was important I would be very, very detailed.

So just a few clarifying notes: 1. Ornithological=the study of birds 2. In this story Mary is a muggleborn, but since she lives in Godric's Hollow once she discovered she was a witch she learned about the vibrant magical community that exists there.

Many thanks. Please read and review.

Droopy Breeches

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My Prefect Notebook

July 11, 1976

I've been staying with Mary for a little over a week and, oh my, oh my, this is exactly what I needed. It's ever so easy to sulk when all you've got to do is read, but now that I'm proactively engaged, now that I'm putting my hands to good use, my mood has perked right up.

Once, when I was nine or tenish, I got really worried, not about the fact that I didn't have many friends, but because I didn't really enjoy spending all my time with the friends I did have. I liked to play occasionally, but really, I preferred spending my time reading or in the solitude of the neighboring wilderness. The thought that I might be unnatural, or just a really bad friend terrified me. Should I try harder to devote my life to socialization? Or should I just accept my lot as a spinster/hermit?

I voiced my fears to my father, who tended to offer a more rational ear to my problems than mom, and he told me that he was the same way. Dad said that some people enjoyed flitting their time away with parties and chatter whereas others, like him and me, would much rather watch a cup game with only the company of our nearest and dearest.

He summed up the point by telling me that I'm an introvert and should just learn to accept it. Naturally, I freaked out, taking introvert to mean that I was some sort of shy fellow who spent their time whispering to Satan in dark shadows. Dad clarified. Though many assume that an introvert implies shyness the actual definition of the word is: one who is energized by accomplishment. The definition of extravert is: one who is energized by people. Thus, I don't hate people, but I find the greatest satisfaction in accomplishment.

The point is, that now that I'm working (earning my room and board and even a small salary) I'm full of the life enriching energy of productivity. Huzzah!

Mary's parents run a real high-class greengrocers. They have a huge garden on their property where they grow an immense variety of muggle produce and (with Mary's help) even a few magical plants. Thus, their store has a huge selection and it's always guaranteed fresh.

This morning I spent a few hours tending the Butterbee Bushes with Mary. Butterbee Bushes, by the way, are the most lovely plants. They're magical, but not frightening, Mary only planted magical plants that the Greenhouse swore aren't inclined to biting, strangling, or otherwise inflicting grave bodily harm. They have these brightly colored petals that flap open and closed to indicate their mood. Sometimes, when the plant feels particularly giddy, petals will pop off in pairs and fly about for a bit before reattaching themselves. As the petals fly, they often form into birds or pirouetting maidens. They're truly spectacular to watch.

After dirtying ourselves with pruning and weeding Mary and I just plopped down by the bushes to watch the petals swirl. The sky shone so blue. The breeze smelled of rain. In that perfect moment, I felt like I'd probably never been more happy. Of course, now, in hindsight, I realize that that was absolute bollocks and I've been much happier, but the point is that I was feeling contented to a wonderful extent.

Just as I felt myself dozing off, Mary interrupted my flower-scented bliss.

"Lily, I've got some news that's sure to tickle you pink."

"Hhm?" I grunted, too tired for real words.

"Come on Lily, wake up. This is news you'll actually care about." She threw a handful of Butterbee petals in my face, and I reluctantly sat up as the indignant petals buzzed in and out of my hair.

"Yes, Mary?"

"Lily, you look like a nymph; shake out your hair."

"Mary, you're the one that threw them at me." I gave my hair a shake and the petals scattered forming angry animals as they left. "Now, what's your news?"

"Well, Fabian is here."

"Here? But Fabian lives in Ottery St. Catchpole?"

"He's here visiting a friend."

"Who, what friend?" I was rather surprised, I wasn't aware of any friends of Fabian's who lived near here.

"Frank. Frank Longbottom."

"What! Frank, but we know him. I didn't know Frank lived in Godric's Hollow. Why didn't you tell me, Mary?"

"Well, I-I . . ." Mary was stuttering and she started to shred at the grass by her feet. I knew these habits, so I just gave Mary a long hard stare knowing that she was bound to crack and give the whole story out if I just let the silence press on her. "Actually, there are a lot of wizard families around here. It's a historic wizarding village. I thought you'd know that from—"

"Yes," I interrupted. "from the History of Magic; I know. I knew this place was a wizard dwelling, but I didn't know any wizards I knew lived here. We could have visited. Frank is going to be Head Boy next year, as a responsible prefect I have an obligation to develop a working relationship with him."

"And that's the only relationship you want to develop with him?"

"Mary! You know I'm not like that. And what's with you and Marlene. First it was Fabian and now Frank, you act as though I have a Head Boy fetish."

"I know that you've always had an eye for authority figures. After all, you are Slughorn's favorite."

"Stop it!" I threw all the grass she'd ripped up right back in her face, and a fight quickly escalated. At its worst, I was stuffing clippings from the compost heap down her shirt and she was hurling manure. I know it's not exactly mature, but it sure was fun.

Exhausted, we collapsed right back on the hill where we'd started.

"Lily, now I'm all itchy and I'm going to need to shower."

"We both needed one anyway, after all that weeding. Now, we just need one rather more."

"Your hair is full of manure. I bet the sight of you now would even discourage Potter."

"What was that? Do you want some clippings shoved down your pants, too?"

"Sorry forbidden subject, I forgot."

I feel I should clarify here. Potter isn't a forbidden subject, just one I prefer to avoid, like cancer. Why waste your time debating all the intricacies of cancer when it's so unpleasant and there's currently no foreseeable cure for it. Actually, that might not be a good comparison. After all, there are many noble people who devote their lives to fighting cancer, and I don't want to dishonor their work. Potter is like acne, annoying but unavoidable. Plus, so few teenage girls can avoid falling prey to acne. Then again, I have acne, but I'm not about to give in to Potter. Enough, I'm tired of trying to create an apt metaphor for Potter. I'll return to my story.

"Not forbidden, Mary, just unpleasant." As I looked at Mary I noticed she was wearing her I've-got-a-secret-but-torture-couldn't-drag-it-out-of-me-smile, so I commenced further prying. "Mary, what other wizarding families live in this area? Any that I'd know?"

I could tell I'd hit the nail right on the head, a slight blush colored Mary's cheeks. "Well, let me think . . . the Longbottoms, the Boneses, the Bagshots, the Davies, the Vances, the Goldsteins, the Abbots, the Fenwicks, the . . . I can't think of any more who you'd know, really."

"Liar, I see that smile on your face. You're keeping something from me. Someone else I know lives here and you don't want me to know. Why don't you want me to know, Mary?"

"Well . . . Remus Lupin is here. I thought you wouldn't want to know, Sorry." She said it all in one quick, quiet breath as though terrified I'd yell at her for keeping such a secret.

I relaxed, Remus Lupin was no real problem. He slightly irked me, but only because he was such a negligent prefect. "Oh. Don't worry Mary, I don't care if the Lupins live here. I don't have any real problems with Remus. It's his friends who bug me."

"So, do you want to go over to the Longbottoms later and see Fabian? I'm sure he's been just desolate without you."

"I'm sure he hasn't, but yeah, I would really like to see him. We should owl and see when we can visit."

"Or we could just go over. He lives less than a mile away. Our mums are great friends, and Mrs. Longbottom loves to have pretty young witches visit her Frank. I bet our visit would be received rather well."

"Fine. But let's not go today I need a long shower and then I want to write to Mum."

"I second the shower bit," said Mary, and she quickly turned away, still acting a bit queerly.

So, Mary and I traipsed back into the house and took very long, very nice, and very separate (just being thorough) showers. I wrote a bit to mum, and now I've written a lot in here. Look what a proactive person I am.

Love,
Lily

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Dear James,
I know we haven't seen much of each other these past few days, what with Fabian occupying my time and Remus yours, but I propose that we join forces, or gather all of our friends together, for one last outing into the mysterious muggle shops of Godric's Hollow.

Basically, I need something to occupy mine and Fabian's time on July 11 because Mum has decreed that I must vacate our home so that her friends, the rather old and very terrifying members of the Magical Ornithological Society, can have their gathering in peace. So, I figured that a romp about the muggle village might be just the thing to idle away hours and hours of time. Are you game? If so, I'd need to be out of my house by at least ten.

Frank

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Dear Frank,
I have a query: is the vulture hat that your mom owns part of the uniform for the Ornithological society, or is she just a very terrifying woman?

I asked Remus, and he's fine with me joining you and Fabian for a little romp. He wouldn't mind coming too, but he just got over a nasty flu and so he might not be feeling up to it. Anyway I'll met you at your house at nine thirty, that will provide an half an hour buffer zone, plus if Remus does feel up to playing with us there's no way he'll be awake until at least nine.

See you soon,
James

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From the notebooks of Sir Prongs namely James Potter

July 12, 1976

At last, progress! Maybe . . . actually, I'm not quite sure. Hmmm . . . I shall have to record in detail. Remus is sleeping, Sirius is still locked up, and Peter is visiting his sick aunt. Good. I'll have plenty of time then.

So, I haven't really been the best at consistently writing in this notebook. Not that I should feel guilty about that or anything. This isn't a journal; I'm not obligated to gush out every sappy detail of my life. No, this is a notebook, with official lines, and an area to write in the subject contained within, or in this case . . . Lily.

Was that tasteful? Perhaps not. Maybe making Lily the subject of this notebook makes me seem stalkerish. Fine. The new subject is an examination of James Potter's interactions with Lily Evans, and the degree of decorum observed during such occasions.

Did I just lose my train of thought? Why yes, it seems I did. Oh well, I'll just get to the point and fill you in about my day.

So, I woke up this morning packed full of excitement over my planned outing. I'm rather an early riser, and . . . frankly, Remus just isn't, especially so soon after a full moon. Thus, I felt the need to sneak out of my room rather than evoke his fully furry wrath.

Downstairs, Mum was already cooking up a storm. My mother, who is rather the greatest woman on earth, knows how much I like to take a flight in the early morning light, and often she'll wake up before me just to make sure I'm properly fed. But, looking over the rather gargantuan pancake heaped on the table I began to feel alarmed.

"Mum, I can't eat this much, even Sirius couldn't."

"But Remus can," she said frankly, flipping another few cakes onto the stack. "Besides you should eat more, you're a teenage boy for Heaven's sake."

"Mum," I said confused and still rather groggy. "Do you want me turning into the little lard lad?"

She shot me an appraising look, and said, "You're actually looking a little plump, Jamie. Maybe you should go for a jog."

"What! Then why do you want me to eat more? And no I'm not. Besides, I'm about to go for a flight."

"Hmph," she sighed adding another cake to the now tottering pile. "Broom riding doesn't provide any actual exercise. The broom does all the work."

"Not true. Did you know that the many of the best brooms draw on the magic of the wizard to sustain their spells? That way they last longer."

"Yes, but that won't help dissolve the poach you've been developing."

I grabbed a pancake and fled yelling, "I'm not fat."

I spent the next couple of hours flying, and then, though I didn't actually need it, jogging around the grounds.

As soon as nine rolled around, I deemed it prudent to check on Moony. Un-surprisingly, he was still curled up in a blanket nest. It would have been rather cute if Moony hadn't still been so grey and weary looking. I decided to wake him up as gently as possible, with a lovely and catchy tune:

"Help! I need some Moony. Help! Not just any Moony. Help! You know I need some Moony, now!!!" Suddenly, and at frightening speed an arm shot out of the nest and grabbed my collar, pulling me mere inches from Moony's weary face.

His voice came out in a jagged whisper and I felt just a little bit petrified, " Please don't wake me. No, don't shake me. Leave me where I am, I'm only sleeping."

"But Moony, I didn't shake you."

The hand released my collar and dived back within its nest, but the harsh voice remained, "They're Beatles lyrics, just like the ones you saw fit to disturb me with."

"Beatles? What are you talking about? I was just adapting a tune I heard on the muggle wireless."

"Get out."

"So, are you not feeling up for today's expedition to muggleville?"

"If you don't get out I will kill you, and then I will kill Sirius because your death alone won't make up for this. If I'm still not contented after killing Sirius I'll just have to pull your broom apart twig by twig and personally burn every little sliver until--"

"Fine," I said exiting. "But Mom made you a mountain of pancakes, and they're probably already cold."

"Get Out!"

So I fled. I fled all the way to Frank's, but I waited on his porch without knocking because I'd already faced an irritable werewolf and I didn't feel up to dealing with Frank's mum, as well.

Now that I think about it, it was hardly tasteful of Moony to behave in such a way towards me, his host, upon whose bed he was so comfortably nested, but oh well. I guess that Moony is normally so good that a small lapse is no big deal.

A few minutes later and Frank emerged with . . . Fabian. I'm not quite sure how to feel about Fabian. We've never been great pals, but we dealt with each other decently because we were on the quidditch team together. But since last year he's been quite a bit colder to me. For a while Sirius and I had a theory that the coldness was due to the fact that Fabian has a thing for Lily. But Moony said that he's into Emmeline Vance, and who am I to doubt Moony's infallible gossip mongering skills?

Even so, I felt a little awkward around the guy and kind of wished that Moony could have been stirred from bed to act as a buffer. After all, Frank wasn't doing a very good job of keeping the fellow off my back. He started with, " Hey, Jamsie, how's the wittle chaser doing?" and just went on from there:

"Have you gotten back your O.W.L.s? . . . Only nine? . . . Well, I suppose that's passable . . . I personally, got eleven . . . You heard I got twelve? That would mean I took every class. I may be good, but not that good . . . Oh, I didn't take Divination, after all, everyone knows it's a bull subject . . . Oh, you got an O in Divination? . . . Good job, I guess I'd except that of you . . ."

I rather wanted to punch him, but 1. That would upset Frank and 2. I'm sure Remus would site that as a prime example of acting tastelessly without thinking.

Ultimately, we popped back into the music store, where the kindly shop lady showed me how records and albums work. I bought a record player, which I'll pick up later since the thing was far too heavy to be lugging around all day.

Then we went to a muggle candy store (which wasn't nearly as nice as Honeydukes), video arcade (which was just confusing), gambling store (which was Fabian's idea . . . the git), dentist (which was rather frightening), and, finally, bookstore.

The bookstore was rather fascinating because it was just so quiet. When the books in Flourish and Blotts get bored they'll typically hum, swap places, or (in the case of the violent ones) rip their neighbors apart, but here they just sat, and they were all alphabetized. It was plain eerie.

When I pointed this out to Frank, Fabian snorted and told us what naïve babies we were, "They don't move or make noises because they're muggle, or non-magical, books, that means that they're just bundles of paper. You two are daft to get so shocked by the non-magicness of muggles." I exchanged an exasperated glance with Frank, I'm pretty sure Fabian was starting to get to him, too.

"Fabian," said Frank. "Don't act all high and mighty we may all be purebloods, but I know that you went to a muggle primary school and took Muggle Studies. It's no wonder that, that being the case, you know more than James and I."

"Plus," I piped in. "Knowing things doesn't entail you to be constant prat about them." Crap. Moony would disapprove.

Fabian's smirk slipped a little before Frank jumped in to smooth things over. "Guys, it's almost three. I'm pretty sure the Ornithological society must have left by now. How about we head back to my place?"

"Don't forget that you promised your mum that you'd pick up groceries, Frank," said the still-peeved Fabian.

"Fine. A quick trip to the greengrocers and then we'll head back."

"Fine, we'll do that," I added, even though it was unnecessary, just because I wanted to feel part of the decision making process.

Now . . . this is where it gets good, this is where the subject comes into play. Maybe, considering that this is the real area of import, I should have just started with this, but oh well. Being thorough never hurt anyone (though my hand does rather ache).

So, we strolled along to McDonald's Greengrocers to pick up the all the groceries that Mrs. Longbottom had jotted down before throwing Frank out of the house, and let me assure the list was rather grim: leeks, spinach, eggplant, okra . . . I pitied poor Frank's gullet.

As we entered the small store I felt my goosebumps prickle up. At the time, I was rather bemused as to the cause, but now I'm rather certain that they knew, that my deep down gut instinct sensed the approaching danger and was warning me not to be a prat, warning me that soon my newly found tastefulness would be tested. Unfortunately, though I now get that message that said goosebumps were trying to convey I didn't, as stated above, pay attention at the time.

"I'll go see if the McDonalds have okra. It's not really in season, but they typically have a good supply. You two grab eggplant," said Frank as he ran off to talk to the rosy-faced woman manning the checkout counter.

And suddenly, just like that, Frank had abandoned me with . . . Fabian.

"So, Fabian, what's an eggplant?"

"Really?" His smirk was back and just as irritating as before. "Wizards eat eggplant, too. Are you just plain ignorant?"

"I've heard of eggplant, my parents just have never felt the need to feed me one. My father says they're rather awful and desperately avoids them, so I'm not really sure what they look like."

"Okay, Jamsie," he said in a bouncing baby voice. "I'll help you find it." And as we walked down the aisles he pointed out and explained the items we passed: "These are watermelons, Jamsie. They're called that not because they're made of water, but because they're so darn juicy." "These are eggs. They were laid by chickens which in turn hatched from eggs, but don't think about the cycle too much, it can confuse the simple minded." "This is cabbage—"

As he continued rattling on, all I could think about was how every item we passed would have been perfectly suited to throwing at Fabian's giant head. But I held my hands at my sides and desperately pictured Remus's face, and when that didn't work Lily's face, Lily's pretty, pretty face.

"Jamsie," Fabian's dreadful voice cut into my pleasant musings. We were next to a large stack of purple-black squash things. "You aren't listening. Do you need me to review? This is an—"

I'm not quite sure how it happened, but my arm just suddenly twitched and Fabian was covered in purple-black goop. It appeared I'd thrown the squash thing at the git. I looked over at the pile, ah . . . so that's an eggplant. Maybe it's not such a bad vegetable after all.

"I hope you're going to pay for that," cut in a cold, but beautiful, voice, and suddenly, my goosebumps were dancing.

A delicate white hand picked up the smashed eggplant husk. And as I stared at the little hand another muggle song blazed through my head: I wanna hold your hand. I wanna hold your hand. I wanna hold your hand. And when I touch you I feel happy, inside. It's such a feeling that my love, I can't hide, I can't hide, I can't hide!

As soon as I snapped out of my musical reverie I saw Lily and Fabian embracing. Yes indeed, the beautiful hand belonged to Lily, beautiful, beautiful, Lily. After he released her (he was holding her a suspiciously long time for someone who is supposed to be dating the formidable Emmeline Vance) they both turned to glare at me.

"I guess you found the eggplant, James," said Fabian.

"Well, yes . . . I . . . eggplant . . . and—"

"What makes you think it's just okay to throw unpurchased produce all over the store?" cut in Lily.

"Well, it's hardly all over the store, just all over Fabian." Lily didn't look pleased. Actually, she had a look on her face rather similar to the look Sirius's mum got when she found out about his muggle girlfriend, last summer. At the time we dubbed it the Bring me 50 sacrificial virgins for eating babies is no longer satisfying look. Admittedly stupid, but I think it conveys the emotion well.

"Don't be too hard on him, Lily. I was teasing him." Was Fabian being decent? "Of course, I never thought he'd respond so childishly. So people are just so immature." No, no . . . of course not.

I had an urge to smash a few more eggplants in Fabian's face, but Remus's voice echoed through my mind: "Just think. Always think before you act." Must I, Remus? Must I really? Oh well, time to dazzle them with truly tasteful behavior.

I stooped down and picked up some eggplant pieces Lily had missed. "I'll clean this mess up. I'm sorry for acting so rashly. Do you have a rag I could use?"

Lily blinked rapidly. "Rash? Rash? You just smashed an eggplant into Fabian's head, and you're sorry that you acted rashly?"

I couldn't quite tell whether her tone was more indignation with a dash of shock or bemusement with a smidgeon of murderous rage, so I figured repentant sinner was still a good approach.

"Yes," I simpered. "I'm sorry for getting eggplant all over the floor. If you'll give me a mop or a rag, I'll clean it all up."

Her and Fabian stood, silent and staring. "Really," I said. "I haven't gotten much sleep lately and clearly the exhaustion has made me act like a big prat, smashing innocent Fabian with this large purple fruit. I was really quite gitish, sorry."

My last statement was, in case you didn't notice, a tad insincere, and I'm pretty sure that Lily noticed it. "Fabian, could you clean this. I doubt he will," she said.

"Wait, I'll clean it. I really meant it!" But before I could even get that all out Fabian had vanished all the purple goo away. (Stupid legal wizard. Next year I won't even bother throwing an eggplant at his puffed-up cranium, I'll just jinx his face into a permanently purple condition.)

"I'm assuming," hissed Lily. "that you will at least pay for the damaged produce."

"Yes, of course. I always intended to. I wouldn't waste your money or—"

"Fabian, I'll see you later." And she stalked off her hair whipping behind her, fiery and snake-like.

Then, then of course, Fabian turned to gloat. Fabian knew how I felt about Lily (everyone did, really) and knew the internal anguish I was experiencing. "Well now . . . that didn't go very well, did it?"

"Did you do that deliberately? Did you provoke me knowing that Lily was here and I was bound to react?"

"Nah," grinned the git. "I'm not that conniving. Apparently, I'm just lucky."

I didn't want to be with Fabian a moment longer, and I certainly didn't want Lily that peeved at me, so, with a glare back at the git, after my lady love I fled.

Lily had gone out the back door of the shop into a large garden. When I ran out, I saw her sitting by a clump of bushes shredding the grass.

"Lily," I called gently. (After all when you've just sprayed pepper into a dragon's eye you don't insult its mother, too . . . does that even make sense?) "Lily, can I talk to you?"

"What do you want? What makes you think you can just come back here?"

"Well," I figured I should be as sincere as possible. "Well because I wanted you to know that the main reason I threw the eggplant at Fabian is because I hate that guy and have been holding myself back from hurling rocks at him all day. In retrospect the eggplant caused him much less pain than I would have hoped."

Oddly, my declaration of a desire to maim her friend (Or lover . . . but I hope not.) didn't seem to piss her off any more. In fact, I swear she almost laughed a bit when I mentioned hurling rocks. She didn't speak, but didn't speak also means didn't yell, so I continued.

"Fabian and I are both friends with Frank, but we don't get along. Frank ran off to get some gross veggie and left us together. Naturally, he began needling me and I just cracked. What I wanted you to know is that, though I may have been being a bit of a jerk, you weren't supposed to be affected by this jerkiness. The point is, I'm sorry that you became involved in this."

"Why are you saying this?" Lily was looking directly at me, and her eyes were just so green. I'd fallen under the spell of those eyes before, and I knew that extended contact inevitably led me to asking her out. Now was definitely not a good time for that, so I looked down at her hands, but they were grass-stained and that just reminded me of her eyes. I looked up at the grey sky. Grey was safe, very safe. Except . . . that Sirius had grey eyes, and if Sirius were here he would certainly enjoy and encourage me to ask out Lily. But so what, pondering Sirius was certainly safer than pondering Lily at this moment.

"Well," I whispered keeping my eyes up. "One, because your temper is legendary I don't want to evoke your wrath now that there are no teachers around and you're apparently staying only a few miles from my house. And Two, because you're a relatively decent person, and I wouldn't want you to think that I was deliberately trying to provoke you. Not that I don't sometimes deliberately provoke you, because I do, but today that wasn't the goal."

"Oh," and Lily was looking down again, so I could stop staring at the clouds.

"Potter, I appreciate you not trying to deliberately provoke me today, but I would really like some space, so could you please leave?"

"Yeah, sure," I muttered. As I walked off I was feeling rather dejected. Frankly, in my idealized imagining of this scene I would've told her that she was much more than a relatively decent person but the most lovely and supremely awesome witch I knew. Still, she hadn't yelled, and she asked me to please leave.

Then, as I grabbed the door's handle, I thought I heard something, soft as a kitten's mew, carried upon the wind. I'm not sure, but I think it may have been a Thanks. If it was, then smashing an eggplant into Fabian's face might have been the smartest thing I've ever done.

So there it is, my maybe progress. I don't know if Lily saw my more tasteful side today, but I rather think she at least saw my moderately less gitish side, and that alone is great.

Even better, Lily is staying in Godric's Hollow this summer. I'll make sure there's plenty more progress. Though I must say I feel a little nervous about Lily's nearness to certain other blokes. I'm not sure if Lily is aware of quite how gitty Fabian can sometimes be, and then there was another slightly worrying incident.

As we finally exited the greengrocers (and I paid for the eggplant), Frank got a glance of Lily out the back door. "Who is that?" he said, with entirely too much interest, "I haven't seem her here before."

"Huh?" I was just a little bit puzzled because I knew that Frank had met Lily before, after all they were prefects together. "That's Lily. Lily Evans . . . the Gryffindor, Lily Evans."

"Really? She looks so different. She looks so . . ." his voice trailed off. I certainly hoped that the words in his head completing that thought were something along the line of: intelligent, responsible, of upstanding moral character, or (ideally) just like my little sister. But then I glanced out the window, and I understood. I hadn't really looked closely at Lily before (what with the whole avoiding her eyes business), but now I looked. I looked, and she looked so . . .

She was wearing a sun dress. I don't think I'd ever seen Lily dressed in something so distinctly . . . different. Petals danced in a whirlwind around her head, and some drifted down, star-bright spots in her red river hair.

In that moment, I was rather sure that Frank's thoughts couldn't help but be similar to mine. She looked so . . . beautiful.

Tastefully Yours,
James

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Review Responses:

Sydney: Yay. My fingers feel such sweet, sweet relief. I'm glad you enjoyed the "fighting" bit. I picture Sirius and James as not yet having created the magic mirrors. Thus, they have to result to exhausting their poor birds by making them fly between London and Godric's Hollow multiple times a day.

Aqua Skies: Whoot! I love new reviewers. Sirius has always been one of my favorite characters to read and write. I'm pretty sure his is still the death that affected me the most.

jessicats: It's so nice to know that people enjoyed the last chapter. When I posted it I was very worried that it was rather too short. Thank you ever so much for being such an awesome reviewer.

imaginedreamer: I always see two extremes of dealing with Peter in Marauder stories. He's either ugly dumpy scum that rarely features in the main story or he is just as attractive clever and generally funny as the rest of marauders (or at least Remus . . . normally, no one's as attractive as Sirius and James). I disagree with both of those. Peter wouldn't have become a traitor if he had it so good, and he would have killed himself if he had it so bad. I like to imagine Peter as the friend who no one feels they adore, but who is generally tolerated by everyone except Sirius.

rubysun: Yea gads, I'm glad you reviewed. I was worried you wouldn't, and you're ever so nicely constructive. In retrospect, I think you're right about the James/Sirius grades. I made them rather high because of the comment that James and Lily were the cleverest kids in their year (I feel that Sirius would have similar grades to James because he would be studying with him . . . ), but clever doesn't necessarily imply that he has to have terrific grades. If I can figure out how to do it I'll edit that a little. Thank you ever so much for your super detailedness. It's lovely to notice that someone catches all the small things I throw in.

Snakes Eat Cakes: Just your praise is enough. Many thanks.

A/N: Many thanks for reading. Please review. I love you all.