Okay, I know it's been ages since I updated, but I can't help it. July happens to be my craziest month out of the year, and, to top it all off, it makes sense that as soon as I set a deadline for myself I get horrible writer's block. If it's any consolation, this chapter's over a thousand words. I saw OotP at 11:20 on Wednesday. It was definitely better than the abysmal movie known as Goblet of Fire (which wasn't horrible in itself, but was a terrible adaptation). It reminded me more of Cuaron's efforts, which was good, but the scene between Bellatrix and Sirius was horribly edited (I know for a fact they shot the whole thing) and about 90 of Snape's Worst Memory (which was also filmed) was mysteriously missing…what were your thoughts?

Dear Lily,

Tonight was the best bloody night of my entire life thus far, and maybe forever. After meeting you in the common room after dark and introducing you to my invisibility cloak, I took you to the kitchens to get food for our picnic. You seemed genuinely nonplussed by the swarms of house elves, all of whom were eager to serve us.

"Are they always that happy?" you asked me, and I guess I understand how confusing it could seem from your point of view. As a prominent pureblood family, we have one house elf, but my mum's known it since it was a child and it's not quite so neurotic as the nutters at Hogwarts.

"Chipper as could be." We took the food, put the cloak back on (you were wearing some sort of perfume that made you smell like flowers and raspberries), and made our way out onto the grounds, sneaking through the hallways in a barely successful attempt to avoid Peeves. Once we reached the shore of the lake, I took the cloak off and laid out a scarlet Gryffindor comforter that I knicked off of Peter's four-poster. You were staring at me quizzically, your eyebrows furrowed, and I could see that you were trying to figure something out. "Yes, Lily dear?"

"Tell me honestly – how many girls have you taken on this same date?"

I grinned. "You're calling this a date?"

"Well, I can only assume that you would. So what's my number? Five? Fifteen?"

"One."

"Really?"

"I've never taken a girl to the kitchens before, or to the lake, or on a picnic."

You blushed slightly. "Oh. Right."

And even though it was vaguely – well, more than vaguely – insulting, I do understand how you would think that was how it was. To you, and to most of the school, I'm a grand womanizing prat, and so it makes sense that I'd use the same date each and every time. Can I tell you a secret, Lily? For all of the girls I've dated and all of the girls I've kissed, I've never actually been with anyone, if you catch my drift. I've never gone on more than two dates with the same girl, and I've never been in love with anyone but you.

We talked about different things while we ate (I grabbed fruits and cakes from the kitchens, as we'd both already had dinner) and drank. You actually surprised me – when I gave you a choice between butterbeer and Firewhiskey, you chose the latter. I joked that perfect prefect Lily Evans was going bad, and you laughed, telling me that you fully expected me to seduce McGonagall and get you off of the hook if we got caught.

Anything for you.

After talking about your mum and your sister and the foul, vile, loathsome evil Slytherin I've mentioned before (whom you claim is "not all that horrid", despite the fact that he called you a…a…"you know" in fifth year), the conversation slowly came around to Wilkes. Of course, I think the alcohol might've loosened your tongue a bit, but I can't be positive, because I've never really been around you when you were being open, inebriated or not.

"Does he ever talk about me in the locker room?" you asked. You were laying back on the bedspread, looking up at the stars. "Little Dipper, Big Dipper," you added, pointing.

"Canus Major. And only once – after you broke up, he told me you were a 'great girl'. But he's never boasted or bragged. He's better than that. He's a decent guy."

You half-smiled. "My mum loves him to pieces. She's only met him once, of course. He visited over Christmas holidays, although it was quite odd. My aunt answered the door and let him in, and he just introduced himself and told her that he knew me from school and wanted to wish her well and a happy Christmas, and then he left. He didn't even say more than 'hello' to me, you know."

"Orion." Honestly, hearing you talk about Wilkes (and how much your mum loves Wilkes) makes me feel inferior and somewhat self-conscious. I wonder if your mum would like me? "Do you like him?"

The question caught you off guard and you looked up at me from where you were laying down. I was sitting up, pulling grass up mindlessly with one hand while the other rested on my knee. "I think so. I think I like him very much, but sometimes I feel like I only think I like him because I feel obligated to, because my mum's so fond of him. It's quite unfair, really." I nodded. "He really is a decent guy, though, isn't he?"

"He's just grand." You didn't catch the subtle sarcasm in my response, or, if you did, you didn't acknowledge it.

"What would you do?"

If my question about you liking Wilkes had thrown you off, I had been thrown off tenfold by your query. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to decide on the best answer. Telling you to stay with him would surely end any possibility of you falling for me, but what would telling you to run away with me do? You already know that I'm crazy for you. I looked over. You were sitting up now and level with me, genuine curiosity in your expression.

I sighed. "I'd stay with the decent guy."

"Oh. I suppose you're right, of course." You frowned, which, Lily, dear, was your fatal mistake.

"What would you do if I kissed you right now?"

"I…I don't know."

Throwing caution to the proverbial wind (although there was a lovely gentle breeze to accentuate the moment), I leaned forward and kissed you softly, running a hand through your hair. When I pulled away, you stared at me for a moment before reaching up and touching the back of my head softly and then pulling me in for a second, longer embrace. You pushed me back onto the blanket and we stayed intertwined like that for a long time. After we had finished kissing, you laid your head on my chest and we didn't have to say anything; you fell asleep there and, when I felt myself nodding off as well, I scooped you up and donned the invisibility cloak again, carrying you up to the common room as Peter's blanket trailed behind.