(A/N) As usual, everything belongs to Joanne Rowling. Thanks so much for every single review! I really appreciate it. Please, keep on letting me know what you think!

4.

James Potter loved Transfiguration. He needed hardly make any effort at all in any of his classes, but Transfiguration he could pass with top marks and flying colours without lifting a finger; the ability to transfigure absolutely anything into absolutely anything else sort of came with absentminded ease after spending three years trying to become an Animagi. James loved lounging at the back of the Transfiguration class doing nothing but drifting away into his thoughts. Professor McGonagall and he had an unspoken, tacit agreement James respected religiously – as long as he kept his friends and himself as quiet and as little interruptive as humanly possible, the professor would allow him to trail off and pretend not to notice the four of them had no ruddy clue what was presently being taught. As long as they passed tests and answered questions impeccably and did not disrupt her classroom for a single second, they were at liberty to pay as little attention as they so desired.

James also genuinely liked the subject. If it hadn't become so unbearably easy for him he'd probably be sitting right at the front of the class, right where at that precise moment Marlene Macmillan was writing every single word coming out of Minerva McGonagall's thin lips as if her life depended upon it. It was the first lesson of an early October Monday morning, a radiant, fine morning, and James felt quite content. A little over two weeks had passed since the last full moon and Remus was now as recovered as he would ever be – James had worried so terribly that last full moon; it had all been so close to going completely down the drain with the awful weather and Moony being so sodding uncontrollable. But nothing had happened and now the scratches in his back were fully scabbed and Remus's bruises were almost totally faded.

Yet another thing he loved about Transfiguration was his sitting arrangement. He normally occupied the last desk to the left at the very back row of the classroom, right by the window overlooking the Black Lake, sitting next to Peter. He got waves of crisp, golden sunlight during the winter and rolls of cool, soft breeze during the spring if he sat by the open window. He always had perfect natural lightning when it was a clear day and he always enjoyed the smashing of the raindrops against the crystals when it was story. But most importantly, from his treasured seat at the back of the Transfiguration classroom, he got a full, complete, free-of-obstacles view of the back of Lily Evans's head.

His Transfiguration lessons gave him the chance to observe his classmates freely, which he found endlessly amusing. He particularly relished observing Lily Evans and the tantalizing back of her head – Merlin, he was pathetic. He tilted his chair on its back legs and ruffled his hair at the back in an automatic, unregistered movement of his hand. With childish glee he had noticed that she had worn her hair up for the four following days after he'd sent her that note on the day of the last full moon, and this felt like a personal triumph to him. She had repeated the hairstyle but a couple times over the weeks that followed. He was sceptical to believe it was for his enjoyment, though. Six years with Lily Evans had taught him few things crossed her as much as James Potter enjoying himself.

That particular Monday morning Evans's hair was pulled up at the crown of her head in a tightly twisted bun and that round mole situated at the symmetrical centre of the back of her neck was in full display. It was a very absorbing thing to focus on, Lily Evans's mole at the back of her neck, James thought, while the rest of the class (Lily included) struggled to figure out how to turn a country mouse into a saucer full of mashed potatoes. He wondered how long it would take Sirius to stop laughing if he told him he spent hours eyeballing a mole.

As he sat there, next to a drowsing Peter, the full force of the weak mid autumn sunrays warming the side of his face, his thoughts drifted back (he had no clue why) to that day in fifth year, in the middle of April if he was not mistaken, when Lily Evans's parents had died in a car accident. He had heard about it from a teary-eyed, perplexed Dorcas over dinner and had wandered about the castle in shock for hours after that, ridden by an unexplainable sense of impotence. In his wandering he had come without meaning to to a forgotten circular chamber on the sixth floor, a room with wood-panelled walls and cold stone floors, lit only very dimly by rusty candelabra, where he had found Lily coiled around herself, sitting on the floor against the farthest wall from the door. Six months had passed and he could still see with perfect clarity her silhouette half hidden in the darkness of the corner, half exposed by the dancing flickers of light from the torches. She hadn't even looked up as he walked in and stopped immediately on his tracks when he saw her. He had almost thought for a second there that Lily had expected him to show up.

'Evans.' was all he had said when he saw her in such incomprehensible pain he felt guilty for witnessing it. His voice was intruding and unwanted among the silence of the room, only broken by her quiet sobs and the soft buzzing of the burning candles. She had then looked up at him for the first time with infuriated green eyes and James had not for a second doubted it was him she was angry at. He had expected her to yell and shriek and call him a thousand names and was bracing himself for the unavoidable row when she got up to her feet, staggered weakly across to where he stood, and threw herself into him. His arms had snaked around her unconsciously and he had rested his chin atop her messy hair as if holding her was something he did every day of his life. Even now, almost half a year later, James could not tell how long they had stayed like that for, in complete silence in the half darkness, as she wept her heart out onto his shirt. He had said nothing and neither had she; all he had done was stroke her hair until his wrist ached and her sobbing began to dry out. When she became silent and immobile and he realised she was no longer crying, the idea of letting go flashed through his head for a brief moment – but he hadn't because she was so feeble and sad and it was inhumane to remove his arms from around her small frame and because the feeling of hugging Lily Evans was just too delightful to make it stop. He felt instantaneously guilty when he realised that, even though she was as broken as he had ever seen her, he still found having her in his arms was the best thing he had ever experienced.

He looked at her with more intensity now. She was sitting with Mary Macdonald, flicking her light-coloured wand at a black mouse atop her desk to no apparent avail and James could tell from the way in which she was tapping her fingers against the table that she was becoming frustrated. They had never talked about their little encounter – never. Never during the multiple times they had quarrelled from that day onwards until the end of fifth year. Never while they sat so disturbingly close to each other during meals when he chatted with Dorcas and Faye and she pretended not to notice him there. He had wondered so many times what she thought about how they'd acted – so comfortably close and intimate. Did she remember looking up at him, all red and puffy in the eyes, and saying thanks? Had she forgotten walking out of the room and leaving him there, nonplussed, so utterly bewildered and moved and speechless that he had stayed there until Remus, Map in hand, had come to get him? She was doing better now; she was laughing again and that hidden flick of amusement when they rowed was back in her green eyes. For months, James had seen the little dot labelled "L. Evans" on the Marauder's Map drift away from crowds, alone on some forgotten corridor. But she wasn't doing that anymore – she was never alone this days. Either with her friends or with one of the million younger students she tutored, James couldn't quite remember when he had last seen her by herself. He was glad, though. Lily Evans was her old self again, and she hated his guts just as much as she had hated them before her parents' death. Or perhaps more.

He had obsessed over what had happened by the Lake after the Defence OWL all summer. Evans had been furious at him more times than he cared to remember, but he had never seen her as, well, as bloody vexed. She had called him every name in the book and another few before, but he had never heard her insult him with such fury, with such cruel honesty. She had called him a useless, selfish prick and a presumptuous, conceited tosser for years, but on that damned June afternoon she had said quite articulately what she truly thought of him. Yes, James thought, she hated him more than ever. On the bright sight, however, she also hated Severus Snape.

One thing seemed to elude him, nonetheless: since that day by the Lake and the beech tree, when Snape had called Evans a mudblood and James had dangled him by the ankle out of sheer boredom, James Potter and Lily Evans hadn't quarrelled – not once, not in the two full months of lessons since the beginning of the term. And that was saying something considering they had fought for the most of five consecutive years. James, however, did not realise this.

'Prongs, mate,' said Sirius from the table besides him 'you are gawking. You'll burn a hole through her skull if you stare any harder.' Remus sniggered.

'Shut up, Sirius.' James said dryly. From his treasured seat at the back of the class, next to the window facing the Black Lake, he had no way of seeing the peony-pink shadow that creeped onto Lily Evans's cheeks.


After Transfiguration, Marlene Macmillan found herself walking to the courtyard for recess on her own at the fastest pace she could muster. Faye had Muggle Studies and Lily had Ancient Runes, but she was glad to be by herself for break-time. She was furious.

She was going to murder her, Marlene thought. She plopped down on a stone bench next to the roofed gallery of the courtyard and propped her elbows on her knees, her chin resting on her hand. It was a chilly yet sunny day but she was unable to spot the beauty of the lake and the cliff before her; she was so irritated from listening to Crenshaw squeaking and shrieking and giggling in the corridor after their Transfiguration lesson, when Will had come to pick her up. She was perplexed every single person in that hallway had not lost their hearing from all her high-pitched crying. It was like a pig being slaughtered, the way she squealed and screeched and said "Oh, Willy, stop it!" while he tickled her tenderly. (Willy, for fuck's sake?) Did that daft dimbo ever shut up? She did not know a single person so utterly dim-witted, so annoyingly attention-seeking. Dim as night, that one was. To make matters worse, Marlene had seen Susan looking at her while she wriggled in Will's arms and she was sure she had not imagined the smugly pleased smile on the little shite's lips. Crenshaw was trying to provoke her; she was cruel enough to do something like that. She was so stupid, the obnoxious little pipsqueak. Yes, she was unarguably pretty and yes, she had a body that only Dorcas or Faye could outshine, and yes, she was a talented flirt, but she was just – so – bloody – stupid. Couldn't Will see it? A Flobberworm was sharper than Crenshaw. A bloody rock had deeper-rooted thoughts than his girlfriend. And not only was she uproariously silly, the insufferable slag, she was also plain mean. Marlene knew very few people who took as much pleasure in seeing other people crumbling. The widespread notion that evil, demonic teenage girls were habitually smart and witty was refuted by the mere existence of Susan Crenshaw and her pea-sized brain.

And Merlin and Agrippa and Circe, Will had laughed with her! He had actually taken the absolute nonsense that came out of her horrid mouth every single time she opened it for a sense of humour. Couldn't he tell she was not being funny but her very unintelligent self? Marlene wanted to choke her and then drop her off the Astronomy Tower for the Giant Squid to eat. Susan Crenshaw and her curly, long, jet-black hair and her awfully plucked eyebrows and her perennially blushed cheeks and her humongous ears and her ridiculous teeth and the angelical way her uniform fitted her and her million eyelashes that were charcoal black and not white blonde. 'Useless, bragging tart.' Marlene whispered.

Susan Crenshaw, when one first met her, gave the impression of being an absolutely pleasant girl with a gift for playing compliments. Only after further acquaintance did one spot the masterfully hidden jabs her flattery brought along. She was both demeaning and adulating in the very same sentence and Marlene despised her deeply for her two-faced wit – that and her thunderous stupidity. "I'm saying things about you that sound lovely but I'm actually being unnecessarily hurtful and you probably won't realise anyway" was what Marlene heard whenever the bitch spoke. And did the bitch love to speak around Marlene.

Marlene was sure Susan knew. The satisfied looks and the taunting little smiles and how every time Marlene walked into a room Susan threw herself, spread-armed, into Will; Susan surely knew. All those times she'd mentioned in her sugary, all too innocent voice how Will and Marlene were "such good friends, aren't you, Macmillan?" But Marlene was also certain Crenshaw wasn't as terribly brainless as to tell Will what she suspected, just as she hadn't been as terribly brainless as to protest to their friendship. Oh yes, Marlene thought as she tightened her Gryffindor scarf around her neck and dug her hands deeper inside her robe pockets, Will might be dating her but he still valued his friendship with her very highly. Why else would he ignore the glaring from his girlfriend every time they sat together in the common room, chatting and laughing, if not because he sincerely enjoyed her company? It was poor consolation but it was all she had to hold on to. Crenshaw didn't dare keep Will from being friends with Marlene.

'Hey, Lynne.' said Will as he scooted over next to her on the stone bench. The sudden appearance of his voice made her shiver for an instant. He was as tightly bundled in his cloak as she was, and his bare neck was red from the wind outside. She wondered how long he had been on the patio for and if he had heard her curse to herself, but if he had he didn't mention it. She turned around to face him and almost moaned in complaint. The clear sunlight caught in a very lovely glimmer in his dark blonde hair that looked so wonderful now that he wore it short – Merlin, she needed to stop thinking like that. He had a girlfriend to dwell on the way his shorter haircut made his square jaw look sexy.

'Hey.' she croaked.

'All right?' Will asked. Marlene nodded so he continued in a careful, comforting tone. 'That's good, I thought I saw you leaving Transfiguration all flustered up.'

'Nope.' Marlene answered. Will raised a gloved hand to his chest. She wondered why he was cold enough to wear gloves but not cold enough to put on a scarf. She then wondered if perhaps Will had given his scarf to Crenshaw and she suddenly found herself growing angry at him.

'It's touching that you open yourself with me like that, Marlene, really heart-warming. I'm glad you think of me as a trustworthy, understanding mate.' He hit her arm playfully with his elbow. She didn't smile.

'It's nothing, Willy.' Marlene snorted and she regretted the obvious dose of sarcasm in her voice immediately. He would certainly notice what she'd called him.

'Willy?' he asked, raising an eyebrow. Of course – he always noticed everything except perhaps how his girlfriend had the intellectual capabilities of a speck of dust.

'Doesn't your girlfriend call you that?' she said, turning her face away from him to look at the mirror surface of the lake. She wished she could shut up.

'Yeah, I believe so.' Will said confusedly. 'I just don't remember you ever calling me that before. You call me Will like everyone else does. Or Willemsworth if you're so mad you – '

'Oh Willemsworth, I'd forgotten! I'm everyone else! Silly me – won't happen again, you be sure of that.' She was sort of bellowing now and all she could think of was she had to be quiet but she knew it was too late for that now. She had already spoiled it and the students closer to them were beginning to hush down and stare.

'—when you're so mad at me you won't even tell me what I've done. Of course you are not everyone else, are you mental? Come off it, Lynnie, what's happened?' he asked in a firm voice. He had shifted his whole body to face her and had rested his hand on her shoulder. She could feel how he smelt of soap.

The buzz of the chatter of the other students in the courtyard was all she could focus on without going completely berserk. She hated herself quite a lot at the moment for being so bloody temperamental and hot-headed. Why was he there? He had Potions next, because she'd heard another Gryffindor in his year mention that they had Potions second thing that morning. He certainly should be down in the dungeons then. Had he skipped lessons to come and see what was wrong with her? Why had it mattered so much he wouldn't wait until lunch to find out why she'd hurried off after a class? She had an answer for her questions but it was too hopeful and it had been years since she'd decided not to think like that. The chatter around them carried on.

'It's nothing. Why are you here?'

'I've told you, I saw you leaving Transfiguration. Are you going to tell me what's happened, Lynnie?' Will asked. And then she cracked.

'Does she know you call me Lynnie?' she was screaming again and she was positive she now looked as if she'd lost her marbles for good. 'Crenshaw – does she fucking know you call me Lynnie?'

'Susie? What's Susan got to do with anything?' That about did it. The look on his eyes was so bewildered it only made Marlene more furious. He had to be kidding her.

'Well, she shouldn't care much because Susie's got her own nickname as well! Smashing!' she got up to her feet, began to walk away and then pivoted suddenly on her heel to face him one more time. 'If you can't realise what's wrong on your own, Willy dear, then it's no use for me to fucking tell you. Tell Susie I say hello.' And she walked away.

The next two days flashed by Marlene in a blur of restlessness. She did her absolute best not to run into Will or Crenshaw, but since she shared a fair share of her lessons with her and she couldn't possibly avoid him in the Gryffindor common room, her objective was far from being achieved. Even though all of Hogwarts had been whispering about how Marlene Macmillan had screamed at Will McKinnon about something to do with his girlfriend, Marlene only told Faye and Lily her side of what had happened with Will and the rest of the girls in their dormitory had been tactful enough to not bring it up– Marlene told Faye because she always told Faye everything and Lily because she knew a thing or two about wanting to avoid a particular boy after a nasty quarrel (regardless that Lily would rather have Flitch hang her by her ankles than admit she had ever gone out of her way to avoid Potter, because that would have meant making an effort regarding him, no matter the reason why, and Lily could just not have that) so both of her friends had been lovely and cooperative and done their best to keep Will and his girlfriend out of Marlene's path. The afternoon after she'd gone berserk at him in front of everyone in the courtyard, Will had tried to catch up with her in between lessons, but Lily had been quick enough to yell after him that he had long ago promised to explain to her exactly when and why had the Bludgers been introduced to the official Quidditch rulebook and if he'd please be so kind as to do it now, thank you, and Marlene had had time to scatter away and lose herself among the swarming students heading for Defence Against the Dark Arts classrooms. Faye had very accidentally commented at the very top of her gravelly voice, that very evening in the packed Gryffindor Common Room, whether Susan remembered that time in third year when seventh-year Gideon Prewett had stood her up in Hogsmeade because he was trying to convince Faye to snog him in a broom closet, which of course she had refused. Both the Dawlish twins had choked trying to hide their giggling at the sickly shade of purple that was Crenshaw's face.

On the third day, Marlene spent twenty minutes inside a girls' bathroom on the third floor in order to avoid Will, who'd she'd seen lurking the corridors with his eye out for her, so she was barely seconds ahead of the bell when she crossed the door into History of Magic. Professor Binns said nothing, of course, but still she remained at the entrance to the classroom, gobsmacked, immobile, looking at Lily Evans fixedly. Next to a sour-faced Lily, where she always sat for History of Magic, was Maittena Dawlish, smiling in satisfaction. Marlene scanned the room already knowing the answer, but still she felt anger hit her like a tidal wave when she found the only seat available to be next to Crenshaw. The vindictive, obnoxious, mind-fucking bitch.

'Oy, Wormy,' called Potter from his seat at the very right left end of the classroom. Even though Pettigrew was sitting right next to him, the whole classroom could hear him perfectly. 'would you mind going over there and sitting with Crenshaw? I need to speak with Macmillan here, you see, and it would be phenomenal if she could share desks with me for this lesson.'

'Why, Prongs, of course.' said Peter promptly, picking up his books and parchment and making his way to Crenshaw's desk. When she shot him a murderous glare, Pettigrew pretended to be surprised and raised his hand to cover his mouth. 'Oh dear, Crenshaw, you don't mind me sitting with you, do you? I'm sure Professor Binns could find me a seat elsewhere if you didn't want me here...'

'Sit, Pettigrew.' said Crenshaw irately and Marlene was suddenly aware that she was still standing there halfway between coming in and staying out, with her book bag dangling uncomfortably from her hand, so she hurried off and took a seat next to a grinning James Potter.

'What did you want to talk to me about?' she whispered. She could almost feel Lily glaring daggers at her from across the classroom. She didn't know whether having to withstand Maittena Dawlish or her chitchatting with Potter would cross her more.

'I thought you were quicker.' Potter chuckled 'I was just saving you from Crenshaw, that's all.'

'Excuse me?' said Marlene. She couldn't quite wrap her mind around what she'd just heard.

'Susan Crenshaw, Macmillan –she looks like she wants to bite your head off and I thought it would be nice of me to offer you a way out.'

'You – you switched Pettigrew with me so I wouldn't have to seat with Crenshaw?' James nodded at this. 'Why would you do that?'

'Because I happen to be very sympathetic to your current woes. I have looked just like you look right now quite a few times.' Potter said. Marlene didn't much like the sorrowful way in which he was smiling at her.

'And what do I look like, exactly, Potter?' she asked trying to keep her tone as steady as her tembling hands would allow her.

'You look like someone who fucked up with someone they fancy quite a lot. I have been there more times than you'd care to know – the only difference is that when I fuck up with a person I like, Evans doesn't follow me around the castle for an explanation like McKinnon does.' Potter whispered. His face was rather close to her now and Marlene could swear on her life that both Crenshaw's and Lily's eyes were glued to the both of them. 'I also happen to know because your little yelling showdown is common knowledge – every single person in this school is dying to know what it was all about. I just figured it out all by myself because, in all honesty, I'm brilliant.'

'Would it make any difference if I told you I don't fancy him?' she asked, and James smiled, shaking his head. Marlene observed that Potter also smelt like soap.

'No, it wouldn't. But I'll keep your secret.' he said. Marlene wanted to smash Lily's head in and yell at her for being mean to lovely, lovely, life-saving Potter.

'Now,' said James 'if you'd just stay close to me like that for a moment. I'm trying to figure out who, Crenshaw or Evans, look more distraught. Your friend Lily there looks like she'll blow up any second now.'

'Thank you, Potter.' Marlene said. He dismissed her with a friendly shrug. 'I'll pay you back for this one.'

'Oh, Macmillan, I'll make you keep your word.' he backed off away from her and turned on his seat to face the front of the classroom, where Binns was lecturing for no one to listen. Potter played with a fancy peacock-feather quill for a moment before whispering, this time even lower but remaining at a prudent distance from her face, 'Crenshaw doesn't know what it was all about, you know. Gwenog Jones told me at practice that she's livid at McKinnon for not telling her what it is that made you so cross. I believe you've got a chance there, Macmillan.'

'You know, Potter,' Marlene began. She knew that if Lily ever found out about what she was about to say she'd be as good as dead. 'I'm positive you've got a chance over there yourself.'


July 29th, 1976

It was a summer day so hot it was uncomfortably sticky in the small English town of Godric's Hollow. The Potter family had gone to spend the day in a little cottage they owned on the outskirts of the village which had a little pond in the back yard and many tall, ancient willows and oaks that provided delicious pools of cool shadow. The Potters traditionally spent their summers in their beach house in Newquay, but Sirius's unexpected addition to the family and Andrew Potter's business for the ministry had caused them to delay their habitual departure to the seaside until at least August. On that particularly abrasive afternoon, Mr Potter had invited one of his friends from work, Seraphim McKinnon, to join them for tea. McKinnon had come with his wife, a slender witch of forty that had been quite close while at Hogwarts with one of Audra Potter's favourite cousins, and their eldest son, Will.

'You're friends with him, aren't you boys?' Andrew Potter asked his son and Sirius over breakfast before the family set out for Potter Cottage. 'He's a year above you in Hogwarts, I believe... They live rather nearby, one chimney on the Floo from the Dearborns'.'

'I play Quidditch with him, dad.' James had answered. He had always liked McKinnon.

So now James, Will and Sirius found themselves laying side by side on a moist patch of grass near the pond behind the cottage, their faces inclined slightly upwards in search for a nonexistent breeze. There was no wind cutting through the impenetrable heat, so their only consolation was the green and blue shadows the flock of trees provided. They had attempted to pass Will's beaten Quaffle on a pair of old, slow brooms the Potter's kept in one of the cottage's sheds, but they had become drenched with sweat and red in the face after mere seconds, so the boys had decided to lay down and give up to the heat while their parents drunk iced tea in a lawn table fifty yards away from them. Sirius's rhythmical snores were the only noise around except for the soft hooting of the birds and the quiet tingling of the water.

'You know,' said Will, and James made an ungodly effort to move his overheated, tacky face over his shoulder towards where Will lay, between himself and a dozed-off Sirius Black 'I'm dating Susan Crenshaw.'

'Crenshaw?' asked James. Somehow that didn't sound correct to his hazy brain.

'Yes. You sound surprised.' said Will. His hands were resting on his forehead and he was gazing absentmindedly into the canopy of foliage that the gargantuan, millennial willow tree casted above them.

'I don't know. I just reckoned it was Macmillan you were dating.' answered James groggily.

'Marlene?' Will demanded. His voice was ever so slightly drier. 'Why would you say that?'

'Because I've known her for a long time and I've know you for a long time and I just thought the two of you fancied each other.' James was surprised by how inarticulate he sounded. The impassive sun appeared to have melted his wits.

'Marlene doesn't fancy me. We're friends. She can't fancy me, can she? She doesn't.' McKinnon mumbled. Sirius grunted in his sleep and turned onto his side, away from Will.

'But you fancy her.' James insisted. He was feeling rather sleepy now.

'No, Potter, I ... – I don't really... – It's not like she'd ever – I fancy Susan, Potter.' Will said.

'I like Macmillan better.' Sirius croaked from his hunched position. 'Crenshaw's fit, though. But I like Macmillan better.'

'Crenshaw's so ... so ... so whimsical.' James managed to say before falling asleep.

'Perhaps. But Marlene would never like me; we all know that, right?' Will asked for no one to listen.