Author's Notes: And here we are again: another chapter, another two months late. Never gets old, does it? But I think some comfort should be taken in the fact that this chapter is basically the size of two, but there was simply nowhere to split it that would have made either chapter able to stand on its own. So now it's just one, epically long saga. Oops? Oh, well. There are worse things.

Many, many thanks go out to my betas, Andie and Ben, both of whom are fabulous miracle-workers with skills that surpass all comprehension. They also go to Dina for playacting with me, even if it was entirely accidental.

Chapter Twenty-Two: October 24th: Of Lunches and Lines

"I think someone should have had the decency to tell me the luncheon was free. To make someone run out with potato salad in his hand, pretending he's throwing up, is not what I call hospitality."

- Jack Handey


Friday, October 24th, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 268

There is a certain etiquette involved when one dormmate is rising from bed before their fellow dormmates.

Before this year, such rules went rather unacknowledged by me. I mean, they were part of my life certainly, but indirectly so seeing as I'd always believed that 'rising early' meant allowing Emma to rouse me from bed some time before breakfast was over. More often than not, I was the one curled up contently beneath my covers, snoozing the morning away, quite happy to lash out like a lunatic if disturbed. It wasn't always the best of existences, but it sadly was all I knew.

During my recent adventures as a sudden Early Riser, however, I have come to know and embrace these tacit rules—things like, tiptoe as much as possible, don't make exclamations louder than a hiss, and never open the curtains on a sunny day—and quite like them, actually. They are part of the world of Early Mornings and, as such, should be wholly obliged and respected by those of us worshipping at the Altar of the Rising Sun.

"Bloody effing…where are my ruddy gloves?"

Clearly the Emily Post of Early Mornings needs to have a firm chat with Gracie.

There is a loud creak and a lot of thumping as Grace goes digging rowdily through her trunk, her vigor in the effort evident from the series of noisy clanks and clunks that soon fill the 7th Year Girls' dormitory. She huffs and swears furiously, obviously not finding what she's looking for. There is an annoyed groan from another bed, but if Gracie hears it, it only seems to encourage her further. The trunk falls shut with a forceful thunk.

She had just begun opening and slamming dresser drawers when I finally took it upon myself to kindly reprimand her for her actions.

"Grace. Shut. Up."

I've always said that 'kind' is a matter of subjectivity.

Grace must have found objection with the liberties I decided to take with my friendly reprimand, however, because she grabbed a pillow off her bed, chucked it at my head and went, "Oy! Help me find my gloves, Slaggy!"

Oh, sure. That's how you get a girl to do things for you. Cause her bodily harm and call her a slag. Good one, Gracie.

But I suppose the hag was basically only calling the zebra striped, so it's not like I could really protest much. I mean, she wasn't the one who'd ambled into the room last night with her buttons undone. That would've been me. And besides, I was mostly awake by that point anyway and knew that there would be no peace inside the dormitory if someone didn't step in and guide Grace with a firm hand. Considering Saunders and Carrie were unlikely to abandon their much-needed beauty sleep for any generous cause, and Emma had only stumbled into our dorm towards twelve (!), she was probably (hopefully) too drained from her Mac (snog) session to be useful.

It looked like it'd be up to me to tame the wild beast. The dorm was lucky that I was in a good mood.

Which, surprisingly enough, I was. Even with the rude awakening and the slurs against my good name that I'd already had to endure this morning, I still found myself feeling particularly cheered. I'd like to think that this is because I am a very optimistic person with a sunny disposition and a benevolent nature, but I think it probably had more to do with the fact that dreams are beautiful things where zings don't have to stop when they get exceptionally fun.

Hm.

Well, it's not as if I didn't warn you. Striped zebra and all, remember? I'm not trying to hide it.

Throwing back my blankets, I let out an overly-dramatic sigh that I'd like to think concealed my good mood enough to let Gracie know I didn't appreciate her impersonation of an alarm clock. I plodded over to her bed, making a big show of yawning and stretching. "All right, you wench," I muttered. "Where'd you have them last?"

Grace scratched her head, slamming another drawer closed. "Dunno. The floor, maybe? I just sort of chucked them off."

Taking in that useful bit of information, I left Grace's bed to grab my wand off my bedside table. I gave it a quick flick. "Accio gloves!"

In a matter of moments, one small glove had shot out from beneath Gracie's bed. The other came flying by from inside the closet. I caught both articles in my hand and held them out to Grace. She blinked.

"If it weren't so early," she said, "I would have thought of that."

I smirked. "Sure you would have."

Grace grumbled something rude as she grabbed the gloves from me and shoved them into the pocket of her Quidditch robes.

Watching silently as she crouched next to her bed and grabbed her boots from the abyss beneath, what she was doing hit me for the first time. I frowned.

"You have practice?" I asked rather stupidly. When she tossed me a look that said as much, I added, "I meant why do you have practice? I thought the next match was Slytherin and Ravenclaw?"

"It is." Grace sat down on her bed and hiked up her knee so that she could reach the laces of her boots. As her fingers quickly tied, she glanced up at me with a sardonic scowl. "Your lover is barmy, however, and reckons that any day we're on the pitch is a day the others aren't." She scoffed bitterly, dropping that foot and then lifting up the other. "As if anyone else would schedule a practice this early."

I listened without expression, but the happily dancing figure who'd been twirling around in my stomach suddenly ceasing her giddy movements and stomped her foot in outrage. Quidditch practice. They had Quidditch practice. I shouldn't have been any more depressed over the fact than I usually am, but that didn't seem to be the case. I tried not to show how disappointed I was that I wouldn't see James at breakfast, but I think my casual, "Oh, right," was a bit too forlorn to manage it. I knew I'd botched it up royally when Grace dropped both her feet to the floor and openly laughed at me.

"Bloody hell, Lil, don't look so dejected! You'll see him in class!"

"I know," I muttered, feeling the blush creep up along my neck, hating how well she knew me. I was utterly mortified at being caught acting so pathetically. In a lame attempt at reclaiming some dignity, I grappled for a proper excuse. "It's not like that. I just…I…I wanted to tell him something! Yes, that's right. Tell him something. That's all!"

Grace cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, really? Tell him something, you say? Well, that's simple enough. What is it? I'll tell him."

Er.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit. Say something!

I was positively crimson by this point. Blinking owlishly at her, I sputtered out, "Um. Er. Tell him…you can tell him…you know. Hullo."

Oh, for Merlin's sake. Hullo? That's the best I could do?

Grace's grin widened to outstanding proportions. I cursed my own stupidity and felt the heat on my face escalate to an impossible degree. I shouldn't have cared—it was only Grace, I kept telling myself. She knows—but I still hated how silly I sounded. Like I was…well, you know, some sort of pathetic, puppy-dog, giggling third-year. Which I most certainly am not, thank you very much.

I don't think.

Hm.

Grace, still grinning like a right maniac, had the gall to tease me. "Well. Now I understand your urgency. Been keeping that one in, have you?"

"Shut up," I said, ducking my head in mortification. I thought I could hide my shame behind the curtain of my hair. It seemed a proper enough shield. I hoped that Grace would take that as a sign that the conversation was over, letting me wallow in the humiliation I was already drowning in, but this was Grace, so of course she didn't.

"You know," she started, walking towards me until she was close enough to drop a hand on my shoulder, "if you would prefer to pass on that entirely private message personally, you could just come and watch practice."

My head snapped up with lightning speed. "What?"

Come and watch practice.

Come and watch practice?

Excuse me?

"Come to practice," Grace said again, casual as could be. "Some people do, you know."

Oh, I knew. Of course, I bloody knew. Everyone bloody knew. It was a constantly debated topic, as a matter of fact, because most teams were utterly suspicious of spies and therefore had strict policies regarding who could and couldn't hang about in the stands while they did their drills and exercises. I had always thought it was an entirely stupid procedure, but Grace had continuously taken it seriously enough, so who was I to question it?

But I also knew exactly the sortof people who had that honoured privilege of being able to come to watch Quidditch practices.

Girls.

Pathetic, puppy-dog, giggling, third-year girls.

And… significant others.

Players' girlfriends and boyfriends.

Captains' girlfriends.

I visibly blanched.

"James would practically wet himself in delight," Grace went on, ignoring my panic entirely. "We wouldn't get a single thing done, he'd spend so much time glancing over his shoulder to see if you were watching. It'd be perfectly adorable—I could give him hell about it for weeks."

I didn't like the things that image were doing to my insides. They squirmed and tingled, but not exactly in a bad way. The little figure in my stomach did a little spin again. I felt lightheaded…or maybe it was just light.

Which was exactly the problem.

In a matter of seconds, the defenses went up. It was automatic. I told the little figure to bloody well sit down.

I shook my head furiously at Grace. "I am not going to practice."

She pulled a face. "Oh, come on, Lil. You know you want—"

"No."

I don't know what about my tone or expression got across my desperation and obstinacy on the point, but whatever it was, Grace did not push it for once. She threw me a look that blatantly said, "You are being a silly henwit, Evans," but managed to muster out a rather complacent, "All right. Fine. Maybe next one."

I let out a long breath. My stomach stopped flipping. The figure sulked, but stayed put. "Yeah, maybe."

Grace left a few minutes later, which was just fine with me. I wasn't tempted to go with her, but I was…something. I don't know. I thought about going, even if it was reluctantly, which is just about the most bloody maddening thing. I mean, hope and zings are one thing, but Quidditch practice?

Oh, dear.

Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear.


Later, Still 7th Year Girls' Dormitory
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 268

Dear Mum,

We are still technically in a bit of a row (just so you know), but this is an important question, so I thought I'd forget your testy impertinence for a moment in order to inquire.

You know how Dad loves to go fishing, and you think it is the stupidest bloody thing in the entire world because who wants to sit there with a stick and some string and kill poor, innocent creatures of the sea for hours on end with nothing to do but watch the sun go up and down and chat with the other tagalong wives who are flighty peagooses with very little sense and dignity? Well, have you ever gone, anyway? You know, just because Dad would probably sing with delight to have you there, glancing over his shoulder the whole time simply to catch looks of you, even though you'd basically be rolling your eyes and doodling in your diary or knitting or something like that the entire time?

I'd just like to know. As a hypothetical thing, of course. And feel free to include any insight on what sort of ailment a girl would have to be suffering from in order to do something as utterly ludicrous as this.

Hope things are well. Tell Dad and Tunie hullo for me.

(Reluctant) hugs and kisses.
Lily


Later Later, Breakfast in the Great Hall
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 268

Well.

Would you look at that? Would you just look at that!

I'm not positive, but I think I may have just accomplished something rather outstanding and magnificent—or at the very least, I was a significant contributing factor in it, which is practically just as good. I'm not certain what precisely that means for my karma, but I'm going to take it and run with it because this is probably as good as it gets.

Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.

After sending Winnie off with my letter to Mum, I was quick to dress and gather about my things for the morning, even though the only thing I was rushing towards was a lonely breakfast and then—Merlin, help me—Ancient Runes, Transfiguration and Divination. What a stunningly fab morning line-up. And the class that kicked off the celebration was one filled to the brim with trouble. With all things James having taken precedence, I had forgotten to stress over what might happen when I finally ran into Amos face-to-face again.

I could have been panicking. I know that I could have been completely hyperventilating over the endless possibilities…but the fact of the matter was, I've had quite enough of kicking up a fuss over stupid bloody Amos Diggory. I just don't care anymore. It's not worth the effort. Despite Grace's Quidditch practice bomb, I was still in far too good a mood to let that rotten tosser turn it foul. I was not about to sit around moping over what he might do or say. I mean, it wasn't like I had any control over it. And if I couldn't change it, what was the point?

So, whatever. If the dolt annoyed me, I'd just hex him, gain a detention, and maybe spend most of it snogging James again. What a trial.

Er. Not that I…well, I mean, I probably would, but…

Oh, psh. As if dithering on about not being such a slag makes it any truer. I have a disease. It's only counterproductive to deny it. So I won't.

Anyway, the point is that my disposition was still swinging towards happy and positive when I strolled into the Great Hall, even though there was no one around to share in my pleasantness. My plan was to tuck in to some nice strawberries and waffles and perhaps get some Transfiguration revising done like a proper, scholarly Head Girl. I haven't been studying as much as I should be and what better opportunity than a lonely meal to indulge in some love-hate Transfiguration? The plan was set. Dutiful as I am, I even had my Transfiguration book tucked beneath my arm and was ready to crack it open and dive right in. I knew how to make the most of a morning.

It was just as I was heading over to my usual spot at the Gryffindor table, however, that the plan suffered a slight hitch. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a familiar mop of dark hair. I stopped walking and squinted down the end of the long table.

Well, I'll be damned. It was him.

My suspicions confirmed, I debated for only a second before pivoting on my heel and striding over. He didn't notice my approach until I'd cheerfully called out a greeting.

"Good morning, MJ! What are you doing up so early?"

MJ's head shot up from whatever he'd been reading, clearly baffled as to why someone might be speaking to him. That tugged at my heartstrings a bit, but I figured the only thing that could be done about it was what I presently was doing—giving him a winning smile and sliding into the seat next to him. I didn't take it personally when the boy blinked at me as if I'd gone round the bend.

"We're about one centimeter taller in the morning than at night," is what he said in answer. "Layers of cartilage in the joints get compressed during the day. Did you know that?"

"So that's why you got up early?" I teased, not even bothering to answer the standard ending inquiry. "You have some deep-seated desire to be taller?"

MJ shrugged, staring at me as if to say, "That wasn't my point at all, and why are you sitting here?" but I refused to be put off by his quirkiness and lack of self-confidence. I could tell that he felt exceptionally awkward—he couldn't quite look me in the eye, and there was a certain redness dusting his cheeks—but I suppose that was expected after our last tutoring session. I didn't want that codswallop to hinder our budding mateship, however, so I tried to have enough friendliness and enthusiasm for both of us. My smile was positively manic.

"I've been ditched by my mates for stupid Quidditch," I told him, giving an exaggerated eye roll as I settled in my seat and dropped my rucksack on the ground behind me. "Would you mind terribly if I breakfasted with you?"

MJ's brow furrowed, his eyes following my movements—my rucksack on the floor, the silverware I straightened and sorted out in front of me. "You don't have to," he said. "I can eat alone. I do it all the time."

"Well, I don't," I replied, and if the boy was trying to convince me to leave him alone, he was doing a piss poor job of it. 'I do it all the time'. Merlin, how horrifically depressing that sounded. "Truth is, if I eat alone, I'll only end up revising for my Transfiguration exam and that will put me in the foulest of moods. I'd much rather sit and chat with you. You don't mind, right?"

MJ hesitated for a moment, finally lifting his gaze to mine. He eyed me in that intense-serious sort of way he has, but eventually shook his head. "No."

I very nearly clapped in glee. "Excellent! Now, where are the waffles?"

MJ pointed silently to his left and I chattered mindlessly as I grabbed the waffle platter and forked a few onto my plate. I'm relatively certain that I was overwhelming the poor thing, but better that than abandoning him to his own reclusiveness. I was determined to cure him of his shyness, his self-inflicted solitary confinement. And while I know that that isn't exactly something you can snap and fix, I had a few ideas up my sleeve. First, however, I had to make the boy stop staring at me as if at any moment I might lift my nose in the air and stride off in a huff of superiority.

That's what the mindless chatter was for. Nothing quite said, "I am your silly, flighty inferior equal!" like inane babbling.

Good thing I'm so brill at it.

"—can't stand Transfiguration, but no one's asked my opinion, I suppose. And I still have to read through all of it. I have a crap exam coming up and I'd rather not fail. Rubbish, really. What're you reading there? Something more interesting then Transfiguration, I hope."

MJ—still looking a bit dazed by my sudden whirlwind assault on his isolation—blinked, then dutifully lifted the brightly-coloured pamphlet he'd been reading. I ducked a glance at the unfamiliar cover. It was some sort of comic book.

"It's Damien: Dragon-Dueler," MJ explained, perhaps noting my confusion. "Issue twenty-one."

"Ah," I murmured with interest, as if I had any idea who Damien the Dragon Dueler was or what any of his twenty-one issues might be (though one could imagine that a Dragon Dueler would have quite a few of them). The cover showed a rather dashing bloke in some sort of slick red-black gear surrounded by a ring of fire.

I figured Damien's twenty-first issue must be a bit of a hot one, hardy har har.

MJ dropped the comic back onto the table.

"How's Damien doing?" I asked.

That elicited the smallest of lip quirks from him. His voice had gained a new sort of speed and lift when he answered, "He's stuck in the Cavern of Chlose. It took him forever to get inside, but he finally managed it. Things are looking bleak, though. The Chinese Fireball is closing in. Damien's got to steal back the Ministry documents before the Fireball turns them to cinders."

"Do you reckon he'll do it?"

MJ shrugged, but his lips remained turned upwards. He grew more animated by the second. I wanted to cheer.

"Dunno," he confessed, but didn't seem discouraged by this. He shook his head knowledgably. "Damien doesn't much like the Ministry, so he might've let the dragon have them, but Roxie Trager asked him to find the papers. Now I reckon he needs to get them."

"Oh, Roxie Trager. Is that his lady love?"

That actually got a laugh—a laugh!—out of him. MJ was laughing! And I hadn't even needed to resort to being yelled at by Madam Pince to get it!

Huh.

Comic books.

Who would have thought it?

"Sort of," MJ said. "Roxie is an Auror. She and Damien fight all the time, but she's quite fit. She's got red hair like you."

"Seriously?" My hand lifted to my own obnoxiously-coloured locks. I leaned over, glancing down at the open comic. Us redheads are a dying breed. And an Auror to boot! I think I like this girl. "Where is she?"

MJ started flipping back through the pages, grinning in earnest as he explained, "Roxie got kidnapped last issue. Damien went to save her, but she'd already escaped the Vipertooth herself. It was really wicked. She's got this great move—"

"Hey, Lily."

MJ and I both snapped our heads up at the sudden interruption. The second the new voice piped up, I could feel MJ clam up beside me. I would have become cross over that, but when I glanced up to see who the intruder was, I melted into a puddle of pre-teen wistful sighs.

"Thomas Dunn!" I sat up straight and gave the attractive third-year a happy wave. "How are you?"

Thomas puffed up all proudly as if the mere fact that I'd remembered his name made him some sort of prize. I would have laughed, but I didn't want to give the poor, gorgeous thing a reason to develop a complex. I suppose thirteen-year-olds were allowed to have a bit of Pompous Boy in them. Especially ones that looked like Thomas Dunn.

"I'm ace," he said, grinning back at me. He pulled a trademark hair flip and the little girl inside of me swooned. "How about you?"

I nodded down at the comic. "I'm educating myself." Then, with much enthusiasm, I jerked my head towards the still frozen and slightly huddled-in-himself MJ. "Do you know my mate MJ?"

I don't know who was more surprised to hear me call MJ my mate—Thomas Dunn, who visibly de-puffed and whose eyebrows went whoosh straight up to his hairline, or MJ himself, whose gaze snapped over to mine quickly enough to give himself whiplash. I merely grinned at both of them.

There is nothing—nothing—cooler for a preteen boy than having an older girl as a mate.

I had to wield what clout I could. Merlin knew MJ was going to need every ounce of it.

I knew my trick had worked when Thomas's Dunn's gaze moved slowly and thoughtfully over towards MJ. "Er, sure," he said, as if not sure how to answer. "Hey, Rosier."

MJ stared at Thomas with wide eyes, gawking as if Thomas had just said something utterly outrageous rather than simply greeted him. He mumbled something incoherent and gave this pathetic sort of flailing wave.

Oh, come on, MJ, I can't do this by myself.

"We're reading Damien: Dragon-Dueler," I told Thomas, motioning towards the comic again. Then, with much modesty, amended, "Well, MJ's reading it. I'm asking questions."

"You like Damien?" Thomas asked MJ.

MJ—once again with that cornered, deer-in-the-headlights look—didn't answer at first. I worried for a moment that he wouldn't say anything at all, but there was a rather hefty pause before he did actually manage to answer with a short, "Yes."

But that was all. Yes. Wanting to shake him or hug him, I tried to prod the conversation along instead.

"He was just telling me about Roxie Trager." I shot Thomas my friendliest grin, trying to make up for a lack of MJ's. "I think I like her—though I don't know why she sent Damien after the Ministry papers. It sounds to me like she could have gone after them herself."

Thomas shot me a strange look at that, cocking his head to the side and frowning slightly. "I guess you'll have to wait to see what happens with that," he said. "That issue doesn't come out for another month. Are you reading the preview?"

Preview? I paused, slightly taken aback by Thomas's comment. I glanced down at the comic—yes, there in the frame was Roxie (quite a looker, the lucky redhead) asking Damien to find the papers. My head lifted back up to MJ. He had sunk down further in his seat, his face a bright red.

"Well, I suppose that depends on who you are," I said, my gaze shifting back to Thomas. "MJ has it now."

And just like that, Thomas went a bit mad.

"What?" His stunned gaze flickered down to the comic on the table, then up to MJ, his eyes as wide as saucers. His voice was all excited. "You have issue twenty-one? Seriously? How'd you pull that off?"

It took a moment, but MJ eventually sneaked a look up at Thomas through his massive fringe. He was still red as anything, but I could see him trying to control it. He cleared his throat awkwardly before muttering, "Er. My uncle. He works with Rick Nordan. The artist."

"Wicked," Thomas said, and instantly clamored over the bench across from us, taking a seat. His hand shot out, then seemed to gain a bit of hesitancy as it hovered extended towards the comic. He threw a hopeful grin MJ's way. "Do you mind…?"

With a jerky shake of his head, MJ closed the comic and instantly pushed it over. And while I know I'm not one to judge seeing as you hand me a nice bowl of rice and I turn into a right worshipping loon, I swear it was as if MJ had just handed the boy a book filled with the answers to life's greatest questions. Thomas stroked the thing reverently, handling it as if he might a precious piece of art.

Boys. Psh.

"Holy Hungarian Horntail," Thomas breathed, gently flipping the comic open to the first page. His eyes devoured the thing before flickering up to MJ. He was grinning like a lunatic. "This is brilliant."

I think MJ didn't quite know what to do with that sort of reaction. He almost flinched, clearly unnerved by Thomas's obvious enthusiasm—which Thomas seemed to be expecting MJ to return, though he didn't appear fazed when MJ didn't immediately do so. I wondered if MJ had ever interacted with Thomas before. I mean, they're in the same year if not the same house so I couldn't imagine that they wouldn't have had at least some lessons together, but knowing MJ as I did, I doubted he had ever attempted to talk to most of the kids in his classes, much less Thomas Dunn, resident third-year star and underage heartthrob.

But here was an opportunity. It may have been tossing MJ straight into the fire, but who better to drag him out of his reclusive shell than the crowning glory of all the third-years?

Now if MJ would just do something, I might not have to be his only mate.

But I suppose I was expecting too much, hoping for normal flowing interaction. As subtly as possible, I nudged MJ with my elbow, and then jerked my head towards Thomas, urging him to say something. MJ's gaze swiveled from me to Thomas, who was splitting his time between salivating over the comic book and looking up at MJ with obvious approval. I thought that Thomas's clear appreciation would be reassuring enough to prompt MJ into starting up a nice, normal conversation…but this is MJ.

So even though he could have fought past his self-consciousness and said something like, "Yeah, isn't it? My favourite part is blah blah normal conversation," he instead went, "Damien's name was originally supposed to be Orion, but Holt Harvey decided he didn't like astrology as much as he liked alliteration. Did you know that?"

Oh, MJ.

We really have to work on his conversation skills.

In a desperate attempt to save the conversation before steering it in a less MJ direction, I was about to jump in with an overly enthralled, "Oh, really?" as if that was the most interesting thing I'd ever heard…but then something happened. Something I certainly wasn't expecting. Something that I suppose just goes to show how much I actually know about teenage boys. Something that—to be perfectly honest—I was quite ecstatic to be wrong about.

With a grin that was at the same time as enthused as it was patronizing, Thomas shook his head and went, "Duh." Then, leaning closer, "Did you know that his gear was originally supposed to be all black, but that Rick Nordon accidentally spilled red ink on the cover drawing and decided he liked it better?"

My mouth fell open.

And that's when it happened.

Like the clouds opening up and finally letting the bright sunlight shine through, MJ's panicked frown shifted into stunned gaping. Then, slowly—ever so wonderfully slowly—his lips crept upwards into a mystified smile.

"No," he said, in little more than a whisper. "No, I didn't."

And just like that, they were off.

"Ink? Really?"

"Yeah. Can you imagine? The red makes the gear. What would it have been like in issue fourteen—"

"—with the Ridgeback! Merlin, that would've been—"

"—a mess. Though it was slightly off when they were in Mount Graphio, I s'ppse, with all the—"

"—but you couldn't have had that without the brimstone. The brimstone made the frame."

"So true."

My head swiveled back and forth between the pair, hardly able to contain my glee. Look at him! Look at my darling, little recluse! Look at the inane chatter! I TAUGHT HIM THAT!

…well, all right, I probably didn't. But I'd been the one just subjecting him to so much of it, so I can at least claim recent influence, can't I?

But even if I couldn't, I didn't care. I was so beyond caring if I had anything to do with this. I was simply glad that it was happening. MJ was actually talking to someone. He wasn't staring at Thomas blankly, he wasn't responding in monotone single-liners—he was even keeping the "Did you know that"'s to a minimum, which was quite a grand accomplishment and I was so very proud. And yes, he did look a little shell-shocked by the whole thing and might have gone a bit wide-eyed when the chatter came to a halt, clearly not believing what had just happened, but that was the charm of Thomas Dunn and why, if he were a couple years older, I would have already kidnapped him and kept him as my own.

Because darling Thomas didn't let MJ's startled demeanor stay. He smiled broadly at him. And while I know that MJ is a boy and Thomas Dunn's dimples and flash of a grin can't possibly have the same effect on him as they do on us innocent females, it still packs some serious power. I felt MJ relax slightly beside me.

"You know almost as much about Damien as I do," Thomas declared, obviously impressed. "You know, almost."

"MJ knows a lot about everything," I said when it seemed like MJ might need a few seconds to digest the—well, I guess it was a compliment of sorts.

"Yeah?" Thomas asked, his interest piqued. He cocked an eyebrow at MJ. "Know anything about The Adventures of Adam and Arnie Abraxan?"

I suppose that in the world of the preteen boy, "everything" equals "comic books."

Instead of answering, MJ twisted around in his seat. I watched the awkward movement with a bit of surprise, but then discovered that he was only digging through his school bag. When he straightened back out, he was holding a bright yellow comic. He handed it over to Thomas and—oh lord, I think I was going to cry—with a very Thomas-esque grin said, "Rick Nordan works freelance on Adam, as well. Did you know that?"

Look at my baby, all grown up and making witty quips!

Thomas let out a whoop of delighted laughter and MJ's face flushed with what I sincerely hoped was pride because it absolutely should have been. Merlin knows I was all but bursting with it.

I knew he could do it! I knew he just needed to see that these people weren't so bad, that everyone wouldn't judge him if he just tried to talk to them! And while I'm not expecting the boy to instantly become a social butterfly, flitting all charming and witty and confident from group to group, how could this not be a step in a wonderful direction? If Thomas approved of him and MJ didn't recede back into his huddle of isolation, he might just manage to break out of his pariah status—and I would help him! If necessary, I would go around jabbering on about MJ and me being the very best of mates and all about Damien and this whosit-Adam bloke to whomever I could get to listen. I knew some other third-years, didn't I? It wouldn't be hard to infiltrate their camps and spread my propaganda.

I was all ready to conceive a battle plan and charge into the third-year ranks when Thomas, still laughing, was all, "You've got History first, don't you, Rosier?"

MJ nodded.

"Excellent." Thomas held up the two comics in his hands. "You haven't finished these, have you? No? Brilliant! We can read them during History instead of listening to Binns go on and on. You've got the right idea, sitting in the back of the class. You don't care if I sit next to you, do you?"

Dear Thomas Dunn,

Run away with me. We'll be together in a place of no judgment.

Love, Lily.

"Y-you want to sit next to me?" MJ sputtered, really looking stunned.

"Sure," Thomas replied with a shrug, as if he offered social pariahs access to his company all the time. "I'd kick Hotchkiss out of his seat and tell you come up front with me, but then Binns might catch us and I hate detentions."

MJ nodded and Thomas started to say something else when from over his shoulder, someone started calling, "Dunn! Dunn, come settle this wager for us!"

Thomas glanced over his shoulder and gave whoever it was that was calling him an "I'm coming" gesture. He turned back to MJ and me with an eye roll. "They can't get on without me for a second."

I watched as MJ gave Thomas a returning smile, but it was tight and discouraged and I felt him tense up beside me. He didn't say anything, but he didn't have to. I could practically see the thought bubble hanging above his head. Back to reality. No doubt I'll be sitting alone in History. Fun while it lasted.

Damn it, he couldn't give up now! He was doing so well!

I wanted to say something to stop MJ from retreating back into himself, to stop Thomas from going back to his mates and forgetting this bonding time with MJ had ever occurred, but I didn't know quite what. How does one say those sorts of things subtly? Is there a way? I wasn't sure there was, but I didn't care. I opened my mouth to sputter out something because MJ clearly wasn't going to… but then I didn't have to.

"The lads would flip if they could see these," Thomas suddenly said, lifting the comics in his hands again. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "Want to come over to our table and lord it over them? You could come, too, Lily, if you'd like."

That's it. I'm hiring a kidnapper.

"Oh, I'm fine here, thanks," I replied quickly, giving MJ a quick nudge with my elbow beneath the table when he didn't immediately respond. I think he was too astounded. The boy had suffered a few powerful blows to his preconceived notions today. I can't say I was upset over that, but I suppose I can accept that it might be a bit disconcerting. "I have to study for my Transfiguration exam unfortunately. But I'm sure MJ would love to show off the comics at the Hufflepuff table. Right, MJ?"

He needed a bit firmer of a nudge to finally snap him out of his shock, but even then, the first thing that MJ blurted out was, "I don't think your mates will want me there."

Idiot, silly, sad, self-conscious boy. Honestly, and they say I have an inferiority complex?

I quite literally could have snogged Thomas Dunn when he laughed and was all, "You mean because you're a Gryffindor? Don't worry. Most of us have gotten over our embarrassing defeat—well, except maybe Robbie. But he's a dolt, anyway. You can just say, 'Shut up, Robbie, you duff.' Works for the rest of us."

For once, I was eternally grateful for the absolute mush Quidditch made of one's brain. Sometimes life was so much easier when everything was about Quidditch.

"Well, there you are, MJ," I said with a pointed stare when it seemed as if he might actually argue the issue further. He glanced over at me with a sort of helpless cringe, but I just gave him my most encouraging grin. "They won't hold your house loyalties against you. That's right open-minded of them, isn't it?"

MJ grimaced. "Yeah, but—"

"And I'm sure you wouldn't go as far as to judge the lads for their Quidditch loyalties before you've given them a chance to explain themselves, right?" I cocked an eyebrow. "It's awfully rotten when people judge others for silly things out of their control, isn't it?"

That made MJ's mouth snap shut. I figured he must have gotten my not-so-veiled message. He looked at me, then turned to look at Thomas, then glanced back at me again. He was nervous. I didn't blame him. But eventually he did mutter out, "Yeah, I suppose that wouldn't be very fair."

I beamed and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Excellent! Off you go, then. Don't worry about me. I've got my waffles and Transfiguration for company."

"Tom!" someone called and Thomas rolled his eyes again. "We'd better get over there," he said to MJ, all put out. "Sounds like Hotch is about to have a heart attack."

"Yeah, all right," MJ said, and stepped over the bench, grabbing his school bag from the floor. We were sitting at the end of the table, so it was easy to round the corner and meet Thomas on the other side. If Thomas noticed how much MJ was fidgeting, he didn't say anything—which is exactly why my love for that boy is eternal. Instead, he was back to grinning.

"See you, Lily," Thomas said, giving me a wave. As I waved back, he suddenly went, "Oh, wait!" and grabbed something off the table. He tossed the ketchup up and caught it in his hand again. "Almost forgot this. Was the whole reason I came over here in the first place!"

"Of course," I said, even though there was no 'of course' about it. It was still disgusting. Why do all the gorg blokes have to fancy it so much? I couldn't hold it against Thomas, though. I was far too enamored with him at the moment.

With ketchup and comics firmly in hand, Thomas looked over at MJ and said, "All set?"

With only a moment's hesitation, MJ nodded. "Sure," he said, and I was quite proud about how casual he managed to sound, even with all his fidgeting. He sent one more semi-desperate look at me. "See you later."

"Bye, MJ." I gave him a very subtle thumbs-up when Thomas's back was turned. He nodded back, which wasn't exactly a returning thumbs-up, but was pretty good, considering it was MJ. As he and Thomas started strolling off, I heard him go, "The Founders originally thought of banning Quidditch from Hogwarts because they thought it would take students away from their studies. Did you know that?"

Which just goes to show that you can bring the pariah out of his solitude, but you'll never lose the pariah himself. We might have to brush up a bit on his conversation skills before he's ready to take Hogwarts by storm.

So now here I am, sitting alone and not studying. Instead, I'm writing in here and secretly sneaking looks over at MJ and Thomas at the Hufflepuff table. Thomas's mates seemed a bit shocked and indifferent when MJ first got there, but I suppose Thomas is a force to be reckoned with, not to mention that as soon as the comic books were sprung out, the whole group went mad. There was a lot of yelling and shouting and I think they overwhelmed MJ with their enthusiasm, but he seems to have survived unscathed. I can't see his face because he took the seat next to Thomas with his back towards me, but nothing seems to have gone too terribly wrong. He's been talking a lot to the boy on his left, some blonde boy. Another potential new mate? I have hope.

I know I said before that I don't care if it was me who instigated all of this…but come on. I deserve a bit of a pat on the back, don't I? I don't know why everyone's always muttering, "Don't meddle, Lily," because, hello, have you seen what my meddling has done recently? First Emma and Mac, now this? I should practically start a meddling business, my rate of success is so colossal. What would one call a professional meddler, anyway? A journalist? A politician? A mother?

It's something to think about.


Later, Ancient Runes
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 268

Lily Evans's Letters to Amos Diggory That She Will Never In Her Life Send and in Fact Would Actually Prefer Never to Communicate With Said Recipient Ever Again in Her Life, But Just Couldn't Help Herself, One Last Time

Dear Damn Dolt,

Well, I certainly never thought that I'd be doing this again. Remember the days, Amos? Oh, my silly, naïve girlhood. I suppose that just goes to show how funny life is. I mean, I genuinely would have been quite content not to see your face for another good sixty to seventy years, but honestly, this was just too precious a moment to pass up.

You're afraid of me. You're actually afraid of me, you moron.

Oh, it's just too funny.

Honestly, arsehole, I thought you were going to wet yourself when we almost ran into each other in the doorway! I didn't even have time to be self-conscious myself, you looked like such an idiot. I don't think I've ever seen someone's eyes bug out so much, and I very nearly laughed in your face when you started sputtering like a loon, then spun directly on your heel and strode back to your desk without a single glance behind you. Merlin, the look on your face. It was priceless!

You've made my fab morning even better, tosser. Thanks.

Yours with Amused Disdain,
Lily


To The Terrified Turd,

Oh, I get it now. I see your master plan here. While you quiver and quake in your chair, you've sent your slag-on-the-side to do the dirty work.

Honestly, Amos, she's not very intimidating. Glare at me all you'd like, Julie Little-To-No-Sense. Do you think I care? Do you think I'm going to start sobbing like a child like your whoreson boyfriend is practically doing? Don't make me laugh, trollop. I practically invented angry glares. Want to see some real glaring?

Ka-chow. Take that.

Ha.

Forever Your Superior,
L.


To the Poor Prat,

All right, maybe I shouldn't have done it. I honestly didn't mean to, but your excuse-of-a-glarer-girlfriend wasn't properly cowering beneath my Glowers of Great and Gory Destruction, and before I knew it, I was all, "Do you have something to say to me, Julie?"

How was I supposed to know that the girl was going to whip around in her chair so fast that she'd fall off it? Or that everyone would spend the next two minutes laughing at her? Or that my hands would decide it was an appropriate time to start up a little applause and Hyena Boy would become quite taken with that idea and soon everyone would be applauding her and her patheticness? Or that Lundi would be all, "Miss Little, are you ill?" and that someone in the back would mutter, "Yeah, ill over how badly Evans trounced her and her boyfriend," and everyone would chuckle all appreciatively? I had no control over any of these things.

You know, much.

Sorry (Not) About That,
The Girl Who Trounced You And Your Girlfriend


To: Mr. Amos Diggory
One Row Up, Two Seats Over
Ancient Runes Classroom
Hogwarts, Scotland, U.K., World

Dear Mr. Diggory,

This is an official document informing you of our present and future complete disaffiliation from one another. You provided what you could (an attractive façade) for the time that was needed (my immature adolescence), and for those moments and much-better-than-reality dirty dreams, I thank you graciously. However, I'm afraid that those rare, good moments are a thing of the past. From now on, I expect you to keep your distance and every inclination associated with me to yourself.

(And in case that sentiment wasn't explicit enough in writing, look at evidence as to the consequences ie: when everyone stopped laughing at Julie and you tried to save some face and schooled your terror enough to glance over your shoulder at me and roll your eyes and were all, "They think we're in some sort of row, Lily. Mad, isn't it?" in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear in order for them to think we were all cool and on good terms, despite your prathood. And my response? "Oink, oink.")

Good-bye, Mr. Diggory. I wish I could say it's been a pleasure.

Sincerely,
LILY C. EVANS


Later Later, History
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 269

Well.

I…

I'm…er, no. No, that's not right. I mean, I'm not really—well, I am, but…

Oh, hell.

At least the good day lasted until lunch. That was certainly longer than I should have expected.


When I Could Think Properly, Still in History
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 269

Morning lessons were surprisingly chipper and not the least bit good-mood-dampening, if you can imagine luck like that. After the rather cathartic Ancient Runes class (during which, in case you were wondering, neither Amos nor Julie ever glanced back at me again), I was off to Transfiguration, which normally would have been rather depressing, but I was in far too grand a mood to be bothered with academic anxiety. I wasn't about to let something as foolish as McGonagall and her crap lessons steal that away from me—especially considering today was just a lecture lesson. I mean, really, how much damage could I possibly cause while sitting there, not raising my hand? Not that I was throwing out challenges or anything, but honestly, it just didn't lend itself to peril. Even for me.

So I wasn't worried. Really, I wasn't. I even strolled into the classroom with an extra jaunt in my step, immediately spotting Gracie already seated at our usual desk. I headed that way, but she wasn't paying the least bit of attention to me, not even as I plopped my books down upon the tabletop and slid into the seat next to hers. Instead, her eyes were locked rather fiercely on something behind us. She was smirking with an endless supply of smugness.

"What're we gawking at?" I asked, craning my neck around to see. Grace's eyes did not move.

"We are gawking at that," she said, subtly cocking her head towards a spot across the classroom. My gaze shifted accordingly. "About bloody time, don't you think?"

It took a second for me to realise what she was talking about. I had been gazing contemplatively at Clare Carslie and Katie Frost, wondering what in the hell it was that I was supposed to be noticing about the pair, when a familiar head of blonde hair just past Katie's shoulder finally caught my attention.

Ah.

Emma.

Emma, sitting at a desk in the back of the classroom, her head ducked close to Mac's.

Suddenly, Grace was not the only one smirking in triumph.

"I feel like we should treat ourselves to dessert or something," Grace said, not the least bit modestly. As Emma and Mac continued their private conference, she glanced at me and grinned. "See what our good works accomplish?"

"This day is just getting better and better," I sighed happily, suddenly even more content, though I'd already known things in the Emma-and-Mac department were looking up. But seeing it in dot-version and seeing it in real life were two very different things, and I was allowed to revel in my meddling victories. It's not as if the Fates of the World see it fit to bestow such fortune upon me very often. A girl revels when she can.

Watching my obvious contentment with piqued interest, Grace quirked a questioning eyebrow at me. "Oh?"

I shot her a look when her inquisitive eyebrow started to wiggle, knowing the slaggy ideas that were undoubtedly running through her head right about then. I could have rolled my eyes and told her to shove it, but decided it was really my civic and moral duty to inform her of the actual morning's occurrences before her dirty fantasies began to taint the air around us.

Plus, I rather just wanted to brag. And if we can't brag to our mates, who can we brag to?

So I skimmed briefly over my MJ accomplishment (Grace was more interested in Thomas Dunn and his swoon-worthy preteen grins than she was about MJ's steps out of isolation, anyway), but spun quite the thorough tale describing my antics in Runes and the massacre of Arse Amos and Julie the Hag. The pair of us had a hearty chuckle and a mini-celebration in honour of my all-powerful wit and suavity and the mighty fall of Amos and Julie. It was quite a ruckus. In fact, Grace was laughing so hard that her eyes began to water.

"Merlin and Agrippa, I would have killed to see their faces!" she cried in between her giggles, sounding rather forlorn at missing the awesome event. She settled her breathing and wiped at her watering eyelids. "Oh, hell. My stomach hurts. You should tell James. I think he just may pass out with pride."

I grinned, placing a hand on my own tight stomach, certain that there was indeed a very good chance that James would burst with satisfaction at word of my final reckoning with Amos and Julie. Unfortunately, I was unable to test the validity of that suspicion. At Grace's casual mention of him, it was almost automatic for my eyes to start scanning the room, hoping for even the slightest glimpse of him. The desk that he and Remus usually occupied was empty though, and a brief sweep of the rest of the classroom confirmed his absence. For whatever reason, James had yet to arrive. I checked the clock hanging above McGonagall's desk—only a minute or two before she usually began class—and tried not to let my shoulders droop.

There were countless reasons as to why he had yet to grace the room with his presence. I knew that—for Merlin's sake, he still had a few minutes! He wasn't even late yet!—but none of those possible reasons stopped my stomach from sinking in…I don't know. Alarm? Disappointment? Something.

Where was he?

My mind skimmed through possibilities quickly. He'd had Arithmancy before this. Had he been there? Automatically, my eyes shifted back over to Emma, who had luckily taken a break from whispering sweet nothings into Mac's ear long enough to catch my gaze. She flushed a rather telling red, obviously expecting some sort of haughty thumbs-up and suggestive winks in Mac's direction, but I could give her hell for that later. Instead, I shot her a questioning look, motioning my head towards James's empty desk. I suppose it said something rather pathetic and telling and any other number of demeaning adjectives about me that she instantly understood my concern. Giving me a small smile (maybe a bit in relief since I wasn't bothering to take the mickey out of her from across the classroom), she mouthed, "Talking with Professor Vector."

Right. See? Professor Vector. A perfectly logical and legitimate explanation.

It's too bad that that perfectly logical and legitimate explanation did nothing to stop my nerves from continuing to prickle.

Because not being able to talk to him—to even see him—after…well, everything last night…it smarted. It felt strange. Unsettling. Because thinking about yesterday made me feel a little embarrassed, and a little giddy, and a little nervous and I would have appreciated the slightest bit of reassurance that I hadn't just hopped off a cliff without a safety harness, you know?

But all of that was so silly. I knew that. I did. I mean, the boy was talking to a professor. It wasn't as if he was deliberately avoiding me. It wasn't as if he was about to be all, "Hmm. Yesterday was fine enough. Got what I wanted. Wasn't as satisfying as I thought it would be. All done now."

I mean, obviously.

Obviously.

"What's the matter?" Grace asked, the sound of her voice effectively cutting through my sudden dazed panic. My eyes snapped over to hers. I tried to school my features into some semblance of nonchalance, but I don't think I did a very good job of it.

"Nothing," was my initial mechanical response, but when all that earned was an exasperated "Seriously?" snort from Grace, I shifted about uncomfortably in my seat and grudgingly added, "James isn't here yet."

"He's not?" Grace frowned and turned in her seat to scan the room as I had, though why she thought I would lie about something like that, I have no idea. When she seemed satisfied that I hadn't missed him stashed in a corner somewhere, she turned back to me with an unconcerned shrug. "I wouldn't worry about it," she said, but then went ahead and made everything worse by blabbering on in a tone that wasn't nearly joking enough, "Maybe he's passed out in a corridor or something. You should have seen him this morning at practice—the bloke was exhausted. His Hawkshead Attacking Formation was all over the place. I wouldn't be surprised if he just collapsed somewhere on his way and decided it was easier to stay down. Ha."

Ha.

Ha?

James was collapsing all about the castle, and she was ruddy laughing?

Bloody hell, how long had he spent cleaning trophies after I'd left?

"That's not funny!" I cried, my spine snapping up straight. Images of James collapsing on staircases and rolling the rest of the way down played in my head. Oh, god. "Was he really that tired? That's not…he was fine when I…Emma said he was just talking with Professor Vector! You don't honestly think—"

Grace let out another loud laugh, cutting me off. "You're mad, do you know that?" She shook her head at me, not the least bit sympathetic. "What's wrong with you? Do you have snogger's anxiety or something? If Emma said he's talking with Vector, he's talking with Vector. He'll be along. Relax, woman."

"I am," I grumbled, but squirmed around restlessly as Grace rolled her eyes. My cheeks heated, but I couldn't stop wriggling. "I just don't think he should be late to lessons. He's Head Boy."

"Lily."

"It's the truth!"

"Mm-hm."

I flushed deeper at Grace's amused dismissal, snapping my stupid trap shut and crossing my arms over my chest. I slunk back in my chair.

Whatever. Grace is so judgmental, anyway. I was fine. Obviously.

And what the bloody hell is snogger's anxiety, anyway? And since when is she a doctor? Go give your false diagnoses to someone who cares, fraud, because I certainly don't.

But whether Grace's disorder codswallop was absolute rubbish or not (of course, it was), I am honest enough with myself to admit that it wasn't until James walked into the classroom ten nerve-wrecking minutes after McGonagall had begun her lesson with what I assume was a note from Professor Vector that I finally felt the pressure in my chest ease some.

He did look tired—his features seemed a bit more lined and weary, and he wasn't stepping about with his usual swagger—but not enough to warrant collapsing unconscious in any corridors. And he wasn't bleeding or bruised, so I don't suppose he took a tumble down any flights of stairs. That took care of one concern. As for the other…

Well, he wasn't looking at me. But I wasn't in his direct line of sight, and McGonagall was being all, "Ah, Mr. Potter. So glad you could join us," so if he'd looked away from her then, she would have thought he was being disrespectful. Which, although James has his moments of idiocy, he wouldn't do to McGonagall. He likes her. And he's sort of her pet—or as much as anyone can be McGonagall's pet, anyway. So he obviously couldn't look at me, or even give a quick wave of acknowledgement. But he would. I knew he would. When he could. And he'd have the opportunity to do on his way back to his desk, because he'd have to stroll right by mine to get there. And no matter how tired he was, he knew how this worked.

As he passed by my desk on the way to his, I waited with bated breath for a grin or a wink.

Instead, he knocked my books off my desk.

Yeah.

I know.

I think I would have preferred the wink, too.

"Bugger, Evans—stupid swinging arms—sorry about that," he said loudly, crouching down to pick up the papers and books he'd just swiped to the floor. Shooting him a questioning look, I bent over in my chair to start picking my things up as well, wondering just what in the hell he was doing. James wasn't looking at me, however, so I got no hints in that regard. Instead, he was concentrating on the books he was sorting through and watching McGonagall out of the corner of his eye. I glanced over at the professor as well, who in turn was watching us through narrowed eyes. Eventually she must have decided James was simply a clumsy oaf, though, because after shooting us one last stern look, she went back to lecturing.

The second her sharp gaze flickered away, James grabbed my chin, jerked my face to his, and kissed me.

Ah.

Tricky little bastard.

"Hi," he whispered, grinning foolishly. I could feel my face heat up and I'm certain I was blushing to the very tips of my hair. I gave him as exasperated a look as I could muster while simultaneously wanting to grin back at him like an inane, besotted idiot. To avoid that mortifying impulse, I jerked my head about, trying to discern if anyone was watching us, if they'd seen what James had done. Merlin, how embarrassing.

"Idiot," I muttered, turning back to James. I was hardly surprised when he didn't seem the least bit fazed by my rebuke or by the prospect of being caught—he simply continued to beam his smug smile. I socked him lightly in the face with the books I'd just gathered off the floor, but couldn't stop the small smile from slipping out as the pressure in my chest eased considerably. He was still grinning when he straightened out, placed the papers he'd grabbed from the ground onto my desk, and strolled away.

All right.

So maybe I wouldn't have preferred a wink.

You know. Maybe.

I turned and watched him go until Grace elbowed me hard in the ribs. My head snapped around.

"What?" I hissed, shooting her an annoyed glare. She nodded towards a scrap of parchment on our desk.

Thursday, she'd written, underlined, but that was all.

Thursday, what? I scribbled back.

Grace took her time writing out her response. Then she slid it back over to me.

Our next Quidditch practice. It's Thursday.

She cackled to herself like a superior git. I glared and tossed her a particularly unpleasant hand gesture beneath the desk. When she merely drew more amusement out of that, I tried to ignore her…and the fact that I was decidedly less furious and mortified about James kissing me in the middle of Transfiguration class than I really ought to have been.

I don't know quite how to feel about that yet.

I can't be certain whether it was my determination to focus on anything other than the ponce sitting a few desks back and whatever the hell he did to my common sense, or perhaps all the revising I'd gotten in this morning during my lonesome breakfast after MJ and Thomas had left, but after that, I somehow managed to be rather spot on Transfiguration-wise. Even when McGonagall deviated from the oral lesson plan and asked only me to transfigure a lizard into a grasshopper and everyone was watching and my hand was feeling particularly sweaty and my heart was hammering against my chest, by some divine intervention, I pulled it off. When she asked me stay after class and proceeded to tell me how much I was improving and how glad she was, I think my face might have very well gained a few permanent lines from all the grinning I was doing.

But I'd take the wrinkles. They were the good kind.

Needless to say, by the time I got to Divination and took my seat next to Rob ("You're in good cheer, my dear."), not even Professor Freeman and her insanity could hinder my sunny disposition. Even as she rambled on about the seriousness of our partner projects and how Saturn's moons were doing something or another in Mars's realm, Rob and I ignored her and instead started a list of all the words that rhyme with "bum" (hum, rum, come, some, glum, thumb, numb, and—Rob's favourite—chewing gum). We had progressed through various other nefarious body parts and had moved on to dirty swear words when Freeman finally ended class. We were still arguing as we climbed down the ladder and into the corridor.

"You can't rhyme 'knit' and 'shit,'" I declared, climbing down the ladder after Rob. I hopped to the ground and hiked the strap of my rucksack further up my shoulder, then turned to him. "Think of all the old ladies. They'd be scandalized!"

"'Could' and 'should' are two very different things, poppet," said Rob, shaking his head at me. "Besides, I think the old birds would get a thrill, Lil."

I waved a dismissive hand in his face. "Shut your gob, Rob. What old ladies have you been hanging about?"

Rob grinned. "Freeman. She seems a randy candy, no?"

"I imagine only when Venus is messing with Jupiter," I muttered, and we both cracked up and were causing quite a ruckus, squabbling about Jupiter's orbits in Venus's, then deciding that there was fun to be had in discussing words that rhymed with randy. Rob was really getting into it ("Just dandy, Mandy, but it's rather sandy. Go chat with Andy. Randy.") as we started ambling down the corridor. I was just about to add in my own little ditty when I spotted a familiar figure leaning against the corridor wall a few paces away.

I can pretend that I didn't instantly perk up even more, but I suppose that would be rather worthless. You know, considering the smile was practically splitting my face at that point.

It didn't occur to me until a few minutes later that James wasn't smiling back.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, hurrying over to where he was standing, barely noticing Robbie as he trailed along behind me. My question wasn't accusatory, rather delightfully befuddled because James had Muggle Studies on the first floor and Merlin knew that was about as far away from the North Tower as one could get. We would have eventually met up in the Great Hall, a much more convenient trek for him.

James's lips lifted sardonically. "Damn staircases. Got lost." He glanced over my shoulder. "Hey, Harms."

I turned just as Rob was lifting a hand in greeting. After a second, that same hand pointed a stern finger at me. "Game delay until Tuesday," Rob said, very seriously. He played at considering the matter for a moment, tapping his chin. "I reckon we should start with 'shag.' Brainstorm some, my chum. Cheers, peers."

"Shag," I agreed, and gave him a wave. "S'later, slag."

Rob let out a loud laugh, clutching at his heart as he staggered off. "My little prodigy!"

I gave him a salute. He grinned and waved again before waltzing off down the corridor, whistling a jaunty tune as he went, the nutter. I shook my head as he rounded the corner, and then turned back to James, who'd finally straightened off the wall. He had his hands shoved in the pockets of his robes and his cloak threaded through the crook of his elbow.

"What a madman," I snorted, hooking a thumb in the direction Robbie had just disappeared. But I didn't want to talk about Rob, and I don't think I quite managed to conceal how happy I was to see James, pathetic and telling as that was. If I hadn't been so good-mood dazed, I might have taken a little more care with that—or, you know, not stated it. Bluntly. "I'm so glad you're here! I wanted to talk to you. I have so much to tell! This morning—Merlin, you have to hear about what happen this morning in Runes. You'll be so proud!—and Emma! Did you see Emma and Mac in Transfiguration? You can roll your eyes all you'd like, but I told you last night when I saw them in the Astronomy Tower—oh! I almost forgot."

I stopped blabbering long enough to slip my bag to the floor and crouched down so that I could dig through the thing properly. It didn't take long to find what I was looking for. My hand quickly closed around the thick, folded parchment and I rose to my feet again, keeping my hand submerged inside the bag. I carefully scanned up and down the corridor, trying to discern whether any passersby were watching us. When the coast seemed clear, I quickly jerked the map out of my bag and shoved it into the pocket of James's robes.

I was so proud of my subterfuge, I didn't realise what a moron I looked like.

Which perhaps isn't so shocking, but still rather disheartening when you think you're being so clever and all.

James let out a choked laugh.

"Because that wasn't conspicuous or anything," he said.

My cheeks went red. Hoping that I didn't look as ridiculous as I thought I did (of course, I did), I muttered out an embarrassed, "Er, sorry. I'm still new at all this trouble-making business."

"Yeah, I know," James said, but his smile didn't quite reach his eyes…and I realised then how brittle his laugh had been. And that he was fidgeting—James, fidgeting—and that he didn't look the least bit pleased about standing there in the corridor with me, even though I'd been acting like a fluttery peagoose. My heart gave a sharp pull inside my chest. I suddenly felt like a greatest of idiots, standing there beaming at him like an infatuated child while he more or less gazed impassively at me. I stared, waited, but every fiber of my being was screaming that this wasn't the same boy who had knocked my books off my desk so that he could snog me in the middle of class this morning.

Something was wrong.

Something was very, very wrong.

"James?" I said, and the smile slowly faded from my lips. James's hand went to his hair, his fingers agitatedly sifting through the dark strands. He couldn't even look me in the eye anymore. He shuffled about from foot to foot as his eyes darted around my head. I didn't move. "What's the matter?"

"We're trusting each other now, right?" he blurted out. My eyebrows shot up, recognizing the question from the night before, but knowing that it wasn't the same now. I nodded tentatively anyway. He let out a small breath and kept going. "Right. Good. That's…that's good because you've got your street thing and I'm a good street—I swear, I am. You know I'm a good street, right?—and I think it says something that I'm going to tell you about this because I could've not told you, or lied, or some other shady business—not that I do that!—er, well, much. But not to you! Because I've learned that lesson, see? Right. So I'm telling you. Which is good, yeah?"

The circles he was babbling in were making me dizzy. What the bloody hell was he going on about?

And why did I suddenly feel like I might be a bit sick?

"James—"

"I'm going out with Liz."

I'm going out with Liz.

I couldn't breathe.

He might as well have punched me in the gut. He might as well have punched me, and I was sick, and I couldn't think, and things went blurry and I couldn't breathe, Merlin, I couldn't breathe.

I'm going out with Liz. I'm going out with Liz. I'mgoingoutwithLiz.

No.

No.

"I…I…"

James's eyes went wide.

"Not like—Lily. No! I didn't mean—that came out all—out to lunch! Liz and I are going to lunch. That's it. That's all. Lunch. Lunch with a mate. Christ. I didn't mean—come on, Lil."

Oh, god.

The relief spread through me so quickly, I was lightheaded with it. Things swerved a little, but I grabbed the wall to keep my balance while my other hand went to my chest, resting over my pounding heart. It took a few seconds for the world to stop spinning.

Dear fucking Merlin, this boy was going to kill me.

"Oh, god," I murmured, closing my eyes. "God. You nearly gave me a heart attack, you arse!"

James placed a steady hand on my arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd—that came out wrong. Though, hey, I suppose it's good to know."

My eyes snapped open and I jerked my arm away from his. "That's what this was? Some sort of test?"

James reeled back in alarm. "What? No! No, of course not. I told you, I was being honest!"

As if that was supposed to make me feel better. Honesty. Psh. Don't I always say that honesty is dangerous? Why don't people listen?

Now that there was actual oxygen flowing throughout my body again and I didn't feel quite like I wanted to cast up my accounts all over the corridor, my brain began functioning properly once more and I could actually think about what James was saying.

He was going out to lunch—going out to lunch with Elisabeth Saunders. Saunders. His past…whatever. The girl who despises me more than anyone really ought to. Going out—but not in the going out, going out sense, of course. In the platonic going out sense. But they were still going out. That explained the cloak, at least (why hadn't I noticed the cloak earlier?). That probably meant they were going to Hogsmeade. Together. To have lunch. Platonically.

Oh, bloody hell.

I suppose that's when I may have gotten a bit prickly and defensive.

But really, who can blame me? It's all the honesty. It gets to me.

"You didn't have to tell me anything," I said, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to sound as if I didn't care in the least (even if in all actuality, I probably couldn't have cared more). "I'm not your keeper. You're free to do as you please. You're allowed to…to go out with whomever you'd like."

"Go out to lunch," James corrected, shooting me a look. "Lunch as mates, Lily. And you've every right to play keeper. That's the point."

"So if I told you not to go, you wouldn't?"

I don't know why I asked. It was stupid to ask. The second it came out, I knew that. I knew it so well that I wanted to kick myself. I wasn't going to get the answer I wanted and I was stupid and possessive and hypocritical to the max to hope that I would. But I had said it anyway and now I had to deal with the consequences. Whatever those were.

James paused for a moment. I had surprised him—of course, I had. Who asks that? What self-respecting mate-with-potential goes there? For a second, I thought that he'd give me an outright refusal and that would be the end of it, but instead a rather serious expression crossed over his face. He answered slowly.

"Not necessarily," he said, his words careful. "If you asked me not to go, I'd explain to you that Liz and I are mates, that we do these lunch things in Hogsmeade from time to time, and that I'd hope that you'd trust me enough to understand that."

He didn't say it pointedly, rather more matter-of-fact, but the sentiment was still the same. We were trusting each other now. Hadn't he just asked me that again? Hadn't I agreed? Wasn't that what last night was all about—I mean, besides indulging in our baser instincts, of course? Trust. The two-way street. Was I seriously going to stand there and kick up a fuss when I was the one who had been so adamant about the whole thing last night?

But bloody hell, this was Saunders. It was entirely different.

Wasn't it?

I looked at James, watched him as he watched me. He was worried about this. It was so obvious that he was from the way he stared, from the frown that etched deep lines across his brow, around his mouth. I suppose that boded well for me, that he cared enough to be worried as to how I'd react, that he'd said, "Not necessarily," instead of "Not a chance." I probably deserved the latter. I mean, I was utterly petrified of giving in to all this relationship business, but expected all the benefits anyway. And as much as I wanted to shout and scream that that wasn't my fault—I couldn't control the fact that words like 'relationship' and 'boyfriend' and 'Quidditch practice' made me want to run yelping in the other direction—somehow, I don't think most people would see it that way.

I mean, hell, I'm not even sure that I believe me anymore. Do I like teetering on this stupid edge of whatever? Do I get off on the drama of it or something? Or am I really just that pathetic, that immature?

It seemed like a moment for soul-searching and deep self-reflection, but I could hardly plop myself down there in the corridor and ponder it when James was still waiting for my response. So instead, I quickly examined my two dominant possible responses—the utterly miserable, petulant, stomp-about-and-wave-your-fists, "Stay away from her!" child, and the mature, dignified, "Have fun. I trust you," young adult. I somehow found a middle ground.

I pressed my lips together, biting back the whining complaints that wanted to come out, and only spoke when I could control those juvenile impulses.

"It's fine," I finally said, schooling my features until it looked like I meant it, though I couldn't quite hold back the small sigh that my resigned acceptance came out on. "Of course I wouldn't ask you not to go. You should. She's your…yeah. Your mate."

James exhaled, and the sudden small smile that lifted his lips was knowing. He raised his hand to brush my cheek. "You do realise that we'll probably be talking about you most of the time, right?"

Instead of comforting me, that just made me want to groan even more.

"Fabulous," I muttered, indulging in a bit of a pout. "So you'll be sitting there for however long listening to her spew out a litany of terrible things about me—and some of them will probably even be true!"

James laughed, but I couldn't even feel better about the fact that it didn't sound strained anymore. Merlin, this was hell. I hated maturity.

"Maybe," he said, but didn't look the least bit concerned about the possibility. His fingers played with a bit of my hair. "But as your mate-with-potential, I have to defend you anyway, true or false."

Hm. Perk.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. "So she says, 'Lily Evans is a mad slag who doesn't have a bit of common sense in her worthless empty head,' and you…?"

James grinned. "I say, 'I happen to like mad slags with not a bit of common sense in their worthless empty heads, thanks.'"

Eh. That'll do.

I gave a satisfied nod and James laughed again, seeming to find that amusing. I suppose he was still under some delusions about me. How adorable.

"When are you leaving?" I asked, some part of me still hoping he might be all, "Never. Ha! This was all a big joke. Got you!" except that of course he didn't. Instead, he checked his watch, squinted down at the moving hands and went, "Er, five minutes ago."

Which wasn't what I was hoping for, but hey, I'd take what I could get.

And if I tried to detain him a bit more after that…well, whatever. I'm only human. Saunders knew how to wait.

"I suppose I'll see you in History, then," I said, rather offhand—or it was rather offhand until James cleared his throat awkwardly and started doing the won't-look-me-in-the-eye-shuffling-in-place thing again. I froze. "Wait a second. I will see you in History, won't I?"

James shrugged uncomfortably. "It takes a while to get into Hogsmeade."

"So walk fast!" I cried shrilly, not even caring that I was sounding exactly like the lunatic I had so diligently been avoiding appearing like. It was too late. Now I was over the edge. "You can't—skipping class? No. No. That's too…you already have detention, for Merlin's sake! You're Head Boy! You need to…what if—what happens—bloody flipping hell, you sit, you eat! How ruddy long is this lunch, anyway?"

James—the idiot—had the audacity to laugh. Though why he found my mental breakdowns so amusing, I'll never know.

"Ah, there she is," he chuckled, cupping my face and pressing a quick kiss against my lips. "How long have you been holding that back, love?"

Um. Probably since around, "I'm going out with Liz."

Not that he needed to know that, of course.

Not that he couldn't guess, of course. Psh.

"That's not the point!" I evaded, shaking his hands away and crossing my arms over my chest. "I can't believe you'd consider…what about Charms? You'll be back for Charms, won't you?"

James just stared at me.

Double bloody fucking shit.

"What the bloody hell are you going to be talking about for three bloody hours?"

James shook his head. "Lily—"

"Oh, don't you 'Lily' me!" I snapped, waving away whatever crap excuse he was about to give. The dam had broken. Maturity. Pah. Who needed it? "Lunching with Saunders, missing class…pah. I'll tell you what you'll be talking about for three bloody hours, James Potter! How much Saunders is still in love with you, that's what! She's such a…a…stupid, stupid…it's not…"

"Liz is not in love me with me," James said, and the prat actually sounded like he meant it.

I glared daggers at him. "This is not the time to be modest, James."

"I'm not," he argued, and at least now he had the decency to look a bit uncomfortable and embarrassed about the whole thing. His hand threaded through his hair and he sighed. "It's not like that. Liz just…a lot of things have changed this year and she's just grappling for an anchor."

"Yeah," I said. "You."

James threw me a look. "As a mate, maybe, yes, but that's all. And even if it wasn't, would it matter? Do you think I'd do something about it?"

That stopped the bitter lashings on my tongue, even though I would've been more than a little gratified to argue about it more.

For the love of all that's magical, whose idea was all this trust rubbish, anyway? It was ruining all my good arguments.

"It's not you I don't trust," I said, indulging in the cliché. "It's her."

"That's fine," James said, and took a step closer to me. "As long as you've got that straight in your head."

I wanted to mutter about someone else needing to get her head on straight and how if she didn't, I'd be glad to flatten it for her, but decided to keep that particular thought to myself because I figured that's not what trusting, mature witches said. But I was still agitated and still cross and so I wasn't quite able to curve every impulse that perhaps should have been squashed…which is probably why I found myself muttering bitterly, "We never have lunch."

Oh, god, mouth, shut up.

You couldn't have gone with the head-flattening bit, could you?

My face instantly went red and my heart went thunk straight down into my stomach, hardly believing that I'd just said that, gone there. James's eyebrows shot up.

"We eat lunch together all the time," he said, because of course he would have to make this worse, deliberately misunderstand.

"You know what I mean," I snapped, and Merlin, my face was positively burning.

Now it was my turn to evade his eyes. I turned my head defiantly towards the wall to my right, but could still feel his eyes boring holes into the side of my face. Whether he was smiling or frowning, I didn't know, and I couldn't bring myself to stand there and ponder it. All I could think about was how much of an idiot I was and how I really had to get some control over my own goddamn mouth because it said things that it shouldn't and got me into trouble when I did that enough on my own, thanks very much.

This was the price I had to pay for a good morning. I should have known my karma wouldn't let that one slip by, no matter what the circumstances. James was going to Hogsmeade with Saunders, and I was left acting like the biggest crybaby in the world, whining about things I should've goddamned kept to my bloody self.

I was still wallowing in my own pity party, cursing myself and my complete and utter lack of an impulse control, when I felt the tips of James's fingers slip under my chin. He turned my head back to his.

"I'll make you a deal," he said softly, a small smile playing at his lips. "Any time you want to go have lunch in Hogsmeade, we go. But under one condition."

"What?" I scoffed bitterly. "Liz gets to come, too?"

"No." James didn't even bother rolling his eyes at my sulky jibes. In fact, he sounded oddly serious. I should have known to be worried then. "We can go have lunch in Hogsmeade any time you'd like…but when we do, it's not going to be just lunch."

I stared at him suspiciously. "What does that mean?"

"I mean it's not going to be a platonic lunch. It's going to be a date, Lily."

It's going to be a date, Lily.

A date.

Double bloody fucking shit, a date.

I think I very nearly choked on my own spit.

"E-excuse me?" I sputtered. "A…wait a second. I was just—did you just ask me on a date?"

James only grinned. "Oh, I think I know better by now than to do that. I merely informed you of a possibility that you are free to take advantage of whenever you so desire. Good?"

Good?

Good?

"No, not good!" I snapped, hating that he was getting such amusement out of this, hating that my heart was doing crazy things inside of my chest. Hating him, hating me, hating just about everything. "You can't do that!"

"I just did."

"But that's not…that's so…"

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

A date.

James smiled again, unfazed and seemingly rather content with the way this conversation had turned out. I wish I could say the same. "Just think about it," he said, chucking me under the chin. "That's all I'm saying."

No, that was not all he was ruddy saying and that was the bloody effing problem.

There were things I should have said then—things I wanted to say then—but James's surprise attack had effectively done what I never could—shut my mouth up. There was some disconnect between my brain and my mouth that was making speech impossible to even consider, much less do. So instead, I just stood there like a prize henwit, blinking up at him as if I didn't have a single thought inside my barren head. And James, the arse, just found that humorous.

"I have to go," he finally said, and I couldn't even take any pleasure out of the fact that he now sounded a bit disappointed by it. I just stood there…and stood there…and stood there. He laughed. "All right?"

I think I nodded. I was supposed to nod. Hopefully I did.

I must have done something, because James nodded back.

"I'll see you later," he said, and took full advantage of my shock by leaning over and pecking me on the lips again before I could shake off my numbness enough to swat him away. I knew he knew exactly what he'd gotten away with when he pulled back and smirked. As he gave me one last parting wave, I—ready for this one?—just stood there as he walked past me and disappeared around the next corridor.

Eventually, I moved—though by the time I got down to the Great Hall, lunch was already mostly over.

My lunch, I mean. Obviously not James's lunch. James and Liz's lunch. That one is long. Too long. Not that I'm bitter about it or anything. Except that I absolutely am. And just about everything else. But especially by the fact that they get to have a lunch—just a simple, friendly lunch—and don't have to attach any mad, bothersome words like "date" to it. Date is such a shit word. Shit, shit, shit. Bitter, bitter, bitter.

Date, date, date.

I…

I don't know.

I don't know anything anymore.


Later, Charms
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 269

I wasn't really expecting them to be back by now. I mean, maybe in a little corner of my mind, I was all, "Well, how long can it really take to insult me, anyway? How many ways can Saunders say, 'Dump her. I love you,' and can James say, 'No. Go away'?" Three hours worth? That's persistence. And creative. I suppose she gets some points for that.

I wonder how long James and I—

Um.

Never mind.


A Bit Later, Still in Charms
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 269

It would totally be longer though, right? I mean, it would have to be. It'd be a date. And dates are longer than lunches. And are better than lunches. Obviously.

Not that that matters right now, of course. I am not ready to be dating anyone. Nope. Not the least bit.


A Bit Bit Later, Still Still in Charms
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 269

I mean, remember my last date? Remember what an utter and complete disaster and mess that turned out to be? Remember how miserable I was the entire time?

Exactly.

That's what I'm saying.

Dates are so stupid.


A Bit Bit Bit Later, Still Still Still in Charms
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 269

Of course, I suppose the reason my last date was such an utter and complete disaster was in very large part due to James. You know, and the fact that I might have enjoyed being there more with him than I would've Amos.

But I would've enjoyed being there with the Giant Squid more than I would've enjoyed being there with Amos, so that doesn't really mean anything.


Etc. Later, Etc. Charms
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 269

Then again, I didn't have a Giant-Squid-Inside-My-Head keeping me sane the whole time, now did I?

No. No, I didn't.


Etc. Later, Etc. Charms
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 269

But everyone knows that things inside your head are so much better than they are in reality. It's not the same thing. It's not the same thing at all.


Later, Library
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 274

Observation #270) You might imagine that someone who just almost-sort-of-sneakily asked you out would want to hurry through their mate-lunch and would perhaps even seek you out the second he was finished in order to discuss various things like the weather, your schoolwork and the psychological damage he inflicts upon you on a daily basis. But you'd be wrong.
Observation #271) The reason you'd be wrong is because either he did not rush through his mate-lunch and has not yet returned (even though it's been hours), or he did not seek you out as soon as he was able (which he is more than capable of doing quickly, considering you stuffed the device that can aid in this endeavor into the pocket of his robes yourself just this afternoon).
Observation #272) It is very difficult to decide which of these two options is worse.
Observation #273) Transfiguration and the difficulties it presents are usually enough to distract you from these sorts of things, but apparently not this time.
Observation #274) The world is a sick, stupid, terrible place.


Later, Library
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 274

I can't sit here anymore. I just can't do it. I'm starting to feel claustrophobic.

I just need to…to…walk. Yes, that's it. I just need to walk. Walk and get lost. What better place in the world is there to lose your way in than Hogwarts? Take one wrong staircase and boom, there you are. It happens so often accidentally, I can't imagine it'd be too difficult to do it on purpose.

Right.

Excellent.

Let's go get lost.


Much Later, Back in the Library
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 274

Don't get lost.

Honestly. Seriously. Just don't. And most definitely don't get lost by yourself. Isn't that the very first rule of safety that parents teach their children? "Please don't wander off by yourself, offspring. It's dangerous?" It goes hand-and-hand with that one about strangers, which is pretty damn important, too. And while I am perfectly aware that my mum can be an utter peagoose and that my father spouts out all sorts of spiels of advice, most of which have no relevance to life or reality, occasionally they do know what they're talking about. I reckon they were spot on with this one.

Why don't I listen?

For Merlin's sake, sometimes I wonder how I've made it to seventeen.

But the thing is, getting lost seemed like such a fab idea. I was miserable in the library and I didn't know where James was and I hate Transfiguration and I just wanted some space. There were probably better ways to get it than wandering aimlessly about the castle, but at that moment, it seemed like the greatest of answers. I could just amble about, moving and thinking and dwelling to my heart's content. And why bother making a castle so big and magical if you didn't want people moseying about it? There's no other point—or that's what I'd decided, anyway. So I abandoned my things at my table in the library and just took off.

And it felt good. Really, it did.

I think people forget how lovely it is just to roam around. I mean, I know all those anthro-whatsits blabber on about our hunter-gatherer ancestors moving about all the time because they needed to follow the food, but did you ever think that maybe they just liked it? That they were all, "Look, that wooly mammoth incident is really getting to me, I'm just going to take a long walk to shake it off. Want to come with?" and off the tribe went. Because life was tough back then, you know. I bet they had a lot of problems to sort out. And I bet they did it best while meandering about. At the very least, I'm sure the fierce gatherer women were all, "Ugh. Damned stupid alpha males. I need to get away from them," and off they went.

It makes sense, really. Just think about it. After all, blokes have always been frustrating, Neanderthals or not. It's historical.

Well, whatever the case, it was working for me. I just took a staircase upwards and let my feet carry me where they may. Direction wasn't even the point. I just wanted to think.

Because the thing was, I was sick and tired of being such a git about all of this. I was reaching the very end of my rope. I just didn't know what to do about that.

And I know the answer seems so obvious. It's right there. I've said it before, haven't I? That I don't want to not be with James, that I want to give this thing an honest go? But wanting and doing are two very different cups of tea and that's where I get all tripped up. It's so easy to be all, "James wants to go on a date? Fab! I like dates. Let's go." It's something else entirely to actually say it to him, to actually go when the time comes. Because for every inch of me that wanted to behave like a third-year, skipping, singing and twirling over the whole thing, equal inches of me were huddled in the corner, shaking their heads and reminding myself of all the things that could—very possibly would—go wrong.

I mean, just look at yesterday! For all that I know he cares about me, James still does exactly what he wants, exactly when he wants to. Sometimes his brain doesn't catch up with his impulses, and where does that leave me, hm? Lividly hearing about a hog attack from Remus in the Hospital Wing, that's where. And I know it's not fair to nitpick at all of James's faults—Merlin knows I have just as many, if not more. I mean, I'm worse than James in regards to brain-impulse functioning. I either sit there and think something to death until there's nothing left, or else I act even more impulsively than he does. At least James is consistent. You can count on him to react on a whim, on emotion. You can't do that with me. Sometimes even I don't know what to expect from me. That can't bode well.

And we're messy—James and me, I mean. Not in a literal sense, but in the sense that we've got an entire six years worth of bad tensions and misconceptions to muck through. Did you see how fast things turned last night? How quickly something like that can just spring up? One second we're arguing about Amos, and the next we're trading biting insults about people we aren't anymore. What does that mean? Is that something you can just move past?

I don't know. I really don't. Because as much as one part of me is saying that it's impossible, the other half of me is going, "Isn't that exactly what you did last night? Didn't you stop and sort it out? Why can't you do that again?"

But should we have to be doing it again? And again? And again? What if there are too many problems to just "stop and sort out?" Who wants to spend their entire relationship doing that?

Put like that, I'd say no one, but then that leaves me with the alternative of not being with James at all and that's just…stupid. I mean, so we don't even try? Even if it's messy, shouldn't we at least attempt it?

But then it could fail. And failing hurts a damn sight more than not trying at all.

So now I'm a coward. Lovely. Just what every Gryffindor yearns to hear.

But these are the sorts of things a witch is allowed to be cowardly about, aren't they? I mean, toss a girl a bone here. It's a normal part of life!

I was so busy trying to sort all of this out in my head, so lost in my own thoughts, I didn't even realise how far I'd gone or where I'd ended up as I just walked and walked and walked. Truth be told, I probably wouldn't have taken note of it at all—I wasn't done thinking yet—if it weren't for the fact that my absentminded feet had somehow led me down into the dungeons and then straight into another person.

"Oomph!"

Crack.

Something sizzled by my feet.

"Oh, god, I'm so sorry—"

I glanced up from the shattered vial and the still sizzling and steaming liquid splattered in a violet-coloured puddle on corridor floor by my feet, the tail end of more apologies ready on the tip of my tongue. When I saw just who it was I had collided with, however—and just how utterly furious he looked—the words died on my lips.

Oh, hell.

"Fucking—watch where you're bloody walking, Mudblood!"

In the past, my encounters with Evan Rosier had been thankfully limited to hearing his derisive wisecracks during lessons and the occasional brief run-in like this one. I didn't know him well, but I didn't think it was too shocking to imagine why not and why I didn't care to change that fact—considering 'Mudblood' was usually part of his standard greeting and all. And while I can typically manage to remain rather removed and unaffected by those who care to toss words like that my way, I don't think anyone can blame me for not seeking such attention out. Evan was that sort of attention personified. So needless to say, we had never tolerated one another too well.

And this was all before I knew about his horrid family.

It was impulse to step back, to cringe under the fury of Evan's cold stare. It wasn't until I remembered who I was dealing with that I realised I shouldn't have shown any sort of trepidation at all. I knew I'd made my first—well, second if you count running into him in the first place—mistake when his blue eyes glinted in satisfaction.

Before he could say anything though, a voice behind him called, "What the bloody fuck happened, Rosier?"

From out of the classroom that Evan had just left, Jack Avery stepped into the corridor, his bulky frame spanning most of the doorframe. He took in the scene with narrowed eyes—Evan, me, the purple-coloured potion staining the floor. His eyes focused on the puddle, then snapped up to Evan.

"You fucking dunce. That—"

"Shut up, Avery. It wasn't me." Evan waved an impatient hand in my direction. "The ruddy Mudblood rammed straight into me."

"You weren't paying any more attention than I was!" I cried.

Evan's glares switched back to me. "I wasn't aware I had to look both ways before exiting a classroom, Evans."

"Is it ruined?" another voice asked from behind Jack. Evan and Jack turned, revealing the third member of their trio. I don't know why I was surprised to see that it was Sirius's brother, Regulus, standing in the doorway, but I was. "Hell," he said when he saw the shattered vial all over the floor.

"I'm sorry," I said again, because I didn't know what else to say. When their gazes turned back to me, I squirmed in discomfort. "If it was for class, I can tell Abbott that it was my fault—"

Avery gave a disdainful snort. "Class? Merlin, Evans, shove off."

I suppose that answered that one, though I had had my suspicions before. This whole scenario paralleled far too closely to the one Emma had shared about Mac and his mysterious potion making with these nefarious characters. That's obviously what this was about (and I suppose I should be relieved that Mac was clearly no longer involved). The whole thing gave me an uneasy feeling, and I knew the less involved I was with all of it, the better. I wanted to scoff my nose at the lot of them and just stride off, but my curiosity got the better of me and I somehow found myself glancing down at the purple liquid splattered at my feet. Small streams of steam were still rising from the floor.

"What the hell is that stuff?" I asked, taking a step closer to the spatter. "Why is it steaming like that? What are you—"

Evan moved so quickly, I didn't even have time to finish my question before he'd already brandished his wand and banished the whole mess into oblivion. I reeled back, startled, my eyes darting away from the suddenly clean stones and up to Evan, who was scowling as he tucked his wand back into the pocket of his robes. Jack was openly glaring at me, while Regulus just stared impassively in the doorway. My gaze shifted back to Evan.

"Was that supposed to make me less suspicious?" I asked him flatly.

"Mind your own bloody business!" Jack snapped.

"I don't give a damn what you think," Evan said with a snarl, taking a step closer, "and I don't imagine anyone else will, either. Who's to say this run-in ever happened? It's your word against ours, Mudblood. Who do you think people are going to believe?"

"That's rubbish and you know it," I shot back, but I wish I felt as confident as I sounded. As Jack chuckled appreciatively and Evan smirked with open malice, I wanted to keep going, to tell them how full of it they all were, how of course people would listen to me, but I wasn't so naïve as to really believe that. I mean, if it came down to it, I'm sure Dumbledore or McGonagall would hear me out, but what was I going to say? "They called me names and cleaned up the mess that I think looked suspicious. Make them pay?" Somehow, I don't think that'd be such a convincing argument.

Still, I'd be damned before I'd let Evan and his cronies think they'd bested me. I forced myself to square my shoulders and sniff dismissively. "I don't have time for this," I said, deliberately stepping back from the trio. "Since no one will believe me, anyway, I'm sure you won't mind if I just casually mention this enlightening encounter to Dumbledore at our next meeting. No, I didn't think so. So if that's all—"

I turned, ready to walk away as purposefully and carefully as I could manage before rounding the next corner and breaking into an all-out sprint towards whichever direction the three of them weren't. I shouldn't have tried to get a rise out of them—I knew I shouldn't have done it—but the words were out and there was nothing I could do now to help myself except leave, so I went to do just that.

A grip like an iron vice clamped onto my arm.

I whirled around and my heart caught in my chest. Evan loomed over me menacingly.

"Is there something you need?" I snapped.

"Yeah," Evan said, and Merlin, if looks could kill. "Stay the bloody hell out of our business. And while you're at it, stay the fuck away from my brother, as well."

My eyebrows shot up. "You mean MJ?"

Evan's scowl deepened and I tried not to wince as his fingers tightened around my arm, squeezing painfully. For one second, I thought perhaps he'd heard about this morning and how I'd shoved MJ towards socialization, but that seemed decidedly unlikely. It was too soon, MJ's de-hermiting too new. But I hadn't exactly hidden the fact that I was fond of him, that I wanted to help him. MJ might have even said something to Evan, though why he would ever want to talk to his older brother, I couldn't fathom. Instead of being happy that someone was looking out for his obviously floundering younger sibling, Evan merely seemed bitter about it. Whatever he knew about MJ's and my association, he didn't like it. And I suppose it didn't help that I'd forgotten entirely that I was the first one to call him MJ. Evan sneered at the nickname.

"MJ," he spat with obvious derision. "Like he's your bloody pet or something. Call him whatever you'd like, Mudblood, but just remember that his surname is still Rosier. That means something to people who matter."

People who matter. God, this rubbish made me sick.

I glared defiantly. "I don't care what his name is. Your brother's a good kid."

Evan openly laughed in my face. "A good kid. You think?"

"Yes, I do." I lifted my chin, thought of MJ, ignored Evan.

"And what about your Saint Potter? Does he think Maurice is such a 'good kid'?"

The sudden mention of James tripped me up a bit, and I was probably the biggest of idiots for letting Evan see that. The second he saw me falter, he grinned and pressed closer. I stepped back.

"What's this?" he mocked, the smirk crowding his face. "Hit a nerve there, Evans? You know, maybe Saint Potter isn't spouting out shite for once. Maybe he knows what he's talking about. No one knows better than family, after all."

The way he said it, I knew he was expecting me to react. He thought I wouldn't know that they were related, which Merlin knew could have very well been true, but luckily wasn't, so he didn't get the satisfaction of my shock. Instead, I did what perhaps I shouldn't have (absolutely shouldn't have) done and laughed in his face.

"Oh, undoubtedly. Especially in a family as close as yours." My sarcasm was obvious and I got the reaction I wanted when Evan wavered for once, clearly surprised by my nonchalance. But I couldn't stop there, not when he was the one off-balance. The words just came out, biting and stupid. "But tell me something," I said with mock thoughtfulness, eyeing him critically, "what's it like, anyway? I mean, James is Head Boy, Quidditch Captain, top of our class, and you're…what? Dropping potion vials in corridors? It must burn, being the obvious second-rate cousin—"

And just like that, Evan lunged.

It all happened in less than a nanosecond. With an ungodly sound, Evan barreled straight into me, forcing me to stumble backwards until my body crashed against the wall behind me. My head hit the stone wall hard and my vision dotted for a moment, but I remained on my feet and heard Regulus call out a strangled, "Rosier!" at the same time that Evan's voice came sharp and brutal against my face.

I was the one who'd apparently hit the nerve this time. I wish I could have enjoyed it.

"—don't know what the fuck you're talking about!" he hissed furiously, talking so fast that the words blurred. Whatever he'd started with, I'd missed. "Fucking smartarse. Mudblood bitch. Think you know things, Evans? Think you're untouchable? We'll see."

"Get off me," I wheezed, struggling against him, trying to maneuver my arm out of his still steel-like grip. "Let go and back off or I swear to Merlin, I'll go straight to Dumbledore right now—"

But Evan was so far past listening, and it didn't take long to realise that. Orders and threats weren't going to work on him now. In my idiocy, I had pushed him too far and though I didn't know exactly what he was intending on doing, I knew that my heart was pounding against my chest and that Evan wasn't planning on backing off. I hadn't been thinking when I'd let him get me against the wall. I was trapped, more so than I even imagined.

I turned by head to the side and saw that Jack had moved and was now blocking the escape route to the left, while Regulus had come about on the right. Neither of them looked like they were intending on helping Evan in his assault, but neither did they seem to be interested in pulling him away from me. They both had their wands in their hands, however, and that was enough to make me wary—but hopeful, too, when I realized that I could probably get to mine stashed in the pocket of my robes.

As Evan continued to spit out insults and affirmations as to his own superiority, I sneaked the arm that he wasn't gripping in an unbreakable hold into the pocket of my robes, my fingers wrapping around the thin wood of my wand. If Regulus saw what I was doing from his place on my right, he said nothing.

My mind shifted into survival mode quickly, a mantra of, Breathe. Don't drop your wand. Don't drop your wand, playing over and over inside of my head. I couldn't take all three of them. I knew that. But out of all of them, Evan seemed to be the physical threat, Avery the magical, and that, I knew, I could do something about. If I could just…just…

The plan couldn't have formed soon enough. The second I decided on a way to take two out, Evan seemed to have reached his breaking point. He was outright yelling and had just moved to shove me against the wall again when I did just as my father had taught me all of those times when we'd venture off into the city when I was younger and rammed my knee upwards with as much force as I could possibly muster, then shoved with whatever strength I had left so that Evan effectively toppled backwards and onto the ground.

I relished the ability to breathe for only a second, too busy whipping out my wand and stunning Avery before he could hex me, then dodging off to the opposite wall before Regulus could get a clear shot. Sure enough, a flash of red singed the spot where I had just been standing as Avery went down and Evan moaned on the ground. I whipped around, firing another stunner at Regulus, but missing. I don't know what spell he kept shooting my way, but it thankfully missed me by a hair's breath, hitting the wall behind me instead.

Regulus and I stood five paces apart, wands out, waiting for the other to give an opening. I was so busy concentrating on Regulus's wand, I didn't even think about the fact that I hadn't permanently dealt with Evan until I suddenly felt a hand grab my ankle. I gasped, my heart jumping into my throat, my gaze shooting to the floor as Evan tugged—

"Stupefy!"

I went down. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I cursed my idiocy as I fell, squeezing my eyes shut and waiting for unconsciousness to come, waiting to slip into oblivion, wondering what the hell was going to happen now…

And then the grip on my ankle went slack.

Breathing heavily, I hesitantly eased open one eye.

Evan's hand dropped to the floor as his entire body went limp. I stared, dumbfounded, slowly realising that the Stunner hadn't hit me, that I'd only gone down because Evan had pulled me—that he was the one unconscious on the floor…

My gaze snapped upwards.

And standing there, his wand pressed up against the back of Regulus's throat, was Sirius.

I nearly sobbed in relief.

"Hexing innocent girls in the corridors?" Sirius said, his voice hard and flat. "Mum would be so proud, Reg. Drop your wand."

"Bugger off, Sirius," Regulus spat, his wand not moving from its position pointing straight at me.

"Drop it," Sirius snapped again, and thrust his wand harder against Regulus's neck. When it didn't seem like Regulus was the least bit interested in complying—and the fact that, for all that he had his wand trained directly on me, he didn't really seem to be paying me the least bit of attention—I took matters into my own hands. Moving quickly, I disarmed him with a short, "Expelliarmus!"

Regulus's wand flew out of his hand and clattered down to the floor at my feet.

If I was expecting any gratitude from Sirius for intervening, I didn't get it.

"Get up," he said, and it took me a second to realize that he was speaking to me, seeing as he was still glaring daggers at the back of Regulus's head. His wand hadn't moved from the back of his brother's throat. When I didn't move, Sirius's eyes flashed briefly to mine. "Lily," he said. "Get up."

I don't know whether it was the fact that he had called me Lily—I could probably count the number of times he had called me something other than 'Evans' on one hand—or the simple fact that the adrenaline had stopped flowing so thickly through my veins and my brain had settled down enough to realize that I was the only conscious one on the floor able to get up at the moment, but either way, I scrambled quickly to my feet.

When I had reached the spot where Sirius was still standing with his wand pointing at Regulus, Sirius grabbed my arm and pushed me behind him. Even forgetting the fact that Regulus was unarmed and the other two were lying unconscious on the ground, the gesture was still a surprise. The he-man, protective instinct was not one I had expected from Sirius, and certainly not when I was the one playing the damsel in distress. But regardless of my preconceived notions, Sirius still made sure I was tucked firmly behind him before finally dropping his wand from Regulus's neck. His brother remained standing rigidly with his back towards us.

"Take care of them," Sirius said curtly, motioning towards Evan and Avery. "And stay the hell away from her. All of you."

Regulus clearly bristled at the order, shooting a look over his shoulder at us. "What's this?" he asked, the scorn seeping through his words. "Potter letting you take a turn with her or something? What's that you used to say when we were younger? 'Brothers share?'"

"You were better at that one than James is," Sirius replied.

"Well, isn't that interesting?"

"I suppose there's a first time for everything."

Regulus didn't have a smartarse answer for that one, and even if he did, I don't think Sirius was willing to stay around to listen to it. Without any warning whatsoever, he pivoted on his heel and jerked his head towards the end of the corridor.

"Let's go," he said.

I didn't need to be told twice. Taking the lead, I walked at as controlled a pace as I could muster down the corridor and towards the staircases—or where I thought the staircases were, anyway. I had rarely been in this section of the castle, so it didn't surprise me when I went to make a left turn at the end of the corridor and Sirius had to grab my arm and tug me towards the right.

Honestly, I was lucky that my feet were working at all. Small favours, I suppose.

God.

Holy bloody fucking God.

Had that actually just happened?

We walked in silence. I don't know what Sirius was thinking, but I was too busy replaying the whole nasty scene in my head, kicking myself for being such an idiot, for playing with fire when I knew very well those boys weren't afraid of burning anything or anyone—least of all me. What would have happened if Sirius hadn't shown up? What would have happened if Evan had thought to pull out his wand and Stun me from the start? What if I hadn't been quick enough, smart enough to get away? What if—

My head started to spin. We were climbing up some back flight of stairs and I had to stop and grab hold of the railing, closing my eyes as everything came rushing at me at the same time—the fear, the shock, the anger, the panic. They all hit me at once. I let out a long breath, trying to gain some composure, but my stomach was cramping and my legs didn't want to hold me up any more and all I could think was, what if?

"All right, Evans?" Sirius asked, stopping on the stairs above me when I suppose he realised that I was no longer dutifully trailing along behind him. His voice sounded far away, however, and even though I wanted to, I couldn't find it in me to nod.

Oh, Merlin. I was going to vomit.

"Go on," I said breathlessly, already moving to sit down on the stairs, hoping that might help. "Go ahead. Just need…my head is spinning. One second."

Sitting helped a little, but I still felt all hot and clammy, and as I clutched my arms around my stomach and dropped my head to my knees, I could feel the sharp prickling of tears at the back of my eyes and the constricting clenching of panic tightening around my middle. I took one deep breath, then a bigger one, but nothing was helping. I could feel my throat closing up, my heart slamming painfully against my chest. I tried to hold back the pathetic moan that wanted to escape, but I'm not sure I managed it.

A hand fell hesitantly down upon my back.

"Aftermath," Sirius said quietly, right next to my ear. His hand made a few awkward movements against my spine. "Adrenaline's gone. Just breathe. It'll pass."

Oh, gee, thanks, I wanted to bite out sarcastically, but you'd be surprised by just how low sarcasm and bite rate on the list of priorities when one is in a state of hyperventilation. And though you might imagine that as someone who has her moments of hyperventilation rather often, I'd be used to this by now, those moments and this one were unfortunately quite different.

For one thing, this was entirely involuntary. I would have gladly handed over a few limbs if it meant that I wouldn't have to be sitting there breaking down in front of Sirius Black on a semi-public staircase. It wasn't exactly my idea of fun. But there was no stopping it. The harder I tried, the worse it got. So I just sat there with my grossly perspiring face suctioned to my knees by a sheen of sweat and tried not to faint.

And all the while, Sirius sat there next to me, clumsily pounding at my back.

I didn't know if that made things better or worse.

Thankfully, it only took a minute or two for me to reclaim control over my overwhelmed body. I still felt dizzy—it was almost like someone had poked a pin hole in me and I was slowly deflating like a balloon—but at least I was finally able to cease all my shaking and shuddering, and I no longer felt the overpowering impulse to simultaneously burst into tears as I got sick all over the staircase. Now if I could only uncurl myself out of my fetal position, I think I could truly make some progress.

"Here."

My head lifted from my knees with only the slightest of unattractive peeling sounds. I glanced up to find Sirius prodding a glass of water at my face. I figured he must have transfigured the glass from something and then charmed out the water, but I wasn't much worried about it when my parched mouth had practically started salivating. My suspicious were confirmed when I grabbed the glass, took a sip, and the slightly bitter taste of Aguamenti water filled my mouth. I swallowed it down anyway, grateful for any sort of liquid. At least it was cold.

I sipped in silence and Sirius just watched, his hand finally dropping from my back, stopping whatever it had been doing back there. I grimaced slightly as I downed the remaining water in the glass, but refused to complain. Sirius must have seen my discontent anyway.

"Sorry," he said, taking the empty glass from me. He transfigured it back into a quill and returned the writing utensil to his pocket. "Aguamenti tastes like shit, but it's all I know."

"It's fine," I said, hating how gravelly my voice sounded, even with the water. "I appreciate it."

Things could have gotten rather awkward then—I mean, there we were, Sirius and me, having probably our second longest encounter since term had started with about twelve rather large elephants stuffed onto the staircase alongside us—and I suppose that they actually did get slightly awkward for a second there when we both lapsed into silence again.

I suppose I am somewhat grateful that Sirius isn't one to indulge in such things. We had been sitting there silently for only a few moments when he bluntly burst out with, "What the hell happened back there?"

Nothing like small talk, eh?

Psh.

But the thing is…I didn't want small talk. I couldn't have handled small talk then, and maybe Sirius knew that, or perhaps simply felt the same. Either way, it wasn't the time. That didn't mean that I had to tell him what had happened, though. If I'd muttered off some excuse like, "Nothing, nothing. Just got out of hand," and got up all wobbly to leave, I don't think Sirius would have pushed me too hard. I was clearly in a state and for all his lack of tact where I was concerned, the bloke was still human. I reckon he occasionally knew when to cut his losses and concede. He probably would have left it alone and let me go.

But even though I didn't have to, I ended up telling him all of it, anyway. I don't know why. It just seemed the thing to do. And I suppose perhaps I owed it to him—you know, considering he'd come along and saved my arse and everything. It was really the least I could do.

Besides, I figured I knew why he was really asking, and it became rather obvious straight off that my suspicions were correct. He tried to play the whole thing offhand, but I knew his concern was less about what had happened in that corridor and more about what his brother had been doing there in the first place. His eyes narrowed whenever I mentioned Regulus's name, even though his brother hadn't done much except bemoan the loss of the potion and then fire a few curses there at the end. I told Sirius that, but he just shrugged it off. I knew what it was like to love and hate your sibling, though, so I told him what he wanted to hear, anyway. If anyone could see through that façade of disinterest, it was me.

"You're good. Quick," Sirius said once I'd gotten to the part where he came along, taking a moment to let it all sink in. I shot him a questioning look, not certain what he meant by that. He shrugged. "I walked around the corner just as you nailed Evan with your knee. You hadn't even shoved him off you before you'd already cursed Avery. I knew you played the pet inside the classroom, but I never thought you had the instincts to take your fancy wandwork out of there. But you're quick. Three-on-one are bad odds for anyone. You took out two of them in seconds."

He wasn't heaping praise, more just speaking frankly, but I felt myself blushing, anyway. I hadn't thought of the incident quite like that.

"I didn't really take out two," I corrected truthfully, letting out a small sigh. I could feel a headache starting to come on. I lifted my hand to rub at my temple. "I was stupid. I thought Evan would stay down longer. If you hadn't come when you did...why did you come, anyway?" I asked, then realised how ungrateful that sounded. "I mean, not that I'm not extremely appreciative of it, of course! It was bloody perfect timing. I don't know…but that doesn't matter. Were you just wandering around the dungeons, as well?"

Sirius shook his head.

"It was less luck and more curiosity," he answered, which didn't make a bit of sense until he shifted slightly and shoved a hand into his pocket. When it came back out with a familiar beaten-up piece of parchment caught between his fingers, it suddenly clicked. "I was heading towards the kitchens when I saw your dot hanging about the others. I didn't reckon you were making new friends. I thought I'd see what was going on."

I nodded as he handed the parchment over to me, but pathetically, I was barely listening to what he was saying. Because despite the fact that I had just been attacked, that I had barely recovered from a consequent panic attack, that Sirius and I were sitting there having about as civil a conversation as we got, as soon as he'd pulled the map out from his pocket, my mind instantly caught on something else.

Sirius had the map. The one that I'd given to James earlier.

That meant James was back from Hogsmeade.

Since when?

My fingers itched to open the thing up and check. I wanted to rip it open and devour it whole, just to make sure that 'J. Potter' and 'E. Saunders' were back in their respective places far, far away from each other. I wanted to ask Sirius when he'd gotten it, if there was any possibility that James had run into him before he'd left and gave him the map then, if James and Saunders could still be in Hogsmeade. But I couldn't do that. I didn't want Sirius to know how pathetic I was. But I couldn't not ask anything, either, so I searched for a way to get the information I wanted without sounding like an absolute peagoose.

"I just gave this back to James this morning," is what I decided on, keeping my eyes trained on the folded-up parchment. "Thank Merlin I did, or you wouldn't have had it."

"He shouldn't have given it to you in the first place," Sirius replied flatly, which was about as far from the response I wanted as could be.

Expect some information, get insulted instead.

Lovely.

I bristled defensively. "You're cross that he showed it to me? I won't tell, if that's what you're worried about. For Merlin's sake, I used it myself last night."

"It's not that," Sirius said, which was slightly comforting—was, until the prat kept speaking. "I mean, the arse should've asked the rest of us before he went spewing all our secrets to Prefects, but James doesn't do his best thinking around you, so I suppose it's to be expected. We needed the Map last night," he explained, scowling. "Since James had given it to you, we didn't have it. It was a bitch of a night."

Oh, right. Welcome to Blame Lily For Everything. My very favourite game.

"Oh." I didn't know whether to feel ruffled, guilty, or curious. My meddling instincts won out, as usual, and I glanced over at Sirius with as innocent a look as possible. "I didn't realise…James must have forgotten. What did you need it for?"

Sirius let out a loud snort, catching on quickly. "Delving for more secrets, Evans?" he asked. "You won't get them from me."

"I'm not delving," I muttered, though of course I was. Wasn't I always? But I still sniffed dismissively. "I don't care what you do with your time."

"It wasn't just me. James was there, as well."

"James had detention last night."

"Detentions end, Evans."

And James had been tired this morning, I remembered suddenly, wanting to kick myself. Of course. I hadn't exhausted him, trophy cleaning hadn't exhausted him, it was his mates' fault. Truth be told, I liked that better. It made me feel less responsible. Still, I was curious now. Did this have something to do with the thing in the place with the lads? Probably. Or maybe it was just another thing in a place with the lads. Merlin knew the group of them always seemed to be up to something. I suppose I should just be grateful that nothing had exploded this morning, as things are wont to do when the Marauders are involved. I'd say that perhaps they're maturing, but I reckon it's probably just that they're getting cleverer about it.

"Remus must have been upset," I said absently, trying to act all cool and casual, as if I discussed nighttime misadventures all the time. Sirius didn't seem to like that, though. He got all terse and cranky.

"What?" he asked curtly, his eyes narrowing. "Why would you say that?"

"Because he's sick," I answered, shooting him a glare for getting all brisk with me. When that only made Sirius glower more, I threw a bit of a fit. "What? I'm not even allowed to know the health status of your mates? I saw him in the Hospital Wing yesterday and he wasn't in class today. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out. But I suppose Remus being ill is another super, just-mates secret, right? No Lily allowed. Merlin, you're spare. Sorry you had to share that one with me, as well. Won't happen again."

He listened to my sarcasm with a critical stare. He didn't seem to be glaring anymore, merely taking me in, sizing me up, but that was no less disconcerting. I wasn't about to show him I was unnerved, though.

"You know something?" he said, his voice dry. He actually sounded grudgingly impressed. "You're too sharp for your own good. James should know better than to date a bird with brains. It's bad for business."

"James and I aren't dating," I said quickly, that particular subject perhaps a bit too sore at the moment. If Sirius sensed the hit nerve, however, he didn't show it. Instead, he merely shot me a sardonic look.

"I know," he muttered, and rose to his feet. He sighed lightly, and then glanced down at me. "Ready?"

"Er, yeah." It took me a moment, but I used the railing to hoist myself up and miraculously my feet held beneath my weight. My vision went a little bleary, but other than that, I seemed to have recovered well enough from my fit of hyperventilation. Sirius waited for me to regain my bearings, then jerked his head up the stairs and started to climb. I followed along behind him.

I was pretty sure that we were climbing up the dungeon's back staircases, the ones that curved near the Slytherin Common Room and led up towards one of the rooms off the Great Hall, but we ended up in some massively long corridor instead, so I suppose that goes to show how much I know. Sirius didn't appear to be lost, however, so I was glad that he took the lead. I trailed his steps dutifully, walking along beside him as we made our way down the long corridor.

If I'd waited long enough, I'm certain Sirius would have struck up some sort of conversation, even if it was only to toss a few more jibes my way, but there was something I had to say to him—wanted to say to him—so this time, I was the one cutting through the silence.

"Thank you," I blurted out, the words bursting from my mouth in a sudden rush. "If you hadn't come along when you did, if you hadn't been there...I don't know—"

"Don't worry about it," Sirius said quickly, jerking his shoulder up into a jumpy shrug. He kept his eyes trained forward, but even his long hair couldn't hide the redness that started creeping up his neck. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Forget it."

Which was about as stupid a request as one could imagine.

For Merlin's sake, didn't he think I would if I could?

"Forget it? Seriously?" I stared at him incredulously. When all Sirius did was continue to walk, I grabbed hold of his arm, forcing his feet to skid to a halt. He glanced back at me with utter reluctance, a strained grimace crossing over his flushed face. I didn't care. I couldn't have him brushing this aside. "I don't know how often you go about saving random girls from antagonistic berks," I stated dryly, "but this is all rather new to me, so you'll have to forgive me if the novelty hasn't quite been rubbed raw yet."

Sirius let out a hefty sigh.

"Evans—"

I pinched his arm. Hard.

"Hey—"

"Don't shrug this off!" I ordered, hardly believing how ready he was to disregard the entire thing—as if he'd merely interrupted a casual debate! The feeling of Evan's body pressed up against mine and the shocks of pain as my head cracked against the wall played back in my head. I tried to shake the memories off. "You didn't have to come," I said, looking Sirius straight in the eye. "You didn't have to, but you did, anyway. And I don't know whether that was because your brother was there, or maybe just because it was me, but either way, I'm grateful—really grateful. You hate me. You could have left me there, but you didn't. So thank you."

Sirius fidgeted. He looked quite as if he wouldn't mind if a boulder suddenly decided to drop down from the ceiling and crush him beneath its rocky mass. He jerked his arm out of my grip and used his free hand to pull at his tie as if it were suffocating him. He cleared his throat once more, lifting his shoulders into another shrug before probably remembering my reprimand and cutting the action off short. It took him a few moments to get more than a few incoherent noises of distress out.

"I don't hate you," was what he did manage to say, in a tone that was somehow choked and exasperated at the same time. His fingers had unknotted the tie, but he was still fiddling with the ends. "For Merlin's sake, Evans, we've been through this before."

"Maybe it's not hate," I replied quietly, "but it's certainly nothing positive."

Sirius rolled his eyes to the ceiling, tugging so forcefully on his tie that it slipped off his neck and went fluttering down to his side. One end swept the floor, the other remained gripped in his tight fist.

"Yeah, well, you lied to me," he said, and suddenly he wasn't fidgeting but moving, and he did it all while glaring at me. My eyebrows instantly furrowed, having no idea what he was talking about. Sirius was more than happy to explain. "You told me that night in detention that you'd back off until you got your head on straight. Even you agreed that was best. But by the next goddamn night, you were right back to dragging James into the whole thing—"

"That's not fair!" I cried, feeling my face start to burn with embarrassment. That night was not something I cared to begin rehashing during a showdown with Sirius. I forced myself to focus on something else. I was arguing, wasn't I? Right. Yes, I was. "When you asked me to stay away from James that night, I tried. I meant what I said. I was going to back off until I had Amos sorted out. But there were two people involved and your stupid mate wasn't having any of it! So I'm sorry if you took that as some sort of personal betrayal, but I didn't mean it that way. The whole thing wasn't even your business in the first place! I never should have agreed!"

"But you did," Sirius shot back, whirling around and pointing an accusatory finger in my face. "You did agree because you knew James was better off!"

"No, you thought James was better off—you still think James is better off!" I knocked his finger away. "That's what this is all about! You don't think James should have anything to do with me!"

It was the truth—we both knew it was the truth—but Sirius's eyes still narrowed. "I didn't say that," he said.

"You didn't have to," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest, fuming. "Remus told me why you and James are fighting. The other day in the courtyard, after you left. He told me."

Sirius's face darkened. I tried not to feel too guilty about that, reminding myself that I'd wanted to make him cross. I mean, yes, maybe I shouldn't have said it then—there were gentler ways to release that information, after all, and was there anyone I wasn't telling about the private discussion Remus and I had had?—but I was cross and he was lying and the angry words were out of my mouth before I could stop them.

I told myself he deserved it, that he was being mean and petty and irrational and so there, but that wasn't really fair, either. The conversation had somehow escalated from a heartfelt thank you into a verbal brawl and Sirius had a bit of a right to be saying what he was—but so did I.

In any case, his look of fury amounted into a loud, bitter scoff of disbelief.

"For fuck's sake," he said, "is anything secret with you anymore?"

"I had a right to know!" I insisted, even though that point might have been more debatable than I cared to admit. I ignored that slight dent in my argument, figuring that if I was stern enough about it, Sirius might not call me out. You know, maybe. "It concerns me, doesn't it? And it's not like I won't understand because you made your points quite clearly when you told me about last year that night in detention! But I suppose I still shouldn't be involved, right?"

Sirius's features twisted in annoyance. "This is between James and me," he said.

James and him? Was he kidding?

"Maybe some of it," I conceded, trying to be even the tiniest bit rational, even though most of me wanted to be stomping around the corridor, spitting and swearing in indignation. "But now you've dragged me into it, as well, and that's not fair. Do you think I want James to change for me? That I wouldn't want him to be himself?"

"This isn't about you!" Sirius cried. "This is about James and his goddamn need to prove himself!"

"Prove himself to who?" I challenged. "Me?"

Sirius waved a dismissive hand, scoffing again. "You, his parents, Dumbledore, the Carringtons—who the fuck knows anymore?" His eyes narrowed on me. "All I know is that you're certainly not making it any easier. And Merlin knows you've managed to tip James's world axis before. You don't get it," he said, shaking his head at me. "You don't know how James works, all right? You don't know what you are to him, what you represent."

I didn't like the way he said that—what I represent—like I was some sort of universal symbol instead of a flesh-and-blood, functioning, feeling person. It made my insides churn. "What do you mean, 'what I represent'? What are you talking about?"

Sirius let out a long sigh, tossing his tie back around his neck and then lifting his fingers to grip his hair in frustration. He turned away from me for a second, seeming to be trying to collect himself, then turned around with a steely look in his eyes. His hands dropped back to his sides.

"He's got...he's got this thing with you, all right?" he finally said, but I didn't like that, either. Thing. It was a degrading placeholder at best. "For goddamn years, you were this elusive paragon, this one person who James always put above the lot of us and saw as something...I don't know. Better, I guess. You were rotten to him, but somehow, you were still always better."

I squirmed uncomfortably. "That's not—"

"Last year was a mess," Sirius pushed on, ignoring my interruption. "You know that. I told you that. And now to make up for it, James thinks he has to be better, too. And somewhere along the way, you've made it worse. You're better," Sirius mocked dryly, "and if you like him, then that must mean he's better, as well. And if he's not, then he's damn well going to try to be. It doesn't matter whether that's actually who he is—or how miserable it'll make him—it's who he thinks he needs to become. And who better to become it with," he finished sardonically, his gaze directed pointedly at me, "than the paragon herself?"

I hated that word. Bloody hated it.

Paragon.

I was no one's bloody effing paragon.

"So that's all you think I am?" I asked him quietly, surprising even myself with how cold my voice sounded. "Just someone's bloody good example? And that's all that's between James and me? Some sick mixture of guilt and obligation?"

Sirius finally had the decency to look slightly chastised. "No, not that exactly," he said slowly, but the bastard actually had to think about it! "It's more—"

"Because let me tell you," I interrupted, stepping closer until Sirius and I were standing toe-to-toe, and I was glaring up into his surprised face, "you're wrong. You're so wrong. You don't get it, not even the tiniest bit. And maybe if you actually talked to James about this, actually listened to what he was trying to tell you instead of being blinded by your own selfish need to have your old comrade back the way he used to be..." I paused, sneering in disgust. "Well. Maybe then you wouldn't be causing all these idiotic problems, now would you?"

Sirius stared at me blankly, his features moving from shock into stony impassiveness in a matter of moments. But no matter how blank his expression, his eyes were bright and calculating as they stared at me, like shards of grey steel looking for a place to pierce. If that's indeed what he was searching for, I wasn't going to give him the opening. I was too outraged, too furious. I wasn't about to back down.

Because, honestly, how goddamned bloody insulting. How utterly and completely callous and narrow-minded to have had the audacity to look at James and me and declare everything between us some kind of fraudulent search for gratification. Sirius had no damn right to say any of that because he had no idea what was between James and me. He wasn't us. He wasn't part of this relationship. And as an outsider looking in, he had about as much credibility as a common housefly buzzing about the room—no matter what his status in James's life. Clearly that meant nothing, if he could be so tainted by his own stupidity.

And that's what this was. Stupidity. I had known that before to a certain extent, but standing there then, listening to him drivel on, my sympathy was down to zero.

Who did he think he was, anyway? Honestly. Who?

Part of me didn't want to hang about to figure it out. That part of me wanted to give him a good, hard kick—having recently saved my arse or not—and storm away in a fury of anger and exasperation. If I had followed that impulse, Sirius would really have deserved no less.

But—shockingly enough—that was not the part of me whose dictates I chose to follow. Because as much as causing an angry scene would have given me an exorbitant amount of satisfaction, it would have only been short-term. If I meant to get anything out of this whole conversation—to really do something about Sirius and his damned cracked theories—I had to stick around to see it play out until the end. I couldn't be childish and stomp off. It just wasn't worth it.

Which, yes, I agree was terribly enlightened and mature of me.

I'm not sure what they've been putting in the pumpkin juice lately, but it's really doing wonders for my disposition.

"What?" I challenged when Sirius didn't seem inclined to respond. I lifted my chin, staring defiantly at him. I may have been having a streak of maturity and everything, but that didn't mean I was about to give up the opportunity to get in his face. It was highly satisfying. "Don't have some sort of knowledgeable, psychological analysis for that one? Finally had some bloody sense knocked into you?"

"Who do you think knows him better?" Sirius replied flatly. "You or me?"

"Normally I'd go with you," I admitted grudgingly, "but considering the fact that you're being pretty damn shit stupid right now, I might have to change my mind."

It was hardly the time, but somehow that pulled a reluctant snort out of Sirius, and the smirk that crossed his lips was decidedly less bitter than I'd expected such a reaction to be. Maybe it was that lack of bitterness and sudden quick flash of amusement that led me to say what I did next. Or maybe I was just caught up in the spirit, enjoying the experience of being the brutally honest—and brutally correct—one for once.

"Look," I said, grappling for a bit of sense and serenity so that I might be able to pull this off. I let out a small sigh. "I'm not usually one to be calling people out on their bullshit, all right? I really haven't got the right, seeing as I'm usually the one spouting it. But this time, I'm calling you out, and if you're any sort of mate to James and any sort of logical human being, you'll listen to me."

It didn't take long for Sirius's smirk to slip into a frown. "You know, Evans—"

"Quiet," I ordered, sticking up a silencing finger. "You've talked enough. It's my turn now. We're going to practice your listening skills. Maybe you'll be able to use them in some future conversations you may or may not be having, yeah?"

I didn't know where all this gumption was coming from, but it seemed to be doing the trick in earning—well, if perhaps not Sirius's respect, at least his reluctant silence and compliance to my requests (er, forceful requests) for his attention. I suppose that someone as normally crass and blunt as Sirius could recognise a similar tactic and warily accept it.

As for me, I was rather enjoying being the authoritative one. Perhaps I have a little bit of dominatrix in me or something.

"I'm going to tell you something about my conversation with Remus, and what havoc your little theory has been wracking on my mind recently," I started, sticking Sirius with a good, stern look. "You're not an idiot for thinking what you do about James," I admitted reluctantly. "When Remus told me...well, it made me question, as well. I know that James isn't the same person he used to be, and I know that I like him better that way. I'm not so obstinate as to claim otherwise. But what you are an idiot for," I added, placing my hands on my hips, "is continuing to think it after seriously considering James for more than half a second. And for someone who claims to be the authority on him, I find it pretty pathetic that I'm catching on more quickly than you are."

Sirius bristled at my barbs. "That's not—"

"Ah! We're listening, remember?" It took a second—and quite the put out look—but Sirius did actually shut up again. I nodded in satisfaction. "Good. I'm glad we sorted that out. Because, believe it or not, I don't want James pretending to be someone else for me—which is exactly what I told him when we spoke about this last night."

Sirius's eyes went wide.

"You...you talked to him about this?" he sputtered, his mouth gaping.

Ha. Threw him off balance, did I?

Really, I feel like I should have a whip or something.

I nodded with much satisfaction. "Yes, I did. See, there are these little things called honesty and communication. James and I are trying them out, seeing how they go." I paused, considered for a moment, and then asked, "Would you mind terribly if we tried some of that? Preferably without trying to insult each other every other comment?"

Sirius laughed humourlessly. "Me? You're the one—"

I held up my hand. "I don't know what you were about to say, but it sounded like an insult."

Sirius's mouth snapped shut with a tight jerk, letting out an annoyed huff in place of whatever jibe he had originally meant to follow. He stared at me, looking none too pleased about my request, but he hadn't tossed it back in my face, which I took as a good sign. After a few terse seconds of silence, Sirius moved. He let out a long, frustrated sigh and muttered, "I think I need to sit down for this."

As he crossed past me and plopped himself down against the corridor wall, my stomach jumped. He was going to let me talk. I don't know why, but I hadn't expected that. I thought he might be the one striding away, sick of hearing my voice. He'd let me say a bit of my piece just now, but then again, I hadn't given him much of a choice. But I didn't want to badger this conversation into happening. That was likely to get me nowhere. We had to do this calmly and rationally, which, yes, were not really my strong suits, but I could pretend them rather well when the time called for it. I think this time called for it.

When Sirius was settled, I followed his lead and took a seat on the floor next to him.

"Can I go first?" I asked.

After a second, Sirius nodded.

All right.

Here we go.

"I know you're worried about James," I started slowly, staring down at my fidgeting hands instead of at Sirius because that was just easier. "I know you're worried and I know it must seem like I'm coming in, spouting off things that I know nothing about because I wasn't there for the past six years. And maybe you're right there in some ways...but in others, you're not."

I turned my head, deciding it was only right to at least look at him while I was saying all this, regardless of how much I hated it...and almost smiled when I saw that Sirius was staring blankly at the wall in front of us. I wasn't the only uneasy one, then. That was comforting in its own way. He must have felt my gaze on him, however, because he turned his head to look at me. His stare was decidedly less critical than I'd expected it to be. That might have been what made it easier to keep going.

"You and I seem to think that we expect two very different people from James," I continued quietly, shrugging my shoulders, "and maybe we do, in some ways. I can't say what you think of James or of me, but I think you want your friend back and I don't think you've realised that you already have him. He's just...different than he was before. With or without me, that isn't going to change. How could he not be different? You should know that more than me."

"It's not that simple," Sirius replied, and the phrase was so familiar—one of my very favourites, in fact—that I had the impulse to smile again. I didn't, but I wanted to. Sirius certainly wasn't. "There's a certain point where the change is so significant that it can't just be chance. James can't be happy like that."

"Do you honestly believe that? That he's not happy?"

Sirius's gaze shifted back over to the wall. "I've seen James happy. This wasn't it."

That stung, but I didn't let it knock me off track. It wasn't meant to be a direct hit at me, even if it felt personal. I could lick my own wounds later. If I thought he was wrong, I had to prove it.

"There's a difference between happy and carefree, you know," I said instead, nervously twirling an errant strand of hair around my finger. Sirius's eyes turned back to me, his eyebrow furrowed. I shrugged. "James used to be carefree—to the point of careless, probably, and I suppose there's a sort of obvious happiness in that. But they're not synonymous. You don't have to be one to be the other. And after all he's been through, I don't think James is ever going to be that carefree again. He won't be the same. Even you have to see that."

"I'm not expecting him to be the same—"

"You're not?"

"Insult," Sirius accused, but I shook my head.

"It wasn't an insult. It was a valid question." With perhaps a bit of implied insult, so I'd have to watch it.

Sirius grumbled, but didn't argue my point. He started picking absently at lint on his pant leg. "I don't expect him to be the same," he said again, though this time with a bit less vehemence. "It's not...there are things you don't understand—things James just wouldn't do that he's doing now. And I'm sorry, Evans, but I think that's you."

"Could be," I said, though of course that was a load of malarkey. I had to indulge him, though, or suffer another insult claim. "Or, you know, it could just be him."

"It's not."

"Why? Because it's not what he would have done before? Do you know how backwards that is, Sirius? You're comparing him to someone he was two years ago. Things change. People change."

"I hate that word," Sirius groaned, lolling his head back against the wall. "It's everyone's excuse for everything."

I laughed, the sound odd in the otherwise quiet corridor, echoing around. Sirius rolled his head towards me with lifted eyebrows, but I didn't know how to explain that the two of us apparently had more in common than we cared to admit.

"Believe it or not," I explained with a small smile, "those are usually my sentiments exactly. But this time, I'm afraid I've made an exception."

"Only because it works in your favour," Sirius scoffed.

"Insult," I said.

"Not directly," he replied. "It's the truth."

"How so?"

Sirius shifted, leaning off the wall slightly and resting his elbows on his bent knees. "It's all well and good to be sitting here spouting out your wisdom now, Evans, but it'd be an entirely different situation if our roles were reversed. If James started acting like himself again—"

"What you think of as himself," I corrected.

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Right. Fine. If James started acting like who I think he is again, I bet you anything you'd be flipping a shit. You'd be cross at him for not being who he should be and wondering why the bloody hell he was doing it. It'd drive you mad, seeing him toss himself away like that—which is exactly how I feel," he stated, shooting me a pointed look. "It's easy to sit there complacently when you're on the winning side. You've got James the way you want him. If you didn't, you'd be acting just like I am."

It was a prime example of turning the tables, and in most cases, hearing that would have probably caused me to shrink back guiltily and rethink all of the judgments I was passing on Sirius. He had a point. I was arguing for the winning side and Merlin knew that was always easier. But there was a dent in his logic, one that I wouldn't have been able to unveil if it hadn't been for everything that had happened yesterday. Despite the absolute chaos that had ensued, I suppose I would always be grateful for yesterday for that.

"You're right and you're wrong," I told him, surprising even myself with how reasonable I was being. "And I know you think that you were being all pointedly hypothetical, but I actually understand. That's what happened yesterday, after all, wasn't it?"

Sirius slapped a hand on his knee, a sudden victorious grin spreading across his lips. "That's right!" he cried smugly. "James gave Diggory the duffing he deserved and you went bloody ballistic! See? That's what I'm saying. You were ready to fucking murder him because he hadn't danced properly to your tune. It's all the same!"

"Except it's not," I countered, tossing Sirius a glare that told him I wasn't very happy with his choice of wording, which reeked of insults. "Did I murder him? Did I do anything to him? For Merlin's sake, I told the idiot off and hung him by his ankle for about forty-five seconds. That was it! He acted like your favourite ponce and in the end, I let him do it—despite the fact that I thought it was the most ridiculous and asinine move there was! I let it go. You haven't!"

Sirius snorted and waved a dismissive hand. "You probably only let it go because James groveled and promised to return himself to your perfect little pet."

Okay. I thought we weren't insulting each other here?

"First of all," I said, sticking him with a good glower, "stop being so rude. I'm not insulting you, you're not supposed to be insulting me, remember? And secondly...you're shitting me with this 'perfect pet' rubbish, right? James is about as obedient as an untrained puppy. He does what he wants, when he wants to, and though he may occasionally give my opinion a bit of a ponder, I hardly hold an influence—I mean, obviously. James apologised last night for upsetting me, not because he was the least bit sorry about what he'd done!"

"And you're fine with that?" Sirius shot back. "You're not angry about it?"

"I was at first," I admitted, unashamed of that. "I thought it was stupid and cruel and, yes, something he would have done in fifth-year and I would have hated. But that was only at first. That wasn't really why I was so angry with him." I hated drudging all of this up again, but I knew it had to be done. With a slight grimace, I forced myself to keep talking. "I deliberately told him several times to stay out of it and he confronted Amos anyway, then lied to me about what he'd been up to afterwards. He broke my trust and that I wasn't okay with. The fact that he'd merely done something I didn't approve of wasn't the real issue. Do you see the difference?"

If Sirius did, he wasn't ready to concede on the point. Instead, he kept interrogating. "So if James stopped acting like such a straitlaced ponce and started raising terror about the castle again, you would be fine with that?" he asked.

"Are you asking whether I'd approve of it?" I questioned, cocking an eyebrow. "Because if you are, the answer's no. I still think that most of what you all find so amusing is silly and ridiculous and utterly immature." Which it was, but if I thought I would get an agreement to that, I was out of my mind. "But just because I think it's stupid," I went on, "doesn't mean I'd toss James over if the lot of you decided you wanted to paint the Great Hall technicolour, or kidnap Mrs. Norris, or throw a party in the Charms corridor. As long as you're not hurting anyone and James isn't lying to me about it, I don't care. I've accepted that along with James come his idiot impulses. It's a package deal. I can't split them up. I'm not trying to."

Sirius stared at me suspiciously, surveying my face with narrowed eyes and looking as if he were trying to decide how much of my speech was utter codswallop and which part he could actually believe. He was a damned dubious prat, but I suppose that he had no reason to trust me. I am a pathological liar, after all, and I have been known to display a proclivity for exaggeration. But this time I was being honest. When it didn't appear as if Sirius was quite ready to accept that, I decided it was perhaps time for a visual aid.

"Look," I said, pulling my wand from my pocket. Sirius instantly recoiled. I rolled my eyes—as if I'd just whip it out and hex him right there in the middle of the conversation. Honestly—and stroked the air in front of us, creating a long, neon purple line on the stone floor before our feet.

"This," I said, making one dash on the far left side of the line, "is your preferred James. And this"—I made a second dash on the far right—"is mine. Opposite sides of the line. Quite the divide. However, this"—I marked a final dash right in the middle of the other two—"is where actual James is at now. Right in the middle."

Sirius pulled a face, taking out his own wand and creating a new dash slightly more to the right of the middle one. "This," he corrected dryly, "is more like actual James."

Oh, for Merlin's sake. Details, details.

"Fine," I said, rolling my eyes. "That's actual James. The point is, he's still in the middle. Not mine, not yours, but his own sort of highly maddening middle ground. And I don't know about you, but I think we've still got a pretty good deal there."

Staring down at the line, Sirius's lips lifted up into a smirk. "Yeah, well, you would. He's more on your side."

Seriously. It was like arguing with a four-year-old.

"Fine, fine!" Sirius laughed, smirking some more as I shot him my dirtiest of stares, turning my wand so it was pointing directly at his nose. He swatted my wand away as his smirks and chuckles faded, his gaze shifting from me back down to the line. He took a few seconds to silently contemplate it. "I suppose it's not too bad a deal," he finally decided, glancing up at me from out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe."

"And maybe," I offered, figuring I could give a little since he seemed to be, "James needs to move a little more left. You know, more middle. A better deal."

"A better deal for me?" Sirius asked.

"A better deal for himself," I replied.

Sirius paused for a moment, then nodded.

"So you'll talk to him?" I dared to prod.

Sighing, Sirius's shoulders jerked into a shrug. "I'll think about it," he said. Then he shot me a strangely appreciative side-glance. "You fight a good fight, Evans, do you know that? Ever think of becoming a Ministry lobbyer?"

"I'll keep that in mind," I muttered, but couldn't quite keep the flush of pride from staining my cheeks. Maybe it wasn't perfect, maybe everything wouldn't be fixed, but I think I'd made a bit of a difference. You know, even if it was the smallest of them.

Perhaps today wouldn't end so horridly after all.

We sat there quietly for a minute or so, the bright purple of our James Line glowing on the floor in front of us. I waited for Sirius to say something like he usually would, but he seemed too lost in his own thoughts to make the move. I suppose I couldn't blame him. I'm sure he hadn't left for the kitchens this afternoon with the anticipation that he would soon come across a brawl featuring his brother, rescue his best mate's dreaded mate-with-potential, get into a bit of a verbal brawl with the same aforementioned dreaded mate-with-potential, then have that brawl turn into a bit of a heart-to-heart, with the results of that conversation still very up in the air.

All things considered, I bet a sandwich was looking pretty damn attractive right about now.

But he hadn't ditched me—not for a sandwich or for anything else—which, I have to say, I think is pretty damn impressive.

It was also strange, though. Because the thing is, I had spent so much of this year being annoyed with Sirius, scoffing my nose at him for being such a stubborn fool with more pent-up anger than sense inside his overly-groomed head, that I'd never actually considered him outside of being part of James's accompanying baggage. But for all of our extensive differences, I did appreciate the fact that Sirius wasn't afraid to be honest. And Merlin knew the idiot was loyal—almost to a fault, in fact. And even though I know that I myself am burdened with a whole litany of physical/emotional/psychological/spiritual/etc. problems, I do believe that I have the occasional pleasant personality trait.

Was it possible to...I mean, I know we've had our issues and all, but—

"I'm hungry," Sirius declared suddenly, efficiently snapping me out of my thoughts. I turned my head, watching as he gingerly rubbed his stomach, staring down at it forlornly. "I need a giant bowl of something," he decided, sounding pleased at the prospect. "I'm not sure of what yet, just that it needs to be giant. And delicious." He lifted himself to his feet, taking a second to brush his pants. "Let's go. I think—"

"Wait!"

The exclamation was out of my mouth before I'd even had time to think about it. Sirius stopped, turning about and glancing down at me in confusion.

"Wait, what?" he asked.

Yes, wait, what? I very much wanted to snap to my stupid, uncontrollable mouth, cursing my body's ridiculous, impetuous impulses. Sirius watched silently with a questioning eyebrow cocked as I scrambled up to my feet and then proceeded to just stand there dumbly, sputtered like a damn idiot, not even knowing myself what exactly was going to happen next. My mouth didn't seem to feel quite up to letting me in on the plan just yet.

I found out what it was soon enough, however.

"I was just thinking," I heard myself say, which didn't sound too bad, really. Thinking was good, wasn't it?

"Oh, yeah?" Sirius replied drolly, when my mouth didn't seem ready to spout out anything further. "How's that going?"

"Fine. Brill." That didn't sound too bad, either, all things considered. But I wasn't—or rather, my mouth wasn't—finished yet. "I was thinking about you, actually. And me. You and me."

"Oh, Evans," Sirius said, the ever-present smirk creeping back across his face. "I know I'm devilishly attractive and everything, but I really don't think—"

"I think we should be friends."

Um.

Er.

I...do?

Sirius's single inquisitive eyebrow went flying straight up to his hairline with its mate.

Right.

Guess I do.

"You think we should be what?" Sirius asked incredulously, his shock littered with perhaps a few hints too many of disgust for my tastes. Because, you know, disgust isn't exactly the best of reactions one hopes for with these sorts of things.

"Well, don't sound too excited about it," I muttered dryly, crossing my arms over my chest. "Really, it'll go straight to my head."

"You want us to be friends?" Sirius repeated, as if I hadn't said anything at all. "You're serious?"

You know, I'm sure this was doing wonders for my inferiority complex.

"Why not?" I shot back, lifting my chin up a bit. "Believe it or not, I'm actually a rather halfway decent mate! And when we're not trying to insult each other to tears, I don't think we clash too brutally. Even you said that you never had any problems with me before this year, right? And now that I've hopefully convinced you that I'm not toxic for James, that takes care of that, doesn't it?"

Sirius eyed me carefully, matching my pose as he crossed his own arms over his chest and stood his ground. "I haven't decided whether or not I think you're toxic for James yet," he said. "I'm still considering it."

Oh, bloody hell, the obstinate fool.

"Fine," I said, throwing my hands up in defeat. "You're still considering it. Consider all you'd like. But what better way to do that than to get to know me, hm? And that's what new mates do! They get to know each other!"

"So I get to see your mad inner-workings and judge accordingly," Sirius mused, tapping at his chin. His eyes narrowed. "And what's in this for you exactly?"

In this for me?

Oh, this was sure to be a blossoming friendship.

But I suppose I respected the valid request for motive, if not exactly the callous way that he chose to word it. It was a legitimate concern. What was in this for me? Why was I even attempting to forge this clearly reluctant relationship into something more productive? It may have seemed like an utter nodcock stunt to pull, but I did actually have my reasons. And I suppose if anyone had a right to hear them, it was Sirius, the other half of this proposed madness.

I nibbled at my lower lip. "You want the truth?" I asked.

"The truth would be nice," Sirius replied.

"Fine." I nodded, letting out a short breath and trying to sort through the reasons in my head before I went and blurted them all out. "The truth is...well, the truth is, I've never hated you either," I said, giving a small shrug. "You've tested that sorely these past few weeks, but for every peabrained move you've made, at least your heart has been in the right place. You're loyal. You care. And for all that it stings, I respect the fact that you don't swallow everyone's nonsense. You call people out on their rubbish—perhaps with a bit less tact than is absolutely necessary, but you still get it done. I like that. And..."

"And?" Sirius prodded.

"And I'm not an idiot," I finished, feeling my face start to flush. "I'm a lot of things on a lot of days, but even I'm not stupid enough to think that anything between James and me would work if you weren't even the slightest bit accepting of it—of me."

That caught Sirius attention. His features eased slightly. "Evans, that's—"

"This is just a bump," I pressed on, ignoring the interruption and taking a small step closer to him. "In the long run of you and James, this is just an insignificant bump that probably won't even register fifty years down the line. You'll sort it out—hopefully sooner rather than later—and I know you may not believe this, but I'm actually happy about that."

"Nothing's ever insignificant with you," Sirius said, letting out his own sigh. "Not for him."

It was hardly the time, but I felt the blush start to stain my cheeks even deeper. I shoved my embarrassment aside, however, determined to go on.

"Maybe," I said, trying not to sound too skittish about that. "That's...well, that's possible, but it's not...not..." I trailed off, trying to find the right words to explain my point, but suddenly too frazzled to do a proper job of it. When words finally did come, I can't guarantee that they were the right ones, but they were certainly...well, very me. "It's like this," I blurted out, startling Sirius with my sudden outburst. He eyed me warily. I kept going anyway. "Say...say the two of us are dangling off separate cliffs, right? Slipping finger grips, feet swinging, yelling and carrying on, the whole dramatic debacle. Well, if we're both hanging there, and James is the only person around to help...he's going to save you first. So if it's all the same to you, I'd rather not have to make him choose. All right?"

It was stupid. It was so stupid.

Cliffs? Slipping finger grips? Swinging feet? Honestly?

But I suppose if we were really going to be mates, Sirius had a right to know straight off the bat just how mad I am. And I figure that this was probably a rather proper introduction.

And do you know what?

I reckon this friendship has more of a chance than even I expected, because there's something that I forgot when I was so busy lamenting my own loss of sanity and revealing such a flaw to Sirius.

The fact that, Sirius Black? Yeah. Pretty damn mental himself.

Or he must be, anyway, to have listened to me spout out my hypothetical cliff-diving misadventure, stared at me contemplatively for a few seconds, then, with complete and utter seriousness ask, "Well, how far are these two separate cliffs from one another exactly?"

Yeah.

I know.

It was like an instant burst of madness kinship, right there in the corridor.

"Er," I said, scratching absently at the back of my head. "I think you might be missing the point."

"And what about his wand?" Sirius asked next, beginning to grin. "Does he have a wand? Where are our wands for that matter? Why are we just hanging there like lame ducks? This is a ruddy cliff we're talking about. There must be footholds or something."

He had worked himself into a nice, long hearty bout of chuckles, clearly taking an endless amount of amusement in my rather serious analogy. But if Sirius understood my meaning, he didn't acknowledge it. He merely continued to chuckle contently to himself, shaking his head as if he couldn't quite believe how entertaining I'd proven to be.

"You're funny," is what he said, shaking his finger at me. "Even when you don't mean to be, you've got a certain wit about you. I like that. I wish I could use it for evil instead of good, but I don't think you'd let me."

"Er, no," I said, not knowing what else to say to that. "No, I wouldn't."

Sirius let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head in disappointment. "Pity," he said, then turned around and started walking off. "You could have had a bright future."

Wait a second, where was he going?

"Hey, wait!" I scurried after him, falling into pace beside him rather quickly despite the fact that his strides were about twice as long as mine. I glanced up, scowling at his amused grin. "That's it? 'You could have had a bright future'? What the bloody hell does that mean? And if you appreciate my wit so much, why can't we be mates?"

"I didn't say that we couldn't be mates."

"So we can?"

"I didn't say that, either."

Really, who has bloody time for this rubbish?

I jumped straight into his path, forcing him to stop walking or risk colliding right into me, which he did a bit of both of. As he glanced down at me questioningly, I stuck him with a good, stern stare.

"I'd like a straight answer, please," I said, plopping my hands on my hips. "Are we mates, or aren't we?"

"I'll give you your straight answer," Sirius replied, his questioning look turning into a more critical one. "But I've got one last thing to sort out with you first."

Sincerely hoping that I wasn't agreeing to anything too permanently damaging, I nodded.

"What," he said flatly, "the fucking hell are you doing with James, anyway?"

Uh.

Er.

...What?

"What am I doing?" I repeated slowly, eyebrows furrowing.

"Yeah," Sirius said, then waved a hand at me. "You. James. What is that?"

I could feel myself starting to blush again, red hot burning in my cheeks. "What do you mean, what is it? We're...you know."

"No," Sirius replied blandly, "actually, I don't. Some codswallop about boyfriends with potential. What the bloody fuck is that, anyway? It sounds like some sort of medical condition."

"First off, it's mates with potential," I corrected, bristling at his tarnishing of my very significant relationship jargon. "And secondly, it's not a medical term. It's a perfectly healthy in-between stage! It's—"

"—bullshit," Sirius finished, not letting me explain. "It's complete and utter bullshit, Evans, and you know it, too."

It's...as if...

Hmph!

The nerve!

"You don't know a thing about it!" I shouted, but even my bellowing didn't sound half as convincing as it really ought've. Sirius had the audacity to snort at this, as if I had just cracked an astoundingly hilarious joke, even though the only hilarious thing about this was going to be the look on his face when I gave him a swift jab to the stomach.

"Look, you said that you respect the fact that I call out people's bullshit, right? Well, here I am," Sirius said, spanning his arms out wide, giving me the perfect sucker-punch opening if I chose to take it. "I'm not stupid enough to accuse you of playing games twice because Merlin knows that went over so well the last time, but if that's not what you're doing...then what the hell are you doing, Evans? Do you even know?"

I seriously started considering that punch.

Did I know? Did I know?

Was he serious? Was he honestly asking me that? The shit. The fool. Of ruddy course, I...I...

Oh, bloody flistering hell.

Who was I kidding? Of course, I didn't know. I've never known. I've never wanted to know, lest it all turn out rather serious, which might force me to make a few rather significant changes, and Merlin help us all if it came down to that. Sirius was right. He was so right.

But I hated to admit it, especially to him.

The fight faded out of me rather quickly once I realised that I didn't have much of a leg to stand on. I could have stood there arguing with my obtuse, roundabout explanations, but there didn't seem to be much of a point. My defiance wavered, my shoulders slumped, and I decided that my time was probably better spent staring at my fingers as they twirled anxiously at the ends of my shirt than staring at Sirius.

"It's not a game," I muttered, at least able to defend that. "It never was. I just...I told you. Change makes me squirm, as well. So I'm just trying to...ease in. You know, wade into the shallow water. Slowly."

"Except James doesn't want to wade in," Sirius replied flatly. "He wants to jump. Head first. Quickly."

Well, didn't that just sum it up in a nice, neat bow?

"I know that," I returned sharply, the words coming pricklier than I'd hoped. My head was starting to pound. I lifted a hand to my temple, rubbing gently. "Don't you think I know that?"

"So then why don't you just jump along with him?" Sirius asked, as if it were actually that simple. When I stuck him with a glare that said as much, he frowned. "What? Do you have commitment issues or something? Isn't that usually a bloke thing?"

"They're not commitment issues!" I cried, scrunching my nose in distaste. Pah. I was a lot of things, but I was bloody well not a commitment-phobe. I mean…well, I think. "I don't want to be with anyone else," I said, as if that made my point.

"And you don't want James with anyone else?" Sirius asked.

The thought made me nauseous. "Of course not."

"Yet you let him go to lunch with Liz this morning, anyway?"

Great.

Just great.

Did he really have to go and remind me? Why not just kick a girl when she's down? It might have hurt less.

I fought back the urge to gag.

"Let him?" I grumbled, pouting perhaps just a little (or perhaps a lot). "As if I had a bloody choice in the matter. They're mates, remember? I'm supposed to be understanding of that. If I'd kicked up a fuss, I would have seemed like an unreasonable shrew."

Sirius made a scoffing sound, waving my assumptions off with a careless flick of his hand. "Of course you had a choice, Evans. You've got a brain! There were more creative ways to fix the problem without playing the brat if you'd actually cared to."

"Ways like what?"

Sirius rolled his eyes, turning and taking off down the corridor once more, forcing me to scurry along after him like a prize ponce again. As he plowed down the corridor without the least bit of consideration for my inadequate legs, he stared straight ahead and went, "You're supposed to be the wit here, Evans. You didn't have to tell him not to go. You could have concocted something imaginative—told him you were going to head into Hogsmeade, as well. Told him he should meet up with you after. I guarantee his lunch with Liz would have lasted ten minutes, he'd be so revved to get to you."

Fabulous. Now he gives me ideas.

Something I would have appreciated being brought to my attention, oh, how about this morning?

Psh.

"He just sprung it on me!" I protested, a bit put off now that I hadn't kicked up more of a fight, though I had legitimate reasons for that. "For Merlin's sake, I thought he was chucking me at first! A girl can only take so many surprises before her cleverness starts getting hindered. And then he threw all that date crap at me—"

Sirius stopped walking. "What date crap?"

Oh, hell. Why'd I have to go and bring that up?

"Er." I fidgeted around, squirming uncomfortably under Sirius's sharp gaze. "Well...er. It's like...I sort of sassed him back by saying something about us never having lunch in Hogsmeade, and James might have said something like we could go to lunch whenever I wanted, but that it would have to be...that he wouldn't want to call it a lunch. He want to call it a...er. A date," I finished quickly. "You know. Or something."

Or, you know, not something. Exactly that. A date.

The hives were starting to come back again.

"And?" Sirius said, completely oblivious to the fact that I had started frantically scratching at my arms for no reason. He just kept prodding me for answers. "What'd you say?"

"Erm..." Merlin, I itched. "Well, it was like..."

"You turned him down?"

"Er. No."

"You said yes?"

"Ah, no. Not exactly that, either."

Sirius threw his hands up in frustration. "So what in the name of all that's magical did you say?"

Jeez. So testy.

"I didn't say anything!" I cried, crossing my arms over my chest defensively. "He didn't give me the chance! He just threw it out there, told me to think about it, then sauntered off!"

"And you didn't go after him?" Sirius asked.

I blinked. "Why the bloody hell would I have gone after him?"

"To answer!"

"But I didn't have an answer! I had to think!"

"And?"

"I'm still thinking!"

Holy hell, like it was bloody rocket science or something.

Shockingly enough (not), Sirius didn't much like that answer. He let out a loud groan, fisting his hands in his hair as if he were about ready to just rip it straight out of his skull. And while I have been known to cause such frustration in others from time to time, really, don't you think someone was overreacting just a tad?

I mean, cool it, Deb Drama. Breathe or something.

"I have every right to take the time to think about this, Sirius—"

"It's a date, Evans. Not a bloody marriage proposal."

Well, if you put it like that. Psh.

I sniffed dismissively. "You're acting like I've said no. I haven't. I'm just—"

"Bullshitting!" Sirius cried loudly, which I think may have been becoming his new favourite word or something, he'd been tossing it about so much lately. But he didn't seem to care about his word count. Instead, he took a step closer to me, shaking his head. "I don't understand you, Evans. Really, I don't. You like James—you wouldn't put up with half his shite if you didn't. I mean, for Merlin's sake, you're even trying to make nice with me just to please him!"

Which was sounding like less and less like a brill idea, by the way. Not that Sirius let me get a word in edgewise to tell him so. He just kept going.

"You'll get yourself pummeled against a wall defending him to his bastard cousin, but you won't even let the bloke buy you a bloody butterbeer? What does that say? How long are you planning on wading in for, Evans?"

"You say that like it's so casual!" I argued, feeling my insides writhe. "You don't get it. If it was just a butterbeer, I'd be in, but it's not. First it's the butterbeer, then it's...it's...it's too fast, Sirius! It's just all too damn fast!"

"What are you so afraid of, Lily?"

And just like that, there it was.

The word that described positively everything and absolutely nothing at exactly the same time.

Afraid.

What was I so afraid of?

There were a million answers, a trillion possibilities, and I'd be damned if I knew one from the other. It wasn't a pinpoint-able thing, a question with a single solution. I didn't know what made me want to crawl into James one moment and sprint away in the next. There was no clear-cut reason why I shouldn't want to do exactly as Sirius had suggested and grab James's hand and jump in right along with him, just a series of panicked shocks and unpleasant anxieties that kept me plodding around in the shallow ends. And I had a right, I knew, to feel those things. Because I was right. This wasn't a casual thing and I couldn't make it into one and maybe it was exactly that complete and utter loss of control that had me grappling so frantically for whatever speed bump I could cling to. Because if I didn't cling, if we didn't slow down...

I don't know.

I don't know what would happen.

Maybe that's what I was afraid of.

Sirius was waiting for an answer. I didn't realise it until I'd snapped myself out of whatever trance his question had thrown me into and glanced up at him, taking in his jagged gaze and pulled frown with a certain amount of surprise. He tilted his head to the side, prodding me on with an expectant look.

"I don't know," I finally answered, the words inadequate at best. "I don't...know."

I expected a certain amount of exasperation at this. 'I don't know' was about as useful as a wooden sword against an angry dragon and I knew it. But maybe it was the pathetic look that had suddenly taken over my face, or the defeated slump of my shoulders, or maybe there was just a certain amount of sympathy and understanding in Sirius Black that I had never expected. In any case, Sirius accepted my sad excuse for an answer with a curt nod.

"Fine," he said, his tone soft. "You don't know. But you better figure it out and do something about it soon, Lily, because there's only so long that he'll be content with wading. Even for you."

I swallowed hard, and then nodded. I already knew that.

"And in the meantime," he said, "for as long as you and James continue to be..."

"Mates-with-potential," I supplied.

"Ah. Right." Sirius didn't have to roll his eyes in order for me to understand his thoughts on the topic. "For as long as you and James continue to be 'mates-with-potential', you and I will be...potential mates."

"Potential mates?" I repeated, my voice flat. "Sounds like a medical term."

Sirius flashed a grin. "Doesn't it?"

I refused to share in the joke with him, deciding that brooding over his blackmail was a far better choice. The only trouble was, Sirius didn't care a whit about my sulking.

"You've got to give in or give up eventually, Evans," he said, giving a careless sort of shrug. "Why not quit making everyone so miserable and make a decision sooner rather than later?"

Because I bloody well didn't want to.

And no one was miserable, for Merlin's sake.

"You rush things, you ruin them," I said with a lofty lift of my chin.

"You can't ruin something that doesn't exist," Sirius returned, and we started walking again. "Isn't that what potential means? Doesn't exist yet?"

"James and I exist," I muttered, kicking absently at the ground.

Sirius merely laughed, the little bugger.

I got so distracted then by my complete determination to come up with an amazingly stellar set down that would shut my potential mate up mid-smug snicker, I didn't realise that we'd finally reached the end of the long corridor until I suddenly found myself surrounded by a new set of stone walls—but ones I knew. We'd somehow ended up in one of the smaller rooms off the Entrance Hall, the one closest to the main staircase. I was so startled to be back in familiar territory that all my clever repartee disintegrated on the spot. Instead, I sighed with relief.

"Finally," I breathed, thinking it might not be so bad to stroll over to the familiar walls and give them an affectionate pat. "Somewhere I know."

"I thought the whole point of your outing was to get lost?" Sirius asked, shooting me a side-glance that more than hinted that he was well aware of my desire to kiss the recognizable ground we now walked on. "Not so fond of it anymore?"

"I suppose being attacked will do that to a girl," I said, but couldn't even get too distraught over that. I was all but skipping across the floor.

Sirius shook his head, pulling the door to the side room open. The pair of us stepped into the Entrance Hall (a room with a name I know!), which was decidedly less busy than usual, seeing as it was still late afternoon and not nearly close enough to dinner for people to be milling about on their way to the Great Hall. I didn't mind. It gave me the opportunity to make more of a ponce of myself with fewer witnesses.

"Hello, Entrance Hall," I said as Sirius and I moved into the room. "Hello, staircases. Hello, banister. Hello—"

"Are you going to greet every familiar inanimate object from here until Gryffindor Tower?" Sirius groaned, but seemed reluctantly amused as I hopped cheerfully up the steps, flashing grins at known sights.

"No." I waved to the portrait of Kinsley the Dragon Keeper as we rounded the first landing. Kinsley winked back. The dragon didn't look too happy about that. I glanced over my shoulder at Sirius. "I left my things in the library. I'll greet every familiar inanimate object from here to there."

Sirius choked. "The library? On a Friday?"

I shrugged, grinning at the candelabras, all which were happily lit even though there was still a hefty amount of light streaming in through the windows. What a waste of perfectly good wax. "I should probably still be there now," I said, rounding the next flight. "McGonagall's exam is fast approaching, you know."

Sirius snorted. "McGonagall's exam? Are you daft? That thing isn't for ages! And besides, aren't you supposed to have James about for study sessions? Wait, don't tell me—he's a tutor-with-potential, as well, right?"

He was really having far too much fun with my very important relationship terms.

"I don't know where James is," I snapped before I could think better of it, too agitated to realise how telling that was. An extra bit of stomp entered my step without much approval from my brain. "He's probably still too busy with his oh-so-important platonic meal with Liz in Hogsmeade to care about my precarious academic status."

Sirius didn't reply to that, and even though I knew that I'd earned every "you did this to yourself" eye roll he chose to send my way, I somehow found myself glancing over at him anyway, ready and waiting to defend my pathetic bitterness. But instead of staring at me with every bit of censure that I deserved, Sirius only continued to climb the stairs, smiling to himself. And since I figured I'd already made a large enough fool of myself and might as well get something out of it, I scowled at his silence and gave him a firm nudge in the side.

"I know we're not officially mates yet," I started, "but this is still the part where you pull out your map and tell me where James actually is. Any time now."

Sirius didn't even blink. "I don't need to pull out my map," he said. "I know where he is."

My stomach flipped.

He knew where he was.

He knew where he was!

I chose not to think about the fact that Sirius knowing where James was could simply mean that he knew James was still in Hogsmeade or—oh, hell, worse—still with Saunders somewhere else. Instead, I chose to take his comment as reassurance to myself that the mystery of James's whereabouts that had been so plaguing me all afternoon would soon be resolved.

Or it would have been, had Sirius chosen to say anything after that.

Honestly. Can't a girl be even the tiniest bit subtle these days?

"You're going to make me beg, aren't you?" I asked miserably, not even smiling at Professor Crandy as he passed us by, even though he's a perfectly jovial and familiar fellow. "You want me to dwell on all the horrible possibilities for hours more."

"I think a bit of dwelling might be rather healthy for you, yes," Sirius replied simply. "And just so you know, you've already got the nagging girlfriend bit spot on."

"He's still there, isn't he?" I fretted, taking Sirius's evading as a sign of guilt. The urge to sit and sob was suddenly not so far off. "He's still with her. Of course, he is. What kind of lunch is this, anyway? Twelve courses? Ridiculous, stupid, damned…he's going to spoil his bloody dinner! And—"

Sirius's abrupt hoot of laughter cut me off.

"Fucking hell, maybe James isn't in this alone." When I only glared, he laughed again. "He's sleeping, Evans," he finally said, and the whoosh of relieved breath that slipped out of my mouth would have been rather embarrassing if I was in a state to care. As it was, I hung without shame on Sirius's every word. "He's in his bed—alone—and has been at least since the end of lessons. That's when I found him crashed in his four-poster, anyway. So tame your jealous rages. The poor sod merely passed out."

I don't think I've ever been so glad to hear about an abrupt case of unconsciousness.

Sleeping.

He was sleeping.

The whole time, he'd been sleeping.

"Oh." My cheeks burned, but not nearly enough to make up for how utterly pitiable I had just been acting. "Right. Of course. Sleeping. He was awfully tired this morning."

"So glad you approve," Sirius replied flatly. It sounded like he was smirking again, but I couldn't bring myself to look. He suddenly stopped walking. "I thought you were going to the library?"

"What?" It took me a second to realise that we'd already reached the fourth floor landing and that I had intelligently begun climbing up the next flight of stairs. Sirius remained—yes, smirking—on the landing. "Oh."

Muttering to myself about stupid damn staircases and feet that moved on their own accord, I made my way back down the few steps and stopped next to Sirius. I was squirming about all self-consciously until I remembered that I wasn't the only one making a muck of directions.

I shot Sirius a smug look. "Wait a second. I thought you were going to the kitchens. A giant bowl of something, remember?"

"Changed my mind," Sirius answered simply, because he can be all quick and casual like that. He nodded towards the next flight of stairs. "I'm making a pit stop. Perhaps I'll see if Sleeping Beauty's roused from his slumber yet."

"You're going to talk to him?" I asked.

Sirius bopped my head lightly with his fist. "Sort your own business out, Evans. Let me deal with mine."

I bopped his head right back. "Since we're going to be mates," I told him, "you should probably know now that I tend not to stay in my own business. Ever."

There's nothing like a bit of honesty to start a mateship off just right.

Especially if it gets me some information.

It didn't, of course, but it was worth a try.

Instead, Sirius lifted an eyebrow and went, "So we are going to be mates, then?"

Psh. You can't meddle with a meddler.

I shrugged and simply said, "Perhaps. I suppose. Eventually. Maybe."

Ha. Just try for a more evasive answer. Really. Go on. Try.

Sirius was properly appreciative of such skill, though he did have to make a show of rolling his eyes and shaking his head in order to save face. I let him do it, just to show what an indulgent mate I could be. "Do you think you can manage the corridors without me?" he asked next, nodding his head towards the hall that led towards the library. "You don't need a guard, do you?"

"If I'm assailed, I'll shout for Pince," I replied. "She's quite fierce, you know."

Sirius nodded, chuckling, then moved around me and went for the staircases. He lifted his hand in a wave. "See you, then," he said.

"See you," I said, hardly believing that this whole…Merlin, what to call it. Saga? Disaster? Revelation? Well, whatever it was, it was ending. And rather quickly, too. "Sirius!" I called before his feet could carry him any further. As it was, he stopped and turned when he was already halfway up the next flight.

"What?" he asked.

"Thanks," I said earnestly. "Again. Truly. For coming. And for the talk. And for being my mate."

"I didn't say I'd be—"

"Bye!" I shouted before he could finish, shooting him a triumphant grin and speeding off down the corridor before he could stop me. I heard him grumble something or another on the stairs, but I didn't linger about to take note of it. Mates don't listen to other mates when they're spouting out rubbish, after all. It's practically in the code.

Mates.

Sirius Black and me, mates.

Who would have thought it?

Well, I would have thought it obviously, seeing as it was my idea, but if you'd brought it up any time before…oh, a half-hour ago, I would have thought you mad. But it makes sense. Sirius is James's best mate, after all, and the pair of them are not about to part from one another, whatever their present disagreements. And hopefully those will all be cleared up soon, anyway, so there's one less obstacle. Really, I think it could be quite the budding relationship.

And by budding, I mean that it has to, because it's very unlikely that we can wilt much more than we already have. It's just like my mum always says, when you've got a view from the ground, there's no place to go but up!

Thank you, Mum. I knew you were good for something.

I'm not so delusional to think that this is all going to pan out easily—I think Sirius is a fair bit more attached to his side of the James Line than I am mine—but in the end, I have the feeling it will be all right. I mean, I'm a pretty fab mate when I put my mind to it. So I'll put my mind to it. Simple as that.

And just because Sirius technically said we couldn't be mates until I officially get things straight with James…well, I will do that. When I'm not being hounded with ultimatums left and right. And when I have my hives under—

Hey, wait.

Where are my hives?

Oh, there's one. Tiny little blighter, though, aren't you? Where are your mates, little hive?

Interesting.

Hm.

I…

Hm.


Later, Still in the Library
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 275

The others will come, they're just not ready to right now. Probably because they know I'm not seriously considering anything so ludicrous as making good on Sirius's demands and talking to James about lunches and potential and other things of that variety. The hives know this. They're all, "We're calling your bluff, lady. You lose," with much smugness and superiority.

You can't hide things from the hives. They always know. You just can't.


Later, Still in the Library
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 275

And I'm aware that I'm technically thinking about all of this lunch and relationship business now because…well, because it's on my mind and why shouldn't it be, with everything that's happened today? But I'm not thinking thinking about it. Obviously. If I was, the little hive would have a friend. He'd have multiple friends. It'd be a hive party on my body and everyone would be having a damned fab time except for me.

But that hasn't happened, so obviously my thinking is only cursory thinking and not thinking thinking, which is actually quite a bit of a difference, just so you know.

Right.

So there.


Later, Still in the Library
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 275

Because I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about it because thinking about it gives me a panicky feeling inside and I sweat and feel like vomiting and throwing things and running really far distances and to be perfectly honest, I've already been tossed up against a wall and emotionally abused today, so I think I've had enough. My limit for self-damage has been used down to the very last reserve so I really have to stop moving from cursory thinking towards almost thinking because almost thinking is far too close to thinking thinking for my liking.

Merlin.


Later, Still in the Library
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 275

That's what I should be thinking about, anyway. And by that, I mean Evan and Regulus and Jack Avery and their absolute desecration of civility in the face of my exposure to whatever the hell it was that they were doing, not…you know, that. The D-word. Or the B-word. Or any word that goes along with those words.

I don't know why I'm not more consumed and overwhelmed by what happened. I mean, I was then, as was made obvious by the major meltdown on the staircase, but now I'm just somewhat…distantly unnerved about it all. Looking back and pulling apart the pieces of those—Merlin, was it even five minutes?—is strange. It's almost as if it hadn't happened to me, but I was some sort of bystander instead. "Oh, look at what they're doing to that poor girl! How awful!" "Oh, hell. That girl is me." It's a very odd sensation.

It was my own fault for tossing Evan's own superiority back in his stupid face, though. Even an idiot would have known that comparing James to Evan and clearly finding Evan wanting would not end peacefully. Evan has nothing if he doesn't have his overwhelming sense of self-worth and authority. I just never realised that he was as sensitive about James as James is about him. It's for different reasons, of course, but both equally volatile. If nothing else, I suppose it's good to know.

And what were the lot of them being so secretive about, anyway? What were they so determined to hide? If they're stupid enough to mess with dark magic in school, they probably wouldn't have been clever enough to banish it all so quickly. Not that they were subtle in the least, but still. I don't know. Part of me is dying to figure out what they're up to, but the other part is equally as anxious to forget the whole damn thing. If it is the worst, if they are involved in…Merlin, I don't even want to think it. But if they are involved, I don't think getting myself mixed in the middle of it is going to do anyone any good. But if I could just know for sure…

Good lord, what a mess.


Later, Still in the Library
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 276

All right. So that worked for ten minutes. Now what do I think about?

AND WHERE DID THE LITTLE HIVE GO?


Later, Still in the Library
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 276

Date.

Date, date, date, date, DATE.

Boyfriend.

BOY-FRIEND.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER.

Shit.

Shit.

What can I…oh.

Um.

Love.

LOVE.

All right, hives. TIME TO COME OUT NOW.


Later, Still in the Library
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 276

S—

I'm thinking about the things you said to think about and there are no hives and I don't feel faint or nauseous or even remotely like running far, far away and IT'S ALL YOUR DAMN FAULT. Or maybe I have a concussion. Why didn't you check? As far as saviours go, I'm very much regretting you.

You broke me. Fix me.

Hoping That You're Eating a Giant Bowl of TRAGEDY,
L.

EVANS,

YOU'RE MENTAL. ALSO, I OPTED FOR A SUGAR QUILL, BUT A GIANT BOWL OF TRAGEDY SOUNDS INTERESTING. GIVE THE RECIPE TO THE HOUSE ELVES. WE CAN HAVE IT FOR DINNER.

JAMES IS STILL SLEEPING. YOU CAN'T SHAG HIM NOW. SORRY.

SB

P.S. – I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT YOUR CLIFF GAME. AND IF WE BOTH DON'T HAVE WANDS AND WEATHER CONDITIONS ARE SIMILAR, I RECKON YOU MIGHT JUST GIVE ME A RUN FOR MY MONEY. MAYBE.


Later Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 276

The library proved equally as an unsatisfying place post-Getting-Lost-Adventure as it had been pre-GLA, so after tearing Sirius's note up into tiny, miniscule bits, I decided that it was time to leave. Yes, I would not have Pince about to protect me if I was dangerously accosted again, but that was I risk I would just have to take. I couldn't hang about these books anymore. The shelves were taunting me. There was something in the air here that was just not safe.

And whatever it was, it was clearly debilitating to hives.

Refusing to think about that any longer, I packed away my unfortunately mostly untouched Transfiguration notes and made my way back towards Gryffindor Tower. I needed something to take my mind off the entire regrettable situation. Perhaps Grace would be available for a game of Exploding Snap, or maybe the pair of us could go find Emma and force her to relay all the nauseating details surrounding her and Mac's joyful reunion. The prospect cheered me up considerably. There was nothing quite like someone else's embarrassment to get your mind off your troubles.

There were fortunately no assailants waiting around the castle's various corners in order to ambush me on my way to the seventh floor, though I'm not entirely certain if my head couldn't have used another slight bash to straighten things out. In any case, I made it to the Common Room without mishap and everyone inside was going about their business with much frivolity and casualness, as if it were just another lazy afternoon—which I suppose it was, for them. I could have lingered down there hoping that some of their joie de vivre would seep into me like osmosis, but that just seemed like too much effort. I was exhausted. I wanted my bed, a comfortable pillow, and maybe a concerned mate hanging about to keep checking in on me in case this was a concussion and I was at risk for slipping off into oblivion during my nap.

It seemed a simple enough plan. Hell, I'd even forgo the whole mate bit considering I wasn't entirely certain whether I might not be better off slipping into oblivion.

But even the simplest of my plans always have to have their glitch. Of course.

I climbed the stairs, thinking of my nice, warm bed and rubbing absently at the back of my head when it began to smart, dormant wounds sparking up again. It was only a few more steps. I could make it. I could already see our door up the stairwell. If I could just…it was right there

The door opened.

And—because this is me—naturally it couldn't be Grace or Emma on the other side.

Naturally.

Dear bloody fucking Merlin, if looks could kill.

She didn't say a word—I suppose she didn't really have to, standing there in the open doorway, tall, fierce, furious harpy that she is, glaring at me with eyes so slit they were almost closed. I stood my ground, but just barely. She wasn't wearing her uniform, but rather a hiked-up skirt and a blue jumper that clung to all the proper places. Her hair wasn't pulled back like usual either; she had it loose instead, all blonde and waved and pleasantly tousled.

Platonic, my arse.

"Hello," I said, keeping my face blank as my feet remained glued to the stairs. "How was your lunch?"

It was the wrong question to ask—or perhaps the right one, depending on the reaction I was trying to draw out. But considering I had reached my drama quota for the day and I wasn't in the least bit interested in getting a rise out of her, the fact that Saunders's eyes flashed and her mouth gaped open (did she think he hadn't told me?) had me thinking that I should go ahead and toss that one in the "wrong" bin. I didn't seem to be doing anything right this afternoon.

Saunders's gaping mouth jerked closed only long enough for her to frown down at me. "Perfect," she bit out. "It was a perfect afternoon. Just got back."

That jolted me for a moment, but thankfully not enough to show and thankfully not enough for me not to realise that Elisabeth Saunders had a far better reason to lie to me than Sirius did. So as she was looking all smug and superior up on her higher perch, I prayed that I was calling the right bluff, cocked my head to the side and went, "Well, you must have come back alone then, because James has been passed out asleep in his bed since lessons ended."

And just like that, the bluffer blew up in my face.

"So what, you just hang about in his bed all day long now?" Her sneer was nasty, her tone a sharp bark. "What a desperate slag you are, Evans. No wonder he's so blind."

"Yes, no wonder," I muttered flatly, simply not caring about the slander and slurs she sent my way. My feet unglued. I started climbing again. "Look, can we just skip the pointed insults and you can let me pass? I don't care—"

As I moved to brush past her, Elisabeth grabbed my arm.

"Do you think you're something special?" she asked, her voice deadly quiet. "Do you honestly think that anything you have—anything you've done—is anything more than just a second time around for him? You're not the first," she said, shaking her head. "You're not the first, you won't be the last, and as soon as the pathetic novelty of you wears off, he'll toss you aside and go back to the people who actually matter. You'll see."

I did see. I saw, I heard, I felt her satisfaction, and as much as I told myself that she was a bitter, scornful hag who was only trying to get under my skin, she was a bitter, scornful hag that had succeeded.

Do you honestly think that anything you have—anything you've done—is anything more than just a second time around for him?

No, I hadn't thought that. I hadn't even let myself consider any of that more than the simple fact that Elisabeth Saunders and countless other girls before her existed. But now the images in my head were burned with taints of someone else—her —and I'd be damned if that didn't make me feel sick.

Damn it.

Damn it.

Dread sizzled and churned in my stomach.

"I'm different," I said, but my lips were parched and the words were soft and I don't know how much I believed them. But this was James and this was me and something inside of me grew indignant at her accusations, so when I spoke again, at least it sounded like I meant it. "I'm different and you're bitter. And you know it, too."

Saunders's eyes flashed, but any reaction further than that I didn't stick around to see. Jerking my arm out of her grip, I shoved into the room, grateful to see that the curtains around my bed were already closed and so all it took for me to shut out the world was a quick yank of fabric on one side and a swift sliding maneuver into my bed. I didn't watch as she disappeared from view when my curtain fell closed again. I simply dropped my rucksack onto the floor, kicked off my shoes, curled up against my pillows, closed my eyes, and waited for the sounds of her footsteps and the click of the lock that would herald the closing door and her departure. Her voice came before the sounds.

"You'll never understand him," she said, her words not the least muffled by my fabric shields. "You weren't there. You don't know him. Not like I do. And you never will."

It took a few seconds, but soon enough—tap, tap, tap, click.

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter.

Shit.

Shit, shit, double bloody fucking shit.

She's a shrew. She's a damn stupid, utterly moronic, appallingly rotten, very bad shrew. And if she thinks she's going to get to me with her…her…oh, her bloody rubbish mind games, then she has another thing coming! I will not be shaken. I will not be manipulated. She's the one who doesn't understand. She's the one who doesn't know him. And if I have anything to say about it, she never will.

And I do have something to say about it, because I may not be the first, and I may not be the last, but I sure as hell am the now and that's a damn sight better than she can say! And maybe nothing's official yet, but I'm thinking about—I mean, not that I'm certain or anything because hives are fickle and everything but…

Hell.

I need some sleep. Now.


Even Later, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 276

I woke up to an incessant pounding against my head. Literally.

"Oy! Rise and shine, Slaggy! Up, up, up! You've got a note!"

I rolled over in my bed, letting out a prolonged groan. Ugh. A headache is what I've got, much thanks to Gracie and her ever-tenacious battering of my head with what I now realised must be a folded up piece of parchment. What, has the thing got a "Hit Me" sign tacked to it or something? Hadn't anyone ever heard of severe head trauma? Not caring the least bit about some crap post when aneurisms were undoubtedly exploding inside of my brain every second, I moaned in protest and swatted Grace's hand away.

"Leavmelone."

"Up!" She quit hitting my head, but only so she could start bopping away at my nose. "It's dinner time, Lil! Can't you hear the stomachs rumbling?"

I couldn't, and frankly didn't really care to. I mumbled out a few choice profanities to that effect, but Grace wasn't having any of it. My dirty mouth might have managed to curb her abusive tendencies, but not her demands.

"Lazy birds who nap their days away don't collect their post," she said, and there was a bit of parchment rustling. Her tone went all threatening. "If this is a dirty love note, I'm warning you now, I'm going to read every last bit of—"

Ah!

I sprung up, swiping the parchment out of Grace's hand before she could even finish her sentence, ignoring her satisfied chuckles as I clutched the note possessively against my chest.

She grinned pleasantly. "Good morning."

I gave her an irritated grunt of acknowledgement in reply, but really wasn't paying her much attention. Moving the parchment away from my chest, I fingered the half-opened note carefully. My heart hammered wildly.

James had woken up. He'd written me a note. James had woken up and written me a note and here it was. What would—

I turned the note over and caught sight of the emerald-coloured 'Lily Evans' etched elegantly across the front.

My heart sank.

Damn it.

"This isn't from James," I told Grace in confusion.

The rotten shrew had the audacity to shrug. "I only said if it was a love note, not that it was."

Oh, for the love of…I shot her a dirty look for the deception, telling her with my annoyed glares exactly what I thought of such trickiness, even as she just continued to grin. Muttering bitterly to myself about utter crap mates and what exactly the proper term was for when one killed one's dormmate, I ripped open the remaining seal wax with my finger and unfolded the parchment. The note was short.

Dear Miss Evans, it said.

If you could spare the time, I would appreciate a meeting with Mr. Potter and yourself this evening at 7:30.

Regards,

Dumbledore's signature was scrawled at the bottom.

A meeting with Dumbledore. Lovely.

"Who is it from?" Grace asked.

Even though I was still a bit cross, I grudgingly handed the note over to her. "Dumbledore. Where did you get it?"

Grace's eyes scanned over the note briefly. She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "Some third-year dropped it round earlier. Are you in trouble?"

The thought had crossed my mind, to be honest. I mean, Merlin knew I'd been involved with enough shady business lately to warrant being chastised for days. Had Dumbledore found out the truth about Amos? Or that I had sneaked into James's detention? And what about James? He'd had his meeting with Dumbledore yesterday, but who knew what kind of things he'd been up to since then. Sirius did say that they'd been out at all hours last night doing Merlin only knows what. Or did Dumbledore know about James skiving off lessons today? Professors didn't usually tattle about such things to the Headmaster, but James and Saunders had history with that sort of thing and Dumbledore did have a way of knowing just about everything that goes on inside this castle.

But who knew? Maybe it was just a generic Heads meeting. There was no way to tell.

I rubbed at my slightly aching temples with one hand and took the note back from Grace with the other. "I don't know," I sighed, shrugging wearily. "It could be. Or it could not be. I suppose I'll find out."

That kind of uncertainty was less than comforting, though. Hadn't I had an eventful enough day already? Wasn't the universe satisfied yet? For Merlin's sake, I just wanted to go back to sleep.

"What time is it?" I asked Grace, already snuggling back beneath my blankets. Hmm. Warm.

"Nearly 6:30," she answered, and while I was distracted with the comforting feel of the pillow beneath my head, she unceremoniously whipped the blanket back off my slovenly body. I jerked around in outrage.

"Hey!"

"Get up." She held the blanket hostage behind her back, completely and utterly indifferent to my need for peace and serenity. My glares did nothing but amuse her. "Emma's with Mac and I'm starving. We're going to dinner."

"I'm not hungry," I muttered, which was actually not a lie, even though I hadn't eaten anything since I'd moodily picked at my lunch this afternoon. I swiped my arm out, grappling for the blanket without success. "Gra-ce. Give me my blanket back!"

"No." She tossed it onto Emma's bed behind her, and I let out a shrill sound of protest. What a manipulative hag. If I meant to fetch the thing, I'd have to get out of bed. Pah! "Friendship is about sacrifice, Lily," Grace told me next. "You're sacrificing your comfort for mine. Now let's go."

"No."

"Slaggy—"

There was a bit of a scuffle that ensued then, but I suppose that it was really Grace's match from the beginning. After all, I was all bleary-eyed and had spent most of my afternoon being physically shoved into a wall and then emotionally tossed off a cliff, so you'll have to forgive me if my reflexes were a bit off kilter. I suppose that's why I gave up rather quickly, though I didn't do it gracefully. There was a lot of cross muttering and grumbling as I grudgingly got out of bed. Things went a bit wobbly when I stood. I grabbed the nearest bed poster for balance.

"Whoah." My legs were all jiggly. "Things are moving…"

"That's what happens when you sleep all afternoon," Grace said, entirely unsympathetic. She was already moving towards the door.

"Or have a concussion," I told her bitterly, but did start to follow her once my legs could finally carry my weight. Grace snorted, obviously thinking this was a joke.

"You're not getting out of going to dinner, Lily," she said.

"I'm serious! I have got one!" Then, "Well, I mean, I could."

Grace remained dubious. "Why could you have a concussion?"

"It's a long story."

"It's a long walk to the Great Hall."

And really, who could argue with logic like that?

So as Grace and I made our way out of Gryffindor Tower and down to the Great Hall for a dinner I didn't want to attend and didn't plan on eating, I told her about my run-in with Evan, Regulus and Jack, omitting only what had caused my desire to wander in the first place (if Grace knew that James had almost sort of asked me on a date before he'd left with Saunders, she'd go mental) and the extensiveness of my conversation with Sirius afterwards. I hadn't come to any resolution or conclusion about either issue, so I wasn't particularly comfortable dithering on about it with Grace before I'd gotten a chance to examine it all myself. She didn't notice either exclusion. I had already given her quite a bit to chew on.

"That wanker," she brooded, scowling as we made our way down the main staircase. "I can't believe he'd just attack you like that! What the bloody hell is wrong with him? I know the Rosiers have had bad blood with the Potters since James's mum ditched them for his dad and everything, but why Evan's dragging you into it is beyond me. I hope you crushed his nethers into tiny bits and pieces."

"I doubt it, considering he didn't stay down for very long," I replied, trying to mask my surprise that Grace knew anything at all about the Potters and Rosiers. It seemed strange, but I suppose that was underestimating the universal knowledge shared between fellow pureblood clans. It didn't seem like Grace knew anything about what had happened to James's mum last year—Sirius'd said that the Potters had kept the whole thing very discrete—but I was too nervous about letting too much information out to pick her brain. Instead, I just let her rant.

"I can't believe Reg, either!" she cried, throwing her hands into the air. "Actually turning his wand on you! I swear, he wasn't like that when we were younger—I mean, he was always a bit of a follower, but not to the point of stupidity. I suppose that when Sirius wasn't around to worship any longer, he found replacements in Evan and Avery. The stupid ponce."

"Were they close?" I asked curiously. "Sirius and Regulus, I mean?"

Grace nodded. "Two peas in a pod, really. I didn't see them often—you know how my mum feels about that side of the family—but when we did, Reg was like Sirius's shadow. I suppose you've got that in common. You were like that with Petunia, yeah?"

I shrugged, not the least bit interested in delving into the intricacies of my relationship with Petunia and how it did or did not relate to Sirius's with his own brother. We may have a sibling kinship, but that was nothing to brag about as far as I'm concerned. I changed the subject quickly.

"I'm just glad Sirius showed up," I said as we finally reached the Entrance Hall. "I don't even want to think about…well, he did and it's over. That's all that matters. I wonder what's for dinner?"

Grace knew a "subject closed" when she heard one, and though that usually wouldn't have been even remotely enough for her to back off, I suppose she must have made allowances for me and my very tender physical and mental state because she didn't prod further. Instead, we moved on to small talk as we sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table where a few of the sixth-years were already enjoying their meals. I grabbed a few things to put on my plate, but it was mostly just to blend in. I've just been pushing it around with my fork.

I wonder if James is awake yet. I wonder if he got his note from Dumbledore, as well. I'll just have to wait and see, I suppose. It's too bad that I'm entirely sick of that.

How long does one have to hang about dinner for, anyway?


Late Late, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 276

I don't regret it.

I don't regret it and I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing or even something at all—except that it has to be, doesn't it, because…well, because? And that feeling in my stomach could be excitement just as easily as it could be terror and everything in there is just jumping and turning and…and…

Oh, god.

Oh my god.

I want—

Oh, bloody hell, I can't do this yet.


Latest, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 276

As it turns out, you have to hang about dinner for quite some time, especially when Chris Lynch shows up and your best mate happens to be molesting him on a semi-regular basis and insists on staying around to flirt and schedule a new mauling session while simultaneously munching on some roast beef. Apparently, the sacrifices of friendship also include remaining at the Gryffindor table while said mate debates the pros and cons of the traditional Astronomy Tower versus the always unpredictable Greenhouse 4 as the best shagging location, and your input is often requested because "you are bound to have some opinion on such things by now, aren't you?"

Really, the things I put up with. It's a wonder I haven't ended up in Azkaban yet.

But there's only so much one witch can take.

"Grace." I nudged her hard in the side, finally reaching my limit when it appeared as if she and Chris were about to move away from the discussion portion of this particular conversation and embark upon a more hands-on approach, which I most certainly had an opinion about. Luckily, Grace stopped fondling Chris beneath the table long enough to spare me a glance. "It's 7:15," I told her quickly, knowing she heard my desperation. "I have to go. Dumbledore meeting, remember?"

"You've got fifteen minutes still!" she protested anyway. "Stay a bit longer."

Over my dead body, was the response I would have liked to give and conveyed that sentiment tacitly to Grace through a very pointed look, but aloud all I said was, "It's Dumbledore, Gracie. Can't be late. Stay if you'd like, though. I'll see you later."

I rose from my seat before Grace could put up any sort of fight (though honestly, I don't know why she would want to. I was making her fondling so much easier by leaving), then made quick work of saying my good-byes around the table. My head was aching, half from sitting in the hall with all the jibber-jabbering and dirty flirting, half from the concussion that I was gradually becoming convinced was a true possibility as the night wore on and my disorientation didn't fade. I knew that there were all sorts of rules surrounding concussions and sleeping and no-no-don't-do-that-you-won't-wake-up, but going to Pomfrey after the meeting with Dumbledore was already sounding exhausting and I had a sneaking suspicion that that was only going to grow worse. I was already dreaming about my bed and the nice, comfortable pillows that were eagerly awaiting my return therein.

I mean, Emma has a few healing books, doesn't she? One of them is bound to have a spell for curing concussions. It's like the most common injury ever. It's practically a stubbed toe. So Em will just perform it for me. There! Problem solved!

Comforted by my new plan, I left the hall and ambled on up to the seventh floor while mentally compiling a list of all the things I'd have to bribe Emma with in order to convince her to actually perform a healing spell on my head. I was still figuring out the semantics of it—perhaps I should rope Grace into the scheme for good measure?—when I suddenly found myself standing face-to-face with the Fat Lady. Frowning in confusion as she stared at me expectantly, I realised that my feet had automatically carried me towards Gryffindor Tower. Dumbledore's office was on the complete opposite side of the floor.

Damn. Now how had that happened?

Stupid bloody feet. Can't you do anything right?

Shaking my head—really, I'm sure this was all somehow the concussion's fault—I pivoted on my heel and sighed. It was unfair temptation. My entire being ached to just give the password and go inside. But much as I wanted to stay and curl up on a Common Room couch for the rest of the night, I knew—

WHACK.

The Portrait Hole swung open with a fury and speed I'd never seen before.

And down I went, straight on my arse, the idiot who got in the way.

Dear Concussion,

Want a mate? His name is Broken Tailbone.

Love, Lily.

I groaned.

"Shit! Shit. I'm so—Lily? Oh, fucking hell, we're both late?"

Late? my mind took in hazily, the dizzy circle of stars spinning round my head slowing down enough for me to comprehend that profanities and blather about lateness were not even remotely close to the groveling apology that should have been being lavished upon me just then. Wanting to be offended but not having the energy, I decided to wallow upon the ground in my heap of misery and malady instead, not registering the fact that I knew that voice—knew that voice well—until I'd had a few seconds to sulk. I only bothered to look up at my attacker when the revolving stars had slowed into a nice, steady parade and my eyes could focus once more.

And who would be standing there leaning over me, looking frantic and disheveled and blinking down at my fallen form in surprise, but James.

Fabulous.

Now he finds me—with a bloody door.

"Go on," I told him weakly, closing my eyes and leaning my head against the wall behind me, giving my wrist a sloppy flick. "Go on without me. Tell Dumbledore I say hullo. A girl can only be knocked down so many times before she gets the point and just stays there."

"Come on," James said, ignoring my dramatic requests and grabbing hold of the wrist that had been waving him off. He tugged hard. Ow. "Dumbledore's probably wondering why the bloody hell we've stood him up. Some Head students we are, showing up late—"

"We're not late," I snapped, twisting my wrist out of his painful grip and giving him a bitter scowl. "For Merlin's sake, it's barely even 7:20. Now let me alone."

"What are you talking about, 7:20?" He shot me an incredulous look, then lifted his arm—the one that had just been yanking mine out of its socket—to check his wristwatch. "My alarm went off and it said 7:55. It's…" He trailed away, reeling back from his watch in confusion, then squinting down at the gadget again. When he spoke next, his voice was all befuddled. "What the…it's 7:22."

I can't believe I fancy this blighter. He can't even tell time.

Letting out a long sigh, I once again closed my eyes and slumped on the ground. "Yes, James. Yes, it is."

"But…that can't…"

Listening as he began muttering to himself, I vaguely recalled having been waiting all afternoon to see this idiot, though now I couldn't remember why. There had been a reason or two, hadn't there? My brain could not get past the fact that the madman who had just plowed me down with the Fat Lady (who, by the by, had not said a damn thing about the abuse except expressing mild concern about her frame. Really, what a fab guard. I feel so safe) was the same one who had been plaguing me all day long. I had been a bit desperate for his presence at some point, hadn't I? And now, scant hours later, all I wanted to do was conk him over the head with a metal pot and watch him fall.

On its own accord, one of my eyelids popped open, the single eye focusing in on the prat in front of me. He was still standing there with a puzzled frown pulling at his lips, his brow furrowing as if the world had suddenly taken on a whole new perplexing light and he just couldn't figure it out. He didn't appear any more revived than he had this morning—and how ludicrous was that considering the nap-fest he'd participated in all afternoon? His hair was sticking straight up on the left side of his head while his glasses were settled crookedly atop his nose, only partially covering his mostly bleary eyes. His clothes were rumpled, one shirttail hanging out of his wrinkled trousers, his tie draped haphazardly loose around his shoulders, one end dangling down by his thigh, the other barely staying put around his neck. He looked like he'd just rolled out of bed—which he had, I realised, his grousing about the alarm finally settling in. As he continued prattling on to himself, I shut both eyelids again.

"Did he—changed the clock. Hm. Funny. Hasn't done that since…so why would he…"

I stopped listening, focusing instead on the nice, pleasant blackness that was settling over me, thinking that it might not be such a bad idea to just lay my head down on the ground and snooze for a few centuries. I was so pleasantly consumed with those soothing dreams that I didn't even realise that James had quit talking to himself and returned his attention back to me until I suddenly felt the back of his fingers drift down my cheekbone.

"—right, love?" he was asking, though I'd missed the first part.

"Shhh." I leaned into his hand, but didn't open my eyes. "I have a concussion."

James's fingers stopped moving. "I hit you that hard?"

I shook my head, slightly uplifted by his worried tone. It was quite nice to have someone so concerned over my wellbeing—you know, even if he's the one who'd knocked me to the ground in the first place.

"Believe it or not," I informed him wearily, "you're not the only one who's tried to do me in today. Take a ticket and get in line, my friend. There could be quite a wait."

James—clearly thinking I was kidding—chuckled warmly. "That sounds like a story."

"It is." I was glad that he was chuckling over it now. When—if—he actually found out about what had occurred this afternoon, something told me he wouldn't be so amused. Hasty to get off the subject, I finally opened my eyes and shifted about. I distracted him with orders. "Help me up, would you? And without dislocating my shoulder, if you please."

"Right." James unbent from his crouch and held out his hand.

With much effort—and honestly, not one hundred percent of my own approval—I put my hand in his and let him gently lift me back up to my feet. My head and bum smarted, but it was something I was getting used to, the constant feeling of pain coming from some place or another. I knew I could have dragged this one on for ages—if I wanted to moan and complain about the agony of abuse from here to Dumbledore's office and then back again, James deserved to hear every last banshee-esque whine of it—but I suppose I was slightly placated when instead of indulging me and my complaining, James instead used the momentum of his gentle tugging to pull me up against him, then leaned down to drop a quick kiss against my lips.

"Sorry about ramming you down," he murmured against my mouth. "I'm a tosser."

"Hmm," was all I could get out in response, and maybe sort of technically lifted myself onto my toes so that our mouths fit back together again. But it was probably James. You know how he is. "Come on," I said, stepping away before I—he —got any ideas. Space was best in situations like these. And I know what you're going to say, but I'll have you know that you can still retain a rather large chunk of your own personal space whilst simultaneously threading your fingers through someone else's. "Dumbledore's probably set on chucking us as it is. We might as well be prompt about it."

"Why would he chuck you?" James asked, flashing me a grin. "I mean, the only detentions you end up in are the ones you decide to crash. You're backlogged."

He was going to bring that up every chance he got, wasn't he?

His wicked grin said, "Why, yes. Yes, I am."

Lovely.

I gave him a good scowl. "You're an idiot."

James clicked his tongue in disapproval. "So hostile."

"Must be the concussion. I'm normally of an entirely pleasant disposition."

"Is that what you call it?" he laughed. I refused to smile, even though his was wide and rather infectious. "Speaking of which," he said, nudging me in the side as we rounded the corner of the next corridor, "where exactly did this concussion come from? Grace duff you up? Or wait, let me guess—a Transfiguration-induced concussion?"

"Fair guesses, but no," I replied, nibbling at my lower lip. I had meant to get off the topic, but had stupidly brought us back around. My conscience prickled at being entirely less than forthcoming about the whole thing, but I decided then and there that even if I did choose to tell James about what had happened today in the dungeons—and to be perfectly honest, I really wasn't certain if that was the best of ideas, ever—now was most certainly not the time to do so. I grappled for some sort of evasion. "I, er, got into a bit of a scuffle this afternoon," I told him, which wasn't even a lie, so I felt slightly better. "And what about you?" I asked, suddenly recalling that there was actually something of significance to turn his head with. "How was your afternoon? Your…platonic lunch?"

The semi-painful wince that crossed over James's face then was enough to placate whatever stinging remains of Saunders's earlier barbs were still left inside of me. Whatever he and Liz had been doing all that time, it hadn't been fun.

"I've had better," he confessed, all of a sudden sounding quite exhausted. He shot me a rueful side-glance. "She really doesn't like you."

Oh, truly? And here I was thinking we were making some progress.

I rolled my eyes. "Really. How so very shocking. What did she say?"

"Er." James lifted a hand to scratch absently at the back of his neck. The wince had returned. "Well. I don't want to…it's…you know what? It really doesn't bear repeating."

Oh, dear.

"That bad?" I asked.

"I defended you," James assured me quickly. "Every time."

Funny how comforting that all of a sudden wasn't. James squeezed my fingers and I knew he was trying to brush past this like it wasn't that big of a deal, but much as I was glad that he hadn't let Liz stomp all over my good (well, halfway decent, anyway) name, I knew what that girl was capable of. Seven years of hatred had given me a rather experienced look at the bint's inner workings and worst machinations. And more than that, I knew that for every twisted, contrived, dirty plot and insult she came up with, there was always some sort of half-arsed truth interwoven in there that somehow got you thinking.

And if I knew that, if I was still affected…

Was James thinking?

Was he…I mean…was he?

I glanced up at him, taking in his face as if waiting for a big, neon sign reading, "I'M QUESTIONING OUR RELATIONSHIP, EVANS!" to suddenly appear upon his nose, twinkling and shining, a suitable warning. But it didn't—shockingly enough, nothing did—and instead I just watched him yawn and ruffle his hair as we continued to walk. The tufts of hair that had been plastered straight up were now joined with others as his fingers teased the unruly mop. He grinned at me, a sort of come-on-let's-just-be-cheery-yeah? plea that I acknowledged but wasn't certain I could follow through with. The uneasiness brewing in my stomach was too strong.

"I saw her earlier," I found myself saying, trying to gauge his reaction. "Ran into her in the dormitory."

"Earlier when?" he asked, blank faced.

"Five?" I guessed. "I'm not really certain. Somewhere around then. She tried to tell me that the pair of you had just gotten back."

James let out a frustrated sigh, raising his eyes towards the ceiling. "We did not. We got back just before lessons let out. I was tired, so I went to sleep. I don't know where Liz went—probably to your dorm. I take it you realised she was playing you false?"

"I'd got a tip that informed me otherwise, yes." I thought it best to leave out the fact that the tip had come from Sirius. "Still, the girl had a lot to say."

James faltered slightly at my insinuation. "What do you mean, a lot to say?"

I shrugged. "Same drivel as always, I suppose, except with a little extra bite. You do realise that she's just counting down the days until you come back to her, right?"

James let out a long sigh. "Lily—"

"What? It's true. She's practically got your names printed on wedding invitations already."

James frowned. "She does not. You're being dramatic."

Dramatic?

Oh, I'd give him dramatic.

"Give me a ponder when you're standing in the church reciting your vows, yeah?" I was scowling in earnest now. "Hell, maybe I'll even be there. Think you can remember to invite me? I bet Saunders would allow it, just out of spite—"

James stopped walking and I jerked to a stop as well, our connected hands protesting the distance. I went to drop it (had I really been holding it that whole time?), but James held on tighter, squeezing my fingers. I shot him a look that told him exactly what I thought about this hostage situation, but he still wouldn't let go. He dragged me back towards him.

"You're working yourself up for no reason," he said calmly, with a look of his own that clearly screamed, "Settle down, madwoman." I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off. "No, you are. What did I tell you earlier, Lil? Does it matter if Liz is making up invites in her head?"

"Yes!" I cried stubbornly, even though I knew that was not the answer he was looking for. "Yes, it bloody well does because she's so ruddy positive that this is all going to work out for her in the end, thinks she's so damn important—"

"Lizzie and I went through a lot together," James interrupted again, his voice clipped. "I've told you that before—I've told you all this before. You have no idea…Christ, Lil, how many times do I have to tell you that you're different?" He was growing frustrated now, his voice rising and moving more quickly. "Merlin knows I'll do it, but sooner or later something's got to give. Now if you wouldn't mind, I'd rather have this conversation at a time when Dumbledore's not waiting on us down the hall, all right?"

He was right—he was so right—and I knew it. Like some other conversations I could mention, this was not one that we should be having while traversing to the Headmaster's office. I felt like a shrew for being so belligerent, but I couldn't help it. Saunders had gotten into my head earlier and I was so desperate for reassurance that I was taking it all out on James. That was beyond idiotic. I instantly felt guilty, chastised. It wasn't his fault that Elisabeth was obsessed. And yet, here I was, acting like he was playing right into her hand.

The fight dropped out of me when I realised what a hag I was being. James saw it and the tension in him eased, too. One hand still in mine, the other settling on my shoulder, he leaned in a bit. "Better?" he asked.

"Yeah," I muttered, feeling a blush start to creep up my neck. "Yeah, fine. Sorry. I shouldn't have…there's just something about her that gets my guard up. You should have heard her earlier. She's like a dementor—she just sucks the soul straight out of you!"

James laughed. I was glad to hear the sound if it meant we were on steady ground again, but it was still slightly frustrating that he thought I was kidding, that he couldn't see her for the miserable cretin that she was.

"She can be a little close-minded at times," he said, as if she were a small child whose whims should be indulged. "She's fierce, but she's not always right. Obviously."

"Yes, obviously," I repeated, but with a lot less certainty. James smiled.

"We'll work on that later." He dropped his hand from my shoulder and used it to give me a little prod. "For now, we'd better go. Otherwise, we will be late."

I muttered out some sort of acceptance to that, but my heart still sank a bit as we started walking again. So we were letting the Saunders thing go. I knew that was best—hell, did I really want to be getting into all this right now?—but it still left me with a dissatisfied feeling nestling in the pit of my stomach. I would have given anything to have been a fly on the wall during their lunch, to see what she'd said and what he'd said back. Defending me was all well and good, but not if they were empty defenses. Was I worth defending—truly defending? For some reason, what Sirius had said earlier caught in my mind—Isn't that what potential means? Doesn't exist?

How was James supposed to defend something that didn't exist? I bet Saunders saw right through that.

I didn't have long to stew about it. We were already standing outside of Dumbledore's office. James didn't waste a second.

"Treacle fudge," he said, and the gargoyle leapt aside, revealing the staircase behind. He finally dropped my hand and placed one foot on the lowest stair of the spiral case, throwing me a questioning look over his shoulder. "Ready?" he asked.

I nodded, waving him up. He turned back around and made the move to climb, but the motion seemed to be too much for the tie that had already been precariously hanging on by a thread about his neck. It fell to the floor before James could clear the first step, collapsing into a little pile between our feet.

"Oh, hell." He swiped the strand of fabric from the ground, then shoved it into his pocket. "Let's go—"

"Are you serious?" The blatant display of untidiness was enough to pull me out of my funk as it occurred to me just what sort of state I was about to escort James into the Headmaster's office in. Oh, dear lord, the things this boy made me forget! "Honestly, could you at least try not to look like you've been drooling on your pillow all day long? I can't believe I was about to let you waltz right in there like this!" I lifted my hand to his hair, trying to comb it flat with my fingers (it sprung right back up, at different angles this time), then righted his glasses properly on his nose. Sighing, I held open my palm. "Give me that tie. And for Merlin's sake, tuck your shirt in!"

"Dumbledore doesn't care what I look like," James grumbled, but pulled the tie out of his pocket and handed it over. I popped his collar and hooked the tie around his neck, quickly going through the motions that I'd done for my dad a million times before.

Except that James is not my dad.

James is most certainly not my dad and all I'd been thinking about when I'd barked out my orders was that I was grateful for a distraction and that he shouldn't be looking like such a slob in front of Dumbledore. I was not think about the fact that dressing someone can often times be just as unnerving as undressing someone and requires the same sort of proximity and certain level of…well of something that no pair of people who don't "exist" can pull off, but by the time I did realise all that, the task was already done and I was pulling his collar down over the tie and smoothing down the linen on his shoulders and…and…

Oh, bloody hell.

If there were ever a time for hives, this would be it.

"I can't look that awful," James snorted, and my semi-panicked gaze snapped from his shoulder up to his face, glad that he was misinterpreting my alarm for a simple case of OCD. He was still laughing as he rolled his eyes, grabbed the shirttail that was lying against his thigh and tucked it into his trousers. He held his arms open wide. "There. I must pass as at least presentable now, right? No need to panic."

"I'm not panicked," I said, but I was. I so was.

Because the thing is…I had the distinct feeling that from now on, the only hives I'd be getting are the ones that came when I was worrying over the fact that I wasn't getting hives.

Shit.

Shit.

When the bloody hell had that happen?

James tossed me a look that was all, "Honestly?" but I couldn't even be bothered with it. I didn't want to look at him too hard or else the hives-that-came-when-I-wasn't-getting-hives were going to arrive and I would have preferred not to be scratching absently at different parts of my body while conversing with Dumbledore. So even though James was still glancing at me like I was a few important candles short of a birthday cake, I forced my face to loosen up, pushed past him, and started up the steps. Undoubtedly used to my insanity, James just chuckled again and followed along.

When we reached the landing, the door to Dumbledore's office was partially open. I could already see him seated behind his massive desk, scribbling something or another with a long quill that was moving rapidly back and forth across a page. I suspected he heard our entrance, but I still rapped my knuckles against the wooden door before stepping inside. "Professor?"

He glanced up, his close-lipped smile welcoming. "Ah. Miss Evans, Mr. Potter. Come in."

James and I shuffled inside, James closing the office door behind us. The place hadn't changed much since the last time I'd been there, though I don't know why I expected it might've. There was still enough odd clutter and knickknacks on every perch to be mildly disconcerting, but the chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk were empty enough, so I took a seat in one of them. James settled in the other.

"I apologise for the short notice," Dumbledore started, finishing off whatever he'd been writing with a flourish of his quill. He dropped the feather back into the inkwell, then smiled at us again. "I'm glad you were both available."

"Nothing like some post-meal discussion," James replied, flashing the Headmaster a grin.

Psh. Like he'd even been at dinner.

"It was no problem, Professor," I added much more sensibly, and while I'd like to think that the Headmaster's eyes began to twinkle at my courtesy, it was probably because of James and his stupid wit. Naturally.

Pleasantries were exchanged for a few seconds more, but Dumbledore seemed quite ready to get down to business. It became rather evident that if he was planning on chucking either of us, he intended to go through all the motions in pretending otherwise first. He grabbed a few pieces of parchment from beneath one of the whatsigigs on his desk and straightened them out with a few slight taps against his desk.

"I sorted through all of your points calculations this afternoon," he said. "Everything seems in order."

I smiled politely, even though I couldn't take credit for most of that. We had discovered early within the sorting of Head duties that James was the one with the head for figures, so he'd been assigned the responsibility of keeping track of all the point-change notices we got. He was quick with numbers and all the incessant counting didn't make him want to tear the hair out of his head like it did me. More often than not, I just double-checked his work, making sure he wasn't messing around with the Slytherin points or something equally as ridiculous (which he occasionally liked to do just to give himself a chuckle). The pages Dumbledore was holding were filled with James's tight scrawl. He placed those down and picked up another stack of papers, these ones filled with my handwriting.

"These are all the prefects' reports from rounds?" he asked. I nodded, and he briefly skimmed through the pieces of parchment. He asked about a few of the reports I'd compiled, but there really wasn't anything particularly suspect or overly dramatic (snogging, snogging, snogging, sleepwalking, snogging, Marauder, was how it usually went) so it didn't last very long.

Still, you'd be surprised by how much Dumbledore had to talk with us about—I mean, I suppose it was good that he didn't chuck us from the beginning, but if he meant to, he was sure leading us astray before dropping the bomb. I decided he'd probably save the firing for another day. After all, if he hadn't done so yesterday when he and James spoke, he probably wasn't going to bother replacing us just yet. For some mad reason, the man seemed to like the pair of us. Perhaps that was simply because he recognised his fellow mad kindred spirits in us hooligans, but either way, the whole meeting was quite pleasant and jovial.

We went through all the basic Head rubbish, which kept us suitably busy for a good twenty minutes or so. Aside from requesting that James stay out of detention ("Can I promise to try?" James asked), we were surprisingly not doing too terribly at our jobs. Maybe I was slightly shocked to realise that I wasn't such a failure at the position I'm still not entirely sure I deserve, but mostly I was just proud of myself for being such a fab fake.

Really, my pretending talents know no limits.

In any case, Dumbledore seemed to be wrapping up our chat after we told him that our next Prefects meeting was set for Thursday and we'd have November's round schedule settled then. I was internally congratulating myself on a job well done when Dumbledore blotched up that idea.

"I don't wish to keep you too late," he said, folding his hands on top of the desk as James and I began to shift about in our seats, getting ready to leave. "I know Professor McGonagall is expecting Mr. Potter for his detention."

"She so looks forward to our opportunities to work on building my character together," James said with a sigh. "I'm sure she'll be devastated if you keep me much longer."

Dumbledore laughed appreciatively. "You have much character to build, James. I shan't keep you from it. However, there is one thing I wish to speak with you both about, if you could spare me a few more minutes?"

Both of us gave our "yes, of course," responses and Dumbledore nodded, seemingly satisfied. I figured it'd be one last warning to watch our behavior, or perhaps some truly Dumbledore-esque words of wisdom, but it was neither. For the first time since our meeting began, Dumbledore's lips slipped into a frown.

"You might recall a conversation we had the last time you both were here," he began softly, carefully eyeing us from behind his glasses. "A conversation that pertained to information you may be privy to that exceeds the boundaries of this castle. I hope you can call it to mind?"

I felt the hair at the nape of my neck begin to stand on end.

Of course I could call it to mind. It wasn't all that often that professors blurted out the fact that we'd be occasionally discussing Voldemort over tea and biscuits.

James sat up straighter as well, clearly alarmed.

"Sir?" he asked, his voice quiet. "Has something…"

"There has been little change outside of the castle," Dumbledore told us, and I could feel James ease beside me. "However, though they have yet to grow worse, they grow no better, either. And I fear this may just be calm in the storm."

He appeared so serious, the indestructible Dumbledore with his brow furrowed and his eyes sharp, looking decidedly more weighted down than I think I'd ever seen him before. It didn't occur to me until then how much pressure a man like Dumbledore must carry upon his shoulders. In the eyes of so many, he could do no wrong. It was difficult to remember he was only human, just like us.

"Is there something we can do?" I asked, thinking now only to ease the poor man's burden. "Is that why you're bringing it up?"

It seemed to be the right thing to ask, because instead of shaking his head and scoffing at the notion of two schoolchildren aiding in a fight that was so far beyond their untried comprehension, Dumbledore nodded gravely. "There is indeed. And I hope the both of you will be willing."

"Just tell us what to do," James said instantly.

"What is it?" I asked, more wary.

"I would never ask either of you to work outside the walls of this castle until it was absolutely necessary," Dumbledore told us, his tone firmer now than ever before. "Graduation seems far closer than it's ever been and I'm afraid we'll be releasing all of you into an unstable world. And unfortunately, I've come to discover that it may not be the most stable environment inside this castle, either."

He said it without any particular pointed look or insinuating expression, but when his eyes skimmed briefly over mine, I felt it. A jolt of alarm spread throughout my body. I sat up straighter, my mouth gaping open.

"Just as I speak to you now, there are others being spoken to by far less honourable parties," he continued, still revealing nothing. "My deepest hope was to keep my students out of this fight for as long as possible, but that doesn't seem feasible any longer. All I can do is hope to have the chance to speak with these students before they do something they regret. Much as I would like to think I know who these students are, I would appreciate both of you helping in being important eyes and ears. I've only a single pair of each."

"Voldemort's courting students," James reiterated bluntly, his expression blank. "You want us to help root out who's falling prey."

"There are incidents and exchanges that I have no way of discovering," Dumbledore replied, but nodded. "I'm not asking you to seek such information out, but simply to be aware. I hope that you will succeed where I fail and we can all be better for it."

Like spies, I realised, taking in the request with a certain amount of shock and zeal. Dumbledore wanted us to discover who was playing at being a Hogwarts Death Eater and report back to him like actual undercover, investigative spies. It would have been absolutely, spectacularly brilliant if it hadn't also been so absolutely, spectacularly terrifying.

Holy hell. My head was spinning.

But I knew what was coming next. I could see it every time he looked at me. He knew. He knew.

"You think he's getting to people?" James asked before Dumbledore could go on, his tone suddenly hard. "You think they're actually falling for his shit?"

"James," I hissed.

But James refused to be chastised. He stared unapologetically at the Headmaster, waiting for an answer. Dumbledore seemed to take James's anger in stride. He didn't admonish him for the swearing, in any case.

"I can't be certain," he answered frankly, after considering it for a moment. "I fear a few may already be lost. You're aware of how deep certain prejudices run in our community. But there are others… I believe they can be swayed to reason. Half our battle may very well be trying to do just that."

"Bloody ridiculous," James brooded, crossing his arms over his chest and throwing himself back against his chair. "They'd be mad to try anything here though, wouldn't they?"

The few seconds of silence that followed couldn't have been heavier if they'd tried. James had been expecting a quick agreement to that, and instead he got me all dithery and Dumbledore slowly glancing my way, an expectant look upon his face. James had worked himself into a fit, but not so much so that Dumbledore's pointed looks at me went over his head. After a few moments, he uncrossed his arms and glanced over at me, as well. His eyes were narrowed behind his glasses.

"Lil?" he asked.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit, shit.

"If you don't mind, Miss Evans," Dumbledore said quietly, "I'd like to hear about your afternoon."

My afternoon.

My afternoon.

Bloody fucking hell, how did he know?

"How…" I couldn't get the words out, merely pathetic fractions of sounds and sputtering phrases. "It's…how could you've…"

"What happened this afternoon?" James cut in, his tone sharp. "What the bloody hell is going on?"

"James," I hissed again, but he didn't seem any more contrite than he had before. He simply stared at me, and then turned to Dumbledore. When the Headmaster said nothing, merely continued to stare at me patiently, I knew James's mind was entering into overdrive. I could practically see the millions of thoughts streaming past his eyes, rushing through his head, faster than lightning. It didn't take him very long to come to a conclusion. Unfortunately, it was too damn close to the right one.

"The concussion," he said softly, his face darkening as realisation dawned. "You said…Lily, did someone attack you?"

"No!" I answered quickly, frantically shaking my head. Oh, hell. "No, it wasn't—I mean, well, maybe it sort of was, but—"

"What?"

"James." Dumbledore's voice was quiet, and I'll be damned if just the man's calm tone didn't effectively shut James up, even if it couldn't completely leash him in. He still looked furious, but he stewed in silence long enough for Dumbledore to give me a short nod. "Do go on, Miss Evans. I believe we'd both like to hear what occurred."

I took that as my irrefutable cue to explain.

But bloody hell, I didn't want to.

I panicked. I felt cornered. I mean, I hadn't even decided whether or not I was going to tell James about what had happened in the first place, and for all my earlier threats, I hadn't seriously been considering going to Dumbledore, either. It just seemed too much like four-year-olds tattling in the schoolyard and I didn't want to make it worse. I dreaded even thinking about it.

But that was foolish, and the longer I sat there, the more I knew it. If it had been anyone other than me on the receiving end of this whole debacle, you bet your arse I would have marched straight up here and demanded some sort of satisfaction. It was different when it was me, though. I just wanted the whole thing to be over with. If I could have gotten away with shrugging it off, I would have, but that was the coward's way out. I didn't know how Dumbledore had discovered what had occurred or how much he knew, but clearly it was enough to cause him concern—hell, I'd been concerned, as well.

Somehow, I didn't think James or Dumbledore was going to accept my usual concussion excuse to explain my lack of communication with either of them. Between the Headmaster's expectant silence and the holes James's angry gaze were burning into the side of my head, there was no putting it off. I squirmed about uncomfortably and sputtered like an idiot for a few moments, but finally forced myself to start talking.

"I should have come to you earlier," I began, nibbling at my lower lip as I stared resolutely at Dumbledore. "I meant to…but after it was all over, I just wanted to forget it. I didn't think it was serious enough to…I mean, it wasn't a planned attack or anything. I was just walking in the dungeons and…"

The words poured out of me, quickly but succinctly. I knew that I'd be all but signing someone's death warrant if I went into too much detail about what Evan had done and how the other two had stood by passively until it was their turn, so I decided that a bit of editing was probably best. I didn't lie—even I'm not stupid enough to lie to Dumbledore—but simply spent quite a bit more time describing the potion Evan had dropped and the group's reactions afterwards than I did what had followed. On that, I only said that I'd mouthed off something provoking to Evan that I couldn't quite recall and he'd reacted badly, yelling and shoving me until I'd hit the wall behind me. As to how I'd gotten away, I told them how I'd managed to push Evan off and then confessed to hexing Jack, ending with Sirius's arrival and his stopping the whole thing before any further damage could be done.

"Sirius?" James asked, the name coming out as more of a bark than a question. I had refused to glance over at him while recounting the story, having caught a glimpse of his white-knuckled fist gripping the armrest when I'd dropped my gaze down to my lap during my retelling and deciding I couldn't handle his anger just yet. But I chanced a quick glance over at him now, relieved to see that he wasn't so far gone that a decent amount of surprise couldn't permeate his fury. Sirius's name had managed it, at least. "Sirius was there?" he asked.

"Only at the end," I clarified, glancing back at Dumbledore. He didn't seem too surprised by the mention. "He'd been walking and he saw—er, I mean, I suppose he heard Evan yelling or something. Anyway, he came along and stepped in. I'm glad he was there. I don't know…I mean, Regulus might have been shooting a few hexes, so—"

"They should all be expelled," James snapped instantly, and I suppose his anger had overwhelmed his surprise because now he was back to simply looking livid again. "You should expel every last one of them, Professor. They can't just—"

"Mistakes are made, James," Dumbledore interrupted calmly, bridging his fingers into a dome upon his desk. "We can't act rashly. You are aware of my thoughts on expulsion from this school. I will speak with the parties concerned, and decide what's to be done."

"So they get off? Just like that?"

"James." I lay a hand upon his arm, feeling the tension in him even with a touch as light as that. He glanced at me from out of the corner of his eye, his jaw taut with fury. I tried to reason with him. "It's no use working yourself up like this. I'm fine, Professor Dumbledore will deal with the lot of them, and we'll all move on. It's not the first time someone's called me dirty names and I'm sure it won't be the last."

"And that's just okay?" James demanded.

I shrugged, trying to soothe him with a dose of pretend indifference. "It is what it is. I'm not about to toss away any chance I have of actually making a difference in order to gain a moment's satisfaction by strangling someone." I turned back to Dumbledore, hoping that James understood my tacit implication the he shouldn't go searching for that moment's satisfaction, either. "I don't know what they were doing," I told the Headmaster, "but that potion wasn't anything I've ever seen before. Do you have any idea what it might have been?"

"There are a few possibilities," Dumbledore answered, shaking his head, "but unfortunately nothing I can clarify."

Damn. If only Evan hadn't banished it so quickly.

"I appreciate your sharing your memory of the afternoon, Miss Evans," Dumbledore said next, giving me a small nod. "I understand that it is not always so easy, but it could mean a great deal if you would mention any similar occurrences to me. Regrettably, you're a target not of your own doing."

"Yes, of course," I agreed immediately, feeling a bit shamed that I hadn't come directly here in the first place. Report to your superiors. Wasn't that the very first thing a good Auror learned? I hadn't even graduated and already I was failing basic training. "I mean, I don't know how much help I'll be," I confessed honestly. "I know I may have made it sound rather commonplace before, but this sort of thing doesn't happen often. I'm not a perpetual victim."

"Be that as it may," Dumbledore said, "I unfortunately cannot be everywhere. I'm once again asking both of you to stay on your guard. Nothing is too small in times like these. Do you understand?"

I nodded earnestly. James grunted.

After that, our meeting wrapped up rather quickly. I wasn't much surprised. After all, what was there really left to say when we'd already discussed points, patrols, and playing private detective? Unless of course we'd moved on to international espionage or something.

Oh, well. There's always next time.

Leaving Dumbledore's office, I felt…strange. I was anxious—how could I not be after all that?—but I couldn't help feeling a little eager, as well. I liked the fact that I could be doing something—that a man like Dumbledore trusted me enough to even ask—but this wasn't a game. I hadn't wanted to think about it, but what would have happened if Sirius hadn't come along when he did? Evan had been livid, and though I shouldn't be making assumptions about him…well, it's rather obvious that his family is involved in things of a decidedly dangerous nature. There's no way to know how much of that has already been passed on to him. And how many more Evans are there hiding inside these walls? True, I know of a few people who have never been the nicest of sorts, but that doesn't make them a threat…or does it?

And was it bad that I was almost impatient to start trying to figure it out?

The gargoyle sprung back into place as James and I left the spiral staircase and entered the corridor. He hadn't said much, not even as we were giving Dumbledore our polite goodbyes and shuffling out of the office. I didn't have to keep looking at his brooding glower to recognise that he was cross, I just didn't know whether he was cross with me. As we began walking back towards Gryffindor Tower in silence, I realised that I was going to have to be the one start talking if I wanted any answers.

"James?" I started hesitantly.

"What?" he barked.

Well, that was encouraging.

Deciding that it probably wasn't going to get much better than that, I asked bluntly, "Are you angry with me?"

He had been striding down the corridor with heavy steps, his feet making sharp echoing sounds against the hard stones, but his pace and vigor slowed slightly at my question, so I think I may surprised him with my directness. There was no certain way to tell, though. His face did not shift out of its stony scowl, not even a smidgeon.

"I don't know," he finally answered, his voice tight. "I'm thinking about it."

Lovely. He was thinking about it.

I suppose that this was not the time to make one of my cracks about the dangers of thinking.

"Er. Well, that…" I cleared my throat, not exactly knowing what to say, hoping something good would just come out. "Right. I know that it was a bit of an interesting meeting and all—"

"Is that what you'd call it?" he cut in, stopping short. "Interesting?"

Sensing that I was playing with fire now (he did not like the word interesting, apparently), I stopped, too, lifting a hand to the ends of my hair and nervously twirling the strands with my finger.

"There are probably better words," I conceded slowly, "but I don't think I'll say any because knowing me, I'll pick the wrong one and you'll go ballistic."

Turns out, I didn't have to worry about that.

He went ballistic, anyway.

"I'll tell you what's going to be interesting," he said, and started stomping off down the corridor again. "What's going to be interesting is when I track down all three of those fucking bastards and see how they like—"

"No, you're not!" I cried, hurrying after him, grabbing hold of his arm and tugging until he quit trying to stomp the stone floors into submission. He whirled on me with a glare. I glared right back. "You heard what Dumbledore said, James! Let him take care of it! It's not even any of your—hey! Get back here!" I rushed after him once more, scowling. "Merlin, I knew you weren't going to be rational about this—"

"Rational?" James choked, but at least he quit storming off again. He loomed over me, waving his hands in the air like a madman. "Those shits are attacking you in the corridors and you want me to be rational? Are you out of your mind?"

"You can't just—"

"Don't tell me what I can't do!" James snapped. "I am this close—that fucking bastard has pushed it for the last time! You don't even know…no. No, he's dead. He's fucking dead."

"This wasn't even about you!" I lied, willing to say anything if it would just get through to him. "Can you quit taking this as some sort of personal attack and realise that I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?"

"Stop," James said, his voice harsh and angry. "Just stop. You know as well as I do that it's not like that. And don't think you're getting off just like that, either! Were you even going to tell me about any of this?"

Oh, hell. I should have seen that coming.

I expected that there would be a lot of righteous indignation and sputtering to cover up the fact that no, actually, I hadn't been entirely certain if I was going to tell him about any of it, thanks, but for once, I was actually grateful that my traitor-of-a-mouth decided to step on up and take over.

"Didn't I tell you I had an eventful afternoon?" it asked, and even sounded all properly cross and offended. "Like some other conversations I could mention, there's a time and a place and you'll have to forgive me for thinking that a casual stroll on the way to Dumbledore's while you're still half-asleep wasn't exactly one of either!"

Which actually sounded quite fab and logical with far better reasoning than I would have ever come up with. And it wasn't even entirely rubbish! I had thought that at one point, hadn't I?

Sometimes my lying lips can be quite on top of things.

James seemed momentarily thrown by my argument as well, his mouth jerking closed with the remnants of his next tirade dying on his lips. He gave me a hard look, crossing his arms over his chest. "You should have come to me straight off," he said.

"You were sleeping!" I cried.

"Then you should have bloody woken me up!"

"For what? What could you have done?"

The look of outrage that crossed over James's face then was so over-the-top indignant, it was almost comical.

"What could I have done?" he raved, his face red. "What could I have done? I'll tell you what I could have…I could have…"

He trailed away, his face slowly falling, the brutal scowl slipping into a frown as he never quite managed to complete his sentence. It took some time, but I think he finally realised that I had a rather strong point and that he was acting like a lunatic. I tried not to look too smug about it, but he really was being such a stupid sod. I bit back a smile as he let out a tired sigh.

"I could have killed them," he muttered bitterly, dropping his hands to his sides in defeat. "I could have, but I don't suppose I'm allowed to do that, am I?"

I shook my head very sympathetically, slipping my arm around his waist and patting his side in what I hoped was a supremely comforting manner.

"Terribly sorry, but no—unless of course you want to go to Azkaban. And while I like you and everything, I'm warning you now, I probably wouldn't visit all that often."

James glanced down at me in mock offense. "Really? My crime done in your honour and everything?"

"I didn't say never. Just not all that often."

That got a smile out of him, and even though it was only the slightest of lip quirks, it was still a vast improvement over the steaming, stewing, madman James who had just been ranting and raving nonsensically. And while I know one should not be thinking about such things with spy missions, possible Death Eater attacks, and a still probably less-than-stable mate-with-potential on hand, I really couldn't help but go a bit girly when James put his arm around my shoulder, pulled me in, and pressed his lips against my hair.

It's the concussion. It's addled my priorities.

"Look at me, yelling at you like this whole damn thing is your fault. Christ, just ignore me," he said, letting out a quiet sigh. He didn't look entirely through with his ranting and raving, but his features had softened enough that I wasn't worried about dealing with an explosion anymore. He nudged at my side until I was facing him again. "You're fine, aren't you?" he asked seriously. "That concussion codswallop was just your mad idea of a joke, right?"

Hey, my jokes aren't mad!

"Are you saying I have a rotten sense of humour?" I asked.

James rolled his eyes. "I'm saying that I never know whether you're dying or perfectly fine, you complain so often."

Well, then. Ring round the Flattery School, I've got another prize candidate.

I pulled a face and James laughed, but I suppose he did have the tiniest bit of a right to do so considering I do occasionally indulge in the sporadic whining drag. But only because I have so much to complain about! You would too if you suffered as much as I do. There's a reason why Pomfrey and I are such bosom buddies. We see each other all the time!

"You'll be sorry when I'm gone," is all I told James, shaking my head. "You'll miss my complaining terribly and—what are you doing?"

"Checking your head," James answered, already sifting his fingers through my hair and feeling about my scalp. When his fingers brushed against the bump protruding from the back of my head, I flinched.

"Ow."

"Sorry." But he gently passed over it again, and this time I only winced when his fingers brushed by. I could tell by the way his frown deepened that he was getting ready to work himself up again. It made me damn thankful that he couldn't see the finger-shaped bruises Evan had left on my arms after holding me so tightly.

"It feels worse than it is," I assured him, trying to assuage his temper. "I just don't heal. And I have a pathetically low tolerance for pain. Any kind of pain. I'm really quite like a five-year-old that way."

"You shouldn't have to be tolerant at all. You should never have reason to test it." His fingers started moving around my head again, but this time more soothingly than in search of damage. "You drive me up the wall, do you know that, Evans? How am I supposed to sleep at night when you're being attacked in corridors?"

I dared to give him a little smirk. "I don't know. Count sheep?"

James snorted, thankfully still clear-headed enough to be amused. "Count sheep," he repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose that has some merit. But I think we both know the only solution that's really going to make this work: you'll just have to sleep in my bed with me—"

The flash of his grin came so quickly, I was rather thrown off by the sudden change—or I thought it was the sudden change that was throwing me off, anyway. But as I continued to watch him, something…I don't know, just something happened. What I thought was whiplash from his abrupt mood-shifts was somehow settling in my chest, a sort of pressure building up there that I couldn't call bad, but I couldn't call good, either. He was just standing there in front of me, stroking my hair with the lightest of touches, looking equal parts amused and yet still worried over everything that had happened…but that was enough. I watched his eyes skim over my face, our close proximity reminding me of earlier when I'd been knotting his tie and my heart had went whoosh straight down to my toes and that was something too, wasn't it? Especially considering I still didn't have any hives? It had to be. I knew it was.

So that's when I did it.

I don't know why, I don't know how, I didn't even know that it was coming until it was out and done and there we were.

But I suppose that sometimes the most important decisions aren't the ones you spend eons and beyond considering and pulling apart. They're made just like that, in a split second, when it's right.

And even though I never—never—work that way…I don't regret it.

The words just came out, simple as that.

"You have the afternoon free on Tuesday, don't you?" I asked.

"All right, all right, I was just kidding. We don't have to sleep in my bed—we can sleep in yours. But that's my final—" James cut off his joking spiel, obviously realising that I hadn't just told him off and getting a bit caught up by it. His eyes focused on mine in confusion. "Wait, what?" he asked.

"Tuesday," I said again, my voice surprisingly steady. "You don't have class after lunch, right?"

James didn't seem to understand the question any better the second time around. "Er, not directly," he answered, his expression silently inquiring where the hell I was going with this. "I have a free, and then Muggle Studies last thing. But why are we talking about lessons? Don't you—"

"Because I'm the same," I interrupted quickly, and now the words started flowing out of my mouth at a rather alarming rate. "I mean, obviously I don't have Muggle Studies—I have Divination—but I meant I have the same schedule. Free then class. And that's perfect, isn't it? Because I can teach you more about Muggles than that stupid class ever could, and though I really ought to go to Divination, we'll only be doing our partner projects and I'm sure that if I speak to Rob earlier he won't care in the least—he's a really fab bloke. I'll just write him a rhyming apology note or something—and then it would all work out. Tuesday's just right."

"Tuesday's just right for what?" James asked in exasperation.

"For our lunch."

For our lunch.

Oh, hell.

Oh, double bloody flipping shit.

I can't believe I just said that.

Not surprisingly, James couldn't quite believe it, either. He froze.

"Excuse me?" He gaped at me like I'd just demanded he jump off London Bridge. "What did you just say?"

"Unless you don't want to!" I added quickly, my heart thrumming frantically against my chest. "I mean, we don't have to. I just thought that because you're mostly free, and I'm mostly free, and I'll probably be well into my Transfiguration review by then, so that shouldn't be a problem, it—"

"Our lunch," James said, each word punctuated very sharply and slowly. "Do you mean our date?"

The word—especially the way he said it, and with that bright-eyed look he bore down on me with—gave me goosebumps, but I didn't feel like vomiting or screaming or fainting and of course the hives were happily absent as usual.

Still, I swallowed hard before breezily scoffing, "Oh, what's in a name? You call it what you want, I'll call it what I want, everyone's happy. Who needs labels?"

Apparently James did, because he was not even remotely satisfied with that answer. He gripped my arms, digging into the same bits of skin that Evan had sunk his fingers into earlier, but the hold was more urgent than painful. His face was a jumble of emotions.

"Lily," he said softly. "What are you asking me?"

"I wasn't really asking you anything," I evaded, starting to grow a tad bit irritated now that he wouldn't just answer. "You're the one who proposed the idea. I just picked a day."

Even though that was a rather clear-cut sentence and I don't think I used any words or phrases that should have proved particularly tricky for him to comprehend, James continued to stare at me as if I were rambling away in Mermish. And while I knew this could have been a time for me to start cracking jokes about his slow learning and lack of English skills, it's a bit difficult to be coming up with clever jibes when you've just agreed to go to Hogsmeade with a bloke after weeks and weeks of soul-tearing indecision…and all he does is look at you like you've lost your mind.

Oh, no worries about my heart or feelings or anything. I'm sure they're quite happy to be battered to pieces. Much thanks, James.

Still standing there, feeling a little bit like that fainting and screaming I'd been so worried about earlier might end up making a late arrival after all, I was about to tell James that he could just forget about the whole damn thing, I didn't know what I'd been thinking, when all of a sudden, he finally moved.

Leaning back slightly, the smile that crept across his face was positively blinding.

Oh, hell.

"You just asked me out," he said, his voice slightly stunned, but equally giddy. "You just asked me out."

Not liking the sound of that, I instantly huffed in offense. "Excuse me, but like I said—"

"Shhh." He placed his fingers over my mouth and closed his eyes. "Don't ruin it. I'm savouring the moment."

"You can't—"

"Shhh."

"Jam—"

"Shhh."

What a stupid sod.

"You're such a git," I finally got out, but that only made him open his eyes and grin even more, which just goes to show who the mental one in this relationship really is. I scowled as he started to chuckle, feeling like he thought this was just one big joke. "What's so funny?" I snapped.

James's eyes twinkled, his face flushed an eager red. "Oh, I'm just thinking about how many times in the next four days you're going to change your mind about this." He was outright laughing now. He cocked his head to the side and played at considering it. "What would you say? Three times an hour? Four? Have you already changed your mind?"

"Well, now that you mention it," I bit out, and gave him a good glower as he continued to snicker to himself. I rolled my eyes and turned away, deciding I was mad and he was mad and the whole thing was just a giant mad mess, but James caught me around the waist before I could start stomping off. His arms snaked around my stomach and he tugged me back against his chest.

"Go ahead. Change your mind," he said, dropping his head down into the crook of my neck. His warm lips pressed against my pulse point. "Just warning you now, though—there'll be no getting out of it."

"I thought I was the one who asked?" I said, and maybe—maybe—closed my eyes for a second and just sort of nestled in his arms. "I can rescind my invitation."

"You wouldn't do that. You want to go."

I was about to open my mouth to tell him the hell I did, but do you want to know the absolutely maddest thing about it?

He was right. I did.

I have no idea when that had happened. The last time I'd been considering this—back in the library when I'd first discovered that my hives were gone and certain words were no longer automatic triggers for tears and illness—I was dead-set on waiting another year or two before giving the issue any sort of serious consideration. Dates were for people in relationships—serious relationships—and James and I were still in the potential phase of that. I'd thought that we were going to keep it that way for awhile, but now…

I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm still not ready to jump into this thing headfirst, simply crossing my fingers and hoping that I land on my feet. I'm not an idiot. My delicate relationship issues have not dissolved that quickly. But if today has taught me anything, it's not to take things for granted. Like, if I had to make a list:

THINGS YOU SHOULD NOT TAKE FOR GRANTED:
1. That social outcasts can't eventually get some mates.
2. That you are abysmal at Transfiguration and will never improve.
3. That just because your mate-with-potential has been patient with you this long, he will be forever.
4. That lunches are always as simple as they ought to be.
5. That a stroll through the castle is a decent pastime.
6. That you'll always be quick enough.
7. That someone who might have once hated you (no matter what he says) can't end up a mate.
8. That idiot, slag, ex-girlfriends can't sometimes, under all their dither, have a point.
9. That you can't do anything as a student.
10. That you don't always know yourself as well as you think do.

See? And while I don't think that I'm going to reevaluate and restructure my entire life according to my 'don't take things for granted' rule…is it so bad to allow a little bit of change? Like, one tiny smidge? A date was not a marriage license. No one was holding a wand to my head. I could survive a little shift in the scale, a little more 'potential' than 'mate.'

Because maybe it would be awful. Maybe it would be horrifically terrible, incredibly awkward, and we'd both be so miserable that even the sight of one another afterwards would be enough to gag.

But then again, maybe it wouldn't be.

Maybe we'll go to the Three Broomsticks and have Butterbeer and tell elaborately pre-planned amusing stories about ourselves for hours. Maybe we'll stroll along the streets and it'll be a little cold but mostly all right and you're allowed to huddle together on dates, anyway, so what does it matter? Maybe he'll drag me into Zonko's or I'll drag him into Scrivenshaft's and we'll respectively whine and complain like it's the worst sort of torture, but will probably end up buying things in each place anyway because you can never have too many quills or dungbombs.

Maybe it would be fun and different and as perfect a day in Hogsmeade as one can imagine (and don't bother to protest—every girl has imagined her perfect Hogsmeade).

It could happen. And mad and unlike me as it sounds, I sort of wanted to jump right in and find out which one it would be.

James was still happily nibbling away at my neck while all of this was floating through my head, images of him and me and Hogsmeade and other glimpses of a potential afternoon rolling on by like a film. There was no way to know whether this was the biggest mistake in the world or the most put-off, inevitable event of the century, but what I did know was that I liked James. I liked James—really liked James—I liked Hogsmeade, I liked lunches, and I definitely liked whatever the hell the idiot was doing with his mouth, which is when I decided that he couldn't keep doing it or else all of this might disappear straight from my head.

I turned in his arms, leaning back slightly when we stood face to face. He was still smiling so brilliantly at me, beaming as if I'd just handed him the key to the world and what girl in her right mind wouldn't be absolutely keen on that? I might have shared in his contagious delight if the fact that this was actually happening—James and I were going on a date—hadn't settled in just then. And even though I still wasn't interested in backing out or keeling over in illness, there were little spots of panic that began flaring up inside my stomach.

"This'll be fun, right?" I asked, lifting my hand to brush the hair back from his forehead, deciding I was allowed to indulge in his nervous gesture if he was. "It doesn't have to be momentous or anything. It's just lunch."

"It'll be fun," James confirmed, smiling like he knew exactly what was going through my head. His hands drifted up and down my back. "People go on lunch dates all the time and the world continues to spin, Infallible, I promise."

He was kissing me before I had a chance to think any more about it.

Really, the things that boy does with his mouth should be outlawed. Haven't I said that before?

"Thank you," he murmured against my mouth, as one kiss turned into another. My mind was all pleasantly hazy—just his plan, I suspect—and all I could do was hum back something incoherent. That seemed to be enough of an acknowledgement for him to continue, however. "I think I might have been willing to wait for you to come around forever, but it would have been a damn waste."

"Sorry," I whispered, feeling the heat start to rush towards my face. "I'm just…I work slow. I over-think things. I can't help it. It's just how I am. Especially…especially when they're important, you know?"

James drew back slightly, cocking his head to the side. "Are you calling me important, Lily Evans?"

"If I say yes," I replied flatly, "are you going to lord it over me for the rest of eternity?"

James's grin was answer enough. "Oh, at least that long," he informed me anyway. "But if it'll make you feel better, I'll try to keep it to a minimum amount of constant gloating."

"Well, I suppose I can only admit to you having your important moments, then. Precautionary measure, you see. I'm sure you under—"

But I never found out whether James understood or not. We got a little busy.

Hm.

Oops?

And I know I probably should have put a stop to the whole thing straight off—you know, been all, "Um, James? Yeah. Do you think you could…yeah, remove that from there. Oh, and that, too, please. Much thanks." But what sort of more-potential-than-mate would I be if I didn't let him revel in this moment a little? What kind of shrew does that after driving the poor thing round in circles for ages and ages so that he's probably gotten so dizzy, he'll be permanently damaged? That damage is all on me. Really, it is. So naturally, I should be the one to fix it. And while I'm no subscriber to the whole oh-snogging-cures-everything -free-love-and-happiness-yeah hype, I have to admit that occasionally there is a time and a place for a bit of a healing love-fest.

And maybe I just wanted to snog him. Just for a little while. More-potential-than-mates are allowed to admit that, right?

I really didn't care about the intricacies. Truth be told, I didn't care about much after that except how to have it so James didn't stop what he was doing. I had already been in this exact position today—pressed back against a wall, someone's body flush up against mine—but it was almost comical how different those two situations were. And even though I knew we had reached the point where James and I had done this times enough that I shouldn't be getting those first-touch shocks, the rush of something new…well, I was still getting something. And maybe they weren't exactly first-touch shocks anymore, but they seemed pretty damn close. There were sparks—there were always sparks with us—and I couldn't for the life of me figure out why it was like this with him and no one else.

My fingers dug into his sides, pulling him closer when he seemed too far away (he always seemed too far away) and I shivered in delight when he fit more snugly against me, stroking my lips with his. He let out a low groan, one that I felt all the way down in my toes. I kissed him harder, knowing what he tasted like now and knowing how to get more of it. My hands slowly drifted upwards until they gripped at his shoulders, while his hands went to my head, cupping it from behind.

It took me a few seconds to realise that he was using his fingers to protect my head from the wall just as surely as he was using them to shift my face around for better angles.

Tell me, how is a girl supposed to resist that sort of thing? How was I not supposed to simply melt?

"James," I whispered breathlessly, moving my hands until they covered his behind my head. "You don't have to…really, I'm fine—"

"More than fine," James murmured, his mouth barely leaving mine. "Perfect. Damn perfect."

"That's not what I—"

But his fingers only curled tighter in my hair, clutching firmly as he tilted my face to the side and his lips started making a hot trail away from my mouth, over my jaw, and down to my neck.

And since we're all already aware of my feelings on the topic of James and his neck nibbling, I'm sure it won't come as much of a shock to hear that I promptly quit protesting.

I mean, it wasn't like we couldn't have the discussion later. Rain check.

So I let him have his way for a bit, trying to hold back the pathetic mewing noises that were desperately yearning to push past my mouth. Always the quick thinker, I decided that the only way to guarantee that they'd stay under wraps was to drag James's mouth back to mine, so I did just that and buried the sounds against James's lips. I don't think he minded the sudden shift of snog locations. He's very adaptable that way.

Everything was going swimmingly until I started to feel a bit like I might faint. I think James was starting to feel it, as well, because his mouth started moving more slowly against mine and then he suddenly broke away.

"Hell," he groaned, the word coming out as a hot burst of breath against my cheek. He started kissing me again, but it wasn't too much longer before he pulled away once more with another muted swear.

"All right?" I asked, littering kisses along the underside of his jaw.

He nodded jerkily, but I could feel him tense beneath my mouth. His lips caught mine again briefly.

"Let's get out of here," he said finally, his voice low and hoarse. "Somewhere. Anywhere. The Tower. The Room of Requirement. Christ, anywhere but here."

"Why?" I asked, my brain all muddled and confused. I didn't want to go anywhere.

But James's hands finally shifted from the back of my head to the curve of my neck and then lower. His eyes were dark as he stared at me, his expression sharp and intense.

"Because if I don't touch you now, I swear to Merlin I'm going to lose it," he whispered heatedly. "And that's something I shouldn't be doing in the middle of a public corridor."

Oh.

Oh.

Um…

My mind—already not working at its best—suddenly seemed so much hazier, a coherent response quite impossible to come up with. Part of the problem was the simple fact that I didn't know how to respond to it—half of me was already jostling about from foot to foot, ready and willing to be dragged wherever James deemed fit. But the other half…

Well, the other half basically wanted to die of terror and embarrassment.

And when you pit the two against each other, I suppose there really was no competition. With options like that, I knew which side was winning.

I pressed one last hard kiss against James's mouth (the losing side was whining and sulking already) before letting out a small sigh and shaking my head.

"You have detention," I reminded him, sounding quite forlorn about the whole thing. "We shouldn't—"

"Fuck detention," James shot back instantly. He started kissing me again. "Lily…"

Strong, Evans. Be strong.

With some sort of inner will that I certainly hadn't known was there, I somehow managed to ease James away, shaking my head once more.

"It's McGonagall. You can't." I was trying to be firm about it, but I don't know how much I was succeeding. When James only started protesting again, I covered his mouth with my fingers, muffling his words. Then I pulled at my bottom lip with my teeth anxiously. "Besides…"

James's load groan permeated the barrier of my fingers.

"Besides," he repeated, dropping his head onto my shoulder. "Bloody hell, not a besides."

"I just think that we should still…take this slow," I said, bringing my hand up to rest on the top of his head. "I mean, not that I don't want to—of course, I…really, it sounds lovely, but…er. Well, it's—"

It's too much.

It's too terrifying, too good.

It's the fact that you know too much and I know too little and I don't know how to balance that.

"It's too fast," James bit out, and that was a better answer, even if he said the words like they left a bitter acid on his tongue. He sigh was ragged. "Yeah, I know."

"Sorry," was all I could think to say. What else was there, except perhaps for some sort of pathetic, "It's not you, it's me?"

I would not degrade myself to that. It was too sad.

But at the same time, it was mostly true.

I mean, it wasn't like I didn't want to go off and continue molesting James in the nearest semi-concealed location we could find. If that's all that this was about, we'd already be fumbling with each other's clothing in a nearby broom closet. But that's not all this was. And, I mean, yes, was I entirely unnerved by the fact that James had…that he'd been…that he'd probably been doing things when I didn't even know what such things were and with people that I…ugh. Yes. Yes. Of course that was unsettling and intimidating, but I wasn't prudish enough to let that completely derail me and besides, I'm quite certain James was not suggesting we go off right now to find some place to de-flower me.

But we might have…I don't know. Touching could encompass a lot of things, most of which I was in no state of mind to consider. Today had already been impossibly long and impossibly significant and I didn't think that I should be making decisions like, "Should I or should I not allow James to allow me to take advantage of him?" when my head was already so jumbled. It just was not going to end well. I hadn't had time to think any of this over. There was another time, another place.

I tried to convey all of this through a sad sort of apologetic grimace once James finally lifted his head from my shoulder. I think he understood most of what I was trying to say. He just wasn't very happy about it.

"Yeah, all right," he muttered like a child grudgingly agreeing to do the chores his parents set out for him. He swiped a quick hand through his hair, let out a long breath. "Slow. I can do slow. I've survived slow so far."

"Spoken like a true champion," I tried to joke, though it came out a bit breathlessly. I hadn't realised how anxious I was about this until I heard him agree and was practically sagging against the wall in relief. Apparently my very strong will had already been stretched flat.

"Right," he said, but when he slowly started untangling his limbs from mine, I started to regret my decision.

I mean, who really cared about poor choices, anyway? I make enough of them accidentally—why not try one on purpose for once? It could all work out quite well in the end!

Ohh, stupid hormones. Stop messing with my good judgment!

It seemed like James was having a mini-scuffle with his hormones just then as well because as soon as he was done untangling himself from me, he took a few long steps down the corridor, letting out a loud breath and turning to face the opposite wall. One hand rested on his hip while the other went straight up to his hair again, gripping a good chunk off the top. I shifted about against the wall, wondering if I should say or do something.

"All right?" I finally asked him.

James nodded, but didn't turn around.

"You're lethal, Infallible," he said, his voice gruff. "What do you reckon my chances are that McGonagall orders me to do some deep sea diving in the Great Lake for detention?"

"On a Friday? Come now, that's more of a Monday task, isn't it?"

James snorted, but I guess my clever quips were enough to cool his ardor because he finally dropped his hand down from his hair and glanced over his shoulder at me. He smiled.

"Don't look at me like that," he said. "You're the one who wanted to stop."

"I'm not looking at you like anything!" I cried, even though…well, whatever. Some things are just out of my control.

James laughed, clearly feeling a lot better about himself. He turned fully, and then waved me over.

"Come on," he said, sighing very dramatically. "If we're not allowed to have any fun, I might as well see what McGonagall's got to offer. She's probably biting at her bit waiting for me as is."

"Yes, too true," I agreed quickly, pushing off the wall and moving towards him. I let him toss his arm about my shoulders, figuring I owed the boy at least that much. "McGonagall is a very fun person. I bet she'll let you scrub pots and everything."

"Care to join?"

"And steal your fun? I could never be so cruel."

James grumbled something that sounded all bitter, but the way his fingers were stroking up and down my arm told an entirely different story. We didn't have to walk very far before we'd already reached one of the side staircases. I'd have to keep going on my own to get back to the Tower, but James could take these straight down to McGonagall's office. He stopped in front of them, turning to me with a quirked eyebrow.

"Last chance," he said. "The Room of Requirement is—what? Three corridors down? Four?"

"McGonagall would kill you," I told him simply, and hoped he couldn't tell how my heart had just jumped and my hormones were once again speeding about at the mere possibility. I crossed my arms over my chest, standing firm against boy and body chemical. "If you don't go now, she might force you to make it up during a free and I'm warning you, I will make you wait ages to reschedule—"

"Oy, with the threats!" James laughed, but held up his hands in defeat. "All right, all right. I'll go play slave for McGonagall. But just so you know"—he pointed an accusatory finger at me—"I'm calling you out on your rubbish."

"Calling me out on what rubbish?" I asked.

James's grin was a quick glint of teeth, his eyes shining down at me so brightly I'm surprised that they didn't reflect off his glasses.

"Admit it," he said quietly. "You're so keen on me, you'd break me out of detention just to go on our date. It's really quite sad how hung up on me you are."

Oh, the little cretin.

"You are so—"

"Bye." His mouth smashed against mine for a swift second, and then was gone again with the only replacement the low hums of his soft chuckles. I swiped at him, but he was already hightailing it down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time. When he was well down the flight, he turned around and gave me a wave.

"I've changed my mind!" I hissed at him.

"You want to change the time?" The smirk spread across his face. "You want our date to start earlier? Really, Infallible, you'll infringe upon my academics."

"Oh, please. As if you even—"

"Must go, love. S'later!"

Then he dashed down the next flight of stairs and out of sight.

Which just goes to show that I must be insane because I was smiling all the way back to Gryffindor Tower.

And now James and I are going on a date. A date. An actual, real, live, just him and me, romantic, non-platonic, potentially horrifying, no doubt maddening, anxiously awaited, legitimate date.

And do you know the secret that I will never in a million years tell?

I think he might be right. I would bust him out of detention.

My decline into complete juvenile delinquency is complete.

Or maybe he was just right about the other bit, too—maybe I'm just that keen on him.

Oh, dear.


Latest, 7th Year Girls' Dormitory
Observant Lily: Day 39
Total Observations: 277

Dear Lily,

I'm terribly sorry to hear about our row. Things are well here—Tunie had Vernon round for dinner yesterday and your father made that pasta he's always thinking is so tasty. It wasn't, but he tried. Thankfully, I don't think Vernon noticed. I'm thinking of inviting Aunt Mae round for tea tomorrow, but she's grown strangely fond of her cat all of a sudden and refuses to leave it behind anywhere. I don't take fur with my tea. Perhaps I'll suggest we make a trip to Harrods instead.

As for your hypothetical question…yes, of course I've tagged along on those fishing trips. Not my finest days—you know how I feel about Bitsy Simon and Hettie Clarke—but they make your father happy and that's all a woman in love can ask for.

I suppose that some might consider love an ailment. If you fear you're infected, a mother would appreciate knowing such things.

The weather's getting chillier. You should probably start wearing your thicker socks.

Love,
Mum