A/N: First, a thank you to the lovely reviewers: Meeeee, Abi, L.C. Li, swishflick, LilyxJames, Jojo, WobblyJelly, existence555, AliLuvsAlli-Sirius, Spicysweetchica101, AnthroBug84, ZoneSystems, PaddyWhacked080, WhereIsMyThumpThump, Tabbycat270, lilyandjames53, jak23, Jenn222, Cassie Weasley, marinewife08, ramitaarora, EchoNightFall22, ottoismydog, Papoose913, ErinFabu, Ace-reporter, Evisawesome, mandy., emandem, Sam-EvansBlue, GiantPurpleRing, LillieRoxMySox, Elless, fisforphenomenal, steel-trap, theycallherkaush, arelli-black, lagirl266, Happy, Nathymoonybr, Bittersweet x, cscorpia, Foreverandtrulyyours, vampire5596, xxjenlovexx, cottoncancylover11, GriffinRose maximum destined potter, PoseidonsLittleGirl, DarlingILoveYou, I'm A Cuckoo (no Sirius really in this chapter, but yes, there'll be more of him in future ones, b/c I love him too!), xLycheeRAiN, Vanillaberries, sjm95x, and Swallow in the Cloud!

Second, I know people have been anxious for updates, and I know I started to get on the pattern of updating slightly more than once a week, but for some reason the seventh year chapters are proving harder to write! I don't know if it's the pressure to make them really good, since we're coming up on the end, or what, but I'm fairly certain we'll be back to once a week updates for the rest of the story, sorry!

And third, A.J. Oh A.J. It's actually kind of funny—the reactions range from "oh, I'm going to feel so bad for him when Lily dumps him!" to "Die, you bastard!" And for those of you leaning towards the latter end of the spectrum, hang in there! Unfortunately, they don't go to Durmstrang, so I can't just push him off a glacier and make it look like an accident, but I promise there are definite cracks appearing in their relationship wall in this chapter (okay, weird metaphor). Plus, some L/J bonding. So, you know, look forward to that ;)


Chapter 28: On Your Mind

When James threw himself down in a chair across from me in the library on a Sunday night in mid-October, it took me by surprise, not least because he was never in the library. And when he immediately commanded, "Don't talk to me," I was not only taken aback, but confused and a little affronted as well.

"That's a bit rude." James just glared at me. "Well, why did you sit here, then, if you didn't want to talk to anyone?" I pressed.

"It's not—look, can you just, for once, not be difficult?"

"Oh, like you're one to talk."

"Evans," he bit out around clenched teeth.

I held up my hands in surrender, turning back to my Charms homework. But, curiosity getting the better of me, I quickly scribbled on a spare bit of parchment "So, what are you really doing here?" and slid it towards James.

He read it, and I caught the slight twitch of his lips, even as he attempted to look disapproving. Snapping his fingers to get my attention, he pointed to my quill and held out his hand, as he had brought nothing into the library with him. Jotting down a reply, he pushed the paper back to me.

This still counts as talking, you know.

Hardly. I wrote back. The very definition of 'talking' involves some sort of audible component.

James snorted softly as I passed him the quill again. Swot.

Prick.

Fine.

So?

Well, I just needed to be around someone who has no passing interest in Qui—I can't even write the word, but you know what I mean. He tossed the parchment and quill back to me.

Actually, I've discovered that I rather enjoy it, thanks to you. I smiled sweetly at James as I passed the note back.

Evans, you really don't want to provoke me right now.

But it's so much fun . . . plus, it's about time for a little payback, don't you think?

James raised his eyebrows warily. I'm disturbed by how much that sounded like me . . .

Damn, you're right. Scary.

Definitely.

I shook my head, smiling slightly. Right, so, moving on. I suppose it's better that we're communicating this way, after all, since you're technically not supposed to talk in the library.

I've done plenty of things you're not supposed to do in the library.

Looking up at James, I found him grinning mischievously. Please, spare me, I wrote back.

If you insist.

So, were they really that horrible?

I should say not—most of them were rather enjoyable, actually.

I sighed in irritation. Not what I meant, Potter.

Well, you should try to be more specific then, shouldn't you?

Apparently. I meant Quidditch trials.

James shot me a horrified look and impatiently snatched the quill back from me. Why. Would. You. Mention. That.

I'll take that as a yes, then. That they were horrible.

You don't want to know.

I think you're just being melodramatic.

And I think you're one mis-inked word away from igniting my terrible wrath.

Before I could stop it, a snort of laughter escaped me, earning us a couple of annoyed glares from those studying in silence around us.

I glanced at James to find him staring at me solemnly, slowly shaking his head in disappointment. You're setting a terrible example for the student population, Miss Head Girl.

Oh shut it, Potter.

So, what d'you say we get out of here, Flower?

Looking at my table companion, I wasn't surprised to find him raising his eyebrows suggestively. Shooting him a glare in response, I scribbled back, As tempting as that is (and yes, I am being sarcastic), I really need to finish this. When James glanced up after reading my note, I held up my Charms book in explanation.

James rolled his eyes and wrote back, Merlin, you are boring.

Before I could pen a retort, A.J. entered the open area where we were sitting. I smiled at him, and James twisted in his seat to see who I was looking at. Upon spotting his Seeker, he turned back to me with a grimace. "Well, that's my cue, Flower," he whispered, apparently still not willing to hang around any reminders of Quidditch. I'd have to ask A.J. what could possibly have happened to make Potter so disillusioned about his favorite sport.

"Hey, Potter," A.J. greeted his captain with slightly less than the usual cheer.

I heard James say "Rookie," quietly in response, and then he was gone, concealed by the tall stacks of books.

Plopping down in the chair beside me with a sigh, my boyfriend leaned over to kiss me. "Hi," he said softly, pulling out his own homework.

"Hey—were tryouts really that bad?" I asked, nodding in the direction James had gone.

A.J. made a face. "It was . . . I mean, not exactly bad, per say, but . . . well, I'll tell you later, when we can actually talk at a reasonable level." He smirked slightly, and I glanced down at James's and my recent written correspondence, unconsciously reaching out with my hand to cover the paper.

OOOOOOOO

"So, what happened?" I prompted the minute we'd left the quiet confines of the library.

A.J. sighed, "Oh, nothing out of the ordinary, I don't think. You know, the usual group of Hufflepuffs tried to sneak in; some of the more clever Ravenclaws actually managed to fly for a bit before James called them out; and of course there was a huge mass of first years that could barely fly, and they're not allowed to try out anyway . . ."

"I knew he was being overdramatic," I cut in, shaking my head.

"Well, that wasn't everything," A.J. said. "Aside from it lasting for about three hours, there were also a bunch of Gryffindors there heckling Potter for his refusal to try out old players against new contenders. So that was a bit disruptive, and James actually ended up losing it at one point and nearly hexing them off the pitch—" I winced—"which isn't exactly going to improve their opinion of him."

"But he doesn't care about that, does he?" I asked in some surprise.

"Well, it's hard for him to realize not everyone worships the ground he walks on, I think," A.J. said with a grin, causing me to laugh. More seriously, he added, "Even though he pretends otherwise, I think it does actually stress him out a lot, you know, all the pressure to produce a winning team . . . though he needn't worry—he's a brilliant captain."

I contemplated this for a moment, before deciding that trying to imagine James stressed about anything was too strange. "When did you get so perceptive?" I teased my boyfriend instead.

"I guess it's just a byproduct of dating you," he replied.

"Right," I scoffed. "Because I'm such a brilliant people person."

"That has nothing to do with it."

"Well, thanks anyway," I said, kissing him on the cheek. "It's sweet that you don't think I'm completely clueless." We walked in silence for a while, and then I spoke again. "So, I've been thinking . . ." I started, not quite sure how to phrase what I was about to say. But it had been on my mind a lot lately, and I needed to get it out. "Look, don't take this the wrong way or anything but . . . why do you love me?"

A.J. stopped walking, turning to face me in surprise. "What do you mean?"

I sighed. "I mean exactly what I said."

"Well," he said slowly, "I don't know—"

"I thought you might say something like that," I said, though not accusatorily. In fact, I was a bit shocked at how relieved it made me feel.

"Hang on," A.J. said, frowning, "I wasn't—you just caught me off guard with the question, that's all . . . 'I don't know' isn't my answer—"

"Yes, but . . . the thing is, I don't think I could answer the question for you, either," I said.

"You mean you don't know why you love me?" A.J. asked, now sounding a little angry. "So, what—you never actually meant to say it in the first place? Are you saying we should just call it quits, you know, give it up as a bad job—"

"What? No, that's not what I'm saying at all! Just—don't you think you're overacting?"

"Well, Merlin, Lily—how am I supposed to react to that?" he demanded, light eyes flashing.

I paused before answering, striving to keep my voice calm. "I just think that we're both too young to—"

A.J. snorted. "—to 'know what love means'?" he quipped derisively. "That's not an excuse; plenty of adults haven't got a clue what it means either."

"Fine!" I said, losing my temper at last. "Then I'm saying I don't know what it means, and . . . well, I'm not sure where that leaves us." Silence fell between us, A.J. staring at me with a hard look in his eyes, while I met his gaze determinedly. I knew this was something I should have brought up much earlier, but I'd been distracted last year by things with Remus, my fight with Potter, and the kissing incident, and I hadn't gotten around to it. Not that it was an excuse, and I could understand why A.J. was angry, but . . . I'd been starting to wonder lately if telling him I loved him had been a mistake. I mean, I thought I'd meant it then, and I felt completely horrible admitting otherwise now—

"So, you don't love me," A.J. interjected quietly, cutting into my thoughts.

"I don't know," I said in a small voice.

He sighed, looking away at last. His eyes had lost their fiery look; it had been replaced by a defeated expression that was almost harder to face. "Because you're funny, and smart, and you always say exactly what's on your mind," A.J. said suddenly, meeting my eyes again. "Because I'm always happier around you, even if I'm already having a brilliant day. Because I missed you like crazy over the summer. And because I can't go a day without thinking about how I wouldn't want to be with anyone else. So . . . that's how I know."

The first thing I felt was a thrill of fear. This was quickly smothered, however, by an overwhelming guilt. "A.J., I—" I started, with no real idea what to say. Sighing, I figured I might as well go with the truth. "The only reason I thought I loved you was because I said it when Mary and I were talking, and it was one of those moments where I just blurted it out without thinking . . . so I figured that must mean it was true." It sounded incredibly naïve, and it was all I could do to keep from cringing.

But, to my surprise, A.J.'s expression was one of relief. Smiling, he said, "Well, that makes perfect sense to me." And I didn't have the heart to disagree.

OOOOOOOO

I was starting to think that I'd been slightly delusional to have always hoped in the back of my mind I might be Head Girl seventh year. I didn't mind that sorting out the prefect patrol schedules took far longer than it should, since we had to work around various Quiddtich practices, club meetings, and study group sessions. I wasn't too annoyed when the Hufflepuff prefects, who'd been dating at the beginning of the year, broke up at the end of October and started taking House points from each other out of spite (don't worry, I didn't understand it either). And it wasn't even due to the alternating apprehension and guilt I felt whenever I let myself worry that James might eventually do something so irresponsible that I wouldn't just be able to let it slide. No, what really made me want to take my Head Girl badge and fling it into the lake was rounds.

Objectively, I didn't protest having to do them six nights a week, and having James as my partner made them easier. But it was also N.E.W.T. year, and returning to the common room at ten only to face at least two more hours of homework every night was starting to chip away at my sanity. Theoretically, it should have been worse for James, since he often had Quidditch practice in the afternoons as well, but he somehow nearly always finished his work before me anyway. Which only served to annoy me further, though I couldn't help but be grudgingly impressed regardless.

Enviable brilliance or no, evening usually found James and I as the last ones in the common room, and it was no different the Thursday before Gryffindor's first Quidditch match of the season. Remus, Sirius, and Peter had disappeared to their dormitory almost an hour ago, with the vague excuse that they had to 'plan for the weekend.' Sirius, of course, got off a parting shot about James's 'disgrace to the Marauder name,' as he was still working on McGonagall's human transfiguration essay for tomorrow. James had been surly and taciturn ever since. Mary had just gone up to bed, and A.J., who'd been sitting beside me on the fireside couch I currently occupied, finally stretched, announced that he was going to call it a night as well, and leaned in to kiss me good night. "See you tomorrow, Lil. Love you."

"Love you, too," I said, running the words together slightly as I blushed and determinedly avoided looking at James. I couldn't help glancing at him after A.J. had ascended the stairs, and was rewarded with a knowing smirk. "Oh shut up," I grumbled, dipping my quill a bit too forcefully into the ink bottle, creating a slight shower of black spots on the table between James and me. I was defensive not only because it was James, but because I hated that I'd let myself be guilted back into saying it again. After my disastrous conversation with A.J. a few weeks ago, I hadn't worked up the courage to broach the subject again, even though I knew I'd left it unfinished.

"Just because you're a love cynic," I continued to James, "doesn't mean—"

"I am most certainly not a love cynic," James interrupted, affronted.

I looked up again to roll my eyes at him. "You don't believe in love."

"And where would you get such an idea?"

"Straight from that excessively mobile mouth of yours."

"I never said—"

"Yes, you did—on A.J.'s and my anniversary. And last week, when we overheard that fifth year talking to her friend about Jimmy and Erin's"—those were the Hufflepuff prefects—"break up. She said it was such a shock, because they'd been 'so obviously in love,' and you just snorted and said, 'Who believes in love, anyway?'"

"Well, it was a rhetorical question."

"But if you ask a rhetorical question like that, it implies that you don't—"

"So now you're just making assumptions about me?"

I sighed, trying to glare at him, but ending up smiling in reluctant amusement nevertheless. "All right, fine—I'm sorry I just assumed you didn't believe in love."

"Apology accepted," James replied with a sniff. Then he grinned and added, "But, you have to admit there's no way those two were in love."

"Well, I never disagreed with you on that."

"A first, I think."

I threw someone's discarded quill at him.

OOOOOOOO

Forty-five minutes later, I became aware of the fact that James was staring at me. Abandoning my essay for the second time that night, I asked, "Can I help you with something?"

"No," he said easily.

"You're staring at me," I pointed out.

"Yes," James agreed pleasantly, leaning back and propping his legs up on the table.

"Well, I'd really rather you didn't." I started writing again, only to look up in exasperation moments later. "If you're waiting to gloat about finishing the homework before me again, I'm prepared to become momentarily deaf. So you might as well just go to bed."

"Ah, but it's much more entertaining watching you."

I paused. "That's a bit . . . creepy," I said eventually. Then, "What do you want, Potter?"

"Who says I want anything? Maybe I'm simply down here to enjoy the pleasure of your company until you've—"

"James," I said warningly.

He raised his eyebrows. "Oh, so you're using my first name again, but only when you're especially pissed at me?"

"That's not—stop changing the subject!"

"Well, I'm just curious. But I do actually need a favor from you."

"What?" I asked apprehensively.

"No, not until we clear up this first name business. It's about time we did, don't you think? Lily?" he added with a smirk.

I sighed. "Fine. But honestly, though, don't you find it a bit . . . weird, calling me 'Lily'?"

"You know, I really don't, Lily. And I'm a bit offended, Lily, that you still can't call me 'James,' Lily. It is, frankly, a little ridiculous. Lily." He was grinning again.

"If you really do need a favor from me, I might suggest not provoking me."

"All right," James conceded, apparently choosing to drop the names discussion in lieu of what he wanted. Removing his feet from the table, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "It is a well-kept secret that the Marauders are the sole providers of food for the Quidditch after-parties."

I snorted. "No it's not; that isn't a secret to anyone."

"Right, well, what is a secret is that preparations traditionally begin on Thursday evenings."

Raising my eyebrows at that, I asked, "Is that really necessary?"

"Of course it is. Everything that I do is necessary, Evans. Anyway, we discovered that if we bring up the drinks on Thursday night, it's a lot easier to just worry about sneaking food up in small amounts all day Friday and early Saturday morning. Plus, the teachers aren't expecting us to plan ahead so far as to be suspicious Thursday night."

"You've really thought this through, haven't you?"

"We take party prep very seriously."

"Clearly. Where do you put it all?"

"Our dormitory," he said simply, and I realized that made sense. It was just the four of them in our year, after all. No one to snitch on them.

"I'm still not seeing where I come in."

"Well, I told the others I'd take care of it this time, but I might require some assistance."

"Why'd you promise to do it if you weren't sure I'd help you?"

"Oh, but I knew you would," he said confidently.

"Really? And why is that?" I was debating refusing his request, just to wipe the sure smile off his face.

"Because I'm so irresistible," he said, hazel eyes glinting with amusement.

"Sure, of course." After a moment, I sighed. "Fine—what do we do first?"

OOOOOOOO

Half an hour later, we were making our way back to Gryffindor Tower, two gigantic crates of butterbeer and . . . other beverages levitated before us. The fact that it was after curfew, and we were more than a little conspicuous, was making me anxious, and I cast around for something to distract me. My mind settled on the conversation about Quidditch trials A.J. and I had had a few days ago.

"Are you nervous?" I asked, realizing as I said it that James would have no idea what I was referring to.

Predictably, he shot me a confused look. "Of what? That the house elves might suddenly go rogue and turn me in? That one wrong move could send this entire crate of butterbeers crashing down around us? Or that you have a wand in your hand that could at any second be turned on me?" He said the final bit with a cheeky grin in my direction.

"No—though I wouldn't necessarily rule that last one out. I meant for the match on Saturday."

James frowned at me. "I'm never nervous for Quiddtich matches. Or anything, for that matter."

I frowned back at him. "That's a lie, Potter, and you know it. Besides, it's stupid not to get nervous about anything."

"Indeed? How do you figure that?" he replied.

"Well, for one thing, it actually motivates you to improve; like, if you're a little nervous before an exam, then you're extra-alert and therefore perform better. And anxiety is part of the basis of a conscience . . . oh wait, I'm sorry; I forgot you don't have one of those." I matched his cheeky grin from earlier.

"It's more fun that way, I've always thought."

We reached the empty common room and continued to levitate our loads straight into James's Head bedroom. I stopped dead just inside the doorway at the sight of it, however. Clothes were strewn haphazardly around the floor, hanging off the end of the bed, and thrown carelessly over the back of his desk chair. Spare bits of parchment, empty ink bottles, and broken bits of quills littered the surface of his desk. His school books were piled hastily at the foot of his bed, and his bookbag hung off the handle of the bathroom door.

"Yeah, it's a little messy," James said unconcernedly, correctly interpreting the look on my face.

"You think?" I said, shaking my head. "How do you live here?"

"Quite well, thank you." He let his crate of drinks come to a landing in the small part of floor in the center of the room that was devoid of clutter.

I copied his actions, saying, "And here I thought you were being vulgar when you said you'd put your single room to good use. But there's no way you've brought a girl up here."

"I brought you, didn't I?"

I looked up from the crate I'd just settled next to James's, and our eyes met briefly before James turned away, suddenly looking uncomfortable. Thinking how it would look if someone caught me coming out of his room right now, what they'd probably assume, I blushed and wondered whether I should leave. But as I glanced around at the door, my eyes passed over James's desk again, and I found myself starting towards it.

"You're not going to start cleaning, are you?" James asked teasingly, but there was an apprehensive edge to his voice as well.

I didn't answer, merely started snatching up the crumpled pieces of parchment and broken quills and dumping them into the rubbish bin next to the desk.

"Merlin," I heard James mutter behind me, and couldn't help the smirk that spread across my face at his tone. "Just don't throw away anything important," he instructed, and I heard him begin to move towards me.

As I cleared away the layer of rubbish, a newspaper heading on a discarded Daily Prophet caught my eye. It was from that morning, and it read: Ministry Concerns Heighten Over Raider Activity.

I turned quickly, and James, who had come up behind me, took a surprised step back. "This is getting serious, isn't it?" I asked, holding out the paper.

He raised his eyebrows. "You know, for someone who takes responsibility so seriously, Evans, I'm surprised at your lack of current event knowledge."

I blushed faintly again at his remonstration, though he'd said it jokingly. "Well, I—that is—look, I don't get the Prophet, okay?" I said defensively.

"And whose fault is that? It's only two Knuts an issue."

"Not all of us can afford to just fritter our money away, Potter."

"I wouldn't call it 'frittering.' In fact, I don't think I'd ever use such an absurd word to describe anything." Before I could tell him off for mocking me, he added, "Besides, if you don't want to pay for it, there are always extra copies in the teachers' lounge. So really, there's no excuse for you not to know what's going on."

"And how would you know what's in the teachers' lounge? I figured you'd avoid the place like bubotuber pus, what with all the concentrated authority it contains."

"Perceptive of you, Evans, but the teachers' lounge does have its uses. Especially if one wants to find out when McGonagall might be inclined to throw us a pop quiz. Or find a good place to—"

"—hang Mrs. Norris from a chandelier?" I asked, remembering something he'd said last year.

James grinned. "If you're into that kind of thing, I suppose." Assuming a solemn expressing, he added, "Though, about the 'concentrated authority' bit, I can't really be adverse to those sorts of things now, can I?"

"You mean as Head Boy."

James nodded.

"Oh, I'm sure you'll still find a way," I said sardonically.

The grin springing back onto his face, James said, "Yes, I'll probably be able to work something out." He walked over to sit on the edge of his bed, and I followed suit, still clutching the Daily Prophet. James looked around his room, frowning slightly, and suddenly directed his wand at the clothes scattered over the floor, causing them to fly into the far corner of the room. I raised my eyebrows at him, but he just shrugged. "I was inspired."

"By what?"

"You, of course."

I looked over at the mound of dirty clothes. "That's hardly better."

James shrugged again. "I'll just put them out for the house elves tomorrow."

"How . . . spoiled rich boy of you," I said dryly, and James glared indignantly at me.

"I'll have you know that I clean my own room at home, help elderly witches cross the street, and make a point to save a puppy or other small animal at least once a week."

I laughed. "I suppose that evens things out, then. Though if you're room at home is anything like this, I'd hardly call that cleaning."

"Well, I figure it's my room, so it only matters than I can live in it," James said, lying back on his bed.

"I guess." I glanced down at the Prophet article again. "So, d'you reckon these Raiders are just as big of a threat as the Death Eaters, now?" I tried to keep my voice light, as though I were merely curious, but the way James looked at me made me think I'd failed miserably.

"Dunno," he said seriously, propping himself up on his elbows. "I expect not, seeing as they don't really have the same organizational structure as the Death Eaters. You know, no Voldemort," he added with a somewhat mirthless smile.

"Do you think they'd join him, if they could?"

"Well, Moony figures they don't—"

"—don't have enough conviction or . . . motivation, I guess, to go that far; yeah, I know," I finished for him. "But what do you think?"

James was quiet for a moment. "I think Voldemort'd be an idiot not to try and recruit them," he said finally, baldly, with no attempt to sugarcoat things for me. Though I wasn't sure why I though he might. His lips quirked suddenly. "And unfortunately, Voldemort is anything but an idiot."

I nodded, looking away from him again. Eventually, I said quietly, "You know why I don't get the Prophet?" James didn't answer, but I could feel him watching me. "I just . . . don't want to know. I don't want to know about the families that have been murdered, or people who've been tortured. I mean, being here at Hogwarts . . . it doesn't seem quite so real, and it's easier to just . . ."

"Pretend it isn't happening?" James asked, and there was no judgment in his voice, for which I was grateful.

"Yes," I said, almost inaudibly. "Pretty awful, huh?" I asked bitterly.

James sat up, and I finally turned to look at him. "You're not a coward, Lily," he stated bluntly.

I snorted. "Because I'm in Gryffindor, right?" I asked with a wry smile.

"No, because you're you," he said firmly.

I waited for him to elaborate, before realizing that he wasn't going to and, moreover, that I didn't need him to. "Thank you," I said, and James nodded. "But it's still stupid of me." James sighed and opened his mouth to argue, but I cut him off. "No, listen—I know it's stupid; you're not going to convince me it isn't. As soon as we leave here, maybe even before that, I'm going to have to face . . . all of it. Especially since I'm . . . well, it's not like I could even take the coward's way out and join him, because I . . ."

"You're the one they're after," James finished for me again. He said it without pity, or doubt, or even concern, just stated the truth. Like he always did.

"Yes." I winced slightly. "Morbid, that, isn't it?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

James lay down again without saying anything, a look in his hazel eyes that I couldn't identify.

I lay back as well, and we were quiet for a long time. "James?" I said finally, turning slightly to face him.

I watched his lips twitch upwards briefly as he replied, "Yes?"

"Do you think anyone's ever going to stop him? Voldemort, I mean?"

"Well, I was planning on doing it tomorrow during morning break, but—"

I laughed again, kicking him lightly. "Be serious."

James turned his head to the side to meet my eyes. "Someone—or several someones, perhaps—is bound to one of these days. He can't stay in power forever," he said confidently.

"I hope you're right." I suddenly realized how close our faces were, his nose a mere three inches from mine. Sitting up quickly, I added, "Well, now that I'm officially depressed about the state of the world, I should get to bed."

"Well, I'm always happy to depress, so you're welcome," James said, pushing himself up on the bed and to his feet in one fluid motion. He walked over to the door and held it open for me.

I stood as well, smiling as I moved past James. "Good night."

"Likewise. Oh, and Lily?" I turned around in the doorframe. "I'm always nervous before Quidditch matches—and no, you're not allowed to repeat that to anyone."

I grinned at him. "Of course."


A/N: See, told you there would be bonding ;) Have a good week, everyone!