A/N: OMGOMGOMG THE NEW HP TRAILER WAS AWESOME! Looks like the movie is going to be INCREDIBLY EPIC, as it should be. I laughed a lot looking at the 7 Potters part—Dan in girl clothes! Haha. Anyway, if you haven't watched it yet, DO IT! You won't be disappointed….

And of course, thanks to last week's reviewers: SecretBlack, Love-Pink26, alice demer, Rainbow Twilight, GabiWoods, skazmi, Fantastical Fwooper, Cassie Weasley, MrsHarryCullen, roflshvuakomail, reader, Silver Scorpion, and VaneBEAR!

Okay, I think that about covers things—on to the next chapter!

Chapter 6: Used to Run

It seemed Potter's and Black's friendship was officially over. As rare a sight as the two of them together had become in the past few weeks, it was now almost nonexistent. They didn't sit together at meals (though thankfully Black didn't try to sit with Mary and me again), they didn't sit together in class, and they didn't sit together in the common room during breaks and in the evenings. Each appeared to be trying to give the other as wide a berth as possible, quite a feat with someone who had once been your best mate, trust me.

As (reluctantly) bad as I felt for Potter and Black, I felt even worse for Remus and Peter. Neither seemed to know how to handle this new and unprecedented development between their friends. Black and Potter had always been the ringleaders of sorts for the Marauders, mostly because Peter was too cowardly and Remus too calm to lead such a troublemaking group. Now Peter and Remus were forced to divide their attention between the two, and as a result ended up receiving the brunt of the loathing Potter and Black directed at each other. Each was angry with the other two for maintaining a neutral stance. I thought it was highly unfair for Black and Potter to force the others to take sides—after all, it was their own damn fight, no need to drag their friends into it—but who was I to interfere? Not that I wanted to, anyway.

However, as fate would have it, I got caught up in it nonetheless.

The second Hogsmeade visit of the year fell on the twenty-fifth of November, and I'd decided to skip it. The memory of the last one was still vivid in my mind, and I didn't relish repeating the experience. Not that I expected it to go as horribly this time, but that combined with the fact that Hogsmeade just wasn't as exciting as it had been third year made it easy for me to choose to stay back. Plus our homework load hadn't lightened in the slightest since the beginning of the year—in fact, with the end of term rapidly approaching, it had worsened considerably—and I was looking forward to a quiet day catching up on work. I know, I'm incredibly lame. Don't worry, I've accepted this about myself, and believe me, I've been berated about it sufficiently over the years, mostly from Mary. I wasn't looking forward to getting it again from her when she heard my decision about Saturday, but, to my surprise, she merely said "Okay," and we continued on our way to breakfast without further comment from her.

Though it was possible the reminder of our fight was what kept Mary from haggling me about my study habits, I suspected it had a lot more to do with her excitement about spending some quality alone time with Andrew. Due to the aforementioned workload, the pair hadn't spent nearly as much time together as they had last year, and I knew Mary would enjoy the freedom to spend an entire day with him without worrying about having to include me. Something she would never have asked for the opportunity to do, good friend as she was.

Reconfirming my suspicions, Mary practically sprinted through breakfast and Andrew came up to us just as she was finishing. "Ready?" he asked Mary, smiling a greeting at me as well.

"Yep," Mary said brightly, hastily gulping down the rest of her pumpkin juice and standing up. "You need anything from the village, Lil?" she asked me.

"No, thanks though," I said with a smile. "Have fun, you two."

"Thanks," they said in unison before leaving the Great Hall hand in hand.

Finishing my breakfast at a much slower pace, I followed their path from the Hall, turning against the flow of upper class students leaving the castle and climbing the seven flights to Gryffindor Tower. Grabbing my bag, I retraced my steps to the second floor and struck off for the library. Unconsciously inhaling deeply as I entered—I loved the smell of books—I searched out my favorite table in the back of the room. As I'd hoped, with it being both a Saturday and a Hogsmeade weekend, it was empty. Spreading out the contents of my bag, I pulled a piece of parchment, bottle of ink and quill towards me. I unscrewed the ink bottle, dipped in my quill, and sighed in annoyance. I'd forgotten my Potions book in my dormitory.

I looked around at my remaining books, considering my options. I could start with something else, but I'd really wanted to get my Potions essay out of the way. Although I was one of Professor Slughorn's favorite students, I didn't really enjoy the subject. It was just something I happened to do well. Okay, to be honest, I did well in every subject. Better watch myself, I mused as I dragged myself reluctantly from the library, I'm at risk of sounding almost as arrogant as Potter. Though it was true—I was usually in the top three when it came to exam results (the top two places were occasionally occupied by Potter or Black, to my vexation).

Why do I have to live on the seventh bloody floor? I thought in frustration as I reached the fifth floor landing, my legs burning and a thin sheen of sweat starting to break out on my forehead. Stopping to catch my breath, I almost immediately wished I'd kept walking.

Potter appeared around the corner at the end of the corridor, and he grinned as soon as he saw me. "Evans," he called, nodding at me. "Why aren't you at Hogsmeade?" he added as he neared me.

I folded my arms across my chest. "I could ask you the same thing, Potter."

"True," he conceded.

To my chagrin, when I began climbing the stairs once more, Potter followed. I stopped on the third stair, turning to give him a shrewd look. "And did you just happen to be heading this way, Potter, or do you—"

"No, Evans, I'm not following you just to annoy you," Potter interrupted tiredly, as though he was dealing with a petulant child.

"It's not like that's a completely unfair assumption to make," I muttered, slightly offended by his tone. We started walking again, Potter easily keeping pace with me. Damn him and his Quidditch training, I thought, trying to quiet my heavy breathing. Although, sitting on a broom for hours isn't exactly physically taxing. Oh, sod it, why am I even deliberating the point? I tried to focus instead on the reasons I'd felt guilty about how I'd treated Potter lately, a tougher feat by far when he was actually present.

"I'm just going to the common room to enjoy a relaxing Saturday," he continued, apparently feeling that further explanation was necessary, though I thought I detected a note of bitterness in his voice. "Which is what most people not at Hogsmeade do, I'm told," he said, and there was definitely something almost cynical in his tone now. "Though I believe I would be correct in assuming that you are not one of those people?"

I liked this new, angst-ridden Potter even less than his old charismatic, egotistical self, and was glad to have an excuse to soon leave him behind. "No, I'm just coming back to grab my Potions book," I said. Potter smirked at that, and I winced. I'd been distracted by his sullen attitude, forgetting that he, unlike Mary, wouldn't miss an opportunity to mock me.

"Should've known you'd actually take this time to work," he said, placing a delicate emphasis on the last word, somehow managing to give it a derogatory meaning. "Merlin, Evans, you're already the top in every class, what could you possibly need to study for?"

Caught off guard that he'd actually admit this, especially since it wasn't strictly true, I didn't answer right away. "Well, some of us actually need to make an effort to get good marks," I retorted contemptuously, cringing inwardly almost instantly. What kind of a comeback was that? It wasn't even a comeback! I basically implied that I'm jealous of him—as if Potter needs any help inflating his ego. And if that wasn't enough, my stupid conscience made me add, "Besides, you beat me in exams sometimes."

It was Potter's turn to stop abruptly; we were right outside the portrait hole. Shooting me an amused look, he said, "See, we can get along."

I frowned at him. "I wouldn't exactly call this 'getting along.' But I'm glad I could get you out of your funk," I added sarcastically.

Potter looked at me quizzically. "What funk?"

I raised an eyebrow—he couldn't possibly be at a loss as to what I was referring. I opened my mouth to reply, then decided it wasn't worth the extra time in Potter's presence. "Never mind," I said with a sigh, turning to give the password to the Fat Lady.

I quickly retrieved my Potions book and crossed the common room for the fourth time that day. As I neared the portrait hole again, Potter scrambled up from his chair and followed me out. "What funk?" he asked again as the Fat Lady swung shut behind us.

"I thought you were going to spend a 'relaxing Saturday' in the common room," I said through clenched teeth.

"Well, plans change," Potter said, smirking again. "So?"

I sighed. "You were acting all . . . bitter and self-loathing, which isn't like you—look, it doesn't really matter—"

"Concerned for my well-being? I'm touched," Potter said.

I rolled my eyes. This is exactly why I didn't want to continue this conversation. "Anyway, why aren't you in Hogsmeade?" I asked.

"You already asked me that," Potter pointed out.

"Not technically," I retorted.

"Okay, fine," he consented. His face hardened slightly, and I wondered if I'd just reversed the progress we'd made away from jaded Potter. "So, as you know, Sirius and I . . . well, let's just say we're not exactly seeing eye to eye at the moment."

I barely refrained from snorting at what I was sure was a grave understatement.

"Moony's visiting his family again—"

"Oh, is his mother still ill?" I asked, concerned.

"What? Oh, yeah."

I did snort that time, not believing how self-centered Potter could be.

"What?" Potter said again.

"Well, you don't seem too concerned about it. He is your friend; you could show a little more interest in his life," I replied derisively.

The left side of Potter's mouth curved up in a crooked smile. "Oh, believe me, I do," he said cryptically.

Before I could demand that he explain what the hell that meant, he continued, "And Peter's no fun to hang out with alone, er, no offense to him. So . . . here I am."

I was starting to wish I hadn't told him I didn't hate him. Apparently he was under the impression that we were friends now, or something. Though he would have done this even if he thought you still hated him, part of my mind argued. Unfortunately, I had to admit that part was right. "Well, fair enough, I suppose," I said, knowing etiquette required me to say something. I couldn't help adding, "Though, you're sure you aren't . . . I don't know, staying back to set up fireworks to go off on the Astronomy Tower?" I looked at him, eyebrows raised questioningly.

He smiled crookedly again. "Can't put one past you, eh, Evans?" Then his face fell slightly. "We'd had that one planned from the beginning of the year, actually," he continued, and I could only assume 'we' referred to him and the other three Marauders. "Which is why Sirius was so pissed when I went ahead with it on my own."

I wasn't sure if he was still talking to me, or just thinking out loud. "Sorry, why are you telling me this?" I asked.

Potter looked at me thoughtfully. "Dunno—because you're a neutral third party, I s'pose," he said with a wry smile.

I snorted. "And what does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, whenever I try to talk to Moony or Wormtail, they try and get me to apologize to Sirius." He wrinkled his nose. "Even though he's the one with the problem; I didn't do anything," he muttered.

"First of all, you sound like a five-year-old," I informed him. He opened his mouth angrily, but I continued louder, "Second, what made you think I wouldn't do the same thing?"

Potter shot me a look that was half-amused, half-surprised. "Come off it, Evans, you don't actually mind that Sirius and I aren't friends?"

I just shrugged. "You realize you're losing your best friend over a girl," I said.

If Potter noticed that I hadn't answered his question, he didn't say anything. "Yeah," he mumbled.

"And she's worth it, you think?"

Potter glanced sideways at me. He appeared to be debating whether he wanted to answer. "Things with Chloe," he said finally, "well, she's . . ."

Infuriating? Shallow? Slowly ruining your life? I silently filled in the end of his sentence as I waited for him to continue.

"It's complicated," he finally said.

I raised an eyebrow. "Not really," I retorted. "Either you want to stay friends with Black, or you want to date her."

"That's hardly a fair choice," Potter said indignantly.

"It is if you realize that Chloe's—"

"Yes, yes, I know you don't think she's my type," he interrupted impatiently. "But, unfortunately, it's not your opinion that matters, Evans."

"Then why did you ask for it?"

"I didn't! You're the one who—" Potter stopped abruptly, running a hand through his hair in frustration, which made it stick up even more than it usually did. "Look, you want to know why I'm dating her? Because she's smart, and she likes Quidditch—"

Merlin, bloody Quidditch! What does everyone see in that sport? "—and she's attractive, and shallow, blah, blah, blah" I interrupted, "so basically, you want to date someone exactly like you?"

I was forced to stop walking as Potter whirled around to face me, eyebrows snapping together angrily. "I'm not shallow!" he protested.

"Anyway," I said loudly, before this conversation could get completely out of hand, "it's hard to date someone who's really similar to you—haven't you heard of the phrase 'opposites attract'?"

Potter snorted. "That's ridiculous. You have to have some things in common . . . hang on, why am I even listening to relationship advice from you? You can hardly be an expert on it, having dated a grand total of zero blokes!"

I blinked, a little hurt. Not that I cared about being single, but having it thrown in my face like that was kind of hard to take. "Fine," I said coolly, starting towards the library once more.

Potter trotted to catch up with me. "Hang on, Evans. I'm sorry, that was harsh," he said. Before I could wonder at his second sincere apologize in as many weeks, he added with a wicked grin, "So, you think I'm attractive?"

"What?" I said, completely thrown off.

"You said it when you were talking about how Chloe's similar to me, so—"

"That's not what I meant, Potter," I growled.

"It's okay if you do," he assured me.

"Well, I don't," I replied firmly. We reached the entrance to the library, and both of us automatically stopped just short of it.

"Well, thanks for the advice—at least, I think there was some advice hidden in there," Potter said with a smirk.

I sighed, shaking my head. "Don't mention it," I said dryly. "But seriously, it's not like you're going to marry this girl, so don't let it . . . I mean, Black doesn't . . ."

Potter grinned at me in amusement. "Right, thanks, Evans. And you don't think you have to be planning on marrying someone in order to date them, do you? Though I suppose that would explain your lack of boyfriends." But this time he said it teasingly.

I rolled my eyes. "All right, I'm leaving," I announced, turning towards the library.

"Enjoy your essay," Potter said, the hint of a laugh in his voice. "Oh, and Evans," he added, and I turned around, waiting. "If you're concerned about falling behind in class, I can tutor you if you'd like," he said, lips twitching.

I wished I had something to throw at him, but, failing that, I settled for spinning on my heel and marching away without answering. The echo of Potter's laughter followed me into the quiet of the library.

OOOOOOOO

"So, how was Hogsmeade?" I asked Mary later that evening at dinner.

"Oh, you know, thrilling as usual," she said, grinning slyly.

"What?" I asked slowly.

Glancing around, Mary leaned in and said quietly, "Andrew and I may or may not have spent most of it snogging," she admitted with a wink.

"Oh, gross," I said, leaning away from her and wrinkling my nose.

Mary laughed at my reaction. "Fear not, my prudish friend, I will spare you the more exciting details," she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

"I'm sure my imagination will supply me with many a disturbing image," I said dryly. "Thanks for that, by the way."

"No problem," Mary said brightly. "And you? Was it a successful day of studying?"

"More or less," I said. "Except for the part with Potter in it."

Mary looked at me cautiously. "What did he do this time?" Thankfully, she'd taken my request that she keep her theories to herself to heart, and we'd returned to operating on the principal that Potter was an arrogant toerag not worth the time of day. A principal that may or may not still faithfully apply, but I didn't really want to think about that yet.

"He—well, nothing, really," I said, realizing that our interaction had been more out of the ordinary than infuriating. "He wasn't at Hogsmeade either because . . . well, long story short, he didn't really have anyone to go with. Not that he had legitimate excuses for any of his friends. Well, except for Remus—sad about his mother, isn't it?"

Mary looked at me blankly.

I frowned. "Don't you know—you always know everything about—"

Comprehension suddenly dawned on my friend's face. "Oh, right, Remus's mum. With her . . . thing."

How is it that no one seems to care about this? Feeling that I might be missing something but choosing to ignore this for the moment, I continued, "Anyway, Potter and I talked about him and Black, and I gave him some advice about Chloe—"

Mary choked on her pumpkin juice. "Sorry?" she spluttered. Clearing her throat, she continued, "You gave James relationship advice?"

"You can save the lecture about how I can't possibly know anything because of my lack of personal experience," I said irritably.

Mary frowned. "I wasn't—well, what did you tell him?"

I relayed the major points of our conversation. When I finished, Mary looked along the table as though searching for someone. Following her gaze, I spotted Potter and Chloe sitting together. She was talking animatedly about something, and Potter was listening only half-heartedly. Scanning further along towards the teacher's table, I saw Black and Peter eating in relative silence.

"Well, I guess he didn't take your advice," Mary said resignedly as both of us turned away.

I shrugged. "His problem, not mine," I said firmly. "If he really doesn't care about losing Black's friendship, then so be it." But I couldn't quite shake a feeling of disappointment. Not because Potter hadn't listened to me, but because a deeply suppressed part of me hated to see him miserable.

OOOOOOOO

"So, rumor has it you're giving out free relationship advice," Remus said teasingly when he met me for rounds the following Tuesday.

I rolled my eyes. "Talked to Potter, have you?"

"Well, I've tried to," Remus said more dismally. "You can probably now appreciate what a difficult task that is."

I shook my head. "I can't believe he's still with her. Then again, I can't believe he started dating her in the first place."

Remus shrugged. "Well, who he dates is his concern—though it's sort of hard to keep that in mind at times."

I privately disagreed about the first bit—I thought friends' approval was nearly as important as one's own opinion of a potential dating partner. Wasn't the current situation a case in point? "Whatever the case, I think he and Black are both being idiots."

"And you're surprised by this?" Remus asked with the hint of a smirk playing about his lips.

I inclined my head. "Good point. Anyway, it's certainly not fair to you or Peter."

Remus smiled at me. "Thanks, but I'm sure we'll survive. It'll blow over eventually; it always does." But he didn't sound completely confident.

Casting about for a change of subject, I said, "So, how was your family?" I realized too late that this might not exactly be a pleasant conversation shift, but, to my surprise, Remus looked not grim but confused. "What?" he asked.

"You were home this weekend, right? That's what Potter—"

"Right, yes, I was," Remus said, sounding almost nervous.

Okay, something is going on, I thought decidedly. There's no way Remus forgot that he was home only two days ago. So that must mean Potter lied to me. But why would he need to do that? I stopped to face Remus directly. He was watching me warily, which only added to my confusion. "Is everything all right?" I asked.

"Fine," he answered, too quickly.

"Because you seem—" My voice failed abruptly as the thread of a long-ago conversation suddenly resounded through my head as clearly as though the speaker was standing before me.

"He's ill, they say he's ill—"

"Every month at the full moon?"

As though this was some sort of trigger, a volley of images began to flash through my head. There'd been a full moon that day in Potions when Potter told me Remus was sick. It had been full again when he'd missed rounds after our first Hogsmeade visit. In fact, he'd missed rounds a lot last year as well, always claiming illness or the need to visit his family. But he'd always looked a little ill when he'd returned, even if the latter had been his excuse. And Potter often seemed too indifferent about his friend's troubles . . .

Almost in slow motion, I turned towards the window behind me. I could just glimpse the moon beyond, and it formed almost a perfect circle, indicating that it had been full in the very recent past. As though this was the final piece of the puzzle, a fist-sized lump formed in my throat and I turned to face Remus once more. His head was up defensively and his eyes were wide and frightened. "Lily," he said in a tone that one might use to calm a skittish horse.

"You're—" My voice came out as a croak, and I cleared my throat. "You're a werewolf."

A/N: Ah, the classic Lily-finds-out-about-Remus-being-a-werewolf part of the L/J saga….Kind of doesn't work as well as a cliffhanger when we already knew that about him, but oh well.