padfoot/nbkwriter: i'm glad you're ... ahem ... enjoying it. The Sirius Hermione thing would be a bit weird though. Maybe in a different fic, you could write it, cuz prongs already has this plot all lined out and all... heh heh...

pentagonmerlin: i dunno what i meant... too tired... too lazy... heh heh. but as long as either was is ok, don't make mush dif, yes?

HermyGWeasley: Sorry it took so long to update. Hope you're still mildly interested in the story, though... heh heh.

Please R&R, you've no idea how good it feels when i read what you guys say to me!

The grounds of Hogwarts hadn't changed to James. Hagrid's hut was still exactly where it had always been, and the forest still loomed mysteriously before him as he walked mindlessly towards it.

James closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh, magical air, when he ran into something that did not feel like the rest of the air. He opened his eyes and stared at her, somewhat flabbergasted.

She was beautiful. Her shirt was yellow with scarlet ribbons attaching the sides together, and it had a big red "W" on the front. Her jeans had safety pins all down one side, and graffiti all down the other. Her hair was pulled back and arranged in a fashion that gave her the appearance of rays of light springing up all around her head, almost like a halo, creating a nimbus. Her left hand was gripping a very small yellow suitcase.

"Oh—" they both said. "Sorry," they said again, laughing. "No, no, it was me—" they chimed.

After a shy laugh, James held out his hand and asked her, her name.

"Iliana," she said.

"No last name?"

"No… not really," she said, still smiling.

James looked at her questioningly. "No last name…"

"My parents were killed when I was less than a year old. I grew up in a series of orphanages, but none of them could find out where I came from."

Taking into account that he was in the future, James took a shot and guessed out loud, "Voldemort?"

"Who?"

Damn. "No one," he said. "Just—" He coughed. "Something in my throat." He coughed again.

She smiled and James and Iliana stood in front of each other uncomfortably.

"Well, you know what they say. Hakuna matatta. Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da, right?" she said trying to break the silence.

"What?"

"You know." She started singing a tune that was unfamiliar to James. "Desmond owns a barrow in the market place, Molly is the singer in a band…" She paused, unsure and waiting, as if he would be hit with a sudden knowledge of what she was talking about. "The Beatles!"

"Oh! … What do beetles have to do with this?"

"No, the Beatles. Beetles with an 'a'."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You haven't heard of the Beatles. Where did you grow up?"

James paused, as if scared to respond with the wrong answer. "England?" he said.

She stared at him, as if he had just told her that he had planted carrots in his hair.

"Look," she said, shaking it off. "Let's start over. My name is Iliana." She held out her hand.

"James," he said, somewhat relieved that the topic had been changed from something about which he didn't know the answer.

She looked at the castle behind him. "So … what are you doing hanging around a place like this?"

"I … go to school here," he said, as if talking to a stupid person. "Don't you?" And then it hit him. "Oh—shit …" But it had already been done.

"You go to school in a haunted house?"

"Uh … uh … uh …" stuttered James stupidly.

Iliana looked at him expectantly.

"No?" he said.

"What?"

"Well … uh … what are … you doing … here?"

Iliana had a blank look on her face. "What the hell … you … you freak," she said, backing away.

"What? No! Look, you need to … actually, I have no convincing evidence against that …"

Iliana looked at him, trying to understand him, see through him. But he was as easy to read as a closed book. "What the hell!"

James was all of a sudden overcome with immense curiosity. "What … what do you see when you look at that castle?"

"Castle?"

"Uh … house?"

Iliana laughed, scared. "You're— you're kidding, right?"

James smiled slyly. "Does—magic exist?"

"What are you? Some kind of … of philosopher? Or … or some kind of, you know … some kind of … OK, what are you?"

"Come with me, Iliana. We have some talking to do."