Darling, when things go wrong in life, you lift your chin, put on a ravishing smile, mix yourself a little cocktail - Sophie Kinsella

October 15th 1976

6:52 PM

I'm not dead. Which is, you know, good.

I can't remember a lot from the morning I awoke in the Hospital Wing, aside from Dumbledore sitting on the edge of my bed chatting away to an ashen looking and half-asleep Brant. The two had quickly turned their attention to me, Dumbledore smiling idly down at me as I lay in the tightly tucked in bed, and Brant glaring a hole through my banging skull.

Suffice to say, he was a little pissed at me for what had happened.

All in all, I whacked my head so hard my skull had cracked, but thanks to Pomfrey's magic hands, I was halfway to alright by the time I reached the Hospital Wing. Bulstrode and Nott had been forced into the dormitory for the night after Slughorn had yelled at them and given them two months detentions each, whereas I had been given a one months.

A fucking month.

Even on weekends.

Slughorn had looked so disappointed. I almost wanted to cry. I tried to insist that they had said some disgusting shit, but apparently throwing a hex at someone isn't the way to resolve an argument. Who knew?

Still, two weeks into the detentions and I was ready to top myself. Seven until nine every bloody evening. Mondays through until Wednesdays I was with Slughorn in his office, where he allowed me to catch up on homework, which wasn't so bad. He would even talk to me sometimes, asking about my dad and his work in the Ministry. Sometimes he would go on one about Evans, to which I would try and nod politely at but usually zoned out on. Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays, though, I was with McGonagall. That hard-ass would either, so far, dump me with Filch or make me clean the millions of fucking trophies dotted about the castle.

It sucked.

Today was a Thursday, so McGonagall it was. Having already said a goodbye to Brant and left him with the slightly perked up Francis (we had received news from the twins that they were returning back to Hogwarts tomorrow after Mr Bandini's funeral having taken place the week before), I walked idly through the castle with my bag swinging at my side.

The fight with Nott and Bulstrode had been a kind of wake up call for me, I guess. Trust no bitch. I couldn't...not in my House. A few days ago, muggleborn Olive Glass had been taken out of Astronomy Theory to be told that her mother, father and grandmother had all been murdered. Death Eaters were never mentioned, but it was obvious. According to the Prophet, their house was fucking obliterated. I heard Bulstrode talking about it to the others as I went to bed that night and she had laughed.

Crazy. Bitch.

We didn't talk to each other. We didn't even look at each other. It became even more so apparent throughout the school that I was the odd one out within Slytherin House. From that, people became more...nice. Sirius Black held the bloody door open to Potions for a week for me. Marlene McKinnon gave me this weird, jerky nod that even made her blanch a little at the awkwardness of it. The good of Hogwarts were slowly drawing together to fight against the bad.

It took all of my power and Dumebledore's soft words to make sure Brant didn't storm down the dungeons that night two weeks ago and curse Bulstrode and Nott to fucking Germany. Not to mention my parents...the essay of a letter I received the next day was enough for me to promise I wouldn't converse with any of my Housemates any time soon. Aside from Jone, of course. That little bug was by my side every meal.

That being said, not everything was resolving itself. Lupin and I still remained stonily silent to each other, hardly even making eye contact nor passing smiles in the hallway. I wondered, sometimes, if he knew I knew. Did he realise that my shout of I don't care! held more meaning to it? Probably not. Idiot boy. I hadn't even told Brant about the exchange, too worried that word would somehow get out if I whispered the secret I had stumbled upon.

Remus Lupin was a werewolf. Would that idea get any less fucking weird?

'What are you doing near the classrooms at this time, Leola?'

I stop and turn stiffly, a half grimace already make its way onto my face. That nasally voice, those greasy locks...ah, yes. Filch. The slightly hunched and forever pissed off caretaker regarded me with a sneer, beady eyes narrowed even further. At his ankles, that she-bitch cat gave me a smug look. I don't know how, but she fucking did. 'Detention, Filch'.

Suffice to say, Filch didn't like me. I had a bad habit in second year of running into him after hours as I snuck to the Ravenclaw Tower to see Brant and the twins. I may have also once ACCIDENTALLY kicked Mrs Norris down a flight of moving stairs when I was running late for class and I was in a rush. I didn't see her, okay? It was not my fault.

He sniffed and showed greying teeth. Ew. 'With who?'

'McGonagall,' I shoot back, rolling my eyes and shuffling away from him. 'May I go now - ow!' At that moment, a long arm was draped over my shoulder and another was pressed to my side. In shock, I had nearly tripped and twisted my ankle. With one confused glance either side of me and up, I spy out one immaculate head of hair, and one messy head of hair. 'Oh, Merlin-'

'She's with us, Filch,' draws Potter, before tugging me away from the furiously red caretaker.

'As you were,' adds Black, arm still slung over my shoulder as he guides me to turn swiftly on my heel, leaving the hunched little man spluttering in our wake. 'Lola Leola, detention? I never. What possibly could you have done?'

'I think I might know, Pads,' interjects Potter, walking close to my other side. I glare up at him and attempt to squeeze from under Sirius's arm, but he holds on all the tighter. 'I think she might have participated in a rather nasty duel with some other snakey-'

'You two are not funny,' I deadpan, settling with trying to bite at the hand that rests on my shoulder. Sirius merely jumps and smiles devilishly down at me, wiggling a finger toward my mouth suggestively. 'Oh, fuck off'.

'Such language,' Sirius drawls, shaking his head. 'No wonder you scared Moony off, little Leola. What did happen that fateful day, by the way?' His grey eyes zoom in on me, and with a little jolt I realise they don't know. He hasn't told them. I wonder if they know what he is...of course they do. Don't be dumb. They call him Moony, you doofus.

'I have detention,' I grumble, rolling my eyes. 'Can you please bugger off?'

Potter titters and tuts. 'Afraid not, my dear. After a hideous accident involving a stink bomb and a Snivellus, we appear to have landed ourselves in a similar detention situation. Now, back to my good friends question that you so obviously avoided'. He grins down at me toothily and the waning light glints against his square glasses. 'Whilst we appreciated you throwing the map through the Fat Lady's portrait so chivalrously last week, why are you and Moony avoiding each other? He goes all pissy with us whenever we mention you-'

Ouch. That stings.

'Perhaps it's none of your fucking business, James. Perhaps-'

'There you three are. Come on. Hop to it. There's too many trophies to be cleaned tonight for you to faff about. And Mister Black, will you please tighten your tie'. McGonagall glares from her place at the door of the classroom, her skinny silhouette illuminated from the light within. 'You are of Gryffindor - wear the colours well. And unhand Miss Leola, please'.

With that, she turns sharply on her heel and disappears into the classroom.

'She wants me,' Sirius mutters, drawing his arm from my shoulders and going to tighten his tie. As James snorts, I scoff and break away from the both of them and rush forward, but not before hearing low muttering behind me.

'I don't know! He's a moody twat, he'll kill us if she doesn't-!'

I make way for the back of the classroom with a small nod in McGonagall's direction. The dark haired witch merely rolls her eyes to the classroom door and watches with a deadpan look as the most vocal of the Marauders meandered through the door. 'Please, gentleman, don't rush,' she quips in her thick Scottish accent. I snort as I dump my bag onto the floor and flop into the seat. Only two more weeks to go...

'Thanks, Professor. That's really nice of you,' James responds, a cheeky smile on his face. It quickly falters at the Head of Gryffindor House's harsh glare. He sits four seats ahead of me, whereas Black sits directly to the front of the classroom two rows over.

With a flick of her wand, the desk behind McGonagall suddenly expands and fills with a pile of goblets and trophies and plaques, all of them piling up and clinking against one another. She cocks a brow. 'I expect all of these to be shining by nine o'clock on the dot. No magic permitted for cleaning, Mister Black,' she looks pointedly to the dark haired Gryffindor, who merely grins and ruffles his hair in response. 'I am only down the hall in my office marking papers, and as a result any funny business will be heard by either I or Mister Filch. You may begin. Oh, and Miss Leola, do try and keep these two in line'.

With that, she walks briskly from the room, leaving me smiling charmingly in her wake. 'Yes, Professor!' I call after her sweetly. Ha! Take that, Marauders. Sirius sneers lightly at me as he raises his wand to accio a couple of the trophies toward him, and Potter does the same soon after. 'She said not to use magic,' I point out breezily, watching the two boys conjure some rags and kick their feet onto the chairs beside them.

'She said not to clean with magic, Lola,' points out James, leaning back in his seat to look at me. 'You've gotta learn to find loopholes, y'know. Since when were you such a goodie-good?'

'I'm in detention, dumbo-'

'Speaking of goodie-goods, how's things with Remus?' cuts in Sirius, turning slowly to face me with a coy smile as rubs slowly at the Quidditch trophy on his lap. I roll my eyes at him and accio a few plaques my way, conjuring a much cleaner rag and throwing my wand onto the desk with a huff. 'Wouldn't kill you to smile a little, Leola. What is it with you Slytherins and scowling all the time? Reg has turned into a right sour old prat since getting sorted into your delightful House-'

'To be fair,' cut in James, cocking a brow at Sirius. 'That might be your mums doing, Pads'.

'Very true, Prongs'.

I zone out of their idle chit chat and hunch over my desk, scrubbing at the dust caked onto the plaques. Fleamont Potter. Beater. 1926. 'Think I've got one of your dad's plaques over here, James,' I call out lightly, squinting at the thin gold writing. 'Beater? Suppose you're too much of a skinny prat to follow in his footsteps-' I yelp as a rag is thrown in my direction, snorting. 'I was joking-'

'You're not wrong,' counters Sirius, grinning over to his best friend, handsome face amused. His legs were kicked onto the seat next to him in an effortless manner - how was he so damn pretty? Why couldn't I be that pretty? 'This is the form of a beater,' he proclaims cockily, letting go of the trophy he was polishing to hold up his arm and show off his 'muscles'. I looked on with a bored expression. 'Pfft. You sure know how to shit on a guys confidence, Leola,' Black said, pouting and dropping his arm.

'Oi, you better be watching the game tomorrow afternoon'. I cock a brow at James as he looks over his shoulder with a pointed look. 'And you better be supporting Gryffindor, not those swots-'

I fight back an amused smile. 'Firstly, if I showed up the Slytherin stands in red and gold, I would get fucking decked. Secondly, Brant's Ravenclaw Chaser. I have to support the swots, I'm afraid'. It was true. Every year I managed to sneak into the Ravenclaw stands whenever they played, standing between Edith, Francis and Endrew in blue and bronze. I'm pretty sure Flitwick turned a blind eye to me sneaking to stand with the other Ravenclaws, anyway. Other than that, I rarely went to any of the games. Whereas my dad loved Quidditch, I was never particularly interested in the sport. Muggle rugby, thanks to my mum, was always something I'd liked, though.

Potter sniffs and turns his back to me. 'Traitor'.

We continued for the next hour, sharing idle chatter and slowly filling up the pile of cleaned plaques and trophies. Sirius works the slowest, probably not used to doing any kind of chore in his sixteen years. Posh boy. I was still down low not over the fact that Potter's dad's name was Fleamont and, as Sirius later mentioned, his middle name. Fleamont. That put my very embarrassing middle name to shame, to which the boys manage to get out of me after much pestering.

'Come on,' begs Sirius. 'Mine's fucking Orion. Prong's is Fleatmont. It can't be that bad. I mean, your names already Lola Leola-'

'It's another name beginning with L, isn't it?' cackles Potter, ditching his attempts at polishing a particularly dirty goblet. 'Come on, it is, right? Wormy is doing to die. He's always cracked up at your name-'

'You're both fucking bullies,' I sniff, ducking my curly head. After a pause, I purse my lips and sag. 'It's Lola Layla Leola, 'kay? Now shut the fuck up'.

There's a brief pause as the two boys stare at me.

'...I need to meet your parents. They sound fucking hilarious. Honestly. I mean that in the best way possible'. Sirius throws his head back and laughs. 'Lola Layla Leola. Merlin. Try and say it super fast without stuttering, Prongs'.

'Lola Layla Leola. Lola Layla Leola. Lola Layla Lola - no, wait-'

Sirius is practically wheezing with laughter at this point.

'I hate you both'.

Half an hour later, we're nearly done. The pile of polished goods is nearly as tall as the pile McGonagall left us with, but Sirius and James are still chatting away. They never shut up. It's quite exhausting. 'Oi, do you want to come to my birthday? Gryffindor Common Room, of course. Seventeen. Dancing Queen. Gonna have it on Halloween, methinks. Only a few days early'.

I fight back an actual nice smile, too pleased at being invited to yet another Gryffindor event. Slight awkwardly, I say, 'Oh, yeah. Okay. Thanks'. It still baffled me that the Marauders actually liked me beyond a few jokes shared here and there.

'But you've got to talk to Moony before then. Sort his shit mood out, please?' James calls back over his shoulder. I glower, mood dampening somewhat. He looks over his shoulder when I don't answer and rolls his hazel eyes. 'I'm not trying to be a dick, Lola. You obviously fancy him, so just go for it-'

I narrow my eyes and open my mouth, but close it quickly. Surely they knew? They shared a bloody dorm with Lupin, they spent every waking second with each other...they called him Moony, for fucks sake. They must know why he was avoiding me. He had said something along those lines in the throws of rejecting me. Which was great, by the way. 'Remus is the one being difficult,' I shoot back, raising my chin. 'And I don't...fancy him-'

'Sure, you don't,' says Black unconvincingly. 'Look, Moony is a moody shit, but he's got issues, y'know-?'

'Pads,' Potter says in warning.

Thank Merlin, McGonagall walks swiftly into the classroom at that moment. Although we hadn't finished all of the required cleaning, she allows us to leave with a brief, 'No detention tomorrow due to Quidditch, Miss Leola. Saturday will resume as normal'. I nod, thrilled at the prospect of not having to sit in stoic silence with the Gryffindor Head of House. Gathering my things quickly, I dart from the room, hoping to lose Sirius and James-

'Not so fast'.

I cringe away from the arm slung once again around my shoulder, glaring up at Black with a stiff look. 'What could you possibly want now?' All I wanted was to retreat into my green quilted bed and finish my Astronomy assignment. Was that so much to ask? Bloody Marauders.

'Are you going to talk to Moony?'

'Are you going to fuck off?'

Potter snorts. 'You know, you remind me of an angry cat. You love us really, Lola Layla Leola, you softy. Oi, actually, I overheard your little brother telling his mates that you knit with your mum when you're at home. Sounds like a bloody riot, that-' I blush scarlet, wondering if Remus had heard this conversation. Fucking Charlie. I'm going to kill him. 'Aw, she's blushing'.

'I will end you,' I grumble, fighting to get out of Black's grip. 'Look, I'll try and talk to Remus if you lot bugger off!' Liar. I was too mortified to even look at him.

Sirius grins brightly down at me and drops his arm from my form. 'Now, that's all we wanted! Don't know why you had to go on so much about it, to be honest with you'. I breath in deeply and close my eyes as we round the corner, praying that the two idiots would scamper off. 'This is our stop. See you tomorrow, Princess Happiness!'

They leave me standing alone in the corridor, fuming and still bright red.

I hate the Marauders.

Yoooooo. This was kind of a fun chapter because I felt like we needed more Marauder stuff. I know that Sirius was never mentioned to be on the Quidditch team, but I always liked the idea of him being on it. Hope you liked the chapter!

ALSO GUYS, OVER 100 REVIEWS ILYYYY ALL.