A/N: I have decided, after much deliberation, that I really and truly detest authors notes. They're boring to write, and even more so to read. And yet still, we feel obligated to read them because they may contain something of value pertaining to the story at hand. Normally, it's all about "Thank you to my wonderful beta readers and my pet dog, snookums." Well, I have don't have a pet dog named snookums, or a beta reader. Ironically enough, the only place to rant about my authors note is in my authors note, and it contains nothing of value pertaining to the story at hand. So I might as well stop now, while I'm ahead of the game.

Disclaimer: Yet again, this is boring to write, boring to read, and contains nothing of value pertaining to the story at hand, yet we are obligated to read and write them, boring as they are, because if we don't, there is a very good chance that we would get sued out of our knickers.  So therefore, because I have nothing of value (regardless of whether or not it pertains to the story at hand) I have the privilege to rant about the disclaimer all I want. (Actually, you could probably sue me for my knickers, but I very much doubt you want them.) Therefore, in order to keep my knickers with me, I will state a simple disclaimer: Nothing that you recognise belongs to me. Now that I've kept the legal representatives happy, I will proceed to continue with the story, as what I am writing right now (as I have stated once or twice before,) contains nothing of value pertaining to the story at hand.

Dedication: To Patricia: My friend, Critic, adviser, personal comedian, consoler, therapist, fashion consultant, and most importantly, sister.

 Masquerade!

Paper faces on parade,

Masquerade!

Hide your face so the world will never find you.

Masquerade!

Every face a different shade,

Masquerade!

Look around, there's another mask behind you.

~"Masquerade" ~The Phantom of the Opera

            "They're madly in love with each other," Sirius stated, while gesturing toward the left.

"You don't know what you're talking about," said James, squinting in the general direction of Sirius' point.

"They are," repeated Sirius stubbornly.

"No they're not."

 "Yes, they are."

"Are what?" Lily stood behind James. "Oh…" she also squinted in the direction of Sirius' point. "Actually…" She trailed off.

"Lily, if my memory serves me correctly, Sirius' idea of asking a girl out on a date was going up to the Gryffindor table, holding out his arm, and saying, 'This arm's going to the dance on Friday; who wants to be on it?'"

"I remember that," said Lily thoughtfully, "Every girl at the Gryffindor table stampeded out…including me."

"You're really supportive, Lily," Sirius muttered.

"And if my memory serves me correctly," said Remus, coming up behind them and startling them all, "Padfoot stood up on the bench, offered his left arm, and addressed all the girls in the Great Hall, yelling 'HOW ABOUT THE OTHER ONE?'"

"Always the charmer, weren't you, Sirius," said James, "The hall has never been emptied of girls in so short a time."

"I was eleven years old," said Sirius indignantly. "Eleven. My skills at asking people out on dates were not finely tuned to the perfection that they were later."

"Like when you asked that girl if she would buy you a drink, because you said you thought she would look much better when you were flat out drunk?" James asked gleefully.

"That was different," said Sirius stiffly, "And that does not pertain to the matter at hand." He gestured again.

To the left of him, Harry and Hermione sat arguing over the work that they were supposed to be doing.

"Harry, look, it says right here that Mayan Cake Eaters eat rocks. Not cake. Rocks."

"I don't care what it says. They're called Mayan Cake Eaters. Therefore, they have to eat cake."

"No! The book says that they eat rocks!"

"But their very name suggests that they eat cake!"

"Do you want to fail this test?!?!"

"At this point, I don't bloody care!"

"Actually, they eat both," Remus said quietly to James.

"I think they're nerves are edgy," said Lily, "seeing as how they both have to lie to Ron now, too."

"AHEM!" said Sirius. "back to the matter at hand."

"No," said James, "That is my final opinion. Hermione happens to be going out with Ron. They cannot be 'madly in love with each other.'"

 "Ah, but they are," insisted Sirius, "Just look at them."

Harry and Hermione had regressed from actually talking like adults to yelling childishly at each other.

"Cake!"

"Rocks!"

"Cake!"

"Rocks!"

"CAKE!!!!!"

Hermione gave Harry a venomous stare, and said very softly, "rocks."

Harry sighed.

"Which kind of rocks?"

Hermione smiled triumphantly.

"Quartz."

"Do you know, when you use that voice you sound like Snape?"

Hermione shoved a quill into Harry's hand.

"Write." She said.

"You know," said Lily, "That's looking very familiar."

Sirius did a double take. "You mean you're on my side of this?" he asked gleefully.

"Not quite," she forced James' head to look in the direction where Harry was writing and muttering (probably obstinacies) under his breath. "What does that look like to you?"

"Harry not having enough backbone?"

"No," said Lily forcefully. "Pretend that Hermione had red hair and green eyes. Now what does it look like to you?"

"James not having enough backbone?" said Sirius tactfully.

"That was low Sirius, even for you," said Remus, "But unfortunately, very true. Now James, picture that this is quite a few years ago, Hermione has red hair and green eyes. What do you see?"

"Well…it'd be me and Lily…arguing over that project that we got stuck together with in 5th year when we still hated each other…we argued every other day…"

"Exactly." Said Lily triumphantly. "Contrary to what Sirius thinks, they are not in love."

She grinned evilly.

"Not yet, anyway. But they will be. If I have any say in it, they will be."

~**~

"Hermione, I'm sorry. I really am. I'm just…you know…about Ron…" Harry sat down on the bed that Lily usually occupied. Hermione looked up from Demons: Can You Damn Them?.

"It's alright," she said. "My nerves feel like they're about to snap. If only Ron weren't so bloody oblivious to everything…"

"Actually, considering the circumstances, that's probably a good thing," said Harry.

"But why does this have to be so hard for us?" Asked Hermione savagely. "I think I'd be able to lie better if I could actually pity Ron, but no, he so happy, he doesn't have the foggiest idea what he's going through."

"Well, it's been two days," said Harry tiredly. "He has to be asking some questions soon. Why we haven't been to classes for two days and all that."

"We need a plausible story," said Hermione. "Something for him to believe."

"The truth isn't believable at this point Hermione," Harry pointed out, "How will anything that we make up be any better?"

"The fact that you and I are working together all the time does not bode well either," Hermione muttered. "Ron's jealous of you already…"

"Gah!" said Harry in exasperation, "Why can't I just be normal for once in my life? Why can't I just be a normal wizard at Hogwarts, going to classes, going to a Yule Ball or two, and not bothering to dance, going to Quiddtich games, having fun at Hogsmeade. Why is it always me? Harry Potter, go save the world. It may cost you you're best friend, but that's ok too, because it's for the good of the world. Harry Potter go kill Voldemort. Oh, by the way, did we mention that you're a mage? Good, go kill some demons. Of all the people that died, why did I have to be the one that lived?"

"Because," said Hermione simply, "You're Harry Potter. And you will continue to be Harry Potter until you do die, which, whether it be sooner or later, will happen eventually. I'm here to try and prevent it from being sooner.  Why were you chosen, Harry? I don't know, but in someone's big plan, they picked you. You have all the qualities of a hero Harry. And saving the world is a huge job. But self pity isn't in the job description. Now I'll tell you something. I don't know whether it's the best of times, or the worst of times, but I do know this. This is the only time you've got. So you can sit on your rear-end, or go pick a daisy."

Harry blinked. "Pick a daisy?"

Hermione grinned. "That was a quote my mum always used to tell me."

"Humph," said Harry.

~**~

            Referances:

The "pick a daisy," quote was from the Graduates Book of Quotes. I don't remember who quoted it, however. "This arm's going to the dance on Friday," is from my friend Katie. I don't  remember where she got it from, either. Demons: Can You Damn Them? The highly original book title is from my little sister, Melissa.