Disclaimer: 'Tis the season to be jolly, falalalala lala la la, 'Tis the season to give credit, falalalala lala la la, to J.K. Rowling because she's brainy, falala falala la la laaaa
A/N: AHHHH! Spazzing out, spazzing out. Woah. Seriously, you all just made my week so much better! My mom passed on her cold to me, and I've been feeling sick for the past two days. Dang, you guys. You blow my mind! lol Thank you so much to--drum roll, please--the following reviewers: whoever and whatever, Evilgal, Bittersweetness, A-Lady, babette-potter, Cherrykisses21, DanceDiva, LyLMystikeLf, coffee dessert, summersrain, -Jeisa-, Emily, LazyBoyGilmore, ellesra, Magical Singer Gal, cannotstopwriting, Violin Ghost, GoddessJ, xowelcomtomylifeox, Ariadne Evans, CarolineTurpentine, Kiley 1 09, soar2survive, the ketchup queen, Kitty East, bookworm2butterfly, Sprut, goosyjuicylucy, KatrinaEagle, tashville007, Riley S, cookiedoughYUM, tin-tin456, Lendielstar, rimma, Jessiquie, Vapid Philosophy, muddy worm, zozotheterrible, shetlandlace, Kikuchi, Tyem Marodyor, Tris-WannaBe, yeroandfae714, NeverAPrefect, Bellas-lullaby, Literati and naley forever, Emma Jean Jumping Bean, starcrossedvoyager, and SoManyObsessions. THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!! I hope old Saint Nick (aka--Santa Claus, Father Christmas, big fat guy who wears red) gave you what you hoped for!
Well, I know a lot of you were upset about last chapter's cliffhanger (bwahaha--insert evil laugh here) so, in the spirit of the holidays, I sat down and produced this for you lot within a week! I feel quite proud of myself. :) Amazing props should be given to my beta who is ALIVE! YAY! She helps me a ton, so a wonderful big shout out to her!!!
So, without further boring ramblings from me, here's the next chapter!
Chapter 8: Footprint's Worth a Thousand Words
"A picture's worth a thousand words."
--A random quote that is way overused that everyone and their mother repeats
Alright.
Okay.
Breathe.
Potter was running his hand through his hair a bit distractedly, his hazel eyes wide and blank as they fixed themselves onto the letter held between us. While he was busy mussing up his unruly hair, I began to analyze the situation.
So, within ten seconds I had come up with this: Potter had my note—from Prongs, a Marauder, Potter's pranking enemy—in his school bag. Okay, so it wasn't much, but it just didn't make logical sense. Potter and his friends competed against the Marauders for their original fans; they envied them, or so I thought.
How did Potter get my letter? I didn't know. Why did he have it? I didn't know. If he was jealous of the Marauders, perhaps he nicked the envelope…but then that would mean that he would have to know who the Marauders were…
I felt blood pumping wildly at my throat, at my wrists, in my chest.
Potter's nervous laughter hit my ears, and my senses automatically heightened at the odd sound. My eyes shot to his face, which wasn't far from mine seeing as we were still kneeling on the ground with a piece of parchment connecting us. "Well, this is awkward," he said simply. His fingers released his hold on the letter and it seemed to almost snap back into me. Like we'd been holding a rubber band, stretching it out, one of us at each end. I clutched it tightly.
"I guess my job is done here—in a different way than was bargained for, I admit, but—"
What in the name of Godric Gryffindor's grandmother was he going on about? I simply stared, my brain reeling, my mouth gaping. In a fluid motion, he was up off of his knees and onto his feet, his bag thrown back onto his left shoulder once again. He stared down at me; I couldn't quite read the emotions flickering across his features, which was odd, because usually it wasn't that hard for me to read James Potter.
I scrambled to my feet, less gracefully than him, but at least I didn't fall over anything. "Potter…?" I asked, turning his name into a question, because that's all I could think of saying at the moment. Which, again, was odd, because there were a million things I could say to him at the moment.
For one, he stole my mail.
Two, he was acting as if it had been his duty to do so.
Three, he was so bloody calm about the whole ordeal while I was on the verge of sweating through my jumper.
"Evans," he mimicked.
That obnoxious tone of voice snapped my arms to my hips. "You still haven't answered my question."
I hated when he acted so cool; he took up his earlier position of leaning against the back of the couch, his feet crossed casually out in front of him. Smirking in that adorable way that I also hated, he put his hand to his temple, tapping it. "And which question would that be?"
The look that I often reserved for him broke out of me. The type of look that says "you're a complete idiot, and I know you're not that daft" which, now that I think about it, is a complete oxymoron within itself. His hazel eyes remained light and innocent, though I could've sworn that he was trying to buy time. Just by the way that he was being so annoying, playing the whole innocent act—that's something he would have done earlier in our teenage years just to bug me to death.
My patience running quite thin, I waved my letter up and down so that the emblem was facing Potter. "What," I emphasized, "are you doing with my mail?"
His index finger touched his lips. "Secret."
Typical.
"Did you intercept the owl?"
He snorted. "Yeah, because I just love to spend my time bird watching."
"Did you sneak into my room and take it?"
The bloke actually had the nerve to roll his eyes. "In case you haven't noticed, Evans, but blokes like me can't get up into the girls' dormitory. Besides, you were late to class because you had gone to your room to check your mail—like I could have beaten you there."
Wait.
How'd he known that I had gone to my room? Wouldn't a natural assumption have been that I went to the owlery to retrieve my mail before class? I mean, if I had been expecting mail, how would I have known that the owl would deliver it to my room?
"…some of us actually like being on time to lessons."
"I never told you I went to my room," I pointed out sharply.
"You just asked me if I had snuck into your room—"
"But—"
He shrugged. "Lucky guess."
Yeah. Lucky guess my buttocks. He seemed to have a lot of those. "Do you watch me?"
Hey, it wasn't the first time that I had thought that. I had always thought he had a special gift at locating me, knowing where I was, showing up at the most random places whenever I was there.
"I'm not the one you should be worried about," he suggested, tapping his nose suggestively before crossing his arms.
It didn't go unnoticed how he effectively dodged my question. And I say effectively because I didn't return to the question; instead, I let it go. He had distracted me. "What are you on about, Potter?" I pulled the letter closer towards me, my chest rising and falling dramatically.
He waved his hand nonchalantly towards my chest, where the letter currently rested. "Your," he paused briefly, "correspondent seems to have you wound up pretty well."
My brain froze. "How do you—"
"I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to tell you to stop—in fact, I'm impressed that you're even interested in a prankster at all. By all means, go for it, Evans."
What. The. Heck?
Potter knew.
Well, of course he knows, you dimwit. The seal says it all.
His last sentence replayed in my mind; the words reminded me of something. Like déjà vu. Something that had already been heard by me from him before—fifth year! Fifth year, when Potter found me writing my first response to Prongs. He had practically encouraged me to write back, just like he was doing now.
Was Potter in on this?
If so, was that how he had ended up with my letter?
But why would Potter—
"What are you saying?" I retorted slowly.
I watched with suspicious eyes as he pushed himself from the couch and approached me once again. Something about him seemed guarded, as if he had something he was trying to keep from me. However, a small, amused smile adorned his face. Merlin, this boy was a walking contradiction.
"I'm saying," he began, "that you shouldn't be blaming me for having your mail—it wasn't my idea, trust me."
And, oddly enough, at that precise moment, some type of feeling washed over me as I glanced at his eyes. A feeling that seemed to forge some type of thin line between our minds, like a rope that was being braided, being made stronger.
Beginning to be made unbreakable.
Trust.
My breath hitched in my throat.
"Whose idea?" I managed to get out.
"He bribed me, so, really, I couldn't let the opportunity pass…"
I swear, the boy was lucky that I didn't start shaking him violently. "Who's he?"
"And, you know that my mates aren't all that happy with me, so, naturally, I thought this would—"
He was making no sense, with fragmented thoughts, as if he didn't even quite know what he was saying. All I wanted was the truth, not some gibberish coming from the back of his thoughts.
Without thinking of the consequences, I reached out and placed my hand on his broad shoulder. He froze, his muscles tightening under my arm for a split second, before he released a deep breath. It was like he deflated, relaxing under my touch. Vaguely, I felt the heat rise to my cheeks, but my hand remained on Potter's warm shoulder.
"Potter," I said, "who gave you my letter?"
"He explains it all in the note, I think," he answered.
My heart jumped. "You mean, Prongs?"
A small grin lit up his face. Like he was sharing an inside joke with himself. "If that's his name, I suppose so."
Holy Hippogriff.
I needed some water. My throat was way too dry. "A Marauder gave you this?"
He was back into his calm and collected stance. "To give to you, yes."
It felt like my head exploded; excitement coursed through my body. Potter knew. Potter knew who Prongs was. He could tell me—he could—
Hold on.
"Why'd he reveal himself to you?" I asked. I was a little hurt, I admit. Trusting James Potter, over me? The girl whom he'd been writing to for the past two years.
"Pranksters like me, and your Prongs—" he smirked—"only trust other pranksters with our deepest secrets."
Funny.
Because that made no sense at all.
A bloke who liked to run around blowing up toilets would be the last person I would trust a secret with.
Then again, that's exactly what I was doing with Prongs, wasn't it? And now Potter seemed to be in on my biggest secret of all as well.
"Look," Potter began, "he approached me early this morning and told me his owl was out of commission for a while, and that he had a letter he had to give to someone. That someone ended up being you. I refused at first, naturally—"
"Naturally," I breathed.
"—but he offered me one of their plans for a prank if I promised to deliver this to you and keep his identity a secret. I had to take it."
Of all the people in the school…
And yet—
That thin line that I had felt being constructed between us earlier suddenly hardened, no longer wispy but strong. Perhaps Emmeline was right. Perhaps Potter was correct. Perhaps Potter and I did have some sort of connection…through Prongs.
Funny how things like that always seem to happen.
"Besides," Potter began again, "the prank plans could smooth things over between me, Sirius, Remus, and Peter."
I swallowed. It was like I had never really seen Potter before. I admit, it seemed a bit odd that he would agree to deliver notes from some guy to the girl that he himself fancied; yet, I strongly admired his will to choose fixing things with his friends over keeping me to himself.
It was sort of sweet.
"Well, thanks, I suppose," I said. I felt the letter in my hand, my fingers tracing the emblem. This was so…unexpected. So unlikely. I had always assumed that Prongs would deliver my letters via Harold. And now Potter had been thrown into the equation. Confusion was still prevalent in my thoughts as I mulled all of these recent developments over in my mind, but the excitement that Prongs hadn't forgotten me and had written me pushed all of the apprehension away.
Excitement, anxiety, appreciation and a new found trust for James Potter.
"Like I said," Potter stated, "he said he described it in the letter."
Nodding, I slipped the note into my other hand and readjusted my bag with my free one. I looked at his face quickly, one last time before I began to head up the stairs to my dorm, and suddenly I felt awkward. "Erm…" He was watching me with an amused look—he probably was finding my sudden discomfort funny. "Good night, then, Potter."
A blush colored my face, creeping up from my neck at the sight of his casual expression. I quickly turned towards the staircase, so that he wouldn't notice. What was wrong with me? Why did Potter, of all people, suddenly seem to have the ability to give me heat flashes? I was almost positive it had something to do with our relationship with Prongs connecting us both.
What a weird triangle.
"Happy reading, Evans," he shouted at me from the couch.
And I bolted for the stairs.
OOO
Once I had safely entered my dormitory without making a blushing fool out of myself, I leaned my back against the door, closing it with a quiet snap. For a while, I stood there, observing the letter in my hands while trying to make sense out of everything that had just happened. My breathing was deep as my eyes roamed over the familiar handwriting—Lily—and the four footprints.
It was then that I remembered that Prongs could have answered my question about his favorite animal, thus providing me with a possible clue as to one of the last remaining prints. As if on cue, my heart spluttered sporadically, sending my head into a dizzy state from the sudden swell of excitement.
And then the door was pushed open, knocking me in the back of the head.
"Bugger, ow!"
"Oh, Lily, are you alright?" Mary's voice asked hurriedly, rushing to me and peering at the back of my head, looking for any signs of blood, I imagine.
Through my pain, I saw Emmeline walk in next, her long brown hair up in a ponytail and her broom in hand. Mud splattered her robes and face. "What kind of question is that? You just swatted her in the head, you dolt," she said sarcastically, placing her broom on top of her trunk.
Well, thanks for being worried about my concussion, Em.
Mary was now waving her hands uselessly around my face, trying to figure out what she could do. Seriously, I was fine. I mean, I might not be able to remember my name come tomorrow, but honestly…just kidding. Mary just had a tendency to overreact. "I didn't see you—what were you doing at the door anyway—"
Wait a second. It was past curfew. What had they been doing? My eyes roamed over Emmeline's messy robes and Mary's flushed face, a scarf around both of their necks. "Were you two outside? Riding brooms?" I asked.
My blonde haired friend waved her hands again, shooing off my accusations. "Well, Em was, and Will was practicing as well—"
"You two were outside after hours? Will as well?"
Emmeline snorted. "Five minutes, Lily. Besides, what's the fun in not breaking the rules when your best friend is Head Girl?"
I scowled, crossing my arms.
"Oh, it came!" Mary suddenly squealed, her chocolate eyes finally landing and locking on the letter in my hands, causing me to forget about berating my friends for their recklessness.
Emmeline looked at the two of us over her shoulder as she unstrapped her Quidditch gear. "Where's the little menace?" she asked.
Obviously, she was talking about Harold.
Mary bristled. "I think he's adorable."
"He bit me that one time!"
The corners of my mouth tipped upwards. "Potter bit you?" I asked, laughing inside of my head at the look on their faces.
My two friends were staring at me like I was crazy. For some reason, I felt exceedingly giddy. I suppose having Potter deliver a note to you can do that to a person. Especially if the letter is from a mysterious, kind, thoughtful student who happens to create havoc for the good of the school.
Ahem.
I shook my head slightly.
"What are you talking about, Lily?" Emmeline stated bluntly.
Grinning, I responded. "I mean, sure, Potter can be annoying sometimes, but isn't calling him a menace taking things a bit far?"
There was a brief silence. And then Mary's eyes went wide and Emmeline inhaled swiftly, sucking the gum she'd been chewing on down her throat. As Emmeline coughed and pounded her chest, Mary grabbed my shoulders.
"Potter had your letter?"
"Yep."
Emmeline coughed one last time, unclogging the gum from her esophagus, before saying, "Potter told you he's Prongs?"
"No," I exclaimed, holding up my hands. "No, no, no. He's just…the delivery boy."
"Oh," Em said, before going back to untying her shoelaces.
Of course she'd lose interest after finding out that Prongs was still unidentified. Mary, on the other hand, completed some weird spin movement, twirling across the floor, her pleated skirt flinging out around her waist. "This is just so romantic," she exclaimed, coming to a stop and nearly stumbling over Emmeline's discarded shoe. "A delivery boy…forbidden love…"
"It's not forbidden," I chided her.
She spun back towards me, her blonde hair falling softly around her face. "You so like him."
"Who, Potter?"
"No," she said, drawing out the word childishly, "Prongs."
"Oh, boy," Emmeline remarked, "here we go."
Mary sighed. "You are such a killjoy, Em. Live a little, please."
"Fine," Emmeline responded, grabbing her books, "I'll go live. I'll go downstairs and interact with real people. Now there's an idea.
With a curt nod to the both of us, Emmeline whisked out of the door, not even bothering to close it behind her. We heard her march down every stair, her feet hitting the landing roughly. Alright, what had just happened? She's usually not that touchy.
At least Mary and I seemed to be on the same brainwave. "What's got her wand in a knot?" she stated, crossing her legs politely as she sat on the edge of her bed.
All I could do was shake my head. "No idea. How long until she realizes that everyone's in bed?"
"Long enough," Mary said, slapping her hands together and then patting a spot beside her. "So, aren't you going to read it?"
Oh, right. The letter was somehow, miraculously, still crisp. The ink on the front hadn't even been smudged, which was odd because I had been clutching it tightly for quite some time now. The excitement had dulled a smidge—what, with Emmeline's outburst and everything—but the curiosity was still there.
Besides, as I began to slip my nail underneath the edge to open it, the anticipation spiked again, especially since Mary was practically bouncing up and down beside me. It was just hard to be depressed when my best friend was so enthusiastic.
The letter fell open.
Dear Lily,
I'm sorry if you've been waiting for this letter for a while. Harold hurt his wing flying the other day, and I'm afraid he'll be resting for a while. Hopefully, James Potter got this letter to you, though. I assumed he would be a good choice—he's in your House, and he's also Head Boy—but, I swear, if this letter doesn't get to you, I will personally prank his arse off.
On a different note, I hope seventh year is treating you well, and congratulations on getting the Head Girl badge. I hope Dumbledore doesn't put you through too much work though. By the way, schedule the next Hogsmeade trip soon. My mates and I have run out of pranking items, and Filch seems to be on to us (we have certain…other ways to get out of the castle). I guess having a relationship with the Head Girl has its perks. Just kidding. I'd write you even if you weren't the one with the power to schedule Hogsmeade visits. You're intriguing. And, for the record, I find the fact that you like black stallions…cute. Wow, that sounds gay, but seriously. The qualities you described them as also seem to fit you.
As for my favorite animal, I'm going to have to say deer, hands down. My family lives near some woods, and when I was younger I used to love watching the deer bound across my lawn. And, as a secret between you and me, my Patronus happens to be a stag.
In conclusion of this letter, I'd like for you to tell me about your family. Hm. That's not really a question is it? Alright. Let me try again. Lily, what's your family like?
Praying this letter gets into your hands,
Prongs
He finds me intriguing.
I'm intriguing. Me, Lily Evans, the girl who has only ever had two boyfriends in her life. A boy finds me intriguing, and a darn sexy-sounding one at that. Not some random fifth year who looks like he hasn't showered in weeks, not some twelve year old that I've tutored with snot running down his nose.
But Prongs.
The giddiness returned.
Meanwhile, Mary was peering at the emblem. "Lily," she said, "where's that animal book?"
I pulled myself out of my fanaticizing thoughts. "Huh?" I asked, not having had heard her.
"The footprint book."
Oh. That. "I think you had it last," I told her, still staring at the note while Mary jumped from the bed and began rummaging around in her trunk at the foot of her bed.
He used to watch deer.
He could produce a Patronus. That was some advance stuff. I had only learned that charm last year—but that meant that he must have already taken sixth year Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Holy chimera!
Prongs was a seventh year.
"Mary, he's in our grade," I called out excitedly, "he can do a Patronus! Only sixth years know how to do that, and last year we didn't learn until the end of the year."
She was smiling as she plopped the heavy book onto an empty space of mattress next to me. "That's not all, Lily. I think one of the prints might be a deer's."
I inhaled quickly. "What?"
We both grabbed the book, flipping it to the index. Finally finding it, we flipped towards the middle of the book, page 231, and found a picture of a female and male deer standing against a wooded backdrop. The print was on the page after it. Mary held up the letter next to the picture.
It was a match.
"We're so thick," I exclaimed in an amused fashion, "I mean, how did we not think of deer. What other kind of animal has that kind of hoof shape?"
"Is that all the emblem means? Each print represents their favorite animal?" Mary asked, pouting slightly at the apparently boring possibility.
I held up the letter, pointing my finger at the word 'Patronus'. "Or," I began, "they are the shapes of each of their Patronus. If that's the case, then a deer must be an outer reflection of Prongs' personality." Or so that's we I recalled from last year's interesting lesson on those silvery protectors.
We grinned at each other.
"Majestic," Mary pointed out, beginning to list off words that came to her mind when she thought of deer.
"Subtly powerful."
"Beautiful."
I giggled. "Does that mean his outside is attractive or his insides?"
Mary's eyes sparkled. "Let's say both."
"Fast?" I wondered, continuing our little game.
It was Mary's turn to laugh, a sneaky smile on her small face. "Yeah, maybe he's the kiss on a first date type of bloke."
I shoved her in the shoulder. "I didn't mean it like that!"
She winked at me, and then we were both giggling hysterically. My only guess was that the euphoria of figuring out the meaning behind the emblem had gone to our heads. Or maybe we were just going crazy. At least, maybe I was. It was normal behavior for Mary—extreme elation over boys. As for me, well, I had never been this animated.
"Were there any boys in our class that had a stag Patronus?" I asked Mary, trying to force my mind back to the two weeks last year we'd spent studying them. I could visualize the classroom, and the sliver mist that surrounded the room from twenty different people attempting to cast their Patronus. Mine had never taken a distinct shape—I could have sworn that I had seen four slender legs, but Patronus charms were complex. In fact, I think we were supposed to continue studying them this year…
"All I remember," Mary said, her eyebrows pinched together in thought, "was that Potter was the only one who had actually produced anything other than that silver fog—"
"—Yeah, but it disappeared too quickly for anyone to catch a glimpse of it," I pointed out, remembering how jealous I had been of Potter that particular day.
Hm. As far as both of us could recall, no one is our class had fully produced it. "Perhaps he was in a different period, then," I suggested.
Pity, really. Yet, if it was true that we were going to return to the study of the Patronus charm this year, then maybe I'd be luckier this time around.
"Hey, I could always ask David Mossly if he remembers anything from his class," Mary said excitedly.
Oh, David Mossly. The Hufflepuff with the turned up nose whom Mary had been convinced was her soul mate for three weeks in sixth year. Neither Emmeline nor I had understood what had drawn her to him; he just hadn't been Mary's usual type.
"Good idea," I told her. I was about to suggest that I could ask Severus, but that thought was quickly discarded even before it left my brain.
I couldn't believe that it was this hard to find four people, who were all in my grade—assuming that our Patronus idea was correct—and who could all produce a very powerful, difficult spell. It made me admire them all the more. Smart, cunning, driven to protect their secret—
Woah. Characteristics of a Slytherin?
No. Prongs was too kind. Not that kindness didn't exist in the Slytherin world, but I found it hard to believe that a Slytherin would single out a Muggle-born Gryffindor…unless it was to taunt her, or to undermine her value in Wizarding society.
Just in case, I should ask Prongs what house he's in when I write him back.
OOO
For some reason, I woke up early the next morning, the sun streaming in through the window across from my bed, the warmth beating against my closed eyelids. Rubbing my eyes, I stretched out my legs, cracking my back, before sitting up slowly. Glancing around, I saw Mary fast asleep in her bed, and Emmeline's bed made and empty.
I quickly dressed in my school uniform and put my school stuff together in my bag. Thirty minutes later I was outside of the Great Hall. A lone figure sat near the end of the Gryffindor table, and the long dark hair told me that it was Emmeline. I had fallen asleep before she had returned from the common room last night—which meant she must have gotten to bed pretty late. The guilt came as I got closer, seeing the dark circles under her eyes. Was this whole Prongs thing really driving her this crazy?
"'Morning, Em," I greeted, sitting down on the opposite side of her.
"Hey," she responded, setting down her spoon in her now empty cereal bowl.
Dang. She looked awful. She must have only gotten about four hours of sleep last night. "I'm sorry," I said quietly, watching her.
She appeared a little startled. "For what?"
I shrugged my shoulders. For some reason, apologizing made me feel uncomfortable. "Prongs, letters, everything."
Her heavy sigh made me feel worse. "I'm just worried about you—and when you and Mary gang up on me like that…"
Were we being horrible friends, Mary and I? Taking sides, creating a divide between us. I wondered if it really looked like that from her perspective.
Yes, yes it did.
The sad part was that I wouldn't be able to appease Emmeline. Prongs had become a part of me, and I knew that if it came down to it, I would never be able to fully ditch Prongs.
I was a horrible person.
"What if you find out who Prongs really is, and he isn't what you thought?" Emmeline suddenly asked me, her blue eyes dull and weary.
My mind spaced at her question, the disappointment in myself growing. To be honest, I had never really thought of that before. I stared at my friend as my brain tried to function properly again. "I dunno," I responded. I fumbled with the goblet in front of me. "Potter knows who he is—if he was so bad, Potter wouldn't…" I broke off. Potter wouldn't what? Let him near me? Merlin, was I really that self-centered? Thinking that Potter must care about me and watch out for me, just because he normally did? Or was I simply coming up with excuses to defend my fascination for the Marauder?
Merlin, I was addicted.
And it frightened me, because I couldn't, and didn't want to, stop
Emmeline was watching me closely, before she glanced around the Great Hall, as if she were looking for someone. "Lily," she began, her blue eyes on my face again, "what would you do if James turned out to be—"
I leant forward expectantly just as she shut her mouth abruptly. It was as if she had just realized that what she had been about to say was destructive. Her fingers massaged her eyes, and she inhaled deeply, slowly. "If Potter turned out to be what, Em?" I pushed.
Her gaze rested on the front doors, and I felt like she was far off. And then she looked back at me, her eyes serious. I couldn't help but stare back, feeling like she was falling out of control. It felt like she was trying to communicate something to me, something crucial. But then her face rearranged itself—the tense wrinkles in her forehead disappeared, and she appeared to be thinking off into space again.
Seriously, was my friend alright?
"Did you ever wonder why Prongs couldn't have used a school owl?" she finally asked thoughtfully, taking in my reaction.
Actually, I hadn't. I hadn't really thought about anything last night except for why Potter had my letter. After he'd explained, for some reason it had felt natural. Sort of like it was expected, like it happened every day of my life, like James Potter was meant to be involved in this.
I couldn't quite explain it; it was just something I knew. Explaining it to Emmeline, even Mary, was out of the question, because not only would I not be able to, but Mary would only further push for a romantic relationship between Potter and me.
When I failed to reply—and perhaps my blank expression had said it all—Emmeline clasped her hands together, her mouth open. "My point is this whole situation could easily blow up in your face. Prongs could be someone you can't stand, someone who you aren't expecting. Just…keep an open mind."
Keep an open mind? I nodded, though her words had caught me off guard. She hadn't told me to stop communicating with Prongs; in fact, she even seemed to now believe that Prongs was someone real, someone at this school, someone who I could possibly know.
What if Prongs was someone I knew? Someone that didn't match up with me in real life?
But Potter knew. Potter knew who Prongs was. And no matter how much I hated myself for thinking this, Potter would never allow some slimy, inconsiderate bloke weasel his way into my life. Even if Potter didn't hold some sort of a soft spot for me, I was convinced he would still have chivalry enough to not encourage it.
And let's face it. Prongs and Potter had been linked from the start. I wouldn't forget how it was Potter who actually got me to write to Prongs for that first time in fifth year.
Potter was now my human connection to Prongs. And perhaps that was faith enough to believe that Prongs was just as respectful as he seemed to be.
Hope you guys enjoyed it! And I hope that his long chapter made up for the cliffie from the last one. :) Have a wonderful New Year!! Next time I'm back, it may be 2009! Wow, that's so exciting! And I'm really overusing these exclamation marks!
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Okay, that's enough. Oh, wait, I do have a question for you all. I got this random story idea the other day not Harry Potter related surprisingly. It's something original...next semester I'm taking a creative writing course, so I think I was thinking about that and then this idea just popped into my head during church today and I immediately started planning this out. Anyways, back to my question for you guys, I'm trying to come up with a good name for a girl, the main character. I want it to be something unique, yet not wierd, a name that sounds...timeless (if that's make any sense). Like a name that would never die out, I suppose is what I'm trying to get at. She's an American teenager, just a normal girl, but a bit eccentric (or I dunno if that's the right word...)So far, I've come up with a few, but I don't feel like I've found the perfect match. These are the few I've come up with: Jaiden, Myra, and Adalene. Bascially, if you have a name that you just absolutely love, let me know if you'd like...or if you like one of the ones I've listed, it would be really helpful if you could let me know! I know this is a weird request, but I'm totally stuck. I mean, I've actually searched multiplie baby-naming websites and everything! lol
Thanks for reading!
Happy New Year! Come on in 2009!
--HeyLookTheSnitch
