Chapter Two: "Distractions"

No one could have guessed the day, but everyone could guess the news was coming eventually, most of all one Reginald (Reg) Cattermole. The sinking feeling in his chest as he climbed up the stairs to Dumbledore's office (he'd officially been called for prefect business, but he knew it was just an excuse, because he had been dead on his feet during rounds for the past week and a half) grew and grew, until it seemed like he was a black hole, sucking in all the misery that was around him – and there was a lot. He was numb, but someone was poking him through the numbness.

Once he'd opened the heavy wooden door into Dumbledore's office, Dumbledore took one look at him, and the second their eyes met, Reg knew for sure.

"He's—he's dead, isn't he?" He asked, and the lack of reply was as good an answer as any. He wasn't numb anymore, and suddenly he could feel all the pain he'd tried to hide so much hitting him at once. Tears pricked the back of his eyes, and he focused on the reddish-brown rug in front of him.

"I thought maybe you would want to take a break from school for a short while, for the funeral." The Headmaster's kind words shook Reg out of his thoughts, and he nodded. He was already barely getting through schoolwork, after all, and it simply would not do to show this sort of weakness to everyone around him.

"I've already asked your mother, and she said she was alright with that. You can go to the dorms, pack up your things, and then come back here and leave through the Floo in, say, fifteen minutes?" Reg nodded again.

"And Reginald – I'm truly sorry."

"Thank you, Headmaster." Reg replied, in as sincere a tone he could manage, but it came out stilted and awkward – all wrong. He had to get a grip.

Later, Reg would think of this moment and realize he could remember a thing of the walk up to Ravenclaw tower, or most of the walk back to Dumbledore's office. The only thing he could remember was somehow ending up hugging Lydia on the seventh floor, though he did not know how he had gotten there, because he didn't need to be there, and then breaking away, and then it was blank once more.

James Potter did not blink in response to this news. In fact, he did not blink for a full two minutes and thirty-six seconds, which was a problem in and of itself, for James Potter rarely went a minute without blinking (he had dry eyes).

He simply continued looking at the paper, eating his porridge robotically. There was only one question in his mind, of course – there had only ever been one, all this time. How do we fix this?

"Prongs, mate, what's got you so intrigued?" Sirius, who was sitting to his left, asked with a grin – he never got the Prophet, for he had "no use for boring things like news".

"Stop joking around, and read." Remus passed Sirius his copy of the newspaper with a stony glance that he reserved only for those rare moments he was annoyed (though they had been increasing in number recently – Sirius had always said it was because Anne was ignoring Remus, but James knew it had started long before).

"Alright, alright" Sirius replied, still with the same easygoing posture and smile, but as soon as he read the headline, James felt his best friend stiffen up next to him.

"They didn't—" Sirius began, "they didn't save him?"

"You were one of the people who said they wouldn't." Peter, who had been silently eating a rather large bowl of fruit (he was going on a fruits-and-vegetable-only diet, he had said during the previous dinner) up until this point, replied.

"I mean, yeah, but I never thought they actually wouldn't, y'know?" Sirius said, turning to James, who just helplessly shrugged.

"The bigger question is, what's going to happen next?" Remus said with a hint of emotion in his eyes, though the rest of his face betrayed nothing (as per usual).

"How do we fix this?" James finally asked, and his voice sounded strained.

"We don't, mate – the Ministry'll round him up, they always do." Sirius remarked confidently.

"Yeah, don't you remember that one serial killer in fourth year? They got him in three months!" Peter added.

At the same time, at nearly the opposite end of the table, near the entrance to the Great Hall – Anne had (somehow) overslept, and not woken up either Lydia or Lily – an entirely different topic was being discussed, though it was still in reference to the news of Auror Cattermole.

"Can you believe – third page of the paper – third, when it's one of our best Aurors!" Lydia sputtered angrily.

"They've probably got a good reason for it, Lydia." Lily soothed, although privately she agreed.

"Honestly, though, it's a real injustice isn't it?" Anne asked conversationally, filling up her cup of orange juice half-full.

"It is, for sure." Lydia agreed. "Really, with some damn Quidditch news making it into the first page instead – as if people don't care more about an Auror dying because of some mad dark wizard than they do about Quidditch."

"To be fair, a great deal of people probably care about what happens between the Wasps and the Harpies." Lily said, buttering her toast.

"Yeah, it's honestly one of the most important matches of the season, this could even determine who gets into playoffs—" Anne stopped abruptly when she saw the look on Lydia's face.

"As if Quidditch matters when the second-in-command Auror has died!" Lydia declared, and with a final, angry look over at the Slytherin table (and the Ravenclaws, too, but only as an afterthought), she got up and left.

Anne and Lily looked at each other, and shrugged.

"To tell the truth, I don't think it's that big a deal – won't the Ministry catch this Voldemort guy soon? I mean, they captured Auror Cattermole when he was alone?" Anne asked.

"Just leave her be – it's hit her hard, with how she and Cattermole have become." Lily answered.

For Lydia, however, it wasn't just because she had grown attached to Reg over the summer. The whole encounter would be painted forever in her mind – later on, she would think that when she died, it would be one of the moments that she could not help but see.

It started with this: Lydia storming out from the breakfast table, and then seeing Reg Cattermole, looking absolutely destroyed. Lydia went over to him.

"Are you alright?" She asked, echoing their first meeting. She didn't know what else to say – he looked… broken, or haunted, perhaps. It was a look that she'd never seen before, and it scared her, especially on the easygoing face of Reg Cattermole. She wished it had been someone else, but it was a wicked thought, because ultimately someone would suffer, anyways. It just—shouldn't have been him, you know?

She embraced him, because if she was honest she couldn't think of anything else to do, but he stood as lifeless as a statue, and only when she asked him where he was going did he mumble "Dumbledore's office—I'm leaving". He left, then, taking slow, measured steps that were so ridiculously different from his usual casual gait.

The look in his eyes would haunt her forever, and at once she realized why exactly war was so bad. Because really, when it came down to it, war was just a million of those looks. And it scared her more than anything because she knew war was coming.

"So, now that there has been news—" Emmeline Dunn, Ravenclaw seventh year and the Head Girl, started, but her sharp eyes narrowed at Lily and Remus, who were talking in whispers about the Transfiguration essay due early the next week and abruptly stopped, looking back at her guiltily.

"So, now that there has been news, we will resume activities as normal. Here are the patrol schedules for this month." She gestured to the sheets of parchment in front of her. "Please remain vigilant and report to either me or Frank" – Gryffindor seventh year, Frank Longbottom, was absent from this meeting – "if there are any reports of Dark activity around the castle." A couple Slytherins snickered at this, but were silenced by another narrowing of Emmeline's eyes. Lily thought she would make a good schoolteacher.

"Dismissed." Emmeline said finally, and the Prefects shuffled up to the head of the long, cherry-oak table that they had been sitting at to collect their patrol schedules.

"Lily, if I could have a word with you?" The girl in question looked up from her patrol schedule (no patrols with Remus, and none this week, either), and nodded, giving a brief look to Remus to tell him to go ahead to the Common Room. She couldn't imagine what Emmeline had to say to her, since they hadn't interacted beyond Prefect meetings the whole year.

"Well, I'm sure you've heard about the Head selection process"—here, Lily shook her head and her heart raced – "there's one nomination from each of the Houses, and one from the current Head, and then the Headmaster decides from those." Emmeline continued, looking slightly annoyed that Lily hadn't known what she was talking about.

"Okay." Lily replied, but this only served to annoy Emmeline more.

"I'm deciding who to nominate right now, and you're one suitable candidate." Lily's eyes widened at this. She'd never really seriously thought about being Head Girl, per se, but the idea had crossed her mind once or twice. Head Girls were usually spectacular, though, and she – just wasn't. Sure, Lily had good marks and she was nice enough, but she wasn't spectacular at anything. She gestured for Emmeline to go on.

"This would mean a lot of time and dedication. Would you be alright with it? The position is usually about ten to twenty hours of time per week, and you'd be a role model for all the younger students." Emmeline said in her no-nonsense manner. "Think about it and let me know."

After that, she left, leaving Lily stunned. Did she want to be Head Girl? Well, yes, if she was honest with herself – she wanted to be on the front lines of Hogwarts education, and she thought she was kind enough and assertive enough she would be a good Head, if she put her mind to it. Head Girl Lily Evans – she smiled at the thought, but then immediately wiped the smile off her face. Even if she got nominated, she had to beat the other nominees: she knew that the others probably wouldn't be Muggleborn, and if Hogwarts Head Girl politics were anything like Ministry politics, that mattered quite a lot. But then, it was Dumbledore, who was well-known for not caring about blood status, but then, anyone could be swayed with enough money and influence, and people like Marie Avery, the Slytherin Prefect, had lots of those to spare. So really, she had little to no chance, she thought, and decided she wouldn't get her hopes high. She'd say yes to the nomination and then not think about it.

She didn't even mention it to Remus when she saw him waiting for her outside the corridor, choosing instead to say it had been nothing. No use making everyone expect anything, she thought to herself as a stone settled in her stomach.

At breakfast the next day, Lily wasn't expecting to receive anything but the next edition of the daily Prophet – her parents were the only ones who could contact her by owl (or so she thought) and she'd gotten a message from them a couple days prior. When a tiny, tawny barn owl flew in front of her carrying an equally tiny envelope (it was almost small enough to fit into the palm of her hand), then, she was very surprised. She was even more surprised at the careful print that read "Lily Evans, Hogwarts, Scotland, UK" on the front – it was an even, measured sort of writing that could almost be mistaken for print, if not for the slightly lopsided letters. It was her sister Petunia's handwriting.

Petunia had never liked magic, and she and Lily had not talked by letter in more than four years. When she had gone back to Cokeworth for Autumn Break, Petunia had not even visited, using the excuse that her and the bloke she was seeing (some fellow with the last name Dursley) were taking a vacation that had been planned out far enough beforehand that she could not spare the time to see her sister. But if she was being honest, Lily preferred that. She'd been wronged by Petunia enough times that she was granted that much, she thought.

Therefore, it must be an emergency for Petunia to contact her by owl (although presumably it was one of the school owls that picked up letters to Hogwarts from the Muggle post). Lily tore open the letter hurriedly, ruining the brown paper envelope; a piece of lined paper, like the kind from a notebook fell out.

"Lily,

I know it's been a long time. I would like to invite you to spend the holidays with me for Christmas break at my flat in London.

Thank you,

Petunia Evans"

That.. was not what she was expecting. She blinked, once, twice, thrice, and then read the letter again to make sure she was reading it correctly. Petunia, who had mocked and taunted her for years, wanted to have her over for break. Petunia, who had not even attended the last few years' Christmases at the Evans household in favor of her friends and her boyfriends and whoever else, and who had gotten an apartment hours away immediately after graduating.

A white-hot anger came over her – why had Petunia decided to do this, right when Lily had wanted to decide she didn't need a sister anymore? She knew it was selfish. She knew it was wrong, and mean, and not the right thing to do. But she wanted to burn that letter so badly.

She looked again at it, noticing little details she'd missed: the thickness of the lined paper, the one that Petunia used to practice her hand-lettering ("every young woman must know how to write a proper card", their mother had told them) and the slight shake of the words that indicated a trembling hand.

It was an olive branch, crafted with more care and patience than Lily had ever seen from her sister, and she felt a surge of affection for Petunia. How hard had it been for her to write this, when she'd spent so long trying to deny Lily ever existed?

At the same time, though, Lily didn't know if she could forget. It was the right thing to do, of course, to reply, to set up that meeting over Christmas holidays and then comment on the lovely lights and the delicious food once she got there. She was supposed to put everything in the past.

But how could she, when Petunia had spent so many years pretending she didn't exist?

If Professor McGonagall was shaken by the news on Saturday, she did not show it in her Transfiguration class to the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff sixth years on Monday. Instead, she focused on drilling them harder than ever on nonverbal spells.

"You think maybe she's trying to kill us before the Death Eaters do?", Peter quipped, "Because she's doing a brilliant job of that right now." His face was scrunched up in concentration.

"You're doing the incantation wrong, Wormy – it's more of a flick than a straight line." James, who was his partner, pointed out, demonstrating with a plank of wood that burst into flame soon after.

Peter considered this and tried again, and the plank of wood in front of him weakly sputtered with flame soon after. Professor McGonagall looked over and gave him an approving nod.

"Thanks Prongs, can't imagine what I'd do without you."

"Fail Transfiguration, by the looks of it." Sirius, who had got the spell on the first try, interrupted. He had been partnered with Remus, who had also gotten it with relative ease, though not nearly as fast as Sirius or James. Remus, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Where'd Moony go?" Peter asked, and was met with a sour glance from Sirius in return.

"Dunno – he just got mad and left. It's not even close to the full moon, honestly."

"You think maybe it's because of what happened at breakfast?" James asked.

"The being serious thing? Nah, he doesn't hold grudges." Sirius replied confidently.

Later that day, Marlene McKinnon was taking her usual route from Transfiguration to Potions when she overheard a voice in the corridor, and she ducked down behind a statue to listen. (She was a Gryffindor, but she always said being a Gryffindor meant being brave, not being reckless, no matter how much some other members of the House wanted it to be.)

"Hey Macdonald, how does it feel to know your kind is going to be wiped out soon?" The sneering voice of Liam Nott, Slytherin fifth year, echoed in the hallway. The "Macdonald" in question was probably Mary Macdonald, a Hufflepuff fifth year who got picked on often by the Slytherins for her Muggle heritage. She was, rather unfortunately, both quiet and not very good at jinxes (though her Herbology ability was second-to-none), which made her an easy target. Marlene prepared her wand, but before she could leave, the confident, almost bored, voice of James Potter rang through the hallway.

"Hey Nott, how does it feel to know your kind is going to put into Azkaban soon?" He said, and though Marlene could not see what happened next, she could very easily guess what had happened by the cries from Nott.

"Really, Potter, you're going to try to use my own jinxes against me? I'd thought you were a bit more creative than that." Severus Snape drawled, and Marlene's eyes widened. Two-on-one wasn't great for James (although why he had been wandering around alone, she didn't know – she could count the number of times she'd seen him alone on her fingers), but if it was Snape, she'd better not intervene. He'd want to fight his own battles with the Slytherin.

Marlene had never really known what to think of Snape, anyways. The few times she had studied with him and Lily, he had seemed to be a decent sort of bloke, but then, he was always awful when Lily wasn't around. Anyone with half a brain could see he was in love with Lily, but then, no one could tell whether Lily felt the same way – or was it just pity? Marlene shook her head – she didn't want to get involved in the complicated affairs of her fellow sixth-year Gryffindors, she never had – and prepared to leave.

As she peeked out behind the statue, she saw both Nott Snape laying limply on the floor, unconscious; James looked at her with a radiant grin on his face.

"Knew someone was there – glad it wasn't a Slytherin at least. They're all scum nowadays, aren't they? Especially him." James nudged Snape with his foot.

Marlene nodded, although a bit hesitantly (how powerful was James Potter that he could take out Snape that quickly and silently?). James left.

"Hello, my wonderful friends and fellow Marauders." James announced a few minutes later to the group gathered in the Room of Requirement, all pouring over their own sheet of parchments and a book.

"What's got you so peppy? Forgotten about the essay on Felix Felicis due tomorrow, have you?" Remus asked without looking up from his parchment. He was writing words so fast James could barely see his hands – Remus had always procrastinated the most of the four, though Peter came close.

"What do essays matter when there's some madman out there trying to kill all the Muggle-borns? Shouldn't we be doing our part in fighting him?" James replied, a bit too jovially for Remus' taste, and the taller boy looked up, finding him smiling.

"You were the one who said it wouldn't lead to anything." Peter sighed, "What's happened now?"

"Even if it doesn't, the Slytherins need to be knocked down a peg." Sirius announced, looking rather pleased, though both Remus and Peter knew that it was not at the thought of hexing Slytherins, but that his friend had come back.

It was not yet Christmas, but it was close, or as much as mid-November can be considered "close". And of course, that Tuesday, the Marauder's mistletoe had began.

The Marauder's mistletoe was a tradition, a great feat of magic put to a use that was not quite immoral, but close (according to some). It went like this: every year, from November 15th up until the Christmas holidays, enchanted sprigs of mistletoe would pop up in the hallways, but only to students walking in pairs where one or both of them had romantic affections towards the other. It had started in fourth year, when Sirius had wanted an easy way to see if Carol MacDonald liked him and the Marauders had wanted an easy Christmas prank, and it had such a high rate of success that year that they had brought it back every year following. (There were also a good deal of people who hadn't liked it, but Sirius preferred to look on the bright side).

This was to the great discomfort of Anne, who really would've preferred not to get caught under the mistletoe with Remus (since considering how obvious she was being, it would have been impossible for him to not hear about it, and since he hadn't said anything, it must have meant he didn't feel the same way), but knew that if they ended up being alone together anytime, whatever spell was on the mistletoe would definitely sense her feelings. She'd been scheduling other things over their regular study plans for a week now, and it was really rather unfortunate because Remus was much better than Lily or Lydia at helping her with Arithmancy (although to be fair, he'd had more practice and she didn't feel as bad asking him because she could repay the favor in Potions knowledge).

It was obvious, she knew, but it was slightly (she hoped) less obvious than it would be if she hadn't been avoiding him and mistletoe had popped up.

Anne really needed to get a hold of her feelings.

Alastor Moody, newly-appointed Deputy Head of the Auror Department, groaned. It was a Tuesday, and that meant it was time to report to the Head of the Aurors, Ernest Vance, what he'd found. And the answer was: nothing.

Nothing about this Voldemort person, nothing about how he'd gotten Cattermole, nothing about any of the Muggle killings. They'd left no survivors. Vance would not be pleased.

Moody would've guessed they'd have found him by now, or at least some semblance of a clue. Catching Dark Wizards was, after all, their job, and they were rather good at it. Usually, it was easy to track people down with the vast resources of the Ministry.

Unfortunately, it seemed Voldemort was not a usual sort of wizard. He sighed. They'd catch him eventually, of course. They always did. But how long would it take, and how many lives had to be lost before then?

It did not take much time at all for Lily to feel guilty and write the letter, much as she hated the thought of it. She defiantly wrote it on parchment with a quill, though she almost always sent the letters to her parents on regular lined paper with ballpoint pens – she was a witch, and she refused to pretend she wasn't. If Petunia truly wanted her over for Christmas, she would have to deal with that, she resolved.

Then she thought she wasn't being fair, and ended up copying it onto paper anyways. Transfigured lined paper, the kind that was more expensive and that she only kept for special occasions, because Petunia had sent her a letter on pricey paper and she didn't want to reply with the cheap stuff.

It was a simple letter, but she went through no less than sixteen copies before she had one that was perfect, with no shake in her hand or imperfectly crossed 't's. Her mother would be proud, she knew – it was perfect enough to be a wedding invitation.

It read,

"Dear Petunia,

Yes, that sounds good. When will work for you?

Sincerely,

Lily"

She simply could not find the time to send it though; she was just too busy. (Or that's what she told herself, anyways.)

Arcturus Prince, Seeker for the Gryffindor Hogwarts Quidditch team ever since Sirius Black had resigned during the previous year, had been rather annoyed that the captain James Potter had not scheduled a practice in about a week. They were so close to winning the Cup, and if they just beat Hufflepuff in the last match, they'd have it (although Hufflepuff was doing well, anyways).

As such, he was very pleased when he saw the notice posted on the Quidditch board on Wednesday that they had scheduled practices every day for the next two weeks, although he knew he wouldn't be on Saturday when they started (James worked them hard).

Anyways, they were doing well: they would win the Cup, he was sure of it. He could not wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the day.

"Lily, what are you doing for the next Hogsmeade weekend?" Anne sat down next to her friend at the library the same day.

"Hm, I hadn't decided – when is it, anyways?" Lily said off-handedly.

"This week."

"This week?" Lily repeated in disbelief, as she'd thought there wouldn't be one for another month.

"Yes, it's right after the match, hadn't you realized?" Anne, of course, had kept up with the schedule. She usually did.

"I hadn't actually."

"Well, in that case, do you want to go to the bookstore with me? I've heard there's a new Muggle collection." Anne said with a bright smile.

"Trying to avoid Remus again?" Lily teased with a half-smile, finally looking up from her book.

"I'm trying to make plans with my lovely friends who I barely see nowadays, thank you very much." Anne brought her hand to her heart, opening her mouth in a sort of mock gasp.

"We have half our classes together, we study for hours every day in the library every day together, and we live together."

"Exactly, and we're not even sick of each other yet! That must mean we're destined to make more plans."

"Oh, alright."

Anne grinned, and brought out her notebook. Lily may not have been as excellent an Arithmancy tutor, but she was a great companion in Hogsmeade. (She could only think of one person better, and she was currently avoiding him).

"Lily, can I talk to you?" The girl in question looked up from her Charms essay ("10 Uses for Summoning Charms" – an OWL topic, but then Professor Newt had never cared about teaching for tests, anyways), and met the eye of the boy she had rejected to hear out so many times in the past – Severus Snape.

It was nighttime, and there were few students in the library, especially in the back section her table was in, at this hour. Anne had left, too. She'd have bet anything Severus had cast a nonverbal Muffliato, too, just in case, and he'd invented some excuse about getting a book for an essay to his dormmates. She saw right through him; that was why she'd replied to this question with 'no' so many times before, but she had to admit he never stopped trying. Probably, he thought she was weak enough to give in eventually, just like she had when his friends had hexed Mary Macdonald in fourth year, and throughout the many Gryffindor-Slytherin battles where he had been willing to brutally curse anyone in her House with Dark Magic Lily knew was barely toeing the line of illegal. She'd told herself that she wouldn't forgive him now, though; she had to see him for what he was, now.

But something in her heart ached when she looked at him, and she took a few seconds to study him, truly study him in a way she hadn't since third year when he'd told her about the Dark Arts club he was joining and she had questioned for the first time if she really wanted to be friends with him. He was pale, almost to the point of being sallow, and it made the dark circles under his eyes and the lines on his forehead stand out all the more – had they always been that bad? Possibly the NEWT-level work was getting to him, but he was brilliant anyways, and she didn't think it was too much of a stretch for him to perform nonverbal spells, considering he'd invented his own starting from fourth year. No, he was definitely stressed about something, and it looked like it was killing him. Lily felt a pang of pity – or was it empathy? She'd never admit it – for him. The ruins of what used to be her best friend.

"Lily?" He asked again, and though she'd spent so long insisting she would never talk to him again, she found herself nodding, numbly agreeing.

If she was being truly honest with herself, she would've admitted that the letter from Petunia had shaken her up, and was eating her inside out with guilt for not replying. In fifth year, this would have been everything she'd ever wanted, and even now, there was a part of her that wanted to have the same close relationship to her sister she'd once had. The only problem was that there was a bigger part that didn't want to get hurt again, and that was wary of whatever Petunia's reasons behind this olive branch could be. But she knew it was selfish, and wrong, and she prided herself on not being selfish, most of the time. If she was being honest with herself, she knew that she just wanted to feel compassionate again, and that was the reason she'd nodded, but she kept that dangerous thought at the back of her mind, because it was even more selfish.

"I just—wanted to say sorry." Lily nodded again at this, knowing it was completely sincere: his eyes were bloodshot and pained.

"It's okay." She said, with a smile that was torn somewhere between melancholy and heartbroken. How had they ended up like this, truly?

"Sev!" Lily went up to her best friend while he was packing his things after class, whom she hadn't seen since she had gotten sorted into Gryffindor two days before – Gryffindors and Slytherins didn't have any classes together until Potions, and there was no Potions on Mondays.

"We'll still be friends no matter what, right?" Lily asked, and Severus nodded hesitantly, though not without a glance towards the other Slytherins in class (she would brush it off then, but later, she used that hesitation as more ammunition to not forgive him).

"Want to meet in the library after classes and start on homework?" He asked, and she nodded eagerly. It was set.

They hadn't broken the arrangement for five years, until that fateful day in fifth year. But once she looked back to those times, she saw that there were plenty of things wrong with their friendship: she'd just dismissed the incidents, that was all.

"D'you want to work on that essay together?" He asked, not moving an inch. He was like James Potter in that regard now, although Severus had always been abnormally still and it didn't seem half as artificial with him. He just was still, she supposed, a quiet, almost lifeless sort of person. He was a follower sort even though he was brilliant enough to lead; a calm sort even though he had strong opinions. Severus kept his thoughts to himself most of the time, and though Lily had once prided herself on being able to guess exactly what he thought of a subject by the subtle changes in his eyes, the dark hazel was no longer a clear message to him.

"Okay." Lily replied, and he sat down across from her in silence. It wasn't quite comfortable yet, but neither was it unpleasant – just an odd sort of atmosphere, and she thought that eventually it would become less so. For now, it was alright, for him because he thought he'd finally cracked her (she saw a ghost of a smile on his lips as he started his essay, a rare sight for him working on any of Professor Newt's assignments, for he thought the professor was rather useless), and she could stop thinking about the letter.

She pretended not to notice the sprig of mistletoe that had popped up right above them, silently vanishing it before he could see.

"D'you wanna go to Hogsmeade with me, Lydia?" Her friend and current Head Boy, Frank Longbottom, asked in the library the next day, and Lydia was struck speechless.

Frank was rather in love with one of the other Gryffindor seventh years, she knew, an Alice Price who was so quiet (rather like Marlene, she thought offhandedly) that Lydia could count the number of times the girl had said anything to her on her fingers. Frank was one of her closest friends, and she'd known about his rather unfortunate crush (she had connections to nearly the whole school, and he chose the one girl she didn't know?) since fourth year.

"Given up on Alice, then, have you?" Lydia narrowed her eyes, "Or are you using one of those Muggle help book techniques again?"

"Guilty as charged, although I really think it'll work this time!" Frank grinned, lifting his hands into the air.

"Wouldn't it be much easier to, I don't know, ask her?"

"Yes, but what if she turns me down? Then I'll be really rather sad. I need to be sure, you know?" Frank pouted.

"Why do I even keep you around?"

"Because you appreciate having a loveable, intelligent, brilliant, loyal, friend?"

"Try again." It was easy, bantering with Frank like this. And it made her forget about how Reg Cattermole had looked before he left, which was always a plus.

"I'm rather offended you don't think I'm loveable, intelligent, brilliant, and loyal, you know."

"Technically, I never said that."

"So you think I'm loveable, intelligent, brilliant, and loyal?"

"I never said that either. Although with the way Alice is looking at you right now, she might well think that." Lydia wasn't kidding, either (though Frank definitely thought that she was, judging by the way he rolled his eyes) – she had caught Frank looking at Alice during meals more times than she could count, but she'd caught Alice looking at Frank just as many times. Really, with how obvious they were, it was rather remarkable they weren't already together.

"Hogsmeade, then?"

"Alright." She sighed, but she was smiling, so he knew she wasn't really that exasperated, anyways.

"So, how bad do you think Ravenclaw will be flattened?" Sirius asked casually from his seat in the third-row bleachers of the Quidditch pitch. It was the day of the long-awaited Quidditch match, and most everyone was excited.

"A Galleon says they're not going to last 30 minutes. Mend (he was referring to the Hufflepuff Seeker Ethan Mend) is brilliant on a broom, and Ravenclaw is already down a player with Cattermole leaving." James replied from his right, and Peter raised his eyebrows.

"I'll take that – Cattermole's substitute doesn't seem too bad, and the Ravenclaw Seeker did well against Slytherin, didn't he?"

Remus, of course, was reading a book instead of paying attention to the boys' banter. James had noticed him doing that a lot recently, and had half a mind to call him on it, when the announcer Richard Yan's voice rang magically throughout the stadium.

"Welcome ladies and gentlemen, one and all, to the Hufflepuff vs Ravenclaw match! This match will determine who ultimately gets to go against Gryffindor for the Cup, so it's a big one. Hufflepuff is predicted to win right now due to Ravenclaw's Cattermole leaving (Hufflepuffs cheered), but let's see if we can get an upset! (Ravenclaws cheered, along with some Gryffindors who thought it would be easier to beat them later.)"

"1… 2…. Let's START!" Yan had never bothered to announce any of the players, breaking a long-standing Hogwarts announcer tradition, but no one really minded (everyone knew all the players already anyways).

"Alright, we've got Ravenclaw's Chaser Evan in possession of the Quaffle, with Hufflepuff's Roy in close pursuit – but Evans has it grabbed tightly – oh no, he's been surrounded, looks like he's going to pass it to his fellow Chaser Ogden, the new Chaser serving as a substitute for Cattermole – never mind, Roy gets it and now he's racing over to the Ravenclaw side of the pitch – looks like Roy might get it in – ROY SCORES, 10-0!" Yan bellowed, and Sirius and James exchanged glances.

"That bet's not looking good, Peter" James chortled, "Sure you want to keep it on?"

"Just give them—" But they would never know what Peter wanted to give them, for Hufflepuff had just scored a goal again.

"I pity the Ravenclaws, honestly, they've got the worst squad I've seen in ages." Sirius yelled over the deafening roar of the announcing, and both Peter and James nodded in agreement. Remus, who had apparently decided that it was impossible to read in the middle of this racket, shrugged.

"They didn't do badly against Slytherin." He responded finally, though not loudly enough for his friends to hear him through the cheers of the crowd – Hufflepuff had scored again – and as such, had to repeat his statement.

"Glad to see you're out of that book, Moony." Sirius said with a grin, extending his arm over Remus' shoulders, and though Remus felt a twinge of annoyance, he didn't say anything, instead grinning back.

In the end, Hufflepuff won, as had been predicted (the final score was 250-30 – it had been a blowout, only lasting twenty-one minutes). And, of course, there was a victory party afterwards.

Anne had heard rumors of the "brilliant" Hufflepuff victory party for hours, but Lydia and Lily weren't ready even past 9, so she went by herself, promising to meet up with them later (although she knew she wouldn't).

The corridors were deserted, even though it was still 15 minutes before curfew, and Anne knew everyone was probably still at the party. Hufflepuffs threw the best parties, after all, and this one had a lot to celebrate: the Quidditch Cup was in their grasp (if only they beat Gryffindor in the next match). It was always a good time, especially if you needed to get your mind off of things.

Anne desperately needed to get her mind off things.

Her... er... affliction had continued to get worse, and she could no longer even look at Remus without thinking that she was keeping things from him. But she didn't want to keep things from him, but neither could she tell him, because she couldn't break their friendship over feelings that were barely there. Instead, she pretended not to know, but pretending was an art that she'd never been good at.

She reached the secret entrance to the Hufflepuff common room at once, and carefully knocked on the door.

"Password?" Someone prompted, and she replied with a quick flick of her wand that spelled out 'QUiDdiTch' in bubble letters. It was a very exact science: the password had to be the right word, the right font, and the right letters had to be capitalized. One-too-many drunk Gryffindors had stumbled into a Hufflepuff party and caused havoc, and this was their way of ensuring that everyone was at least semi-sober when they came in.

Anne, of course, was entirely sober, partly due to the fact that she had no way to get Firewhiskey (the last Hogsmeade weekend had been over a month ago, and though she suspected there was a way to get into it from Hogwarts because of the sheer amount of alcohol the Marauders always had on hand, she didn't know of any) and partly due to the fact she thought it was a bit of a risk to drink at all right now (at this rate, she'd probably go up to Remus and blurt out her feelings). As such, it was rather easy to give the password to the unidentified Hufflepuff at the door (all door-people wore masks, so they couldn't be identified if the teachers came, and anyways they were usually third or fourth years), and the door opened immediately after.

It was — not what she'd expected. There were always a lot of people at Huffepuff parties, and especially Quidditch ones, but this? It was like every fourth-year and up had come: Anne even spotted Emmeline Dunn in the room, albeit in the corner, swaying slowly to the beat of the music with a cup of water, but still! Emmeline Dunn! Since when had Emmeline Dunn even known that parties existed, what with her being in the library all of the time?

Anne scanned the rest of the room, concluding that it was stuffy, crowded, and smelled way too much like cheap Muggle beer. There was music playing from somewhere, a rock number that had too much drum for Anne's taste, but was a good song to dance to, and she could feel the thrumming of the bass from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. In the corner, she spotted a bowl of punch (almost definitely spiked with loads of beer, because it was rather a bit cheaper than Firewhisky), but no one was crowded around it, having hushed conversations, like usual. It seemed that today, everyone wanted to dance (although really, with that loud music, was it even possible to have a conversation?), year and Anne was not opposed.

She downed a glass of the blood-red punch, first, and then joined a group of sixth- Ravenclaws, accompanied by — oddly enough — Peter Pettigrew, who was a frequent visitor at these types of things but was almost never seen without his friends. Thank god, because Anne really didn't want to see Remus right now, although Peter did shoot her a bit of a funny look when she didn't ask the obvious question.

She danced — although she wasn't really dancing, but neither was anyone else, not really. "Dancing" was different. "Dancing", with the capital D, was old-timey and romantic, with a full skirted dress in a rich, deep red. "Dancing" was quiet, and the music was slow, and there was a sparkle to it, like the feeling you got when you drank champagne or exchanged just the briefest of smiles with the one you loved. "Dancing" was pale pink and dark garnet and silk ties that made your breath hitch.

This? This was moving along to the beat, letting your worries fade away in favor of that drum that you normally hated. It was getting lost in murky shadows that coiled and turned like a wave; it was the pink of your cheeks and the navy of a dress that was at least five inches shorter than a Hogwarts-dress-code-appropriate one.

And she quite liked "Dancing", but there was something to be said about this, too, even if it was only a good distraction.

The newly-returned James Potter had no reservations about going to parties; in fact, he was eager to as soon as Sirius had mentioned the idea. It was because of this (well, and Peter's coaxing) that Remus found himself alone at the edge of the "punch" table with a half-full plastic cup he'd conjured from one of the many balloons at the party (although whether this God-awful concoction could even be considered drinkable was a question he didn't know the answer to), listening to the music reverberate through his body like a heartbeat.

The conversation he'd overheard played over and over in his mind, running to the beat of the music.

"Did you hear? Anne Bainsbridge kissed Richard Vance!" He didn't know where James, Sirius, or Peter were, though he suspected they'd gotten separated too. It was too crowded to stay with anyone, anyways. And neither Sirius nor James had ever given up the opportunity to get drunk and party.

"The Gryffindor? Good for her, I thought she was going to be single forever." Thump, thump, thump. He took a swallow of his punch, and coughed: it burned going down. He could already feel himself getting tipsy, though – he'd always been a lightweight, and Firewhiskey was strong, even when it was combined with cheap beer.

"Well yes, but does that mean she's not into Remus Lupin anymore? They're always together." Another swallow. He didn't cough this time.

Remus was not a fool, or he was not enough of a fool to not realize Anne fancied him (but no one could be that much of a fool, anyways, what with at least half of their mutual friends having told him, and the way she was avoiding being alone with him nowadays). He was simply also not enough of a fool to think that it would work out. Damn.

Another swallow.

He people-watched, for a bit. He liked to people-watch: he always had been a behind-the-scenes sort of person. He'd never be an adventurer, not like Anne or James or Sirius. He'd reeled himself back too much, keeping his "furry little secret" all those years. And though he'd been sorted into Gryffindor, he couldn't think of a word that would describe him less than brave.

Another swallow. He looked into the cup, and found it was empty. Well, that was okay. He had to leave, anyways.

"Did you hear? Anne Bainsbridge kissed Richard Vance!" But as the words echoed in his head, he found that he was glued to his spot.

While about ninety-nine percent of Hogwarts was partying their hearts out, Lily went to send the letter. It had now been almost a week, and she had finally resolved to trudge to the Owlery to send it off. She hoped one of the Muggle Post owls would be there – Petunia would not appreciate an owl coming to her flat personally. She entered the room, a rather awful stench making her wrinkle her nose (she had always suspected Dungbombs must have been developed using the smell of an Owlery), and was surprised at the fact that it was not empty. James Potter (the messy hair was recognizable even from only the back) was there, sending a letter using one of the school owls (didn't he have his own owl? Lily distinctly remembered him bragging about getting one during fourth year.) He turned at the sound of her stepping into the room, and their eyes met for a brief second, but then he turned back around, apparently choosing to ignore her. Oh, well. Better than he'd been in fifth year, anyways.

As Lily searched for an owl marked with the blue tag on its foot that meant it would carry things to and from Muggle post offices, though, she suddenly heard his voice, so abrupt she almost jumped.

"Don't do things you'll regret." It was stony, but there was a bit of softness she could detect. He kept his back to her, but she could smell the cheap booze on him. So he'd been to the party – of course he had. Everyone had. And loud parties were a prime "James Potter" kind of place. All the same, it surprised her a little bit. Abnormally quiet James Potter would not go to parties, she thought.

"What are you saying?" Was this something she would regret? How would he know?

"I'm saying don't do things you'll regret."

"How do you know I'll regret it?"

"Because the way you look at that letter, Lily — it's like you're bracing yourself. Like, there's something you're not letting yourself hope for. And if you're not letting yourself hope, you've already given up." There was a more fight in his voice now, and it almost made Lily reassured because James Potter being monotone, even with her, was simply not normal.

"You don't know anything." She said defiantly, but it was a pale defense – he was right, of course, but that didn't make it any less wrong to not reply.

"I never said I did." He went back to the monotone.

"We're not friends."

"I never said we were." Lily saw the owl he'd been sending as it flew away, a flash of blue on its leg. Why was James Potter, a pureblood, sending letters through Muggle post?

"So, why try to stop me?"

"I don't know." With that, he turned and left the Owlery.

She didn't send it.

A/N: Ay chapter two is finally up, although it took a bit longer than expected haha (I also updated ch 1 with breaks so it's hopefully a bit more readable now). Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed and have a great day : ) Reviews are appreciated since I'm a beginner at this! Also thank you so much to the person who followed this story I'm glad you like it 3