James Potter is an animagus. And he once saved my ex-best friend from a werewolf. Who happens to be my classmate. Remus Lupin.

And now James and my ex-best friend have some weird truce. Apparently saving your enemy from certain danger is enough to break a feud. That explains why they'd been so cooperative during our games of Hippogriff. Perhaps Frank Longbottom hadn't been so far off to say it might be inter-House cooperation.

In any case, the conversation about our relationship had been put on hold while I processed all of James Potter's secrets—all of the Marauders' secrets.

His whole life, basically.

I glanced over at his mates, at Sirius, with his arm happily draped over Remus's shoulders, sitting on a couch near the fireplace, and Peter aggressively playing against himself in Wizard's Chess on the floor before them.

They had always been this close-knit group of friends, but I hadn't realized the extent to which they were bonded.

Moony's a werewolf.

I recalled Severus attempting to invalidate a perfectly civil and otherwise innocent classmate with that accusation a few years ago. He'd been right, it turned out, but it didn't invalidate anything.

Remus laughed tiredly at something Sirius had said, the thin, white scars along his jaw tightening at the stretch of his cheeks. He was balancing an open Transfiguration textbook and an essay in his lap. One hand tucked a quill behind his ear, his shirtsleeves splattered with ink.

Peter, his small blue eyes reflecting in the firelight, gazed up at his friends and chucked a pawn in their direction. His laugh, though rendered silent by my charm work, was one made up of small bursts of chortles, often accompanied by a hand on his round stomach, and a rising crimson wave from his neck to his ears.

I watched as Sirius jumped down from the couch he shared with his boyfriend to frown quizzically at Peter's Wizard's Chess board. Remus visibly sighed, and leaned down to pick up the Transfiguration book that had flopped to the floor in Sirius's haste.

After a moment, Sirius barked some order at the ivory army and Peter only stopped laughing long enough to express supreme distress at this turn of events at his expense.

Satisfied, Sirius returned to the couch, and snuggled in much closer to Remus than he had been before. His eyes scanned the room and landed on James and me.

I waved at him, trying not to appear as though James had just spilled an entire ocean's contents of information at my feet.

Sirius grinned and nudged Remus to look at us. The young werewolf met my gaze, and the amount of sheer tenderness and empathy that filled my very being at the light in his eyes was almost overwhelming.

Moony's a werewolf.

Remus Lupin may be a werewolf, but in that moment, I decided that more than anything, he was my friend.

And that kind of multiplicity was something that each of the Marauders understood, if not experienced for themselves.

It was certainly something I had always tried to figure out—Muggle, witch, neither, both.

We, neither of us, were any one thing.

James, who had been kneeling before me as he explained that he and Sirius had figured out Remus's secret in second year when the latter was inexplicably and unjustly excused from Astronomy classes, seemed to realize that my attention was elsewhere, and looked behind him.

Sirius and Remus were openly laughing at us now, completely oblivious to our conversation, and I wondered what they found so amusing.

James turned back to me and groaned. "Oh, they'll never let me live this down, the pricks."

He got up slowly and sat beside me on the couch, though with considerably much more distance than before.

"Hear the end of what?" I asked.

He ran a hand through his hair and rumpled it significantly. He turned his head away enough that I could just see the sticky-uppy bits at the back of his marvelous bedhead, and I unconsciously moved closer to him.

"Are we okay?" he asked, turning back, and jumping slightly at the fact that I had just closed in on the three feet he'd left between us. He smiled, apparently flattered.

I leaned into him. "Yes," I breathed. I grabbed his hand. "It's just—it's a lot. Thank you for telling me."

"Moony's gonna murder me," he moaned.

"I'm not telling anyone!" I exclaimed. "Even under pain of death."

James smiled, but he looked surprised. "I never doubted that. We—well, it's just—I know Moony wanted to tell you himself. And now I've gone and ruined it for him."

"Oh!" I said. I glanced back at Remus, who was deep in conversation with Sirius again. "He wanted to tell me?"

"Been dying to, actually," James replied. "Just couldn't quite find the right time. He felt awful lying to you the other day—about having to go see his sick mum and not being able to be on your Hippogriff team."

"Wait, his mum's not ill?"

James sighed. "I really should let him tell you everything."

"Okay," I said. Before he could protest, I got up and marched over to the other Marauders and placed a hand on my hip.

Remus and Sirius were engaged in a nonsensical debate about the implications of solar flare activity during the upcoming Quidditch World Cup.

"Lads," I announced myself. "We have some business to discuss."

They stared up at me, half-amused, half-unfazed.

I tried again. "It involves a problem," I said, meaningfully. "Of a furry variety."

Both their eyes widened, just as Peter yelled, "Checkmate!" to himself.

I flashed Remus a smile and held out my hand. He took it, and I pulled him along to where James sat, anxiously rumpling his hair.

"Your Silence Charm is in excellent condition, Lily," remarked Remus.

I could tell he was nervous as well. He sat on the couch between James and me, just as Sirius pushed a protesting Peter into the Silence Charm bubble.

"Whoa!" said Peter, finally quieting down as he experienced the shock of having all of Gryffindor Tower suddenly muted. "I've got to practice my Charms!"

"I've been telling you so since first year," muttered Sirius.

"If you study hard enough, you can take the N.E.W.T. at the end of the year, even if you didn't take the class," said James.

Sirius threw himself stomach-down onto a nearby cushion and giggled. "Just so Wormtail can add to his list of T's? Smashing idea."

Peter shot Sirius a glare, and crossed his arms.

"I can tutor you, if you'd like," I offered. "Charms is my favorite subject."

"I thought it was Potions!" accused Sirius, who had turned around completely, as though his whole body had been offended by my preference for Charms.

"No, that was always Sev's," I explained.

Sirius blanched. "But he's so bad at it!"

I laughed. "He isn't, not really."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "You need imagination to excel at Potions, and Snivellus has about as much creativity in him as my mum's got any empathy. And old Mummy dearest collects the heads of her house elves."

I grimaced. "That's horrible."

"Exactly."

I cleared my throat. "So—fun fact. James and I were just—"

"Snogging?" said Sirius, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively.

I blushed deeply. "Well—yes. But only because James thought I—er." I glanced at James, unable to explain.

"Bugger it," James mumbled. "Lily knows."

They all froze. It was suddenly quiet, as though my Silence Charm had permeated the space it was meant to shield from outside noise. Remus's amber eyes locked onto mine with such fervent intensity that I was nearly bowled over, but I recognized the frightened question shining in them: Do you accept me?

I felt as though I could see into his soul at that moment, and felt an unrelenting wave of pure unconditional love for the tired, scarred boy beside me. There was no question about it. I smiled.

"Moony," I said, turning the nickname over in my mind. "It makes sense."

"We thought so," said Sirius quietly. I turned to him, and realized he'd been the tensest of us all, ready to do anything, it seemed, if I freaked out over the fact that his boyfriend was a werewolf.

I smiled again at Remus. "Though not exactly subtle, is it?"

He laughed. "No, it isn't."

"Oi, we were only second years!" defended Sirius, looking extremely insulted.

"Yeah, we thought it was really clever," added Peter, smiling sheepishly.

I laughed, attempting to stay encouraging and cheerful. It was really critical that I didn't treat this secret like anything less than Absolutely and Totally Important. "It was! It's not as though anyone's really caught on."

"Well," started James. "Nearly anyone."

Sirius sighed. "So how much did you tell her, Prongs?" He was bouncing up and down anxiously. "How much does she know? Snivellus?"

"Yes," answered James.

"Our full moon escapades?"

"Mhm."

"The cloak, the map—?"

"No!" James said quickly. "No, I haven't told her about those things yet."

Sirius's eyes twinkled. "I see. Saving them up for a big reveal, eh?"

James blushed.

"What are you two going on about?" I asked, amused by James's reaction and Sirius's widening grin.

Peter began whistling some familiar tune in clear avoidance.

Remus knocked my shoulder playfully. "Marauders' Honor."

"Marauders' Honor!" the rest of the boys chorused, saluting at each other mock-solemnly.

I stared at them, wide-eyed. "I'm involved with a cultist."

They all laughed.

"Lily," Sirius began. "As leader of said cult—"

"Oi!"

"Who appointed you leader of anything?!"

Sirius smirked. "—I hereby bestow upon you an official welcome to the Marauders."

"Er, thank you?" I said.

"On a trial basis," he added. "We'll see about inducting you soon enough."

I glanced at James again to see if Sirius was Actually Serious, but James was chuckling and blushing like mad, so I just shrugged, compliant.

Sirius winked back.

"Right. Well. Lads," James announced, nodding at each of them.

Sirius seemed to take the hint rather quickly, pushing himself off the scarlet cushion pouf and pulling the main subject of this gathering to his feet. "C'mon, love. I've distracted you from your essay long enough."

Peter yawned and got to his feet. "Night, everyone. I'm knackered."

We all said our goodbyes and goodnights until it was just James and me again, with quite a distance between us on the couch again.

"Marlene snores," I blurted out.

"What?" he asked through a laugh.

"And Mary—Mary has terrible temper tantrums. She used to go on bimonthly rampages through our dorm, slashing at all of our curtains until we calmed her down."

He smiled amusedly.

"And sometimes Jen and I do each other's arithmancy problems."

He shook his head, a smile on his lips. "Lily, why—?"

"I just felt as though I needed to balance the scales a little bit."

His eyes laughed at me. "Ah. And what's your biggest secret, then?"

Er.

"Socks. I leave my socks everywhere. There are probably at least five pairs of worn socks stuffed under my blankets as we speak."

"Lily."

"Yes?"

"That's disgusting."

I wrinkled my nose. "I know."

He scooted closer to me on the sofa. "It's practically hazardous."

I scooted a little closer to him as well. "Practically," I answered.

James was close enough that I could see the flecks of green and gold in his eyes. "Perhaps I should go up and—fix it for you?"

I giggled. "You can try, Potter."

"You wouldn't stop me?"

"I wouldn't have to!" I laughed, imagining him going up the girls' staircase, only to watch him fall flat on his arse when they turned into a slide.

James grinned his aristocratic smile at me. "Fair point."

His hand gingerly grabbed mine and I nearly melted at his gentle touch.

Lily Evans, Girl Ice Lolly.

I couldn't tell if that was an upgrade from Girl Balloon or not.

"So about earlier," James whispered, his voice lowering to absurdly sexy levels. His hands toyed with mine, sending my heart racing.

I tried to answer as calmly as possible, even though his hands were currently driving me mad. "What about earlier?" I asked, my voice growing breathless.

He smirked, one hand going up to tuck a strand of loose hair behind my ear, and lingering over my cheek. His voice was velvety and low as he brought his lips next to my ear and whispered, "You said we had to talk?"

He kissed my neck and my world went totally hazy at the sensation. I almost said, "Sod it!" and gave into him, but I needed to know what we were doing.

With great effort, I pushed him away. "We do, James."

There were other things he'd obviously prefer to do instead, but he didn't complain, just pulled back and waited expectantly.

"We fancy each other, yes?" I began.

He smirked, amused. "Obviously."

"Right," I said, blushing. "Erm, well. We haven't exactly talked about, you know, you never asked if I wanted to—er…" I frowned, flustered.

How was I supposed to ask him why he hadn't asked me out?

Suddenly, I knew exactly what to do. I took both of his hands in mine and mustered up all of my courage. "James Potter, will you go out with me?"

James's laugh rang out between us, and his whole body shook with it. He gathered me up in his arms and pulled me against him, laughing in delight, then pulled back to look at me, his hazel eyes alight with joy. "We're already going out, you nutter."

I smacked his chest. "Prat."

"May I remind you that you fancy this prat?"

"I take it back, then. You have every right to call me a nutter."

He laughed again. "Is that all you wanted to ask me?"

"I just didn't know if we were going out, or just making out. Or what to call—this," I said, gesturing vaguely between us.

"Ah, then you're not a nutter at all," he said, smirking. "Just daft."

"Oi!" I exclaimed, smacking him again.

"Seriously, Lily. I'm mad about you. Much as I enjoy it when we snog, you mean so much more to me than that."

The balloon was back, except this time it felt like a flower garden had sprung to life in my heart, its fragrance intoxicating, and the blooms rapidly unfurling and blossoming across my insides.

"Likewise," I replied, squeezing his hands.

And then we may or may not have indulged in another one of those aforementioned snogs.

The Hippogriff practice schedule was outrageously difficult to manage. The Heads of House managed the Quidditch practices, and with only four teams, it was loads easier to share their pitch.

Our league, however, had eight teams, all of which were keen to practice twice a week at the very least. The new dimensions of the pitch would certainly require some adjusting on my part, so getting time on the pitch was of the utmost importance. And because it was a mixed-House league, no faculty at Hogwarts had any authority over the schedule. This responsibility was left up to the Ministry referee, who wouldn't meet the league members until the following Thursday.

So, in the meantime, the other team Captains and I had to figure out how to share the pitch for the next week. We met in a disused classroom after Friday night dinner to write up a practice schedule for the week.

With the addition of the other captains there, the tension between Bellatrix and me was not so noticeable. However, as we were exiting the room, who should appear but Frank Longbottom, his camera nearly blinding us with its magical flash.

"Frank Longbottom, reporter for The Hogwarts Post," he exclaimed, sidling along Goleuddydd Hughes, the smallest of the Captains present (and therefore the most vulnerable-looking). "I'd like to write a feature on each team every week as we begin coverage on the League's season. Who are you, what's your team called, and how will you plan on winning the Hippogriff Cup?"

Goleuddydd, her grey eyes wide as she peered up at Frank, startled, no doubt, by the multitude of questions he had just rattled off, stammered, "Er—my—my name's Goleuddydd Hughes."

"Good Welsh name," Frank mumbled, writing quickly. "And what's your team called?"

"Rhiannon's Riders," Goleuddydd declared, drawing herself up to her full height.

Frank smirked in delight. "Ah, and true to form, a truly Welsh-inspired team name. I assume your strategy has something to do with flying very fast?"

Bellatrix rolled her eyes at that. "Amateur. Do your research!" she spat at him, turning on her heel and strolling down the corridor.

Frank cocked his head to the side, perplexed. "Conducting an interview is research," he said to no one in particular. He shrugged and fixed his attention back on Goleuddydd, his baby blue eyes bright and intense.

She smiled sheepishly back at him. "My cousins and my girlfriend are on the team," she started, encouragingly. "We're all as Welsh as anything, and wanted to represent that in the League. Playing Quidditch together is a bit difficult, as we're all in separate houses, but this league makes it so much easier to spend time in the air together."

Frank practically beamed, and fired off a few more follow-up questions.

I was just happy not to be in the Hippogriff spotlight for once. At least Goleuddydd's story will put inter-house cooperation on the map.

The captain of the Neckbreakers, Hannibal McCloud, however, wasn't so pleased at having escaped Frank's attention. He lurked in the corner, his envy seeping into the air like potion fumes. So instead of going on my wee little merry way away from Frank Longbottom, Journalist, like every nerve ending in my body was telling me to do with great fanfare, I approached the interview in progress to diffuse a potential situation.

I didn't know what sort of situation McCloud might concoct, but I could tell straight off it wouldn't be a good one.

"Pardon me, Longbottom," I interrupted. "I think you'll find you might run out of time if you only feature one team a week. It's possible half of us will be eliminated from the league in eight weeks' time, depending on the schedule our Ministry ref draws up. Perhaps you should do two teams a week until we know for certain? I'm sure Mr. McCloud would be more than happy to fill you in on his own team and strategy."

The skulking Ravenclaw pushed himself off the wall he'd been leaning on and sauntered right over. "Hannibal McCloud, nice to meet you!" he exclaimed, shoving his hand into Frank's.

Frank didn't miss a beat. "Likewise! Extraordinary!" He seemed absolutely beside himself at having two willing subjects. "Would you mind waiting a moment while I finish up with, er"—he looked down at his notes—"Goleuddydd? We've nearly finished."

McCloud, his blonde curls crowning his head in a magnificent heap, simply nodded as he meandered back to his corner of the corridor, looking much more pleased with himself.

I rolled my eyes and left the scene.

McCloud was so arrogant—why did I even bother standing up for him?

I tried to shrug it off as I walked down to the Owlery, anxious to send off the new practice schedule to the Millennium Falcons.

"Mary, it's three loops to the left and then a swish to top center," I instructed, reminding Mary for the fourth time that evening of the proper pattern for a Color Change Charm. We'd been at this for nearly two hours now, holed up in a study room in the library.

"I don't understand!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms up in exasperation. "I'm the only Seventh Year in all of Hogwarts history that can't cast a simple Color Change Charm!"

Marlene, who was sitting at the end of a long table and reading out of a magical theory book, chimed in. "Even Pettigrew can do it, and he's at the bottom of our class."

"Marlene!" I scolded, shooting her a nasty glare. She merely shrugged in reply.

Mary groaned. "This is hopeless, Lily. I'm hopeless. Just tell Flitwick you gave it your best go, eh? I'll go pack my trunk. I don't deserve to be a student here anymore."

At this point, Jen slammed her own book down on the table and gave Mary a sharp look. "You could try a little harder, Mary. This isn't on Lily, and it's unfair of you to put that kind of burden on her."

Mary stared at her, trembling. She turned to me, worrying her lip. "I'm sorry, Lily. She's right. Shall I go again?"

I nodded. "It's alright, Mary. I know it can be frustrating work, but you've got to just pick up your wand and focus. Try isolating the first three loops."

She pursed her lips and furrowed her brows in concentration. Her wand arm went up, looped three times to the left. She repeated this a few more times.

"Good, keep your wrist loose. You can do this, Mary. Now try the cross-up."

Her wand turned sharply up and center, and flicked downwards. "That's the easy bit, Lils. It's going from the last loop back up to center. I can't ever find center!"

"Right. You've got to keep your wrist perfectly straight. Loose, but straight. That way, once you've done the loops, you can go back up to center." I took my own wand in hand and demonstrated for her. "One, two, three—up!"

Mary watched me perform this movement a few more times before she copied my pattern exactly. Then, to both our surprise, she managed to cast a perfect Color Change Charm on the scarf before her, which went from scarlet and gold to a vivid periwinkle.

Giggling in delight at her success, she draped the scarf around my neck.

"I've done it!" she said. She waved her wand in the correct pattern and turned Marlene's cloud of curls a shocking pink shade and gave an uproarious laugh that would have got us kicked out of the library if I hadn't prepared a Silence Charm in the space beforehand.

Marlene glanced at the pink tendrils in her peripheral vision and grinned. "Wicked," she said.

I rolled my eyes.

Unfairly, Marlene really did look very good with pink hair. The shock of it and her nonchalant attitude suited each other well.

There was a knock at the door, and we all turned our heads toward it. I quickly snapped my eyes to my wristwatch, wondering if the library was closing already. The door opened from the outside, and in slipped a stormy-eyed James Potter.

"James?" I questioned, perplexed.

His hair was messier than usual, his glasses slightly askew, and he was dressed in his Quidditch kit. He held a rolled-up parchment in one hand and his broom in the other. James appeared as though he had literally dropped out of the Quidditch pitch and flown here on his broom.

He didn't even glance at me, his hazel eyes landing on Marlene. "McKinnon." James was in full Captain Mode, and it was electrifying.

Marlene took one look at him and it hit her. "Bollocks! Have I missed practice?" She scrambled out of her seat, her ink spilling over the long, wooden table in a crawling streak. "Damn," she muttered, Vanishing the ink with a quick wave of her wand.

"Got it in one," James reproached. "Get to the pitch, McKinnon, and give me fifty sit-ups on the green."

"Yes, Captain!" She saluted him as unironically as ever, but didn't dare complain. James could have given her worse, like suspending her from playing the next game.

She stuffed her books and quills and sheaves of parchment into her bag and ran out of the room without a second glance, her pink curls bouncing around her shoulders.

Finally, James looked at me, his gaze softening, a small turn at the corner of his lips. "Evans," he said, attempting to sound professional. "In future, please mind the Quidditch practices when you schedule my players for a tutoring session. This way I can avoid rounding them up like a bloody shepherd."

I sucked in my cheeks, trying not to laugh. "Alternatively," I walked up to him and straightened his glasses. "Please mind the tutoring sessions when you schedule my students for Quidditch practice."

"Touché," he said, and he bent down to give me a light peck on the lips. "We'll sort it out later. I've got to go count McKinnon's push-ups."

I laughed, and he grinned, his hand going up to mess up his hair. His Quidditch kit allowed a wonderful view of his flexing arm muscles and I had to bite my lip to keep from whistling.

"Later, Potter," I said, pushing him out of the room. "I've got work to do!"

I turned back to Mary and Jen, a silly, giddy grin on my lips.

"Holy shit," Mary exclaimed.

Jen appeared absolutely dumbstruck.

"What?" I asked, blushing. Did they think I was dating a controlling, authoritative meat head?

"There is so much sexual tension between you two, I thought he was going to take you right here on this table!" Mary said, her hands fanning herself.

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up, Mary."

Jen blinked and took in a long breath of air. "She's not wrong, Lily."

I frowned at them. "Well, it's a good thing we're dating, then."

"WHAT?!" they exclaimed in unison.

"Since when?" said Jen.

"When did he ask you out?" inquired Mary.

Oh, right. Somewhere between all the Hippogriff meetings and the Moony's a werewolf madness, I'd forgotten to tell them about James and me.

I glanced quickly at my wristwatch. We were a little ahead of schedule, now that Marlene was gone. May as well indulge in some personal updates…

I settled myself in Marlene's unoccupied chair at the head of the table and answered, "Well, I asked him, but apparently, we were already going out before then, so it's difficult to say when we started."

"Probably when you snogged last week after Transfiguration," Jen stated in such a matter-of-fact tone that I gaped.

"Yes, definitely then," Mary agreed. "But you asked him? How very modern of you, Lily. I could never!"

"That's because the only boy you've ever fancied already has a boyfriend himself," Jen teased.

Mary threw her face in her hands. "Oh! Don't remind me!"

"I think they're sweet," I mused.

"So sweet it hurts," muttered Mary from beneath her fingers. She popped up again, a wide smile on her face. "But enough about me." She leaned in, a devilish look in her yes. "Is he a good kisser?"

I blushed so profusely that I could feel the heat coming off my entire person. "Better," I heard myself say, and Jen and Mary squealed and laughed so hard that I nearly forgot we were revising for a Charms practical the next day. "I'll give you more details if you get through the next three spells on the list, Mary."

"Deal!"

The next morning as I entered the Great Hall, I felt the usual attention from Frank's diverse audience stare after me, only this time, it didn't feel like admiration or respect.

I took a seat at the far side of Gryffindor table, my back to the rest of the Houses, and piled some breakfast sausage on my plate.

Someone patted me on the shoulder. I turned around, only to have a copy of The Hogwarts Post shoved in my face. "What is this?" asked a gruff voice.

I looked up to see the angry face of Hannibal McCloud glaring down at me.

I registered too late that the Hall had gone considerably quiet.

"I was going to ask you the same question," I answered tightly, getting up from the bench to level McCloud with a stern look.

He pushed the zine back in my face and shook it. "Read it."

I snatched the paper from his infuriating hands, and my eyes practically bulged out of their sockets at the headline for the week: 'WRONSKI WARRIOR PREDICTS FAILURE FOR MCCLOUD & OTHERS IN HIPPOGRIFF LEAGUE'

"That's absolute codswallop!" I exclaimed. I looked up at McCloud's narrowed eyes. "Oh, c'mon, McCloud. You were there! All I said to Frank was that he should feature all of us as quickly as possible in case half of us are out of the league. That's why you got an interview!"

"Then how come there isn't a single mention of that interview in here at all? It's all about you and your bloody celebrity."

I blinked. "I haven't got any celebrity."

He didn't back down. "You can't stand the idea of anyone else taking the spotlight, can you, Wronski Warrior?"

"McCloud, this is ridiculous. This whole article is based on nothing—"

He bared down on me, his stature overwhelming but not intimidating as he glowered, "You'd better watch yourself, you Wronski warthog—"

"And you'd better watch your tongue, McCloud!" I said rather loudly, attracting the attention of those nearby.

"Lily, is there a problem here?" interrupted James.

I whirled in on his voice, my whole body turning to face him, gratitude flowing into my every molecule at his intervention.

"McCloud and I are having a little disagreement over the Post's most recent dive into yellow journalism," I replied. Then I turned back to McCloud, who seemed to have realized what he'd said. "Five points from Ravenclaw. For threatening a student."

"Threatening a student? McCloud, care to elaborate?" asked James.

McCloud straightened up, and stepped back, blinking. "I—I'm sure I don't know what came over me."

James's jaw clenched. "Perhaps you'd care to explain to your head of house instead?" he said, taking him by the elbow and away from me. He shot me a wink over his shoulder.

I sat down again, and stared at the uneaten sausages on my plate, my appetite suddenly missing in action. I brought up the Post to my eyes and scanned the article, feeling more and more infuriated by the outright lies that it wove across the page.

"Must be nice," piped up a voice beside me. It was Mary.

"What's nice?" I asked.

She took a bite of toast and jam and smacked her lips. "Having a boyfriend defend your honor like that."

I rolled my eyes. "He isn't defending my honor, he's—" I stopped, at a loss for words.

What was James doing, touting McCloud around the Great Hall in circles like they were two Edwardian gentlemen going on a turn about the room, admiring the architecture and exchanging simple pleasantries about the weather and the like?

Had he just fought my battle for me?

Had I just let him?

Was I okay with that?

Mary smiled up at me and took another bite of her toast. "He's definitely defending your honor. And you like it."

I wasn't entirely sure that I did.

Jen interrupted this train of thought, however, with a vicious smack as she dropped an armful of papers on the table. "I got every copy I could find," she said. "But there's no guarantee Rookwood won't make more. We can't technically sue for libel, but we can get him re-assigned from editor to something less powerful."

"What are you on about?" asked Mary, taking a sip of pumpkin juice.

Jen sat with a heavy sigh, and merely shoved a copy of The Hogwarts Post in Mary's direction.

Annoyed, Mary half-heartedly read the headline aloud before gasping and reading the article in full, her mouth agape and her eyes wide. Finally, she looked up at me and said, "Lily, you're awful!"

"It's not true, you dimwit," said Sirius Black, as he plopped down in front of us, another armful ofthe Post landing on the table with a loud thud. "Anyone who knows the bird beneath the wings can tell you that." It almost sounded like a compliment.

"Right," said Mary. "It just—it sounds so convincing."

"Precisely!" wheezed Peter, his head barely visible behind a pile of papers.

"Sweet Merlin! Just how many copies are there?" I asked.

Peter stuck his head out from his pile. "Oh no, this is my backlog of Charms homework. I'm trying to transfer into N.E.W.T.-level Charms."

"Ah, bonne chance, mate," said Sirius sarcastically, earning him a smack on the arm.

"Lily," whispered James from behind me, his hand squeezing my shoulder gently. I shivered as he ran his hand along the back of my neck and to my other shoulder and took a seat next to me. He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me into his side. The contact left me giddy and warm.

"Yes, James?"

"Sorry about McCloud. I know you like to deal with those things on your own," he said, dropping a kiss onto my cheek.

I smiled at him, and reached up to caress his jaw. "I do, but I'll let it slide this one time."

His eyes laughed at me behind his glasses, and I felt my heart skip a beat. The garden in my chest had attracted fairy-employed dirigibles that floated up and warmed my insides.

Sirius cleared his throat. "Oi, get a room."

I blushed, breaking eye contact with James, and he sheepishly let go of my waist, focusing instead on making himself a plate of breakfast. He was halfway through buttering a slice of toast when his eyes caught onto the stacks of the Post.

"What are those?" he asked, reaching for one and flipping it open one-handed. His eyes scanned the headline and the article before they narrowed. "I'll kill him," he declared, throwing the paper down violently, and searching the Hall for the object of his rage.

I grasped his forearm gingerly, trying to calm him down. "James, no—you can't fight my battles for me, remember?"

"Alright, we'll kill him together—where is he?"

And that's when the head of a very haggard and stubble-faced Frank Longbottom became encased in a shockingly large pumpkin as the very unfortunate recipient of James Potter's infamous Melifors Jinx.

A/N: Sometimes James can be really mature. And others... well. Also, for anyone who hasn't heard this amazing name before, I believe Goleuddydd is pronounced like this: "go-lay-ooh-THITH," with a voiced "th," as in "the" and "that," NOT "thought" or "thank." Let me know if you know better!