I intend to finish this before DH is released, which gives me exactly a month. It's ambitious, but if I do a letter a day, I could have it done a few days ahead (I have 17 chapters left). Because once I read DH (in one sitting, of course), I'm going to go into an intense mourning period. Not to mention avoiding FFN out of respect to those less obsessed or without access to the book who don't want spoilers. But mostly mourning. Also, as a note, everyone should listen to "Accidental Babies" by Damien Rice. It's an acquired taste, like most of his stuff, but really haunting and beautiful. And everyone should watch The Producers, but that's a different story.

Dear Lily,

NEWTs are sure to be the death of me. When McGonagall isn't randomly bursting into the Common Room and asking us why we all aren't studying, Slughorn is drilling into our brains that we will kill someone if we can't successfully make a sleeping draught and even Flitwick, despite his tiny stature, is intimidating us all. During Transfiguration today, McGonagall was so critical of Alice's candelabra (which was one of the best in the class; mine was horribly deformed) that Alice broke into hysterics and had to be escorted out of the class by two rather bewildered Ravenclaw girls.

Of course, Alice isn't the only one who's buckled under the pressure of our first day back. James MacDougan – the Hufflepuff beater – broke out in hives while trying to remember how to perform a Switching Spell and Julia Spine got ill at dinner. To make matters worse, McGonagall has been interviewing all of the Gryffindors about their plans post-Hogwarts. When she called me into her office, I could tell she was just as frazzled as the rest of us are.

"The world has changed, Potter."

I had yet to take a seat, and I decided to remain standing, pressed against the back wall. "Professor, I understand that I need to make a decision – "

"You didn't give me an answer two years ago, when I asked you the first time. I believe you told me that you wanted to 'take life as it came.'" A shadow of a smile crossed her pursed lips. "I suppose that's not going to last much longer for you, is it, Potter?"

"No, ma'am."

"And have you made a decision?"

I paused. "I've been thinking about this a lot lately – more so than I probably would have needed to if I hadn't shrugged it off in fifth year – and the truth is, I could live comfortably without working a single day in my life. But I wouldn't be happy doing that, especially with the war and everything that's happening. So I guess what I'm saying is I can't think of any job besides being an Auror."

"Tough line of work. Three years of intensive training, high dropout rates, and even higher fatality rates. If you aren't prepared for that risk, I'd suggest an easier career."

"It's not dying I'm afraid of, Professor."

Which is the honest truth. What I'm about to say is candid in the greatest sense; I've never told anybody this, not even Remus, but it explains most of what I do. I'm not afraid of dying, or of pain. If I was afraid to risk my life I wouldn't want to fight the Dark Lord and if I was afraid of getting hurt I wouldn't play Quidditch. I'm not afraid of being humiliated in front of the entire school by a girl with emerald eyes or of being hated. I'm afraid of failing. I'm afraid of disappointing my family and my friends, and, most of all, I'm afraid of disappointing you. And I'm afraid that you don't care enough about me to be disappointed. And, as humbling as this is, and as weak or foolish as you might see that, I ask that you take into consideration that of all the people I could ever have shared that with, I shared it with you.

After a few more prodding questions that I suppose must have been meant to test how serious I was, McGonagall told me about a secret group that Dumbledore was creating, meant for those who wanted to destroy the Dark Lord most. Dumbledore is asking me to find students whom I believe would be interested and devoted and to create a meeting, the first meeting of the Order of the Phoenix.

When I went back to the Common Room, Remus was there reading his Ancient Runes book and Sirius was passed out in one of the arm chairs, slumped over the side like some sort of shaggy haired rag doll.

"What's wrong with him?" I asked, inclining my head in Sirius' direction.

"Some girl he likes told him to bugger off. Apparently it's the first time since he came to Hogwarts. Poor bloke didn't take it very well, so Peter gave him some sleeping draught." Remus sounded bored and somewhat irritated.

"Please tell me Peter didn't give him anything he brewed himself. Sirius'll never wake up." I walked over and opened Sirius' eyelids, as if it would make a difference.

"Swiped some from Slughorn, I think."

"You seem bothered."

"I just think it's a good lesson for him. He struts around Hogwarts like he owns it, and, while it doesn't get on my nerves much because I see him when he's not surging with testosterone, but I think it's good that he finally realized not everyone appreciates arrogance." Remus smiled and closed his book. "Not that I think he'll change or anything."

I nodded.

"How was your meeting with McGonagall? Did she give you a hard time about not knowing what to do with your fabulously wealthy, pampered life?"

"More or less. …That's why she doesn't like me, isn't it?"

"Why who doesn't like you?"

"Lily. She thinks I'm a pigheaded arse, doesn't she?"

"James, we all think you're a pigheaded arse. Some of us just deal with it better than others."

I glared at him. "You know, I really do hate you sometimes."

It's getting late and long, so I'll close this already reflective letter with an apology. I don't mean to act thick or show off. …Well, I do mean to, but I don't intend to insult or offend anyone. It goes back to failure, just like everything else. If I look successful, then I am successful, or so goes the logic. Which, I guess, is pigheaded in and of itself.

Goodnight,

—James