Disclaimer: Characters and settings are property of J.K. Rowling. What you don't recognize is mine. And I wish I owned the Marauders (specifically Sirius and Remus) but most unfortunately, I do not. L

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"JAMES! SIRIUS! STOP THAT!"

James slid to a stop so suddenly that Sirius smacked into him and they both went sprawling. Footsteps stormed over to where the two boys lay, and James looked up into his mother's face. Katrina Potter was an easy-going woman in general, but James feared her in a temper (as he did now). "'Lo, Mum," he said with his most innocent smile. "We were just-"

"-Zooming around on enchanted roller-skates?" James gave his mother a feeble smile, and could see that she fought to keep from smiling in return. "Take them off, boys."

"Yes, Mum."

"Yes, Mrs. Potter." She strode imperiously away, and both boys waited until she was gone before breaking into laughter. "How many vases d'you think we broke?"

"Three, prob'ly… Mum'll be really hacked off when she finds them."

"Too bad we can't do magic and repair them."

"Yeah, too bad." A yell of anger echoed throughout the hall, and the two exchanged looks. "Sounds like she found them," said James casually.

"Sure does. Reckon would she run?"

"Yeah. I think we can hide out in the stables…" And both boys leapt to their feet and skated away, just as an irate Mrs. Potter stormed back into the hall.

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"Oh, look at this," said Mr. Potter in amusement, casting an eye over the morning post. Sirius and James were bowed humbly over their porridge (Mrs. Potter had confiscated the roller-skates) under the watchful eye of Mrs. Potter. "Invitation to the Masquerade." He handed it to his wife, who read it aloud.

"'William and Margaret Garnet invite you to Garnet Manor to celebrate the New Year at a Masquerade. December 31-January 1: 8 o'clock in the evening until 2 o'clock in the morning.' Goodness, that's quite late, isn't it? 'Please dress in proper attire in accordance with the dress code.'"

"They have a bloody dress code?" asked James in disbelief.

"James! Language! Formal attire with masks that hide one's face. Remember, keep your identity a secret! Well." She put down the invitation. "Eddy, are we going?"

"Naturally," said Mr. Potter, putting down his spoon. "Kat, take the boys to Diagon Alley to buy their clothes, would you? I've got to get to work." He stood and pushed his chair in. "Be good, boys. No more enchanted roller-skates, understand?" Both boys nodded meekly, particularly under Mrs. Potter's glare. "Good. I'll see you this evening, Kat." He gave her the perfunctory kiss on the cheek, James the perfunctory ruffling of hair, Sirius the perfunctory clap on the back. And he swiftly apparated.

Suddenly stiffened, Mrs. Potter got out of her chair and disappeared through the door. James glanced at Sirius. "Now, I love my dad and all, and I know he loves Mum, but…"

"…That whole perfunctory thing – kind of like it's habit, or required – gets on your nerves?"

"A bit. But he's too busy to notice. I feel bad for Mum."

"So do I. I guess we're going to Diagon Alley today, eh?"

"S'pose so. We'd better change out of our pajamas." Leaving their half-empty bowls behind, they went up the grand staircase, down several hallways, at last reaching James's bedroom. Now that Sirius lived at Potter Estate, he had his own bedroom, with a connecting door to James's. He went through that now, but left the door open as he changed into a pair of faded jeans and a sweater, pulling serviceable black robes over all that. "Don't we have to get old-fashioned clothes for the Masquerade?"

"Yeah!" James shouted back, his voice muffled by his pulling a shirt over his head. "I'm sure there's some ancient place we can find in Diagon Alley that'll sell what we need!"

"Hope so!"

James walked into Sirius's bedroom, fully dressed, although his glasses were slightly askew. Sirius raised his eyebrows; James gave him a sheepish smile. "Forgot to take them off while changing."

"Again?"

"If you wore glasses too, I'd bet you'd forget all the time."

"Would not."

"Would too."

"Would not."

"Would too.

"Would-"

"Are you boys ready?" They glanced up; Mrs. Potter was striding imperiously into the room. She reached her son, fixed his glasses, and then yanked Sirius's shirt straighter. "Hmph. If you're going to dress, the least you could do is do it properly."

They exchanged looks as Mrs. Potter led them from the room. "She's in a bad mood," Sirius observed.

"Shh! She might hear you!"

"I can hear you, James, Sirius. Come along." The boys exchanged looks again and wordlessly followed her down the hall.

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"I don't know," said Alyssa doubtfully. "Mother, what do you think?"

Sophia Comforts glanced up at her daughter without much interest. "It's fine, dear. Why don't you get that one?"

"Well, it has to be perfect!"

"What for? You binned your boyfriend anyway… Cecilia, would you watch Alyssa for a while? I'll be back in a bit." Mrs. Comforts left.

Alyssa looked mournfully at Cecilia Roberts, her mother's sister. Cecilia smiled sympathetically at the blond girl, coming to her. "Your mother's just busy, that's all."

"Aunt Cecilia, what do you think of this one?" Alyssa twirled, and her skirts blossomed out. "It's blue, and while it's perfectly nice, it's just…"

"Not quite your type. Although you do look lovely in blue, darling." Cecilia tilted her head. As the owner of the shop, she was more than happy to give her niece and her friends some of the latest fashions to model off – and it didn't hurt her business any, to have five pretty girls – three of whom were purebloods – advertising her shop. She took one more step back and shook her head. "That won't do at all. It looks too… well, whatever it is, it isn't for you. How about green?"

Alyssa made a face. "No, please."

"No?" She frowned. "How about pink, then? That's your regular, but I'm sure I can find something innovative for you…"

"…Pink sounds lovely," said Alyssa at last, stepping delicately from the stool. "What have you got in mind?"

"Well, I've got a beautiful orange dress in the back – quite lovely, and it would look nice with your complexion – but I can change the color. I'll need to do a bit more adjusting too; it was made for someone much larger than you."

"Shall I stop by later?"

"That'd be wonderful, dear. Now, run along, and do you Christmas shopping. I'll detain your mother so she doesn't drag you off to look at antique jewelry again."

"There's nothing wrong with antique jewelry, Aunt," said Alyssa with a pointed look. "It's just very dusty, that's all. But thank you." She pushed the door open, hearing the faint tinkling of the bell behind her.

Alyssa glowered up at the cloudy sky. Snow was fluttering down around her, settling on her shoulders and in her hair. Pulling her coat closer, Alyssa took a deep breath and stepped into the large crowd of Christmas-shoppers.

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"Checkmate." Lily sat back, satisfied, as Jeffrey stared at the board. Jeffrey, at nineteen, was the youngest player to ever join the Montrose Magpies. Granted, he was only the reserve seeker, and it wasn't so surprising, as William Garnet – Janine's father – was the current captain of the Magpies.

Jeffrey made a face. "I like playing Janine. She almost always loses."

Across the room, his sister stuck her tongue out and aimed for the dartboard, throwing her dart and missing by several feet.

"I can't understand," said Damien, coming into the room, "how someone who is such a spectacular Chaser can be such a horrific darts player."

"I'm not horrific."

"Yes, you are."

"Am not!"

"You missed the board be three feet."

"Well, if you hadn't distracted me-!" Jeffrey snorted in laughter; Lily hid her giggles behind a hand. She looked at the chessboard.

"Should we set up again?"

"Forget it. My pride can only take so many losses." Lily made a face at him.

"Sore loser."

"I am." He stood up, and stretched. "Hey, Janie, you hear? Dad wants us in the drawing room at two this afternoon for tea."

"Okay."

"He said he had something important to tell us." Jeffrey scratched his head. "Can't imagine what it is, though…"

"Well, don't hurt yourself thinking too hard." Jeffrey grabbed a dart from a nearby table and threw it at her – he missed, also by several feet. Janine grinned. "And you say I'm bad."

"I'm not the Chaser." He jerked his head at the window. "Somebody's got an owl, by the way."

"Well, go see who it is."

"No."

Sighing, Lily got up (before Jeffrey and Janine began bickering, as they were wont to do). Taking the envelope from the owl (who immediately flew away) she handed it to Janine. "It's for you…"

Janine was about to open it, when Perry, from the corner, abruptly said, "It's from Grandma."

"How d'you know?"

"I just do. It's from her; you'll see."

Rolling her eyes, Janine slit the envelope open and scanned the letter. With growing curiosity, Lily noted that her friend was growing rapidly purple in the face. "What's the old bat say this time?" asked Jeffrey, looking at it.

"Don't say that," interrupted Damien. "She means well, even if she's got a bit of pureblood mania…" He glanced at Lily quickly, and nodded for Janine to read the letter aloud. "Go on."

Jeffrey took it from her and cleared his throat, reading:

"Dear Janine,

It has come to my attention that you have broken off your relationship with Fabian Prewett. I must advise you at once to not waste any time in apologizing for your transgressions against him, whatever they may be. You must build up a good relationship, for when you reach the age of eighteen, I expect you to be well on your way to marriage, engagement ring and all.

The Prewetts are an old, respected family, and a marriage into their set will be excellent for the family, what with your good-for-nothing brothers showing no signs of inclinations to making proper marriages, except for Lyon. When is he going to propose to that silly French tart he's always seeing? I admit that she isn't much in the brains department, but she's quite pretty, and she should make a good housewife.

I hope you have not forgotten all my lessons, or I will have to send you to Miss Primm's Finishing School this summer. I sincerely hope that you can finally pour a cup of tea without spilling and carry a tray without breaking any of the good china. At least you could dance. It was about the only thing you could do.

Either way, it's time for you to stop fooling around with boys at school. Not only is it extremely undignified and unladylike, if you continue those habits, you will grow up into a wanton woman, fit only for the brothels of Knockturn Alley. It's time for you to start thinking about marriage and becoming a good housewife.

The first step in this direction, of course, is to immediately cease playing Quidditch. It is improper and far too masculine for a young lady. I do not want you to end up like your mother, married to a brainless Quidditch player who is fit for nothing but whacking silly balls and bats around and knocking others off of their broomsticks. I have told your mother many times before, and I will say it again: Quidditch is completely barbaric, and you must not play.

I expect you to have apologized to and made up with Fabian by the time I arrive for the Masquerade. I know that the both of you will look lovely, waltzing about the ballroom together. Yours would be a good marriage. When I arrive, we will discuss your marriage and future plan. None of this Auror business, like your mother. The only thing I can say for your father is that the only thing he had right in marrying her was that he took her away from employment. A proper wizarding wife should be a housewife, content to tend her kitchen and garden, make lovely dinners for her husband and children, and always be ever pleasing. I trust that you are not nearly so temperamental as you were the last time I was there.

That is all I can say in this letter – we'll talk some more when I come there. Your mother has told me you have a perfectly lovely friend by the name of Lily – I cannot wait to meet her. Speaking of whom, what is her surname? There are no Lily's in any pureblood family, as far as I can remember. Perhaps I'd best brush up on my Wizarding Genealogy, and I suggest you do, as well. It is for your own good. Do not reply to this letter; I will speak with you when I arrive.

Affectionately,

Your Grandmother, Adelaide Morgan."

Jeffrey slowly lowered the letter, looking at Janine, who was staring out the window sulkily, to Perry, who looked as though he'd expected no less, to Damien, who looked furious, and then last to Lily, who looked bewildered. He held up the letter with a weak smile. "Quite a piece of work, isn't she? Our maternal grandmother."

"Oh, dear… marry Fabian?"

"No," said Janine, stomping her foot. "I'm not going to. I'd marry… I'd marry James before I married him!"

"Well, I don't think Grandmother would much object if you married James," pointed Perry silkily. "I did tell you it was her, you know. And I could have told you that she'd want you to get married. It's quite normal."

"Nobody asked you," said Janine rudely, just as Lily asked, "How did you know all that?"

He smiled mysteriously. "Well, I do know everything." A long silence followed this pronouncement, and he added mischievously, "I overheard Mum and Grandma discussing it just before we went to school."

"I always knew we'd raised you right!" said Janine, forgetting about her problems for a moment, hugging her younger brother. She fixed him with a stern eye. "Now, if we could only get you on a broomstick…"

Perry gave her a mournful look. "I don't like brooms, Janine. I don't like flying, or Quidditch."

"No," she agreed. "You like books." He glanced at his feet; she ruffled his hair. "There's nothing wrong with that, Perry. You'll come into your own when you're older."

He nodded. "Yes. Yes, I will. But you might not like what 'my own' is."

"I'll like it, don't worry."

"If you say so." He still looked doubtful. But Janine looked confident, and so he gave her a rather weak smile. Perry half-turned and gave Lily a rueful smile.

But Lily continued to watch him carefully.

X-X-X-X-X

"Oy… Comforts! What're you doing here?" Alyssa turned, groaning inwardly – Of all the people to run into – and clutched her parcel tighter, as Sirius and James walked over, both holding large clothing boxes. "Here to get your costume, are you?"

"Yes," said Alyssa, beginning to turn. "So if you don't mind-"

"What's your rush? Stay and chat a while," said Sirius with a grin. "What afternoon could be better than one in our company?" Alyssa gave him a look dripping of sarcasm, although she said nothing. Sirius grinned, slinging an arm around her shoulders, as James dropped into stride on her other side, slipping his arm around her waist.

Needless to say, Mrs. Comforts was quite surprised when she encountered her daughter. And then, she smiled. "James Potter and Sirius Black. And how are your parents?"

"Fine," said James, as Sirius stared sullenly at the ground. Mrs. Comforts seemed to take this in stride, smilingly.

"Well! You three seem to be having lots of fun – I'll just take these things and go home-" She quickly took Alyssa's things, "-While you all go and wander about. Have a good day!"

"Wait – Mum!" cried Alyssa, but Mrs. Comforts whisked away, calling over her shoulder, "I'll see you at home, dear!" Alyssa looked helplessly after her mother, and then at Sirius and James.

"You two are horrible."

"It's not our fault your mum ran off," said Sirius, now cheerful again. "Anyway, now you get the chance to tell us what you got us for Christmas!" Alyssa's eyebrows rose.

"What makes you think I got you anything?" Then she poked at the boxes James and Sirius were holding. "And these?"

"Masquerade outfits," said James. "They're-"

And then, quite suddenly, an explosion rocked Diagon Alley, the ground lurching. The three teenagers were knocked to their feet, falling about one another, becoming entangled. James twisted, trying to find out what was going on. His eyes widened at the scene before him.

And then the screams began.

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A/N: Thanks for all the reviews – I love you guys! I know I left it off at a cliffhanger, which is evil of me, but I really need to get the story moving along now. It's about time we had some action in here. 'Nuff lovey-dovey mushy fluff! (We'll get more of that later on).

And to respond to Lizzabeth Turner: Yeah, I know prefects aren't supposed to be able to take points away from houses (this has to do with the fifth or fourth chapter… something like that). The thing is, in the second book, when Harry, Ron, and Hermione are leaving Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, Percy Weasley catches them and says (and I quote): " 'Five points from Gryffindor!' Percy said tersely, fingering his prefect's badge. 'And I hope it teaches you a lesson! No more detective work, or I'll write to Mum!' And he strode off, the back of his neck as red as Ron's ears." So this is what I figured… Prefects can't take points off of other people's houses, but they can take points off of their own. At least, that's the way I figured it…