Look what we have here! I'm back! I'm alive! I've updated! Oh my God! I could apologize and say sorry, but truthfully there is no excuse why I haven't updated in…well….five months. I'd say its because of work stuff and studio time, but you probably don't want to hear about that and just get on with it.

If you stuck with me over these last five months where I've been a total disappointment, here is your reward!

Please enjoy this chapter, I have no idea when I'll get cracking on the next one, and I won't make promises I can't keep. Exams are coming up. But I'll certainly try!

Johnnydicaprio xx

Note: Brief recap, last chapter they were just about ready to go on their date. Well, here is the beginning of that catastrophe. Enjoy!

I want to kill myself.

Yes, how very melodramatic, I know.

But I'm not overreacting.

I should have just hurled myself off the Astronomy Tower when I had the chance. I would have been plummeting to my death in peace right now, accompanied by angels and nymphs and fluffy girly things that I absolutely loathe instead of being in this incredibly compromising situation with a stupid stuck-up berk for a date – I mean, accompaniment…person.

And the fact that I agreed to this thing…the fact that I would sink so low…the fact that my…date…is James Potter…just…makes my head explode.

And let me tell you, my head does not explode easily.

Instead, as life would have it, I'm practically trapped in the Great Hall, waiting for a bunch of plonkers, with a girl-friend I cannot complain and whine to because I forced her to come with me and she might flip out and decapitate me.

I'm behind a suit of armor, under the impression that if I can't see her, she can't see me, and if she can't see me, she can't kill me. I'm right. I am right, right? Am I right?

Right. And anyway, if she resorts to physical violence, since I'm not in the range of her wand, I can take her. Absolutely. She's tiny.

I'm not frightened of a midget. I'm not. Honestly.

…

I'm completely, utterly, and one-hundred percent stupid. That's what I am. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Socially retarded. I think so.

But to be fair, I should applaud Mina as she hasn't yet gone crazy and left the hall announcing that she'd rather die than be here. Or that she'd rather face ridicule from me. I think murdering our couch has diminished her anger and frustration.

She's prodding at her foot with her wand and it's making hissing sounds, marking black singed dots all over her shoe.

So, then again, maybe not.

I neverthought I'd feel sorry for a shoe.

I have to blame someone for this.

Someone.

Someone that I can blame, and get away with it. Someone…

I got it.

You know whose fault this is?

Get ready, because you won't see it coming.

This one is a shocker.

Mankind.

More precisely, the male race. Them with their shiny hair and distracting eyes and…and...His…their…captivating smiles and his charming personality…and…and…his manipulative words…and his gorgeous –

Ahem.

I hate men.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not this insane feminist…let's-burn-our-bras kind of person, but honestly. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't blame that moronic nincompoop for this.

See? You've got nothing.

Following this logic, I am allowed to hate the male race because of James Potter.

Ugh.

I hate waiting.

Where, in the history of the world, has a woman, ever waited for a man? I demand to know. Where? I don't know where. Perhaps because a situation fitting the description does not exist.

And I would know. I got an A on history in elementary school.

While the stupid brainless little twat is up there drinking tea and nibbling on scones for all I know, and doing God only knows what, I am sitting here, on the freezing cold marble floor, my arse an icecube, waiting for him, who should, ideally, be waiting for me as I got dressed and changed my outfit fifteen thousand times, asked him if I looked good, then chucked him out of a nearby window if he took too long to answer.

But, no. James Potter is a prick, and I'm waiting for him.

I am waiting for the prick.

What does that say about me, I wonder?

I defended my rights, too. Seriously, I did.

In fact, it's been exactly twenty three minutes since I banged on his door and demanded that he come out because we should be leaving since the sooner we leave the sooner we get back which is something I've always heard but never really believed in. It's been twenty one minutes since he assured me he will meet me in the great hall.

Those two minutes in the middle were not spent staring at him.

No, siree.

And I didn't drool a bit either because he was less than dressed, and toothpaste was dribbling onto his chest.

I'm going slightly bonkers. Because I am not the type of girl who will wait in freezing cold halls for slimy, manipulative, pathetic, utterly conniving boys who trick other girls to going on dates with themselves.

In the absence of productive things to do, I've fiddled with the thread hanging off my shirt for so long, I feel like the whole thing is going to unwind and I'm going to end up stark-naked in the middle of the hall.

That's what I've been doing for the past – oh – fourteen minutes now. It should unravel anytime now. Knowing my luck, it will happen right as Potter enters the hall. That would just put the cherry on top and the icing on the cake.

Oh, happy day.

For the last seven minutes, Mina's been perched on the steps of the marble staircase, her hair askew and her head in her hands. I would feel sorry for her, but I don't. Because feeling sorry for Mina is pretty low on my list of priorities right now.

As a matter of fact, it is right under the two most important tasks.

One: Kill Potter with machete. *

Two: Kill Self. Preferably not with same machete.

*side note: inflict as much pain as possible while doing so.

Three: Feel sorry for living things.

And due to the fact that, if, and when, I accomplish said tasks, I will be unavailable and unable to deal with the rest of the proceedings on the list, feeling sorry for Mina is inadressable at the moment.

In my extreme levels of boredom, I've achieved great many of things, besides keeping a frighteningly accurate measure on the time elapsed.

During this time, I have counted every single painting in the great hall (two-hundred-and-forty-seven for future reference), have tried to translate the Latin phases adorning the borders of the four house flags (I think its something about giving potatoes and tea to someone who is ticklish and has dragon pox - then again, it's our school motto, which explains so much), and I've mentally beheaded every single suit of armor imagining they are Potter-big-headed boy.

No, I am not a sociopath. I have no clue why you'd get that impression of me.

"COME ON!"

About bleeding time.

"MOVE YOUR ARSE, PADFOOT!"

I think it's time to come out from behind my protective guardian. Ah, he was such a great, silent companion. As all men should be, but are not.

"I SAID, MOVE IT YOU MORK!"

At long last. I see a whiff of black hair disappearing behind the banisters of the first flight of stairs, accompanied by hurried, if not speeding footsteps.

"Keep your hairnet on, you pansy. Your sweetheart can wait a little longer."

Oh, Black. You really want me to kill you, don't you?

It sounds like James's skipping fourteen steps at a time. I'd be worried that he's going to fall and break his stupid head, but I'm not.

'I'm not,' a lot of things today.

James comes flying down the final couple of stairs, jumps over Mina's head, though she doesn't even register, and comes to a skidding halt in front of me, still battling with his tie. Black walks leisurely down the stairs, looking graceful and unconcerned.

Damn him for his secret ability to look unruffled no matter what the situation.

"You're sixteen minutes late," I comment coolly, turning towards James and eyeing him as he tries to avoid smothering himself with his tie.

I am not rooting for the tie. That would be terribly mean.

And I'm nice.

So when he doesn't look up and is still struggling putting on the stupid thing, I merely roll my eyes at his pathetic-ness and don't point and laugh my head off at his stupidity like I usually would. We'll be here all bloody morning if someone doesn't step in between Potter and the tie.

"Give it here, I'll do it."

His head snaps up, and he looks as if I just spoke Mermish. "Sorry?"

Hm. I think it was the direct order that confused him. Who'd have known? Dogs and Potter have something in common.

I sigh, holding my hand out expectantly. "Give me the tie, Potter."

He jumps into explanation, trying to shove the tie into his pocket. "I don't actually want to wear it – "

I snatch the tie from him and toss it around his neck, paying no attention to his protests that he is a man and can do it himself.

Oh, for the love of God. My fingers just grazed the side of his neck and he went all rigid and tense on me. Honestly, it's not like I'm going to murder him or something. Really. I'm not. He mustn't be so edgy all the time.

Must. Control. Grasping. Fingers.

He's not dead. I have perfect self-control.

Hah.

James tries to break free form my hold, shaking his head side to side, his tongue lolling out like a mad dog.

In my peripheral vision, I see Black peek at us, his mouth agape as if he's going to say something. Sighing in a long-suffering sort of way, he swallows his words and stares wistfully at the tie. I'm sensing there is a back-story here that I'm not fully aware of.

"There," I mutter, stepping back a little flushed, cocking my head to the side and admiring my tie work after a moment. "All done."

"Oh, isn't that nice?" Mina's monotonous grumble echoes in the empty great hall. "You guys are like a married couple."

I send her the death glare but she fails to receive it because her head has once again taken up position in her lap. I want to chuck something (preferably very sharp or heavy) at her. Perhaps the machete I'm planning to find somewhere.

James, on the other hand, takes the comment in stride, straightens up and flashes me a brilliant smile. "Evans," he says, bowing his head impressively. "You look positively ravishing."

He's lying, that smarmy plonker. Because I really don't.

After the battle with Mina over the green blouse – yes, it was a battle, there was much hair pulling and eye gouging after which we took another two hours to re-primp ourselves so we'd look presentable for two people we loathe – I agreed to wear it, but we tugged on it so long, it's draping off me like a curtain. I look practically pregnant in it.

So really, Potter is a pathological liar.

Or he likes the fact I look pregnant. Or maybe he just hasn't noticed. I think this implies he sees no difference between me in clothes that make me look huge and clothes that hug my figure and make me look somewhat normal.

Wait a second…

"Are you calling me fat?!!"

"Oh, no, she's lost her marbles."

He looks horrified because I'm shaking my fist in his face and my nose his strangely close to his.

If I were in my right mind, I'd notice how close everything else was, but I'm not, so I don't.

"What?! GOD NO! NEVER!"

"Good," I grunt, glowering at him. I put my fist down, though it takes great effort on my part not to punch his perfectly angular nose in.

He seems baffled. Honestly, I don't understand why. My thought processes are extremely easy to follow.

There is a tiny pause, during which time Potter stares at me in a horror-struck sort of way.

"So do you think we should – "

"You still think I'm fat, don't you?"

It's word vomit, I can't control it.

He looks me up and down. "No, I don't," he replies reasonably. "You look – "

"Oh, please – "

"You don't look fat – "

"You are such a liar – "

"Oh, for the love of Merlin's saggy left – "

"Shut up, shut up, for the love of God, shut up!"

"Stuff it Black!" I command, and his eyes pop open at my direct order. He actually shuts up, grumpy and looking much like an anthropomorphized pufferfish. And an angry pufferfish, at that. Ignoring him, I round on James, my hands in the air in outrage. "You think I'm fat!"

"I never said that!"

"You looked at me!"

"What?"

"You looked, to check to see if I was – "

A long, draw-out whistle echoes behind me. "Ooh, mate. You looked?" Black is amused. Maybe I should kill him too. "You aren't supposed to look," he says smugly, voicing his expertise on how to treat women. "Just answer with a big 'NO!'"

"I did!" James protests, cocking his head to the side to see past me.

"You were too slow," Black states knowingly.

"That's not true!"

"Admit it, Potter," I shout, poking him in the chest and shifting to block his view, "You're a shallow, superficial, pathetic– "

He batters my hands away because I keep poking him. "I am not shallow, have you lost your blimmin' – "

"You most certainly are!"

"I'm not!"

"You are!"

"Listen to me, woman! You're not – "

"No, you listen to me –

"I think you're – "

"BOOBIES!"

There is an abrupt silence. Potter and I are nose to nose, our foreheads inches apart. My hands are up in the air in frustration, and we're both breathing like we've just run a marathon.

On the other hand, Black has just screamed out "boobies."

Potter looks at me once, his eyebrows raised and turns to his friend, puzzled. "Boobies, Padfoot?"

"It shut you up," Black remarks, scratching his chin intellectually and looking out of the nearby window with a glazed over, pensive look in his eyes. "The screaming out of inappropriate, irrelevant things during arguments effectively ends said arguments." He nods to himself, continuing said scratching of his chin, and smiles as if he's proven something. "It is a sad," – he makes a sad face – "But scientific fact."

I think the boy has lost the remainder of his dwindling intelligence.

"It was a toss up between 'boobies' and 'look at my nob!'" he continues, as if the topic of conversation is neither bizarre nor carrying far too many sexual undertones. He's either impeccably ignorant or mind-blowingly stupid. I'm betting on both. "I choose 'boobies.'," he continues, still in the same, detached, thoughtful voice, "I think it was a good call."

There is a small pause, during which we all stare at him, and he pretends not to notice.

"I would ask how old you are, but then again, I'm not sure you can count that high," Mina comments finally, her tone a split between pity and disgusted fascination.

"Hardi-har-har," Black deadpans, snapping out of his floaty voice and catching her eye. They stare at each other equally coldly, and it's hard to say which face holds more contempt. Honestly, how two people can go from snogging to screaming, I'll never know for the life of me.

I think I should scream at Potter some more.

"Well," Mina says, after a moment of silence before I can act on my instinct and slap Potter to death for calling me fat, "I'd say it's nice to see you, but we'd both know I'm lying."

"Oh, it hurts," Black drawls in instant reply, clutching his heart sarcastically and stumbling back a few steps. He proceeds to sit down next to her and lounges across the top of the stairs. She crinkles her nose and frowns at him, watching him with disturbed interest – the same interest that keeps people watching car-crashes and circus freaks, and gnomes running around waving their bottoms.

Black rolls his eyes, turning on his elbow to look at her. "What are you staring at?" he growls bluntly, his eyebrows shooting up in annoyance.

She scoffs distastefully, and raises her eyebrows. "Not much."

"Mature, Taylor."

"That really hurts coming from you, I must say."

Amused by this spectacle, I turn my head back around to find James still looking at me as if I've offended him by insinuating that he would ever offend me. Alright, maybe he doesn't think I look fat. Maybe he's staring at me like I'm an insane person.

Maybe that makes this more awkward.

It's not my fault my family is…large. Except Petunia. It's all in my genes, and I'm paranoid. Sue me.

I open my mouth to apologize but –

"YOU DON'T LOOK FAT, OKAY? YOU DON'T LOOK FAT! JUST PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!"

Oh. He's barricaded himself behind his arms, his eyes scrunched shut, his body braced for assault.

This should embarrass me, but I'm all maxed out.

"I wasn't going to yell at you," I say slowly, approaching him. His head tentatively emerges from beneath his arms, his eyes wide in terror. "I'm sorry."

A small "Nngh" escapes from his lips, and then his eyes turn blank. He looks empty. Paralyzed, and what not. I think it was my apology that did it.

"James?" I wave a hand in front of his face. He stares right though it. I'm kind of worried about him. "Helloo?"

"Uhm…I…uhm…"

"Are you going to form words anytime soon, mate?" Black wonders aloud lazily. "Or should we just wait around here 'till we're old and wrinkly?"

James doesn't answer back with a snarky comment like we all expect, and instead continues to ogle at absolutely nothing in particular.

"Prongs?" Black prompts, sarcasm leaving his voice and worry seeping into his tone. "Mate?" He gets up from his seat, observes James, receives no reaction still, and rounds on me reproachfully. "You!" he points, his eyes widening in horror. "You broke my friend!"

"What?!" I shout, taken aback. "I did what?!"

One of his eyes is bulging.

"You broke him!" He shouts, taking steps towards me. "You broke my friend!"

"All I did was apologize!"

"You apologized to him? Are you out of your mind?! I demand you fix him right now!"

Oh my God, I've just broken James Potter.

He's just staring into outer space! He's gone loony! I mean, I frequently wish the boy bodily harm, but I never intentionally wanted to harm his mentality! I'm a horrible, horrible person! Oh, my God!

"I don't know how!" I shriek, alarmed, and somewhat paralyzed in my spot. Black looks about ready to tear his own hair out. "What do I do?!"

"Ugh," I hear a grunt, and I'm pushed aside. "Move." Mina approaches James and wallops him, straight on, across the face.

James whirls around full circle, and falls flat on his arse.

"That should do it," Black stares in amazement.

o.o.o.o.o.o

This is a catastrophe. It's been ten minutes since we left the blimmin' castle and already Black and Mina are jumping at each other's throats. Truthfully though, I'd rather she break his neck than mine.

Their arguments aren't very intelligent, either. Constant complaints arise about breathing/walking/talking/ too loudly. Honestly, I'd never thought that two people could find so much to argue about. "Nyah nyah, you touched my elbow, nyah nyah, you're walking too slow, nyah nyah, you're getting snow on my skirt, nyah nyah, you exist – "

Ah. Whiny people can be so irritating.

Potter and I are getting along. Barely. I've had to stop myself from throwing my arms around his neck strangling him on three separate occasions, but I wasn't expecting anything else. In fact, I'm proud of my self-control.

Like I said, this is turning out to be a rather abnormal afternoon. Quite surreal in fact, I feel like I'm floating in space.

Hogesmede, on the other hand, lookes like it always does near Christmas; like a Hallmark card. The tattered shops and houses are all covered in more than a foot of snow, shaking alarmingly in the wind; there are holly wreaths on every door, and strings of enchanted candles line the street, which I barely stopped myself from running into and lighting my hair on fire, to which James laughed at and I almost killed him.

A couple of goats scuttled past us a while ago, some mad old hatter chasing after him with his wand and a walking stick. Oh, and a whole party of drunks stumbled by us as well – completely sloshed, of course – singing, 'Ogro the Hobo' and 'Flop Goes the Waste-bin' at the top of their voices.

I'm almost quite sure those aren't the correct lyrics.

Ah. How I've missed Hogesmede. It's just so incredibly home-y, and inviting and beautiful, and so much better than stupid frog-land and than Petunia's wedding would have been –

"So, am I supposed to believe," Potter abruptly continues, dragging me back from my very casual observing of Hogesmede pretending I wasn't aware of his existence, by quirking his eyebrow at me, "You've never, once checked out my butt?"

Oh, that. Well, see, I have a small problem.

Due to an unfortunate and entirely unforeseeable series of circumstances that had nothing whatsoever to do with me, I through absolutely no fault of my own, have told...James Potter that I found his hindquarters...a bit…somewhat…slightly…faintly…

Attractive.

He tricked me, honest. Word games, all of it. None of it my fault. It just sort of slipped out of my mouth when my brain wasn't watching.

Can you blame me, I have eyes! He has a very lovely arse! Another thing that is NOT MY FAULT.

And I have a mouth that refuses to follow my orders. That is a deathly combination, let me tell you.

"That's right," I state more confidently than I feel, staring straight ahead, blinking through the falling snow. "Not once."

"Psh," he spits obnoxiously. "Yeah, right." The laugh that follows would echo if Mina and Black weren't making so much Goddamn noise arguing.

I can't believe I did this.

I must kill him and eat the evidence.

It is the only way to escape this humiliation.

"You're far too self-assured," I comment, my tone slightly reproachful though I'm absolutely petrified to look in his general direction. He doesn't hear me because there is a general outcry from behind us.

"YOU PATHETIC LITTLE MORON! DON'T TALK TO ME! EVERY STUPID WORD THAT COMES OUT OF YOUR STUPID MOUTH INSULTS MY BLOODY INTELLIGENCE!"

"I'm sorry," he cringes with a bored expression, sending a glare to the lovely lovers behind us. Black is now roaring with laughter and Mina has her arms crossed and her eyebrows are so low on her face I cannot see her eyes. I think she must be angry, or something.

"Couldn't catch that last bit."

"I said, you're far too self-assured."

"Oh, please," he bites back, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, "Don't change the subject. You know you've looked."

This boy is strangely proud of his hindquarters. And 'tis definitely not a question of how justified he is in being so proud.

I narrow my eyes and glower at him accusingly. I think they are far too narrow because this is giving me a headache. Ow. "Are you fishing for compliments, Potter?"

He turns to me and puts on a rogue smile that I find not even remotely appealing.

"Perhaps. But it's because you could find somuch to compliment me on," he declares, not at all modest, flicking his imaginary hair over his shoulder and batting his eyelashes at me.

"Well, if that's your most alluring look, with the eyelashes and the hair, I don't think you'll be receiving any from me anytime soon," I retort, rolling my eyes at him. "Though I'm sure the male population of Hogwarts will welcome you back with open arms."

He makes a sound like a dying giraffe. I think I might have offended him.

"Are you insinuating that I'm a shirt-lifter?" he gasps, a hand over his heart in indignation, his face furrowed in shock.

"Sorry, that you're a what?"

"Y'know, a poofter? A fruit? A fart-knocker?"

"James – "

"A snickerdoodle? A poppy? A droo – "

"Thanks, I got it."

He glares expectantly at me.

"What?" I ask innocently.

He huffs and crosses his arms. "Well then, are you?"

"Excuse me," I stop walking, lean back, and cross my arms across my chest stubbornly. "Aren't you insinuating that I'm a sexual predator who has nothing to do all day but stare at your butt?"

He thinks about this as he absently stares into space.

For about a second.

"I guess I am."

I shrug, smiling smugly. "Well, then you have your answer."

I'm quite proud of how I maneuvered myself out of this situation. Perhaps I can spend the rest of the day in peace now, prancing around Hogesmede and bragging about how I outsmarted Potter's stupid mouth.

Oh, wait.

He's nudging me.

The wanktard is back.

"What?" I bleat, irritated.

Uh-oh. Why, why, WHY does he have to look so good when snow is falling around him? WHY? Mother Nature wants me to jump this boy's bones, I swear. Well, I will not have it! I deny! HAH!

I am a strong, confident woman, who will not be coerced into snogging James Potter!

Oh, nice comeback, mother nature. A gust of wind whapped my face and all of my hair got into my mouth.

I hate her.

You know what, scratch that. I hate hogesmede. I hope it is demolished. Or blown up. Or infested with a party of rabid, carnivorous turtles.

Or something equally random and creative.

"I promise," James smirks, pointing behind him at the barely visible – not that I'm looking, it's in my line of vision – but very aesthetically pleasing bump of his jacket, "One look and you'll be putty."

My eyes narrow without my brain actually having to give out the order. "You're an insufferable prat, you know that?" My tone, without my consent, lightens slightly, and I'm suddenly aware that I'm smiling as I'm saying this.

"I know," he laughs, "I've been told quite often. It's very nice of you to not let me forget it, though." His smile spreads wider across his face when I don't reply and turn my head.

"Oh, come on." He nudges my shoulder, which almost sends me flying into a shop window before he grabs my arm and pulls me back around. I shake my hair out of my face just in time to see him pout, reminiscent of a puppy dog face, and for a second it hypnotizes me, but then I remember exactly who he is and that this is his area of expertise. With an extremely strong will, I get my arm out of his grasp and I turn my head away again.

His elbow is continuing the doing of weird things to my elbow.

Oh, lord give me strength.

"Stop it," I groan feebly.

Nudge.

"I said stop it."

Nudge, nudge.

"Liiilyyy…."

"Cut it out, or I swear, I'm screaming 'rape' at the next person I see."

"Alright, alright," he says, defensively pulling his hands up to his chest, a laugh rumbling in his voice. "Sorry."

Aha! I've won! He's stopped! My elbow is free! I'm a –

"Butt-watcher."

Rrrrrrrrrrrrggh. Oh – I – oh – argh – gaaaaaaaaaargggghhh. WHERE IS MY MACHETE?!

"Arrogant creeper."

"Oh?" he laughs, throwing his head back with much mockery, may I add, "Oh, I'm the creeper? Who stares at my butt the whole bloody day?"

"I don't know!" I huff, which comes out less like a huff and more like an outraged scream as I shake my arms around like I belong in the loony bin. "Not me!"

He snorts. Loudly, at that. "You lie. My butt is – "

"I don't care about your stupid butt!"

"But you – "

"Look," I reason, turning around and fixing a stare on him that makes him freeze mid-step. "If there was a butt to stare at, maybe I would enjoy taking a peek at it from time to time. But since you lack that said asset, I'd appreciate it if this discussion ended here because this argument is completely useless."

He looks appalled, and his mouth drops in indignation. "Excuse me! I have a butt!"

We have now stopped in the middle of the street, and are full on yelling at each other.

Yelling at each other, over his butt.

A brilliant way to celebrate Christmas. I'm sure Jesus would be proud.

"Uh-huh."

"Huh – Well – I – that's just – I," he splutters, trying to look as if there is a reason why words are even leaving his soap-ridden mouth. "What about your butt?"

I'm pretty sure that's a line he's just crossed.

I happen to know for a fact that my butt is of perfectly normal proportions. Okay, it's not gigantic, but it's not tiny either. At least I can walk upright without tilting to the front to keep my body weight in equilibrium with my arse.

"What about my butt?" I ask calmly, but I'm pretty sure I'm about to shoot fire out of my nostrils.

"Well…it's…it's…" he gulps, his shifting eyes never resting on mine because my glare might well blind him, and I think he's gone slightly green and looks about ready to puke, "Um…welll…."

I raise my eyebrows, staring at him straight in the eye, in for the kill if he dare give the wrong answer. "Yes?"

He looks up and catches my glare. But takes this opportunity to act like a man and not run away like the little girl that he is. Damn. "It's…" he groans dejectedly, "It's perfect. Ugh."

"I can live with that," I shrug. I think I'm about to smile. Merlin, I'm smiling. Dang it. I am smiling. Crap. I think he's noticed. I'm getting worse at hiding this stuff. This might become a problem.

"So," he says eagerly, clearly delighted to have passed the point where I would have physically harmed him in some way, "I do have a butt, right? I mean, you're taking back what you said? About me not having a butt? Right? Right?"

I'd call him paranoid, but…

I turn around, and fix an expression on my face, the 'I'd-never-hurt-a-fly' one I've practiced thousands of times. "I said you didn't have a butt? Well, that doesn't sound like me."

He impatiently glares at me.

"Me?" I continue, faking outrage. "Insult your butt? Nay! Never!"

"Just answer the question Lily," he growls. "I have a butt, yes?"

"Oh," I state, hiding my smile behind my hand and continuing to walk down the snow-covered street, deliberately ignoring the people who are starting to stare. "They say persistence is the key to success."

He struggles to catch up to me and pokes his head over my shoulder. "So?"

"So," I turn and smile at him, "Keep telling yourself that, and maybe one day you just might grow one."

Sometimes, I love my brain.

Only sometimes though.

I think I left him behind to wallow in the fact that he lacks a butt – which he doesn't…regrettably. Oh, false alarm. He's scrambling to catch up to me. And people are still watching. I'm serious, they aren't even embarrassed!

They're leaning out of door-frames and sticking their heads out of windows. Some kid just pointed at us and ran off! He looked about five! And had a lollipop! God, we've become a public laughing stock for the mentally deranged.

I then proceeded to glare at some unfortunate third year student who was blatantly gaping at us. She shrieked and ran.

Have they no shame?! I CAN SEE YOU, YOU KNOW! The pointing and laughing is not very inconspicuous!

I should take this bench and throw it at them, I should.

I don't, though. It looks far too heavy and we've already passed by it.

Then again, I guess I can't blame them. We are having a whole conversation concerning his hindquarters. And he's throwing a tantrum like a six year old girl.

"I'll prove it to you!" He declares, tugging on my sleeve. "I'll prove it to you right now!"

Oh, this ought to be fun.

"Please, go right ahead."

"Hem, hem," Black pokes his head in between us and looks at us curiously. Mina's on his left, looking positively revolted. "Excuse us for interrupting, but why is James about to pull his pants down in the middle of the street?"

When you have two people who fight constantly inquire as to your reasons for fighting, it means there is a problem.

Holding up his pants with one hand, James glares at his friend, poking a finger at his nose commandingly. "You go back to your knitting! I have a bone to pick with her!"

I smile, as I am extremely amused, and fix my most challenging glare on him. "Bring. It. On."

He's about to pull down his pants and humiliate himself in front of the whole town when –

"Stop taking off your pants, Potter!" Mina hysterically cuts in, waving her arms around clamping her eyes shut frantically, and attempting to escape. Unfortunately, having blinded herself, she doesn't get very far in her journey and walks into Black.

"I don't think it's very sensible to walk around with your hands over your eyes, Taylor."

"Shove it, Black."

Meanwhile, James continues throwing a tantrum like a scorned teenage girl. "I have a butt, and I'll prove it!"

"Stop acting like a three year old!" Mina demands, her hands still partially shielding her eyes.

"NO!"

"STOP IT!"

"NO!"

"STOP IT!"

"YOU STOP IT!"

"Blaaaaack!" Mina shrieks, stomping her foot in protest and turning to him in outrage, "Tell your bloody friend to stop taking off his bloody pants!"

Black merely shrugs, smiling almost…proudly? "Discouraging the removal of clothes is against my religion."

Oh, ew.

"Listen to me, mister, your best friend is taking off his pants, in broad daylight, in public. You don't think this reflects badly on you?!"

"Me?" Black repeats with a squeak, his hand on his chest. "Are you daft? I'm barely stopping myself from cheering him on." He lets out a tiny, nostalgic sigh. "They grow up so fast. It feels like just yesterday he was – "

"For the love of God!" Mina shoves him as hard as she can, and he barely even stumbles. "Are your parents siblings or something?!"

Black looks at her, his face sincere, pensive. "No…I'm pretty sure they're cousins."

"Is he being serious?" she turns to James, who's struggling to remove his clothes.

James momentarily stops unbuttoning his pants and looks at her. "Yes." And then goes back to the removal of his garments.

She nods, sighing dejectedly. "Ah, that explains so much."

"Be off, the both of you!" James commands loudly now, turning to glare at me. "I have something to prove here!"

"Why?!" Mina demands, her terrified eyes fixed on his hands because he's about to pull his pants off. "Why are you doing this?!"

"To save my dignity! To prove my manliness! To give inspiration to all men who want to cower in the face of – "

And then it hits me.

He is taking off his pants.

James Potter, is removing his pants because of me.

Now, under normal circumstances, if it were, say, in a comfy dormitory, with candlelight, and perhaps a bit of music, and some kind of nice smell in the room, like musk, or the smell of his neck, maybe I would approach this situation differently, but -

"STOP IT, STOP IT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP IT!"

Wait a second, how do I know the smell of his neck?

"AHA! DO I HAVE AN ARSE?!"

Oh, sod it. "YES, YES, IT'S BEAUTIFUL, JUST PLEASE STOP!"

"IS IT PERFECTLY SHAPED?" he demands, a mad glint in his eye.

"YES! PERFECT! PERFECT! NOW WOULD YOU STOP PULLING OFF YOUR BLOODY PANTS?!"

"HOW PERFECT?" he prompts, his brow furrowed in anger.

"EXTREMELY. STATUESQUE! THE SPITTING IMAGE OF AN ADONIS!"

He just stops. Face goes black. Looks at me. Face changes. Smiling. Smugly.

Oh, bugger me.

I'm tempted to rip his face off now. Because I think I know what's coming.

He calmly collects himself. "HAH," he says. He pulls up his trousers, and at this point, I realize he hadn't even unbuttoned them. "Hah," he says again, straightening up. "I was bluffing. Knew you'd cave in."

Okay.

I.

Oh.

Gr.

Mhph.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!

"Hey look! Potter's being pummeled by a girl!"

"Ten sickles says she knocks him out in less than ten seconds."

"You're on."

I'm pretty sure I heard a very feminine "OH MY GOD SHES GOING TO KILL HIM" , and a small "Hah, I win, pay up," before everything went black.

Rage and all that, you know.

Wow, this was a monster of a chapter.

Well, I hope it was worth the wait, even though nothing is worth waiting for five months. Please review if you haven't forgotten me! I hope you liked it!

Edit: An anonymous reviewer has just pointed out that God is spelled with a capital 'g.' I cannot believe I have made this horrendous mistake. Thanks for the constructive criticism. Really. Truly, splendiferously happy that you pointed out this technicality. And glad you're enjoying the story. How I love anonymous reviews. Shame on everyone else for not pointing this out to me before.

Alright, I think I'm abusing sarcasm now, so will shut up.

Johnnydicaprio

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