Teenage Kicks: Summer to Autumn, 1976

James Potter,

You might not be quite sure why we're writing to you, but you probably remember what happened by the lake last week. (in case it slipped your mind, you dangled Snape upside down again and then tried to ask Lily out- rack your brains, it shouldn't take long). So we'll cut straight to the chase.

You, Potter, are an insensitive arse- the most insensitive arsehole in the history of insensitive arseholes (and Mary says that's quite an achievement). We were all rooting for you (alright, I was, Mary says she wasn't) and then you had to go and do THAT. Now as far as we're concerned, you can hex as many Slytherins as you like, but what you do NOT get to do is make our friend cry. Yes, Potter, she cried. Quite a lot, actually. We thought we might need lifeboats. And you know, she hasn't cried in a long time.

The point is that, thick though you may often appear to be, you had enough intelligence to know that what Snape called Lily meant the end of their friendship. I can assure you, however angry you might have felt, she felt a lot angrier and told us so. Quite strongly. I wouldn't like to be Snape right now. But YOU were barely worth a mention. Asking her out in return for not attacking her friend? That's low, Potter. Who even does that? The villain in a Marjory Monthermer novel? See, Snape's a git, but by doing that, you became a worm.

We thought you'd improved a bit in the last couple of months (and who knows, maybe Lily did too, not that it's anything to you now -Mary said I had to get rid of this part but I stand by it, if you can still read it). But with your stupid little stunt by the lake, we can see that's obviously not the case. Mary was this close to pulling your puny brains out through your nostrils (apparently that's something muggles in Egypt used to do to their dead, but you were meant to be alive when she did it) and I won't lie, you were going to be hexed to kingdom come if I had my way, but it was Lily who stopped us. Because she's a good person (and also, she doesn't even think you're worth it- we're not sorry, James). And, even though you've been claiming to be in love with her for the last two years, you clearly don't appreciate her enough to treat her like a human being and not a prize.

You have a choice Potter, you can either buck up your ideas or you can stay away from Lily. Because if you EVER make her cry again (except tears of joy), ours will be the last faces you see. Oh, and just so you know, Lupin agrees with us (he didn't want to be named, but quite frankly if he agrees so much then he can damn well pick a side).

Yours sincerely,

A (horrified) Mary MacDonald and (thoroughly disgusted) Emmeline Vance.

P.S. Don't bother writing back. I'll just burn it. Tell Black he's a prick from us (you're worse though, arse).

James scrunched up the parchment and lobbed it at the wall for what must have been the hundredth time. Then he picked it up again, smoothed it out, and spellotaped it back onto the mirror, which blew a raspberry at him and began to quote sections of the letter with much glee.

"Oh shut up," James grumbled, as he threw himself back onto his bed and glared at the ceiling. "And that goes for you too." He added as a Great Grey Owl hooted reproachfully at him from the corner. "If you don't like it here you can go downstairs and Mum can cook you for dinner."

The owl (whose name was Iris) had no intention of going anywhere. Not only was she perfectly aware that, after having broken the kitchen window and made off with a chicken drumstick, Dorea Potter was after her guts, but she was also quite comfortable in the room that James' father habitually referred to as 'The Troll's Lair'. This was because, as its nickname suggested, her sixteen year old owner's bedroom was a haven for any creature that appreciated the beauty of a good mess (and Iris certainly fit into that category). Sweet wrappers and dung bombs and even a dried up nectarine could be found stuffed down the back of most of the furniture, stacks of old comics lined the walls, a small mound of yellowed newspapers covered the end of the bed, and on the wall opposite the window, a strange patch of dirty green mould had taken hold, which, despite the best efforts of James' parents to get rid of it, continued to cling on tenaciously. To put it frankly, the room was a complete tip.

A bit like his social life, James observed wryly, and then smacked his forehead with a groan. That was exactly the kind of selfish melodrama he was supposed to be working on getting rid of. And he hadn't needed Vance and MacDonald to threaten him to realise it. After all the fuss at the lake (and his temper) had died down a bit, he'd been unusually subdued for the rest of the day and had barely spoken on the train ride home, something that Sirius, for one, had taken a lot better than he'd have normally expected. But then, a lot had changed over the last few months.

A sharp knock on the door shattered his melancholy and his mother's voice called out. "Jamie darling, are you up yet?"

James quickly flung out his limbs in an awkward fashion and shut his eyes, giving his best fake snore. This had worked perfectly the previous three times that his parents had come looking for him in the past hour. He didn't feel up to talking to them at the moment, or tidying his room.

But, rather than bursting in to check that her baby was still alive, his mother simply sighed. "Alright, well don't say I didn't warn you."

There was a pause and then a soft click from the direction of the door. James lay very still and focused. It was all in the breathing.

And then something- a quite vicious something- prodded him in the side. James forced himself not to move; it was probably his father, trying to catch him out. Well, he wouldn't give in that easily.

Then, suddenly, one of his socks was whipped off and, by the sounds of things, Iris was enjoying her new toy very much. Don't rise to it, just wait, they'll give up soon.

But they didn't. Over the next five minutes James was in turn prodded, tickled, sat on, and even splashed with water. By now he was aware that his parents must know he was pretending, but it had become a matter of pride. James Potter's fake sleeping act had never been beaten, not even by his father (who claimed to be able to read the Daily Prophet with his eyes closed- not that he was missing anything). He wasn't going to relinquish that position without a fight.

Then suddenly the assault ceased. Was that all they had? Honestly, James was a little disappointed in them. He had expected more from the people who had managed to raise the greatest mastermind of mischief that Hogwarts had ever seen (if he did say so himself).

The klaxon which roared into life a moment later proved otherwise. James sat bolt upright, yelping. "No! Don't touch her- I'm getting up, I'm getting-"

"Seriously mate, you've started calling it 'her' now?" The dark-haired boy at the end of his bed laughed, as he replaced James' Comet 260 broomstick on its stand and the blaring of the alarm ceased again.

James adjusted his glasses and blinked. "P-Padfoot?" His eyes slid to the doorway, where his parents were both stood, shaking with silent laughter. "Wha-what's going on?" He turned back to Sirius and pointed at him accusingly. "How long have you been here?!"

Sirius looked slightly abashed and glanced at James' mother, who slowly regained control of herself and wheezed. "He's been downstairs at least an hour, if you hadn't been too busy moping to notice."

"I wasn't moping…" James scowled around the room as his parents dissolved into another fit of giggles. "You should be ashamed of yourselves, both of you. Corrupting Sirius- he's an innocent!" He said, doing his best impersonation of Remus Lupin's prefect voice. The gale of laughter which greeted this little performance put him back on even footing and he swung himself off the bed to embrace his friend. "How are you mate? You never answered my owl- I didn't know you were coming over."

"Yeah well, neither did I to tell the truth." James noticed as he drew away from Sirius again that his friend had changed considerably in the month since they had last seen each other, and not just in that he now outstripped James by nearly a foot rather than a couple of inches. Dark shadows had formed under his eyes, his once artfully scruffy look was now simply scruffy, his hair needed cut, and his muggle clothes were ripped and stained with mud and grass and- was that blood? The burst lip and black eye had rather spoilt the aristocratic good looks that Sirius had been so fond of exploiting as well.

James' staring seemed to embarrass Sirius again and once more he looked towards the door. Charlus and Dorea Potter exchanged a look and then his father spoke up. "Sirius is going to be staying here from now on."

"Just for a while," His friend broke in hastily. "I don't want to be a bother-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Dorea said firmly. "You're like James, you choose the silliest things to be embarrassed about. You can stay for as long as you like. In fact," Here she sent her husband a meaningful look. "We'll go and see about getting your room made up now."

"Really it's not-"

"Believe me, you don't want to end up sharing a room with this one," James' father cut him off, jerking a thumb at his son. "It's like living with a troll."

"Oi, it's for Iris- she likes it up here…" James argued weakly, but his father simply grinned. "Does she? Come here pet."

The owl in question fluttered happily over to nibble at the treat that Charlus Potter held out and gazed up at him adoringly, her owner completely forgotten.

"Traitor." James muttered, but his parents only laughed again as they backed out of the room and closed the door behind them. He picked up a waste paper basket and began to sweep the worst of the rubbish into it as Sirius leant awkwardly against the window sill, glancing around the room with a distracted expression. For a while neither of them said much, and James eventually decided that it would be a lot easier to tidy if he just shoved all of the junk into his cupboard. This backfired, however, when he opened the cupboard door and a dungbomb narrowly missed his head, splatting against the wall next to Sirius, much to his friend's astonishment.

"Mum," James explained with a resigned sigh, catching the piece of notepaper that floated after the dungbomb. "She's probably charmed it to do that if I don't put the right stuff in there. Yep, says so here."

He flung the note into the bin and turned to sit on the bed, fixing his friend with a probing expression, now unable to restrain his curiosity. "So what happened? Do you want to talk about it?"

Sirius shrugged, folding his arms defensively. "D'you really want to know that much?"

James hesitated. Then he shook his head. "You only have to tell me if you want to. I don't need to know."

An expression of surprise and then relief flitted across Sirius' face, before disappearing again as he assumed a blank expression. "Thanks, mate." He muttered, almost inaudibly and James nodded back in silent understanding.

After a moment, Sirius cleared his throat, rolled his shoulders back, and began to stroll around the room, stepping neatly over an old Lunascope and scrutinising the letter tacked onto the mirror. "So what've you been up to? Is this from Vance?"

"And Mary MacDonald," Unlike Sirius, James was perfectly happy to vent about his problems. "We- I- went too far last time."

"What- Prongs, that wasn't your fault. Snape's been calling every other muggleborn that for years." He paused and then squinted through the ink-stains at Emmeline Vance's untidy scrawl. "Mind you, they do have a point about the Monthermer villain thing-"

"Yeah well, do you think I don't know that?" James kicked out moodily at the waste paper basket. "I just can't talk to her."

"Confidence issues? You? You ask her out all the time. I'd say that counts as talking. In fact, that takes guts."

"That's the problem!" James took a deep breath. "Every time she's around I can't speak and then once I asked her out and it felt a lot better than standing there like a dead haddock and now I can't stop! Padfoot, you have to promise me, if I try to ask her out again- stop me. Even if you have to knock me out, just stop me."

Sirius pulled a face. "But it's bloody hilarious!" He pretended to pout and then sighed. "Alright fine, but only if you promise to shut up about her bloody hair. I get it, it's ginger-"

"It's red," James corrected and then swore mentally. "But fine, that's a deal. In fact, from now on I am not in love with Lily. I'm going to get this all out of my system. You'll see."

"Well you can start by taking this letter down. Why'd you pin it up anyway? Bit masochist."

"Maso- whatever. Leave it up. I'm going to be mature this year, Padfoot."

Sirius looked confused. "What, for Evans? You just said-"

"No not for Lily- Evans," He corrected himself sternly. "But there's got to be a line. I crossed it last year. I don't fancy doing it again."

Sirius gave a bark of laughter. "You're not fooling anyone, you know."

"I'm serious!"

"No you're not. I am. And that's beside the point," Sirius wagged a finger at him disapprovingly. "You go on like this, you'll end up Head Boy!"

"I will not. There's a difference between having a laugh and being a git though." James stood up and shoved his hands in his pocket, no longer eager to continue the discussion. "Let's get out of here. That dungbomb stinks."

But Sirius didn't give up so easily and shook his head incredulously. "So that's what you've been sulking about then!"

"I have not been sulking."

"Your mum says you have."

"My mum's insane."

"I heard that!" Came an indignant voice from the floor above and James gave his bedroom door a shove in order to poke his head out and shout back. "You don't deny it though!"

Stepping out into the corridor, he held the door open as Sirius bounded after him. "Come on, I'll show you round."

"Sure you wouldn't rather be showing Evans round?"

"One more word and you're out."

The summer of 1976 would forever be remembered by muggles in Britain as the hottest on record, and this was no different in the wizarding world. Even before school had broken up, the Giant Squid had needed hosing down twice a day by Professor Kettleburn's N.E.W.T. students and, as the long summer days had only become more scorching since, Dorea Potter's dirigible plums apparently required even more careful attention. This, typically, meant that James had been forcibly enlisted as their nanny for the foreseeable future and, along with Sirius (who had been uncharacteristically quick in his offer to help), he spent most of his afternoons standing in the garden with a heavy watering can coaxing the wilted plants back to life, and dreaming up bad puns.

"Hey Prongs, I've got one. "How to Spot Plants in Your Garden", by Teresa Green."

"That's ancient Padfoot. You lose."

"Bugger. Thought you wouldn't notice."

"Don't you use such flowery language with me, you clueless townie!"

"Pansy!"

Meanwhile, Dorea herself had escaped at the earliest opportunity and was to be found down at Godric's Hollow parish church, "paying her respects" and having long, befuddling conversations with the thoroughly bamboozled vicar about theology. The good man might have found his venerable parishioner's habit of wearing gold robes and a tall green hat a little eccentric at first, but he had been quick to spot her obvious wealth and was duly accommodating of her interest in the church. James often wondered if he would have been quite so full of praise had he known that it was Dorea who had placed whoopee cushions in the choir stalls the previous Easter, producing an angelic chorus of fart noises just as the service was about to begin. Still, he wasn't likely to work it out any time soon; this was the man who had described James and Sirius, upon passing their efforts in the garden, as 'diligent children of God' (he clearly hadn't noticed Sirius swapping the bible in his pocket for a personally annotated copy of 'Scales and Serpents').

James' father, on the other hand, had little opportunity to indulge in hi-jinks. The weather was not the only thing becoming heated, and, in his role as editor and sole proprietor of the outspoken broadsheet 'The Morning Chronicle", Charlus was currently under siege from owls carrying news of the political feeling from all over the country. The Minister for Magic might have officially declared the ongoing hostilities a war, but the Daily Prophet was still ambiguous at best in its support for the government and so the more frustrated journalists turned to the Chronicle for a platform on which to air their views. Charlus had only narrowly escaped being sued for libel thirty-nine times over the past six months, and so his was a difficult task, attempting to ensure that his readers were told the truth as much as possible, without running the risk of the publication being shut down.

Nevertheless, amidst all this work, he had still found the time to smooth over the matter of Sirius' absconding from the Black household with the Ministry. While this meant that any possible breach of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery prior to Sirius' arrival in Godric's Hollow had been waived, and that Hogwarts was now aware of his new residence, it also meant that, despite all of James' parents' precautions, word of their son's location inevitably filtered through to Walburga and Orion Black. And one particularly sweltering Sunday, as the boys engaged in their fifty-third plant fight, the arrival of a haughty looking owl bearing a scarlet, smoking envelope rather spoilt their fun.

"Howler." Sirius said tersely, grabbing at the envelope and rushing away inside.

Making sure that nobody was lurking on the street who might hear, James followed, trampling the begonias harshly in his anxiety. They had not touched on the subject of Sirius' altercation with his parents since his arrival, and his friend's unusual reluctance to talk was enough to tell James that it was a serious matter. But he had a feeling that after the Howler had done its work, there might have to be some explanations and, whilst he respected his friend's privacy, he was guiltily conscious of the curiosity that stabbed at his brain.

Sirius had only just managed to make it to his bedroom when the Howler went off, scooting around the room in a furious fizzle of sparks and smoke as a screeching voice bounced off the walls. The person on the other end seemed incoherent with rage and the boys could only make out the occasional stream of abuse as the letter spat and flared.

"Scumsucker! Associating with filthy mudbloods and half-breeds and mongrels…disgusting posters…no son of mine…skaitbird, wastrel, cowardly beggar…BLOOD-TRAITOR- DUNGLICKER- GALLOWS-FOOD- MISBEGOTTEN MANDRAKE- MUD-WALLOWING THIEVING- FILTHY DEGENERATE-"

Here the voice became so frenzied that James half-hoped its owner might explode but the screeching was cut off as a colder, male voice echoed eerily around the room.

"Your mother is distraught- we will not stand for this sort of behaviour! We will remove those disgusting pictures from your walls and your name will be forgotten from this household. You are no longer our son. Tell my halfwit cousin she can keep you for all we care. If you ever attempt to make contact with this family again, you will regret it. Do not return to this house. You are nothing now but a disgrace, a stain. We did our best but now we wash our hands of you. You have brought this on yourself, boy. Do not ever presume to call us your parents again."

And, with an officious rustle, the letter folded itself up and disintegrated into a small pile of ash on the floor.

Sirius swayed slightly and steadied himself on the desk in the corner. Suddenly he let out a harsh bark of laughter. "Well the old bugger can go-"

Here he made a rude hand gesture and sunk back into silence. James, who had been standing in the doorway, adjusted his glasses and peered at his friend thoughtfully. "What disgusting pictures?" He eventually asked.

Sirius dug a hand under his bed and produced a battered newspaper, which he tossed in his friend's direction. "Page three." He said, with something of his old smirk, as James caught the rag easily and flicked through.

After a moment, James folded up the newspaper again with a cough. "Well I'm afraid I'm going to have to confiscate this for- er- for your own good," Sirius gave a knowing snort and James adjusted his glasses again self-consciously. "Seriously though, you had these things on your walls?"

"Well, it pissed my mum off. I think dear old father was a bit more concerned about all the Gryffindor stuff though, seeing as he's got a box under his bed with a bunch of old back-numbers of 'Busty Banshees'-"

"Eugh, 'Busty Banshees'? That's disgusting."

"Yeah, me and Reg put them in Lucius Malfoy's room once when they were round to stay before-" Sirius fell silent again, suddenly looking stricken. It was the first time he'd actively mentioned his brother in front of James for what must have been at least three or four years. Usually, he just pretended not to have one.

James sat down on the bed and scanned the room, which was unnaturally clean and tidy, especially considering his best friend's attitude to the Hogwarts dormitories. The only sign that a teenage boy lived there at all was the Hogwarts trunk in the corner, from which poked the sleeve of a pair of shocking yellow dress robes, and the unfortunate Wailing Banshees paraphernalia scattered around. Downstairs a clattering noise, muffled swearing, and the screech of a happy owl announced his mother's return from the church.

Eventually, he looked back at Sirius, who was busily sweeping up the Howler ash. "Look you don't have to talk about it, but it might help-?"

Sirius very pointedly avoided his eye as he tipped the ashes into the bin. Eventually, he grunted. "Suppose you ought to know. It was- we had a fight. A big one."

"You and your parents?"

"Yeah. Well, you probably already knew that." Here he jerked his head stiffly in the direction of the remains of the Howler. Then he gave a weak grin as if to show that it didn't affect him. "It was really stupid actually. You know my cousin's getting married to Malfoy?"

James nodded. The Daily Prophet had been in raptures ever since the engagement had been announced, with much wild speculation over the colour of dress robes the blushing bride would be wearing and whether or not the groom's family had really managed to get special permission from the Ministry to have Golden Snidgets fly out of the cake upon being cut. Readers of the Morning Chronicle, on the other hand, were rather more interested in how many alleged Death Eaters were attending, and Charlus Potter had been inundated with hysterical letters claiming that the mysterious leader of the extremists would arrive riding a dragon and rain fire on half of Wiltshire. James' parents had not been invited but they were about the only pure-blood family, whether pro- or anti-Death Eater, who hadn't; it was the biggest event of the season and, amidst all the Goblin strikes and shop attacks, the wizarding world had gone mad for it.

"Go on then, is it true Narcissa was seen in the back room of Twilfitt and Tattings? Stocking up for her wedding night was she?" James joked, in a feeble attempt to lighten the atmosphere.

"Really didn't need that image." Sirius gagged, before continuing. "Anyway, so I didn't fancy going and I think dear old Dad was probably pretty happy about that, but my mum- well, she just had to rub it in. Started making all these comments about how I'd only bring shame on them anyway and that kind of rubbish. You know, just being her usual bitchy self and I didn't really care much at first. But then she started bringing Regulus into it- saying he had to work twice as hard to make up for me, and how he was going to bring extra pride to the family. Apparently Bella's been putting in a word for him with that git they're all so fond of- the Snark Lord or whatever- and they were hoping Reg would be joining up soon or some shit-"

"What? You're not serious? He's not even sixteen! No way!"

Sirius shrugged. "Yeah, they've been recruiting at Hogwarts too- I thought you knew? Course Reg is still young, even by those standards. And after she said that I kind of- er, well maybe I pushed her too far..." He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking increasingly uncomfortable as he circled the point. "She went mental. Like- you heard her just now-"

"That was your mum?!" Merlin, no wonder his dad goes in for banshees.

"Yeah, well believe me that was pretty tame in comparison to what she was like when-" His friend was looking mildly distressed now, as if he was trying to find the words to express what had happened but without giving too much away. "Anyway, then my dad joined in and er-" Here, his hand twitched in the direction of the yellowing bruise around his left eye but he swiftly forced it back into his pocket.

Seeing that extracting every last detail of what had occurred between Sirius and his parents was clearly going to be a painful process, James decided to save him from explaining any further. "So you left?" He prompted, digging in his pocket for the crumbling remains of a battered bar of Honeydukes that he had stolen from Remus before term broke up.

Sirius caught the chocolate and plonked himself down on the end of the bed next to him. "Yeah- well, I reckon they realised about two minutes after I walked out that it wouldn't look good to have their son running out on them, but the Ministry don't know about Padfoot so I lay low for a bit, then got the muggle train down here. The disillusionment charm was pretty hard work though, what with my wand. Set my hair on fire once-"

"Your wand?" James interjected sharply. "What's up with your wand?"

Sirius looked furious with himself. After a moment, though, he crossed over to his trunk and rummaged beneath the yellow robes. Turning back to face James, he dropped the remains of a wand into his hand, heavily spellotaped, but not enough to hold together the two broken halves of wood.

"To add insult to injury. Family heirloom though, so no big loss." Sirius quipped, grinning weakly again. James did not smile, and instead laid the wand down carefully on the duvet and stood up. "You should have said. Mum can take us to Ollivander's tomorrow- get you a new one-"

"No." His friend shook his head angrily. "No, it'll be fine until next year-"

"Padfoot," James was uncharacteristically firm for once, and his stern voice would have done Remus Lupin proud. "You need a new wand. That thing's dangerous."

"Yeah well, I'll get a job and pay for my own then-"

"My mum won't let you."

"So don't tell her."

"Tough luck. You're getting a wand, no arguments. And you know you can stay here for as long as you like, right?"

Sirius only mumbled in reply, something about not wanting to be a bother. James grabbed a pair of socks out of the trunk and lobbed them at his friend's head.

"Oi, none of that! You're family now." He reached for the door handle, then paused on the threshold as he remembered the muggle newspaper and discretely stowed it in his back pocket. "Just don't be sticking any of those pictures up in here-"

Sirius looked horrified. "You honestly think I'd let your parents see them?"

James grinned as he made to shut the door. "You want to watch out. My mum's not stupid. Insane, but not stupid."

"You better give me that paper back then- wouldn't want her to catch you with it."

"Nice try. I'm, er, more responsible. And subtle. And you're getting a wand. Goodbye."

"No, wait-"

"Bye-eee!"

Though she had predicted being ambushed by a hungry Great Grey Owl on her return from the church, Dorea Potter had not, however, been expecting her son to barrel into her with equal force twenty minutes later. Catching her breath, she ruffled James' hair in a mixture of pleasant surprise and utter bemusement at this strange and sudden display of affection. "Well hello. What's this in aid of?"

"Nothing. Just- you're the best mum, you know that?"

"Have you had many?"

"No I- sorry for sulking. You're awesome. Love you."

"That's very nice, thank you. I love you too." Dorea patted his head fondly as he released her from the strangling embrace. "Does this mean you'll tidy your room then?"

"Er, could I get back to you on that one?"

Though the summer had been a scorcher, autumn arrived with a vengeance. As the weather broke, all marks of the drought were swiftly discarded: hippogriffs with heatstroke no longer had to be fished out of the ocean after their attempts at cooling down went awry, Florean Fortescue was able to return to his beloved books now that the ice cream sales in Diagon Alley had substantially dropped off, and in, the corridors of the Ministry of Magic, poor Dedalus Diggle, who had been so eager for promotion, found himself out of a job as Head of the United Herbologists' 'Stop the Heat' Coalition only two days after being instated. The skies over Hogwarts regained their usual gloomy aspect as September wore on, cold winds swept through the corridors and slammed branches into the windows, and absolutely everything, from owls and clothes to quills and homework, seemed to be ninety per cent water, courtesy of the permanent drizzle.

Though both his father and Remus claimed that he was over-exaggerating, James maintained that he had forgotten what the sun looked like. Sirius, of course, unnatural creature that he was, was in his element, ploughing delightedly through muddy puddles in both his human and animagus form and coating all those unfortunate enough to be standing close to him with a thick layer of slime and grit. But James was not quite so impressed with the weather, especially since every morning he had to make the torturous choice between the warmth of his duvet and several hours freezing on top of his broomstick, doing his best to whip six shivering second and third years into shape (honestly, it was enough to make him wonder if anybody cared about Quidditch anymore- but no, it was all N.E.W.T.s and Preliminaries for his fellow older students these days, the slackers). Which was why, when one particularly wet Sunday morning's training had been broken up by Professor McGonagall explaining that the Headmaster wished to see him, he had gone gladly, without a hint of worry.

Several hours later, sitting hunched in the most secluded corner of the library and clutching feebly at a bucket of his own vomit, James was left wondering how it was possible that everything could have gone so wrong so suddenly. From the other side of the shelves, he could hear the low whispers and barely suppressed giggles of his fellow students as they compared spell diagrams and moon-charts and battered copies of Witch Weekly, entirely oblivious to the storm outside the walls. Only the previous evening, he had been the same, going about his normal everyday business without a hint of anxiety: losing at Exploding Snap to a gang of smug fifth years, procrastinating shamelessly over a particularly brutal Potions essay, ruthlessly sacrificing Remus to yet another of Sirius' demands to go out for a walk in the rain, openly dreaming of the Quidditch Cup and (rather more privately) trying to stifle an equally strong urge to drift off into happy thoughts of green eyes beneath an ivory lace veil. And yet all those memories seemed so long ago now, almost as if they were part of another life.

Poison in the communion wine, Dumbledore had said. James might have laughed if he wasn't already on the verge of tears. It was a suitably dramatic way to go: who knew, maybe Dorea Potter was busy teasing the local vicar about it up in heaven. It was almost unbelievable- another of his mother's practical jokes. And he wouldn't have believed it, had he not seen with his own eyes the tear-stained and almost illegible letter his father had sent to Hogwarts. But even the combined presence of Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall had not been able to keep James in the Headmaster's office once the message had started to sink in, and they hadn't tried very hard anyway. He wondered if they had told Sirius yet.

Shit, Sirius. The last time his friend had been left alone to stew in his own grief and anger, he'd nearly killed Snape. James tried struggling to his feet but was thwarted as his stomach gave another agonising twist and he retched, spitting bile into the bucket. He covered his face with his hands with a frustrated groan. Move you useless git. Stop wallowing in self-pity.

"Do you need a hand?" A quiet voice broke through his thoughts and James' head snapped up with a crack that made him wince. Lily Evans was standing at the end of the row of shelves, her arms full of books, having clearly just rounded the corner with the intention of replacing them. She was biting her lip, a tinge of beetroot red creeping over her face and, shaking her head, began to turn away. "You probably want to be alone, I'll just- oh damn." Several of the books had tumbled out of her arms and she scrabbled for her wand, though this meant the loss of the remaining tomes as well.

Given the circumstances of their previous encounter (without another Marauder around to save him from his urge to ask her out on the train back to school, he had settled for making an extremely high-pitched squealing noise and rocking back and forwards until the Gryffindor girls left) James would normally have been readying himself to flee at this point. However, for some reason, his usual Evans-induced panic mode seemed to be malfunctioning and, with a surprisingly sane aspect, he answered dully. "No, it's fine. I was just going anyway."

Once again though, his attempts at moving ended in a fresh bout of retching. Aware that Lily was not so subtly sneaking alarmed glances in his direction as she pointed her wand at the books, he quickly vanished the contents of the bucket and fidgeted with his glasses in embarrassment. Suddenly, she blurted. "You really don't look like you should be going anywhere."

"I'm fine, I just need to- ah, shit," Having stood up too quickly, a wave of dizziness had momentarily engulfed his brain and he steadied himself on the shelves. "I need to- where's that bucket-"

A hand shoved the pail underneath his nose and he snatched at it gratefully. Despite the painful somersaults his stomach seemed to be doing, however, he did not retch again and made to move away. Lily, on the other hand, placed herself firmly in his way. "You sit tight," She ordered, in a very Madam Pomfrey-esque voice. "You're in shock. What is it that you need? Do you want me to get someone else?"

"No I- Sirius, I need to see if he's ok-"

"Peter's looking after him and Emmeline went to get Remus out of Remedial Potions. He's in good hands- they'll look after him."

"I can't just mope here-"

"Mope?" Lily looked at him incredulously. "You've every right to mope. Listen, you can't bottle things like this up, Potter. Believe me that just ends badly for everyone and it'll only make you miserable. Let it all out." There was a glint in her eye that brooked no opposition and James found himself nodding meekly and sinking back onto the floor. Satisfied, Lily folded her arms. "Would you like me to tell Black you're down here? I mean, he wasn't throwing up but I know he was close to- to…" She trailed off, looking awkward.

James shook his head. Knowing that Sirius was being looked after was one thing, but he didn't think he could stand to be around another grieving person at the moment. It was the very reason he had fled so suddenly from Dumbledore's office- he had been told that he could take the floo network straight home if necessary, but hadn't been able to face the idea of dealing with his father straight away. Not until he'd got the damn thing straightened out at least.

Lily was nothing if not persistent. "Well how about Peter then? Isn't there anyone you want to see? You can't just be alone here."

"Why, do you think I'll hurt the library?" The words were out of his mouth before he knew he was even saying them, and he was amazed at his brain's capacity to think up jokes in any situation. It was a gift- or curse- he'd largely acquired from his mother though, and that thought was not a nice one.

Lily was wearing a slightly bemused expression, but obligingly gave a small giggle. "There's a thing. Why here? I don't think I've ever seen you in the library in your life."

"Didn't think anyone would look down here," He frowned and took off his glasses to polish them anxiously, thinking back suddenly to all she'd said about bottling things up and wondering if the half-hearted jokes were a sign that he was going mad. "Er, look, would you mind if I asked you something?"

Lily hesitated for a second but nodded, settling herself on the floor opposite him, green eyes fixed on him expectantly. James fidgeted for a moment, trying to think of the best way to phrase his question.

"Er- you were saying about letting stuff out… I mean, a few years ago… What I'm trying to say is, er, you're the only other person I know who's, er, lost a parent and…" He made a helpless movement with his hands. Even admitting that his mother was 'gone' seemed absurd and uncomfortable.

Luckily, Lily seemed to catch on. "And I knocked out Paul Sloper's teeth. Honestly, don't keep it to yourself. It doesn't end well."

"But everybody's going to-" He gritted his teeth. "How many people know?"

"It was in the Daily Prophet," She said apologetically, as if there had been any way she could have altered the fact. "Primrose Brown's got a subscription, so we found out pretty quickly. But I think… can I anticipate you here for a second?"

"Anticipate away."

"I think- am I right in thinking that you're worried people are going to look at you differently? Or something?" When he gave a jerky nod in answer, she ventured tentatively. "Well, they are. Sorry. But with most of them, it'll only be for a while. And maybe that's what's needed? I don't know, but if it were me, I'd get really angry if, on the other hand, people just went on like nothing had changed. So maybe it's the lesser of the two evils. But that's just my opinion…" She trailed off, eyes flicking around the room absent-mindedly. "Oh, your hair."

James, who had been staring at the carpet as he brooded over her words, jerked out of his thoughts. "Huh?"

"It's all flat. I- sorry, it just usually looks- yeah, better." She sent him an awkward thumbs up as he raised a hand to his head and attempted to revive his hair with a few careful prods.

For a brief moment, silence reigned, as James tried to give voice to what he had really been trying to ask all along. Eventually, he decided that there was no other option but to just come out with it.

"What do I do now? Afterwards?"

"After-? Oh. I don't know…" James' confusion must have been evident because Lily immediately shook her head. "No that's not what I mean, of course I know. But- I think it's quite personal? I needed to remember my mum, and everything she told me and I had to try to live by it. But other people- my sister, I think she wanted to forget… I can't tell you how you should deal with it. But there are some things- like I said, don't bottle it up. Don't feel bad for needing to grieve, it's important. But if you want to laugh at something, don't feel guilty about it- just go with what your instinct tells you. Look after yourself too. I know it's difficult sometimes but make sure you eat, make sure you sleep, things like that. And don't shut people out. Getting stuck in your own head is really miserable. Mind you, sometimes you need to be alone too. I- I'm sorry I can't really think of what else to say." She finished, with a sad smile.

James considered the bottom of the bucket for a while. Though he still wasn't sure whether he wanted to move, talking for a bit had actually helped, at least in that his head felt slightly less dizzy. Lily was picking at the carpet, her face starting to go red again and her jaw clenched stiffly, occasionally glancing in the direction of the books still scattered on the floor behind her.

"Alright," He finally raised his head and gave a trembling grin. "D'you reckon you could let Sirius know I'm down here? If he wants to know."

"Oh, um, yes of course. Just give me a minute." Lily made to sort the books again but James waved a hand. "Nah, I can do that."

"Are you sure? Well, alright. If I can't find Black, should I send Peter?"

"Er yeah, why not. I'll just-"

"Right. Do you need anything else?"

James shook his head. "No. But, er, thanks, Evans. Just- thanks."

The redheaded girl nodded in return as she backed away, looking thoughtful. And then he was alone again.

Eventually, after sharing the silence with Sirius for several more hours and then hauling himself to his feet to make his way to the Headmaster's office, James returned home. For a while the two boys and James' father found some comfort in each other's company but finally, true to Lily's words they all began to feel the need to be alone. Charlus disappeared off to his study with Iris on his shoulder and a stack of articles in hand, Sirius busied himself with taking a cutting from the best dirigible plum bush and planting it in a pot on his window sill, and James, narrowly avoiding a pile of dung bombs in his cupboard, made a start on tidying his room.

More waffling from me, but hopefully everything was clear and juggled half-decently.

Also, sorry, I have far too much fun writing James' family- they're truly happy, which is more than can be said for many and I really like writing happy people.

Anyway, please review- that would really help me to cut down on the waffling and actually improve what I'm writing :)

Title of chapter from the Undertones' 1979 song of the same name.