Prompt:

In true Lily fashion, she's stubbornly chosen to use brute force and deny her apparent affections, until her stupid hormones finally calm down and her godforsaken stomach decides to settle. Her weekly detentions with McGonagall have now become a saving grace. She gets her vengeance against Avery AND gets an hour of solitude from James Potter? Things couldn't be more perfect.

Until she finds out just how close Potter and McGonagall are. Merlin, she couldn't get away from prick.

"Hullo Professor!"

James came barging into McGonagall's office unannounced, without so much as a knock. Minerva McGonagall held back a sigh as she continued to grade the reports stacked on her desk. She hears a silent eep however, and peers up at the suspended platform hanging above the entrance to her office.

Lily is hiding behind the rails to avoid being seen.

Her weekly detentions with McGonagall have her situated on the platform cleaning glassware that was used for Transfiguration lessons. This also means that James can't even see her, so McGonagall isn't sure why she actually hid.

"Mister Potter, how many times must I remind you to knock before you enter?" McGonagall peers back to the raven-haired boy who stomps up to her desk with a look of sorrow on his face.

"Manners aren't the priority right now Professor!" James says mournfully as he plops down into one of the chairs in front of her desk. "Puddlemere lost again. And to the Chudley Cannons, no less!"

"I'm well aware Mister Potter. I read the Daily Prophet as well," McGonagall said absently, opting to focus on her paperwork as the Gryffindor student rambled on.

"I mean honestly Professor, they were the first seed last year! How does a team like that fall to a play-in seed within the span of a year? What's changed, how does a team magically become rubbish?"

"Hm." McGonagall hums in response. Up above, Lily gets the feeling that she's not too invested in the conversation.

"And did you see how sloppy their Keeper, Macintosh, was?"

"Mhm."

"I mean I get it, it's difficult to keep position over three posts when they're all elevated so differently. But Merlin, the git doesn't even think about playing up a little further to make up for his reflexes!"

twitch

McGonagall's eyebrow twitches reflexively and Lily covers her mouth in suspense. Oh dear lord, she was going to burst, wasn't she? Is he blind? Does he not see how McGonagall's about to blow a fuse?

"They just fly right up to him, how does he plan to recover in time?"

twitch twitch

"Honestly, I reckon even the Falmouth Falcons could beat Puddlemere United, with how poorly they're playing!"

"Mister Potter!"

McGonagall puts down her quill emphatically, practically slams it down, and gives James a stern look. "In what universe do the Falcons surpass Puddlemere?"

Lily's nearly drops the bowl she was wiping. This can't be real.

"Professor, you've seen how rubbish Puddlemere's defense is! Who doesn't beat Puddlemere, with the way they are now?"

"No fault of their Keeper, mind you Mister Potter. It's only because their zone position is absolutely atrocious!"

"But they must play a 2-2-1 zone Professor! Stricker is an absolutely awful Chaser, so he may as well be playing in the back by their Keeper!"

"Be that as it may, their transitions are sloppy at best. What good is having Jones play Chaser on the front half of the field if she keeps falling back onto defense instead of holding her position?"

"Because as I've said, Stricker is an awful Chaser! She must fall back because Stricker has two left hands and can't intercept a Quaffle to save a life!"

It felt surreal to Lily. She watched James stroll into McGonagall's office and fully expected the professor to usher him out. She could barely control James in class, Lily doubted McGonagall wanted James to start taking up her free time as well.

She couldn't have known, that McGonagall and James had these conversations on the regular.

"Well that's to be expected, Mister Potter! Did you forget that Stricker's spent the last five years of his professional career – as well as whatever time spent before being scouted – as a Beater?"

James didn't provide a response, as he slumped into the chair and sulked like a child.

"I'm certain you're well aware – being Captain yourself – that it falls on management and the Captain to make the most useF of their players, Mister Potter."

"Hmrmhfrm," James muttered something indecipherable when he realized he had nothing to say that. He ran his trainers across the carpeted floor aggressively like a child throwing a tantrum. "It's still all a bunch of rubbish . . ."

In a rare moment unbecoming of her, McGonagall chuckles at James' immaturity and leans over her chair to pull out a tin of biscuits from her drawers. "Well, here you go then, child. Have a biscuit to nurse on while you deal with your anguish."

James regretfully takes the biscuit without so much as a thank you and nibbles on it with a pouting look on his face.

"And I take it the real reason you're so upset is because you've lost another bet with Mister Pettigrew?"

". . . I wagered a galleon that Puddlemere United would land within the top four by the start of the new year."

"I'm not sure what would be more redundant to say at this given time Mister Potter." McGonagall sighs in disappointment as she offers James another biscuit.

"I could either reprimand you for taking part in irresponsible behaviour such as gambling, or for not having learned your lesson in trying to wager against Mister Pettigrew of all people."

"He must be cheating somehow Professor! How else can he predict the future? Have you given him a Time Turner?"

"No, but I would imagine," McGonagall continued as she went back to her paperwork. "Given your proficiency as a Chaser, that you would have a better understanding of competitive Quidditch than your peers."

". . . Blimey, that was a low blow Professor." James' jaw goes slack from the shot at his pride and McGonagall chuckles while peering above to the platform where Lily is situated. Lily covers her mouth to stifle a giggle.

"Honestly Professor, I come here looking for emotional support and instead I'm leaving with my pride in shatters. And I shan't ignore the Graphorn in the room." James puts on a look of hurt as he gets up from his chair, but it doesn't quite match the mischievous grin on his face.

"I don't see how what I'm doing with Peter is any different than the bout you've got going on with Professor Slughorn."

"I beg to differ Mister Potter, leveraging parole hours is hardly as irresponsible as gambling with currency."

"Ah ha!" James points at McGonagall victoriously, who's caught off guard by his sudden outburst. "So the two of you are competing on the House Cup! Admit it!"

"Mister Potter!" McGonagall exclaims as her eyes go wide with an affronted look.

"No! No, no, no! I won't hear otherwise Professor! Have no fear, your secret is safe with me!"

And to McGonagall's chagrin, the Gryffindor is racing out of her office before she can even get out another word. She stares, baffled at the boy's spontaneity, before resigning herself to her paperwork once more.

. . .

". . . Not a word of this to anyone, Miss Evans."

"Cheers, Professor."

James Potter's discussions with Professor McGonagall are a regular occurrence, Lily finds out. He stops by the professor's office every Monday after lunch and steals her biscuits. Their conversations range from recent Quidditch matches to the everyday events that occur within Hogwarts.

McGonagall is always filing some kind of paperwork when he's there, but it doesn't stop her from humoring the carefree sixth year.

"–and then Cordaw landed a good one on Sirius, right across his cheeks! Really professor, you should've seen how fast his head snapped!"

"Hm, and I don't suppose Mister Black has learned his lesson, has he?"

"Haven't a clue, is what I'd like to say." James ponders as he scratches his chin. "But realistically, the day Sirius stops chasing after some bird will be the day I manage to catch Lily Evans."

McGonagall hums in acknowledgement and looks up at the platform, where the red-haired teenager in question is situated. She didn't mean to look at her; it was more of a reflex considering James wasn't even aware the woman of his affections was located right here, right above his head.

She did, however, raise an eyebrow in amusement at the blush that sprouted across Lily Evan's face. Oh, that was very interesting indeed.

"Well then, I suppose Mister Black will be chasing ladies until the day he's settled in his grave. It's a miracle in itself, that poor Miss Evans hasn't pulled her hair out dealing with your mischief, Mister Potter."

"But professorrrrr," James whined like a child and McGonagall resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She's a professor, she reminds herself. She needs to behave with a sense of professionalism.

"Hogwarts would be an absolute bore without a little bit of fun here and there!"

"Then do enlighten me Mister Potter, how is one supposed to consider rain pouring from the inner ceilings of Hogwarts, a fun time?"

"It was a bloody furnace outside Professor!" James claims in his defense. They'd charmed the ceilings of the first floors to produce rain on a spring day last year, where the sun was beating down on the students. "And besides, there were plenty of students frolicking in the rain with us!"

McGonagall chuckled in recollection, thinking back on how she found James Potter and Peter Wormtail dancing a duet to an off-key ballad sung by Sirius Black, while Remus Lupin conducted.

"And would it be too much to hope that perhaps you've begun to grow out of your naughty years, Mister Potter?"

"Absolutely not, Professor!"

"Even if it meant Miss Evans may be more inclined to accept your advances?"

James falters as he ponders on the thought for a moment, before shaking his head.

"No – no, not even for Evans. Wouldn't be worth it if it meant falling out with my mates. I'll take 'em over some bird any day of the week."

"Well then I suppose you'll have to find some other way of winning over Miss Evans, won't you?"

James eyes brighten up as a thought crosses his mind. "On the contrary Professor, I'll have you know that our perfect Lily Evans was also dancing in the rain last year!"

"Although," James deflates and slouches into his chair with a grumpy look on his face. "She was dancing with Remus, who wouldn't let me live it down for weeks after that. Cheeky bugger."

"Hm," McGonagall pulls out the tray of biscuits again, and drops them in front of James. "Perhaps Miss Evans is more inclined to pursue boys with a propensity towards academics."

"Alas," James sighs as he nabs a biscuit from the tray. "The rain was kind enough to mask my tears of sorrow, but it did nothing to quell the sorrow within the depths of my heart."

"If you're going to poetic be about it, Mister Potter," McGonagall shakes her head as she marks up another paper. "Please do try not be a cliché."

"Are you going to make Remus Head Boy next year?"

McGonagall stared at the boy in front of her with a surprised look. Oddly enough, he was staring at her seriously, without a single trace of humor or mischief on his face.

". . . Perhaps. And may I ask what brought this on?"

"The Headmaster stopped by detention this morning and struck up a conversation."

McGonagall massaged her temples with a sigh, she did not like where this conversation was going. Merlin, Albus was an absolute genius and a madman at the same time.

"He brought up that I was being considered for the position, which is absolutely absurd, mind you. It has to be Remus, it can't be anyone else."

"Mister Potter," McGonagall sighed. "It is customary for three candidates to be reviewed for viability regarding both positions. Remus Lupin, as well as yourself, are both being considered for the position, as well as another."

"Don't tell me it's Macnair?" James goes pale. "Or–bugger–Snape?"

"Need I remind you Mister Potter, that the Head Boy does not necessarily need to be a prefect? There are a multitude of traits that we look for in our candidates, not all are academically related."

"Well, I suppose." James trails off as he falls back into his chair. "But still, it has to be Remus. Who else could be a better fit?"

"You must forgive me Mister Potter," McGonagall says as she shakes her head. "If I consider your stance on the matter to be somewhat biased. You mean to tell me you have no interest in the role?"

"Of course I do, but it's utter rubbish! I get detentions every week and I'm fairly certain half of the professors are ready to hold me at wand point the second I walk in!"

"I'm well aware Mister Potter, need I remind you that I was the one to sentence your detention this morning?"

"Excellent! So you agree then, professor? That Remus should be Head Boy?"

She sighs at the loop that two of them are cycling around in this conversation.

"Mister Potter. The Head Boy is not just someone who is academically gifted. He must have the traits of a leader, to guide his peers and juniors, and maintain decorum during trying times."

"Precisely, and he can do all of that." James gestures with his hand, as if stating the obvious.

"The professors are acutely aware of your behaviour and reputation amongst your peers. You may not see it Mister Potter, but you have the makings of a leader."

James Potter blinks and reels back with a dazed look on his face as he stares blankly at McGonagall, before shaking his head.

". . . I'm no leader, professor."

"You are, Mister Potter. We've seen how students follow in your steps, your influence is palpable, for better or worse. What good is a Head student who no one respects?"

McGonagall can't help the look of pride she gives the raven-haired boy; this troublesome child who somehow knows he's great, and yet fails to see his true hidden potential. A potential that she sees on full display every single day.

"I'm a horrid student and submit assignments late," James confesses.

"And yet you've taken up tutoring in Transfiguration and still excel in your classes," McGonagall counters.

"I'm constantly getting detention."

"No one is perfect, Mister Potter."

"I sneak out after curfew."

"So you'll be well adjusted to patrols, then."

"I've accidently blown up cauldrons and let transfigured creatures loose."

"The greatest wizards are the ones who refuse to let reason restrain their curiosity."

"I shan't promise I won't dock points from Slytherin regularly."

"Would be no different from our prefects then, would you?"

He huffs at his defeat and goes quiet. McGonagall puts down her quill to stare at the troubled boy inquisitively.

". . . Are you perhaps against the idea of becoming Head Boy? I'm certain Albus won't mind if you request to have your candidacy revoked."

He shrugs at her suggestion, and she can't help but chuckle at the conflicted look on his face. "I've come to realize that there are few certainties in life, Mister Potter."

She brings out the tin of biscuits and places it in front of James. "But surely, I was certain I'd never see the day where James Potter suffered from bouts of self-doubt."

"Evans does a cracking job of keeping me in check," James mutters as he leans over to grab a Puffskein-shaped butter biscuit. He peers over at McGonagall suspiciously as he nibbles on the biscuit.

"Reckon you know it won't stop me from having a bit of fun, yes?"

"Well aware, Mister Potter. The students of Hogwarts do not need a scholar, Mister Potter. They need a leader."

He hums in response, before leaning over his chair with a look of determination on his face.

"What do I need to do?"

"10 points, Professor? From each of us?"

"Mister Potter," McGonagall warns James with a glare, before huffing with a shake of her head. "Honestly, I should've taken more, if Albus didn't feel the need to participate."

Just yesterday on a gloomy Sunday afternoon, the Marauders had started a modified version of Dodgeball, a muggle game that James had picked up from Benjy Fenwick.

Except they weren't on the ground, they were flying on broomsticks.

Additionally, they were launching Bludgers at one another, not soft balls.

It had started as a competition between the Marauders and several members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, until their audience grew larger, and more participants started to present themselves.

McGonagall had entered the Courtyard, and in a rare sign of reflexes that would've rivaled any youth, deflected an incoming Bludger aimed right at her head.

She'd walked into pure and utter pandemonium. Some students were cheering, some were scrambling to form their own teams, others were taking wagers amongst themselves.

McGonagall wanted to take 10 points from each of the Marauders for inciting unsupervised activities that could've endangered their fellow students. But that went out the window once she noticed Dumbledore, who was watching the game with an amused look on his face as he regularly updated the scoring board.

So unfortunately, it would be inaccurate to say there was no supervision. She did however, take 10 points from each for breaking into the Hogwarts' storage room and withdrawing all the broomsticks without permission.

Now, she was glaring at the Gryffindor student in front of her, who had the decency to at least look a little ashamed as he cowered in his seat. She stared at him, and a silent message was received.

Explain

"As you know . . . Gryffindor suffered quite an unfortunate defeat to Ravenclaw yesterday."

"Well aware, Mister Potter. Please expedite your story and get to the point."

"Well," James mumbled as he ruffled his hair. "Suppose, Abernathy made a slight remark at our Chasers' competency earlier today. And I labored to provide him with a demonstration and show otherwise."

"With a Bludger?"

"Of course not!" James exclaimed in his defense. "Well . . . not at first. But then Sirius, being the brilliant lad he is, suggested we take it to the air. And of course, Abernathy and I being captains and all, were more than inclined to agree."

"And so, your little game transitioned into a hazardous game of Dodgeball?"

"Professor! You know Dodgeball as well?" James' ears perked up and he looked at McGonagall with a cheeky smile on his face, but he immediately looked down at the smoldering glare she was giving him.

"And the broomsticks, Mister Potter?"

James stared at his feet and mumbled something.

"Pardon?" McGonagall asked sharply.

He looked up and took a deep breath. "I said, hypothetically, someone took notice of the onlookers who seemed like they wanted to partake. And, hypothetically, said person endeavored to charm the locks off the storage room and provide the less fortunate students with their own broomsticks."

He was fidgeting in his chair under the gaze of the Deputy Headmistress. "I dunno, I suppose it seemed like everyone's been awfully dreadful lately, and could use a nice refresher."

His gaze snaps to her once he hears her chuckling to herself, and his tense shoulders eased up.

"Reckon I warned you professor," James said sheepishly. "I'm not exactly Head Boy material, now am I?"

"I suppose every candidate comes with a caveat." McGonagall says with a smile as she conjures her tin of biscuits from nowhere. "Have a biscuit, Mister Potter."

James gratefully accepted the offer but held it in hand as he contemplated saying something.

". . . Evans said you gave us 50 House points as well?"

"Hm, yes I do recall doing that." McGonagall confirmed offhandedly as she dipped a biscuit in her tea.

James didn't opt to say anything in response as he watched McGonagall dab the residual tea off her biscuit before taking a small bite.

"I do believe I told you, Mister Potter, that being a Head Boy means more than simply demonstrating academic excellence."

". . . Do they also require a pension for mischief?"

"No, Mister Potter," McGonagall said with a shake of her head, but she has a small smile on her face. "The Head Boy would not launch Bludgers at a rival captain out of spite for a recent defeat. But –"

She raises a finger to interrupt James before he can come to his own defense.

"A Head Boy might endeavor to incite a game of dodgeball with peers across every House, in an attempt to raise morale."

With a wave of her wand, she conjures James' confiscated broom out of thin air and levitates it over to James.

"He might also break the rules in the name of his fellow students, at the cost of his own expense."

She drops the broom into his lap, and watches as he grasps the broom in his hand. She had taken the time to polish it, something that clearly hadn't gone unnoticed.

"50 House points to Gryffindor; for an admirable attempt at raising student morale, for considering the interests of your peers above your own at the risk of your own possessions, and for demonstrating Charms excellency."

James looked at her with a mischievous glint in his eyes as he grasped his broom.

"Professor, dare I say . . . perhaps I'm starting to rub off on you."

"Mister Potter," McGonagall warns him, but it does little to remove the humorous smirk on James' face.

"You've nothing to worry about!" James reassures the Head of his House as he gets up. "I hereby swear on my honor as a Marauder, I shan't take advantage of your good graces Minnie."

"Mister James Potter!"

"Oh, come onnnn," James whines. "You've never minded before Professor, no one's even here!"

". . . Return it now." McGonagall reaches her hand out for his broom expectantly. "Clearly you've become far too lax as of late, Mister Potter."

It does the professor no good, as James races out from her office, laughing in glee and victory. "Next time, Minnie!"

She stares at the trailing back of the troublesome Gryffindor, before sitting back down into her chair in defeat and rubbing her temples in fatigue. Seconds go by and McGonagall eventually decides to go back to her paperwork.

". . . Miss Evans."

"Right you are, Professor. Not a word."