Note: Thank you to sophinisba and thedoingofit for the beta, and to forest_rose for the Britpick.

Part 2

"Right," said James. He glanced at the desk before him. A neat stack of parchment, two new quills, and a full bottle of black ink awaited him. Remus had reluctantly informed him that there were fourteen lines in a sonnet, and James had even braved the Muggle Studies section of the library to glance at the mouldy poetry books. It was, admittedly, a very brief glance, but let no one accuse James Potter of failing to do his research.

Now all he had to do was write a sonnet for Evans – which shouldn't be too difficult. James was a good writer; he even managed to make his History of Magic essays sound interesting. The dormitory was empty – he had left Sirius and Peter in the common room, and since it was a Monday, Remus had a prefects' meeting – so there would be no distractions. James reached for a sheet of parchment, dipped his quill in the ink, and began to write.

When Peter wandered into the dormitory half an hour later, he discovered James slumped over his desk. He was surrounded by a mound of crumpled sheets of parchment, his fingers were stained with ink, and he was moaning.

Peter approached him cautiously. "Prongs? Are you all right?"

James groaned.

Peter reached for one of the discarded pieces of parchment and unfolded it. He skimmed it, pulled a face, and picked up another. That one made him shudder.

"Ah," he said, discreetly dropping the parchment into the bin. "I see."

"It's hopeless, Wormtail," James said, his voice muffled by the fact that his face was still pressed into the desk. "Completely hopeless. I can't write all that soppy stuff about Evans. I just can't."

"Yes," Peter agreed quickly. "You really, really can't."

James looked up at last, glaring at Peter with bleary eyes. "You're supposed to offer me encouragement, Peter. Not scorn."

"Sorry," Peter replied sheepishly. "I'm sure all you need is a bit of practise. Why don't you try writing some more? And maybe, er, tone down the soppy language? I don't know if Lily would want her eyes compared to 'limpid pools of frogspawn.'"

"Hmmm." James tapped at his chin with his quill. "How about 'limpid pools of moss'?"

Peter winced. "Well," he said gently. "Moss doesn't exactly come in pools."

James' brow creased in thought. "That is true."

It suddenly occurred to Peter that this might be a good time to make himself scarce, or else he would end up spending the entire evening helping James. He might even end up having to write the poem for him. Peter trembled at the thought.

"I'll just be going then," he said, backing away. "Give you some, er, space to think." He had nearly made his escape when James spoke again.

"Mind if I borrow some parchment? I've run out."

"Not at all," Peter said quickly. "Help yourself."

"Cheers, Wormtail," James said, already rifling through Peter's trunk. Peter turned to go, but at the last minute hesitated in the doorway.

"Prongs?"

"Yeah?"

"You also might want to start calling her 'Lily,' not 'Evans.'"

********************************************************************************************************************************

James was no closer to writing a sonnet three days later. After exhausting Peter's supply of parchment, he had moved on to Sirius'. The only Marauder turning in any homework was Remus, and that was because he had rather sternly informed his friends that no one was to mention poetry again in his presence, ever, or else they would suffer some very painful consequences involving shoelaces and marmalade. No one was brave enough to ask for the specifics, and James was too terrified to pilfer his parchment.

So whilst James spent every moment he wasn't in a classroom or at the Quidditch pitch in the dormitory, trying to write his sonnet, the other Marauders made themselves scarce. At the moment, in fact, Sirius had no idea where they were. Peter had scurried away after supper, and Remus – well, things had been awkward between them since Sunday evening when they had been working on the map in the dormitory, and Sirius had no idea why. One moment they had been resting together very nicely, and Sirius had been about to fall asleep, and the next Remus was hopping out of the bed as if the pillows were on fire and racing away to the common room. It was all very baffling, especially because as the week progressed Remus had taken to avoiding him more and more. Sirius was determined to find out the reason why – if he ever managed to get Remus alone.

He had checked all of Remus' usual haunts. He wasn't in the common room, he wasn't in the library, and there was no prefects' meeting scheduled. He couldn't be hidden under the cloak, because that was still safely tucked away in James' trunk (Sirius had made sure of that). That left the kitchens, and Sirius was on his way to look there when he was cornered by Lily Evans.

"And where are you off to, Black?" she asked, planting herself squarely in front of him.

"Why, Evans," Sirius said, placing his hand over his heart and batting his eyelashes. "Did you have plans for us? A moonlit stroll across the grounds, perhaps? A clandestine swim in the lake involving very little clothing?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "Not quite," she said. "Actually, I'm glad I found you. What's going on with you and Potter?"

"Do you mean," Sirius said in mock surprise, "that you want to ask James on our date? He'd be thrilled."

"I mean," Lily said, looking quite severe, "what is going on with you and Potter? What are you plotting? Another prank? Are you going to explode more toilets? Are you going to cover Severus in boils again?"

"You've given me an idea, Evans. What if we put Snivellus in a toilet, cover both in boils, and then explode them together?"

"Very funny," Lily snapped. "I'm being serious. What's going on? Here you are, skulking through the hallways alone and Potter is nowhere to be found. In fact, I've hardly seen him all week. It's obvious that you two are planning something."

"Evans," Sirius said, "we're not planning anything. I am, as you say, skulking through the hallways on a noble quest to find the ever-elusive Remus Lupin, and James is back in the dormitory writing poetry."

Lily stared at him for a long moment before bursting into laughter. Sirius had never seen her laugh so much before. Tears rolled down Lily's face and she had to lean against the wall to support herself.

"Potter – poetry?" she gasped, wiping her eyes. "I could understand the bit about you pining for Remus, but Potter and poetry – you're asking me to believe the impossible, Black."

"Wait, what do you mean by 'pining'?" Sirius demanded. "I'm not pining for anyone. I don't pine ever. I'm physically unable to pine. And why would I pine for Remus anyway?"

Still grinning, Lily straightened up and patted Sirius on the arm. "I have one word for you, Black," she said, turning to go. "Denial."

Sirius watched Lily disappear down the corridor in silence, too perplexed to offer one of his usual retorts. Long moments passed as he stood there, racking his brain in an effort to make sense of what Lily had said. What had she meant by "denial?" Sirius wasn't denying anything. Only…

At last, comprehension struck him like a bolt of lightning. All other thoughts fled from his mind as he finally understood what Lily had been hinting at during their conversation.

The kitchens were entirely forgotten as Sirius slumped against the wall, stunned. He fancied Remus – had fancied him for months, if he was truly honest with himself – and now that he finally realised it everything seemed to click into place in his mind, even though he felt more confused than ever. What was he going to do now?

To be continued....