Saturday.

James slept in. The dormitories were empty by the time he got up. He didn't remember his detention until he had shaving cream smeared over half his face. He decided it could wait.

McGonagall, as head of Gryffindor, was responsible for James missing half a day of classes. He ran all the way to her office, where his detention was to take place. She was waiting outside her door, arms folded.

"Sorry, Professor," he panted, "I –"

"Inside," she said, pointing. He walked passed her with his head bowed, trying to look disgraced. She didn't buy it. Instead she followed him in and sat down across from him with a disapproving look on her face.

"Potter, I have had enough."

He opened his mouth to speak.

"You have spent the last seven years in our care. For over a decade Dumbledore has kept you safe in your home as well as here, and you have repaid him with miserable tricks, practical jokes, and instance after instance of childish behaviour."

"I rather thought he –"

"Silence. What he thinks is immaterial. Your conduct is unacceptable. You were chosen to be Head Boy because the staff - for the most part - thought that you would be a positive influence on the younger students. You have failed us in every respect."

"I'm sorry, Professor."

"Where were you yesterday?"

"I slept in."

"What was that?"

"I said I slept in."

She ground her teeth. James cleared his throat.

"Do you want me to –"

"Sit."

He sat back down.

"What were you doing Thursday evening to constitute this sudden need for sleep?"

"I had Quidditch practice."

"If that is affecting your studies, I'm pulling you from the team."

"We have one game left!"

"I don't care."

"The Cup, Professor! You wouldn't!"

It was with a pained expression that she assured him yes, she would. He tried a different tact.

"Practice ended early, really, it was homework that –"

"It should have been done."

He threw up his hands. "What do you want me to say?"

"That you're sorry and it will never happen again."

"I'm sorry. It won't happen again. Ever," he tacked on for good measure. She seemed to be mulling over his words, testing them for their liability. He tried to keep still and failed miserably. When she had watched him squirm for what felt like a very long time, she bent over the papers piled on her desk. With a wave of her hand she said,

"Go, Potter. There isn't much we can do to you that hasn't been done."

"I'd believe that," he said in a relieved tone. "Do you remember the time you –"

"Yes."

He wished there was something to be done with his hands. He put them in his pockets and stood for a moment. Then he left.

Lily was waiting outside, her mouth full of sandwich. She held it out to him. "Sorry. I got hungry waiting so long. How'd it go?"

He shrugged. "Not too shabby."

"How many did you get?"

He pulled his other hand from his pocket and held out a fistful of lemon drops. "Count 'em up."

She seized them gleefully. "Seventeen! Is that enough, do you think?"

"I could have got more."

"Why didn't you?"

"She was watching. Shut up and let me eat."

She walked beside him. "What'd she do to you?"

"Lectured."

"That took and hour and a half?"

"I was an hour fifteen late."

She was impressed. "Beats Sirius by three minutes."

"I know it does." He caught her hand in his. "And," he said, "Sirius meandered on purpose. I ran."

"By accident?"

"Yes, I tripped many times."

She liked that. Reaching across him for the sandwich she said, "Okay. Well. You can stop touching me now."