A/N: This chapter is so soap-opera! Ha, ironically, there was a lot of drama surrounding its writing, too. This is my "first edition" chapter 13, but there is another version entirely, which takes place of the holidays and includes: Donna's party experience expanded, Lily-and-Petunia-drama (which will occur later), some fantastic dialogue between James and his mother (of which I am very sorry to let go), and a scene between James and Reginald Cattermole, which I will endeavor to incorporate later because I love it so.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Warning: There's some heavy language and adult situations, yo. You have been forewarned. And MS word just told me that 'yo' is not a real word. Fools.
Recap: Lily learns that Professor Black is dying, and though she promises not to tell Sirius, she advises Professor Black to do so. Donna promises her brother, Kingsley, to attend a party so as to socialize. Lily goes home for Christmas and encounters Petunia!drama! James goes home for Christmas to encounter parental!angst. Frank and Carlotta are caught in a weird stage, as she wants to move forward from their disreputable start, but he remains uncertain. Alice moves on from Frank.
THANK YOU SO MUCH TO EVERYONE WHO READ AND REVIEWED! I WILL REPLY INDIVIDUALLY AT SOONEST POSSIBLE DATE. Much love!
Chapter 13- "Something Realized"
Or
"One Night Stand"
In 1976, Marlene Price broke up with the same boy twice.
In 1976, Adam McKinnon said "I love you." Twice.
In 1976, Alice Griffiths got engaged, Carlotta Meloni got a boyfriend, Sirius Black made a big mistake, and Severus Snape made at least two. In 1976, Donna Shacklebolt fell in love. Kind of.
In 1976, Petunia Evans was married, Remus Lupin nearly killed someone, Alphard Black left Hogwarts, Frank Longbottom had a realization, Mary Macdonald did not, and Peter Pettigrew gave some very, very good advice.
In 1976, James Potter quit smoking.
In 1976, Lily Evans fell in love.
But more on that later.
(A Woman Left Lonely)
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Thus repeated Donna Shacklebolt—out loud and in her head— for her first waking minutes on January 12th. Climbing out of bed, she tripped over the shoes she'd somehow managed to get off the night before ("Damn-it-fuck! My toe!") checked the alarm clock ("Fuck—I'm late! I have to go back to school today! Have I packed? Fuck!"), grabbed a robe from the floor ("Where the fuck is my fucking shirt?"), and stumbled into the connecting bathroom ("Holy fuck, it's bright in here!")
Every part of her body ached as she staggered to the sink and turned on the tap. She ran her hands under the cold water, hunched over the ledge in an attempt to collect herself.
"I'm never drinking again," croaked the witch to her half-dead reflection. "I'm never looking at vodka again, and I'm never even thinking about... about... about..." But she decided not to finish that sentence, in favor of rushing to the toilet, flipping over the lid, and emptying the contents of her stomach into the bowl.
"Oh-God-I'm-going-to-kill-Kingsley," she moaned a few minutes later, managing to push herself up. She'd left the tap running and once again ran her hands under the water. "Why the hell did I agree to go to that stupid party? Why the hell did I agree to take six straight shots of vodka?" She splashed her face with water. "Why the hell did I...?"
Donna met eyes with her dripping wet reflection in the looking glass. Slowly, the blur of colors that constituted her memory of the night before began to take shape. Slowly, she began to remember. And then she realized something.
"Oh, fuck."
(Return and Regret)
The Hogwarts Express arrived at Hogsmeade station around seven o'clock, as per usual. Lily had come the entire way with Mary Macdonald and a handful of Mary's admirers, for Donna had been mysteriously absent the entire day.
"Maybe she missed the train," Mary suggested, as the two girls stepped onto the platform, shivering in the January air.
"I hope not," said Lily. "Although I guess she could always floo into Hogsmeade. But still..."
"There's Marlene," Mary observed, noting their friend across the platform. "Hey, Mar! Marlene!"
The blonde rushed over and hugged each of her two friends. "I missed you!" she declared through chattering teeth. "Happy New Year!"
"Happy New Year," said Mary. "Did you come to meet us? That's sweet."
"I came to meet Miles."
"Hmm, some friend you are."
"C-c-can we please get out of this cold?" stammered Lily, rubbing her mitten-clad hands together.
"I agree," agreed Mary. "C'mon, Mar..."
"Waiting for Miles," Marlene reminded her in a sing-song voice. "Where's Donna?"
"Good question," said Lily. "We didn't see her on the platform, and she didn't come to the usual compartment. We checked most of the car, but we couldn't find her."
"We were speculating she missed the train," Mary informed their friend.
"Well, if she did," said Marlene, "she hasn't flooed in."
"Strange," murmured Lily. "I wonder if..." But then she caught sight of something that made her breathe freely again. "Oh, there she is! Donna! Hey, Donna!"
Donna was, indeed, stepping off the train, a glum expression on her face. She nodded at Lily and started towards the group.
"Where were you today?" Mary asked. "We looked for you."
"I wasn't feeling well," replied Donna. "I slept in an empty compartment at the back of the train."
"Are you alright?" Lily asked, worried. "You don't look well. You should get up to bed..."
"I'm fine," said Donna shortly. Mary began to laugh.
"I know what's wrong with you—you went to Charlie Plex's end-of-hols bash last night, didn't you? Those things are always liquor soaked! You've had a hangover."
"Oh, Don, you didn't go to Charlie Plex's party, did you?" inquired Lily, half-laughing. "Those are so… fifth year."
"Really?" said Marlene. "I think we were too cool for those in fifth year. We were probably too cool for those in third year."
"Sod off," snapped Donna, crossing her arms—mostly because of the cold—and not meeting anyone's eye. "Kingsley made me go. And there were plenty of sixth years there... Charlie Plex included..."
"It's alright," consoled Mary. "I went to one of the Plex boys' parties once. That's where I first tasted firewhiskey. Oi—look, there's Martin. He sent me a lovely Christmas present... I really should go say thank-you. See you lot in the dorm. And Don, I'll want details.." Mary departed, and as she did, Miles Stimpson approached the group.
"Hi, Marlene," he said, slipping an arm around her shoulders.
"Hi, Miles. Happy New Year!" They kissed—longer than usual, it seemed, and Lily shifted uncomfortably waiting for them to finish. When the couple broke apart, Marlene looked vaguely surprised but smiled nonetheless. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," said Miles. "I'm just happy to see my girlfriend."
"Well, I'm happy to see you, too," said Marlene, cozying up to him. "Oi, guess what: Donna went to Charlie Plex's end-of-holiday party."
Miles looked at Donna, eyebrows raised. "Did she? That's interesting... 'hope you didn't do anything you might regret... those parties have a reputation." He winked. "C'mon, Marly, it's freezing—let's head up to the castle."
The couple left; when they were gone, Lily patted her friend affectionately on the shoulder. "Never mind it, Donna. We should get your things so you can get up to bed, yeah?" As Lily started towards the stacks of luggage, however, Donna remained stock still. "Don, what's wrong? Are you all right?"
Donna looked at her friend, as though waking from a trance. "Lily, I—I can't be positive, but... I think I slept with Miles."
(Twenty Three Hours Earlier)
Donna went to her party. She arrived late, like she knew she was supposed to, and the girl who opened the door at the Plex's house seemed sufficiently surprised to see her. So far, all expectations for the evening were met.
The main room was large and crowded, noisy with chattering students and heavy with a variety of non-complementary aromas. An hour: she would stay for one hour and then floo home before you could say "Waste of time."
"Donna Shacklebolt?" marveled a voice, as the witch made for a table in the corner. The table had sparked her interest, mostly due to the large punch bowl, which—if the stories about the Plex boys' parties could be trusted—carried with it a promise of alcoholic flavoring. Donna turned to see who had addressed her, and found that it was the host himself—a Ravenclaw of her own year with auburn hair and freckles who went by the name of Charlie Plex.
"Yes," she agreed, irritated and yet strangely gratified by his dumb-founded expression.
"I didn't expect to see you here," replied the host, but he didn't seem displeased.
"You invited me, and I owled that I would be coming," she said, puzzled.
"I thought that was a joke."
"Why would I joke about that?" Not waiting for an answer, she curtly added: "Do you want me to leave? I'm more than happy to, believe me." She didn't want to confess that she was there because her older brother believed her to have no social life, but if it came down to it, she would.
"No," said Charlie. "No, by all means, stay. Help yourself to some..." he glanced at the table behind her: "...punch."
"I intend to."
Donna did help herself. She helped herself three times in immediate succession, which caused the Ravenclaw to gape a little bit. "Do you have any intention of slowing down with that?" he asked. Glaring, Donna shook her head. "In that case, I will find you in about an hour."
He started to leave.
"Good luck with that," murmured Donna, rolling her eyes and shooting back another "punch."
Only one hour... she only had to stay for one hour...
(Present: Family Matters)
"The traitor returns," noted Sirius, as James collapsed onto his bed.
"You're not really pissed I decided to go home for Christmas, are you?" asked James, rolling his eyes. "I know we said we were all going to stay, but..."
"Nah, we had a better time without you," Sirius assured him. "You always put Peter in an awful mood. He told me he was glad you didn't stay."
"Don't lie, Padfoot," said Peter defensively. "I didn't say that."
"He did," mouthed Sirius.
"In other news," said Remus, who was seated at the desk, flicking through the newspaper; "Sirius blew up three different rooms and at least two chairs."
"It's a fantastic spell I just found, Prongs," Sirius elaborated enthusiastically. "And technically, Moony, it was only two rooms. Two rooms and a closet."
"Filch's closet," Peter told James, who looked duly impressed.
"The ceiling is still singed," said Sirius proudly. "I'll take you by later... I'm thinking of having a go at his desk."
"Well, you lot had a more interesting time than I did," James stated. "Once you've lived at a person's house, Padfoot, they get sort of used to having things explode or disappear from time to time... I'd forgotten how boring my parents are."
"Yeah," said Sirius. "But I bet it was a good haul this year."
"Excellent. Dad was trying to make amends. Guess who has the new Nimbus model broomstick..."
"No shit," marveled Sirius, straightening up. "Seriously?"
James nodded. "You can have a ride on it if you promise not to try at the Whomping Willow... I want to be the first to do that with the new broom."
"Agreed," agreed Sirius. He withdrew a packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his robes. "Fag?"
James shook his head, to which Sirius shrugged, lighting a cigarette for himself.
"I wish you wouldn't smoke that inside," grumbled Remus, and as Sirius set off trying to defend the act, James rolled off his bed and took the now neglected newspaper.
"Did you hear about those smugglers?" inquired James, though no one was paying attention to him. "'Looks like another auror's been attacked, too. You know, I think it's strange they haven't been killed..."
"Well maybe, Moony, if you weren't such a psychotic neat freak..."
"Not wanting ashes all over the floor doesn't make me a neat freak."
"But it makes you psychotic. Besides, there are house elves."
"Padfoot, that is just like you... we have an obligation to keep this room neat."
"Well we've done a bloody rotten job at that..."
"Maybe you three have, but I... and I am not psychotic!"
"Oh, I missed you idiots," said James sarcastically. Peter grinned, crossing the room to sit next to James. "The new list of known death eaters is out," observed the lead Marauder, scanning the page. "'Sardocius Rosier has officially announced his support of Voldemort...' no surprise there... 'Vlad Ivonovna connected with the Meadowes murder...' You know, Pete, if I were in the Ministry..." He stopped.
"What?" asked Peter, looking over James's shoulder at the newspaper article. "What's the matter, Prongs?"
"Logan Harper," said James slowly. "We know a Logan Harper, don't we?"
"Yeah... he was a few years older than us. He's Luke Harper's..."
"Older brother, right. Light hair, played Quidditch, dated Narcissa Black for a bit?"
"Who dated Narcissa?" asked Sirius, taking interest in the conversation.
"Logan Harper?"
"Oh." Sirius nodded. "Yeah, that's right. It's been over for a while, though. Wait—why is this being discussed?"
James handed him the newspaper. "Guess who just made the 'suspected death eater' list."
(A Long Supper)
"What the hell do you mean you slept with Miles?" snapped Lily to Donna, nearly two hours later, when the girls were finally alone again. Supper had never seemed to take so long to Lily. Now, the two sixth years occupied a deserted corridor off the route to the dormitory; Lily had pulled Donna aside to get an explanation away from the others.
"I'm not sure," said Donna, panicky. "I was very, very intoxicated last night... I can't remember anything, except bits and pieces, and... I'm pretty sure there was a goat at that party. Why on earth would there be a goat at...?"
"Donna, this is not the time to be cute," interrupted Lily. "Tell me everything you remember. Now."
Collecting herself, Donna strained her memory for something concrete. She remembered being in a room—a large, crowded, noisy room... and alcohol had definitely been involved. "Miles was at the party," she began slowly. "He was there... I talked to him a little bit... we were sitting in this corner... there was a Canadian, and then there wasn't... and I was... I was saying something about... Ancient Runes."
"You were talking about Ancient Runes when you were piss drunk?"
"Apparently. Yes, I was... I was definitely talking about Ancient Runes."
Lily crossed her arms. "And that led to shagging your friend's boyfriend, how?"
"Hell if I know," murmured Donna. "I just... I know I had sex. Sex was definitely had. I know that. I don't remember who it was... I'm ninety-nine and half percent sure it was a male..."
"Well it can't have been very good."
"Once again: hell if I know. But... did you see the way Miles was acting at the platform? Like... like he knew something... being really affectionate with Marlene, and..."
"He was acting like an ass," agreed Lily. "But he's always acting like an ass. Shit, I can't believe you slept with him... and not just because he's your friend's boyfriend; he's just a tool."
"First of all," said Donna, "Marlene is my roommate... she's not my friend. We don't braid each other's hair and gab about the cute boys we like and..."
"Donna," interjected Lily impatiently. "Acting like you don't care about Marlene won't make this going away, alright? You have to fix this." She turned on her heel and started for the dormitory.
Fix this.
How the hell was she supposed to do that?
(Twenty Six Hours Earlier)
"Shacklebolt?" questioned a voice, but there were many voices at that point, and she was not quite certain from whence this particular one originated. Donna looked about, ignoring the wizard with a Canadian accent at her elbow; he'd been there for what seemed an eternity and was becoming dull.
"Miles Stimpson," Donna recognized her roommate's boyfriend. "What are you doing here?"
The Ravenclaw pushed through several boys surrounding Donna at that moment. "What're you doin' here?" he shot back, amused by her red eyes (his own were anything but clear) and relaxed position on a sofa at the center of attention. This was most un-Donna-like.
"Drinking," she responded simply. She swallowed a demonstrative gulp from a questionable cup. Several of her companions found this funny—but their eyes leaned towards the red end, too. "A lot."
"I can see that," said Miles. He stumbled into a seat on the sofa as well.
"You're an ass, you know," Donna informed him.
"You're a scary bitch," replied Miles. "Although..." and he scooted closer, "you're not so scary righ' now... and your friends seem to 'ave noticed."
"I'm drunk," Donna informed him, staring into her nearly empty cup. "My lips are numb. I could still kill anyone of them." With an icy smile to her Canadian: "Couldn't I?" But before he could respond, she closed her eyes and exhaled: she was drunk... she was surrounded by idiot boys hoping to take advantage of the fact... now was a good time to get out. "Alright. Everyone leave. Now." It took another minute for them to believe her, but when she drew her wand and burned a section of the carpet in front of her, they were much more easily convinced.
Alone again, Donna closed her eyes. She finished her drink. I have to leave before I do something stupid.
On opening her eyes, however, Donna realized that she was not, in fact, alone. Miles, whose head lolled about on his neck in the vague rhythm of the song playing in the background, still remained on the sofa.
"I said leave," she repeated. He looked at her, but didn't move—and possibly because he was too far gone to really understand her. "You're such an ass," she repeated, returning to her empty cup.
"Why?" he demanded, pouting.
"You're everything I hate in a bloke... puffed up, a jerk to your girlfriend..."
"I'm not a jerk to Marlene."
"You are, too."
"I'm not—an' what d'you care?"
That struck Donna in an odd, indescribable way. "I don't," she insisted uncomfortably. "I just hate blokes that think they're so great, they have the right to walk all over their girlfriends. It's not Marlene in particular, just... just the way that you are is sickening."
Miles frowned. "What-d-ya-mean?" he slurred. "It's not 'bout Marlene? She's your friend, in't she?" He chuckled. "That rhymed..."
"Marlene's not my friend," snapped Donna, suddenly feeling terrifyingly sober. She grabbed the nearest cup and emptied it of its contents. "Marlene's my roommate."
"Marlene's not your friend?" repeated the Ravenclaw, a bit disbelieving. "Then who's your friend?"
Donna did have an answer for that. "Lily."
"Jus' Lily?"
"Just Lily."
"Stupid."
"It's not stupid. I don't want friends."
"Oh." After a long, liquor soaked silence, Miles continued: "So Marly's n-not your friend?"
"No," said Donna crisply. She grabbed and emptied another cup from the table.
(Present: One Small Step)
"You can do this."
Alice Griffiths wrestled with the worst of feelings in the pit of her stomach: like she was about to make a terrible fool of herself. She was about to completely humiliate herself and would very shortly be spending another two months in the dormitory, trying to live down the shame. That was, unquestionably she thought, where this was headed.
"You can do this," she whispered to herself once again. But the seventeen-year-old did not believe it, and that just disappointed her even more. "You want to be an auror for God's sake. You can do this, Alice Geraldine Griffiths."
And with that, she did it.
She took a step—a step of insignificant distance, just the space between the bottom step of the marble staircase and the stone floor of the Entrance Hall. But she descended the last step and did not stop. She moved straight across the room and into the Great Hall with her head held high.
It felt nice.
"Bloody hell," marveled Donna Shacklebolt, as Alice took a seat across from her. "Alice, you look... completely different."
Alice knew it, too. Her hair, usually a dirty blonde color, reaching her shoulders in tight ringlets, was now pin-straight, falling well past her shoulder blades in smooth, flaxen sheets. The witch wore make up for the first time in what seemed an eternity, and she wore it well, too: mascara, eye shadow, lip gloss, and blush. A pale complexion and untamed hair were mere memory now.
"You look wonderful," corrected the also present Lily Evans, shooting a glare towards Donna. "What happened? Er... not that you haven't always been beautiful, because you have, it's just..."
"I know," interjected Alice. "I understand." When she smiled, she looked—very briefly—like old Alice... pre-break-up Alice. "I'm starting a new phase," she announced proudly.
Donna frowned. "Is this phase going to transpire outside of your dormitory, then?" Lily shot her a glare. Alice had a new feeling—as though she had interrupted something.
(Two Minutes Earlier: Marlene's Friendship Bracelet)
"You haven't told her yet?" demanded Lily, sitting down across from Donna at the breakfast table.
Donna's eyes grew very wide. "Told Marlene?" she asked in a whisper. "Of course I haven't told Marlene. Are you out of your mind? Why the bloody hell would I tell Marlene?"
"I thought you were going to fix this!"
"How would that fix anything? How would that do anything except result in my dismemberment?"
"Well, maybe you deserve to be dismembered." Lily poured herself some pumpkin juice. "I can't believe..."
"Good morning," said a voice. A witch stood over Lily's left shoulder, and as the girl took a seat at Gryffindor table, Lily was momentarily convinced this was someone she had never met. Actually, it was Alice Griffiths, but it was Alice Griffiths as Lily had never seen her before.
"Bloody hell," marveled Donna. "Alice, you look... completely different."
"You look wonderful," said Lily. "What happened?" Realizing how that sounded: "Er... not that you haven't always been beautiful, because you have, it's just..."
"I know. I understand. I'm starting a new phase," the seventh year informed him, helping herself to kippers.
Donna frowned. "Is this phase going to transpire outside of your dormitory, then?" Lily shot her a glare.
"You're not allowed to be a bitch today, Donna. In fact, I'm not sure you're allowed to talk until you've fessed up."
"Fessed up to what?" asked Alice. Lily shifted uncomfortably in her seat.
"Fessed up to... stealing... my… my... friendship bracelet."
"Your friendship bracelet?"
"My friendship bracelet."
"Donna stole your friendship bracelet?"
"And slept with it."
"What?"
"She fell asleep wearing it over the holidays and... lost it. My friendship bracelet."
"Oh." Alice frowned. "Who was it from? The bracelet..."
"You know the details aren't important," said Lily to her scrambled eggs. "The important thing is that Donna has done something wrong and that she needs to fess up. She needs to come forward and admit to everyone involved that she has done something wrong and will spend the rest of her Hogwarts career being a better friend."
"You know, Lily," began Donna through gritted teeth, "I came to you about... the friendship bracelet, because I thought you would be understanding. I thought you wouldn't place judgment upon my mistakes and would try to comfort me in this difficult time."
"Bullshit. Of course I'm judging you."
Alice looked surprised. "That's a little harsh, Lily. She seems sorry..."
"Thank-you, Alice."
"It was someone else's friendship bracelet," snapped Lily.
Puzzled, the seventh year stared between the two girls. "I'm confused. Is 'friendship bracelet' a euphemism for something?"
Before either could respond, however, Mary and Marlene appeared, sitting down across from Alice. "Good morning," said Marlene cheerfully. Lily and Donna simultaneously got up.
"I have homework," said Donna.
"Me too," said Lily.
They left hastily as Mary was complimenting Alice's appearance.
"Friendship bracelet, Lily? Really?"
"Miles Stimpson, Donna. Really?"
(The New Alice)
Frank Longbottom had a date in the library: a date with seventy-two pages of reading he had to complete by the next Herbology class. The librarian begrudgingly directed him to the correct section, and while he searched the shelves for the necessary book, the Head Boy was joined by someone else.
"Blimey... Alice?"
Alice had not seemed to notice Frank when she stepped into the aisle, standing on her toes to read the titles along a high shelf, and yet, when he addressed her, she did not seem surprised.
"Hi, Frank," she replied, cheerful enough.
She seemed... taller.
If that was the right word.
Frank couldn't be sure. In fact, he couldn't be entirely sure this wasn't a dream; Alice stood beside him—not normal, ex-girlfriend Alice, with dark blond ringlets, pale skin, and a habit of ducking behind bookcases whenever she saw him, but someone entirely different: Alice with long, silky straight flaxen colored hair, roses in her cheeks, and an air that said she was about as concerned by Frank's presence in the same library aisle as she might have been by a fly.
Idly tapping the spine of a few different books, Alice finally located the one she sought; Frank was too busy being confused.
"Rotten luck about all the reading, yeah?" she said conversationally. "Well, bye."
And as unexpectedly as Miss Griffiths had appeared, she vanished once more. Frank stared at where she had been. Then he realized something. "Wait. She just took my book!"
(Forty-Six Hours Earlier)
"Not even if I were dead," snapped Donna; her wand was out again, this time pointed at the space between Miles Stimpson's eyes.
"Calm down, Shack," he mumbled, withdrawing his hand.
"I will not..." Mumbling about "sodding gits" and "unendurable idiocy," Donna got to her feet. Oh, just wait until Marlene heard about this...
She moved unsteadily across the crowded room, probably bumping into people, but she could not be sure. Her head spun, so that by the time Donna reached the door, she was conscious of only two thoughts: Get home, and get to bed.
"You're leaving already?"
The voice reached Donna just as she reached the door, and it belonged—she discovered a moment later—to her host, Charlie Plex. "Yes," she stated with certainty, wondering why he seemed to be spinning so.
"How?"
"Through the door."
"How are you getting home?" he clarified, slightly annoyed.
"Apparate."
"Is it legal?"
Donna's eyes narrowed. "I am seventeen," she informed him.
"So am I, but I can't apparate. We haven't even had lessons at school yet."
"I know how to apparate." She tried to leave.
"You'll get splinched," Charlie told her. "C'mon—you can floo through the library."
And the sober, practical side of Donna—whose control was uncharacteristically slipping—told her that this was a much better idea. "Fine." She started to follow her host back across the room, staggering but staying afloat. Her eyes briefly flitted to a still-drinking Miles Stimpson.
"Marlene's not your friend? Then who's your friend?" his disbelieving voice repeated in her head. A strange, discomforting feeling overwhelmed even the alcohol in Donna's system. If Marlene wasn't her friend, why feel this compelling guilt for having been hit on by her boyfriend? If Marlene wasn't her friend, why did it matter? Why did it matter if Miles did hit on her?
...Or was that the liquor talking?
(Present: Secrets, Secrets)
There were two main reasons that Lily had for taking a walk that evening, and they were as follows: Donna Shacklebolt and Marlene Price. In an effort to avoid all potential awkwardness, Lily steered clear of the dormitory all together, and when she had finished her homework, she slipped out of the Common Room and started off in the direction of the Head student offices. They would be deserted tonight, she supposed, and if she were caught by Filch or anyone (it wasn't quite past curfew yet, but it would be soon, and those mulish Ministry stragglers were still patrolling), she could make the excuse that she was performing official prefect business. This would fly with the Ministry types, at least.
What Lily did not expect was that, when she reached the Head offices, they would already be occupied. Quite fortunately, she did realize this before actually pushing the door open, when she heard voices from within. One belonged to Carlotta Meloni.
"Listen, Frank," she said; "I'm not going to be strung along anymore, alright?"
"Carlotta, I haven't strung you along," replied the other voice—Frank's—sounding weary. "I've been completely honest about what I wanted, and..."
"Please," derided the witch. "How could you possibly be anything approaching honest about what you want with me? You don't even know what you want."
"Well, I won't deny that."
"So all this time, you're still just... thinking?" scoffed Carlotta.
"Car, I told you before, I..."
"C'mon, Frank," she interrupted wearily. "I don't want to do this now. I'm tired and I've got to meditate... though how I'll calm myself down is beyond me. I'll speak with you tomorrow."
Those were parting words, as it occurred to Lily a second later. She frantically turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. This was precisely the kind of conversation on which she did not want to be caught eavesdropping... especially by Carlotta Meloni.
Lily ducked behind the nearest corner, and as she did so, the prefect checked over her shoulder and—in doing so—did not see Sirius Black, who was in the process of rounding the corner from the other direction. "Shit," he swore, as the two collided, smacking foreheads.
"Holy..." Lily rubbed her forehead, wincing. "Sorry. I didn't see you." She noticed who it was that she hit. "Oh... Sirius. How are you?" Professor Black was not far from her mind, and she was intensely curious as to whether their Defense teacher had told his nephew the truth about his deteriorating health.
"I'm fine." He, too, winced. "Where's the fire, anyway?"
Lily took a few steps back and checked the corridor. "I guess it went the other direction," she mused, frowning. "I'm sorry—I should've been more careful."
"No big deal," muttered the Marauder.
"Where are you off to?" Lily asked, realizing that the hour was a little suspicious for Sirius to be out and about: too late for anything orthodox and too early for anything mischievous.
"Would you believe me if I told you I was headed to the library?" he asked, grinning a little.
"No," said Lily pointedly.
"Well, it's true." He withdrew a small, paperback book from the pocket of his robes. "Before you start getting mad ideas about me, you should know that this is James's book... I lost three consecutive rounds of tossing-parchment-in-the-rubbish-bin, and his prize was having me trek all the way down to the unholy lair that is the library."
"Tossing parchment in the rubbish bin?"
"It's exactly what it sounds like."
"Ah."
"If you don't believe me... about the library," Sirius went on, replacing the book in his pocket; "you can come along. Mrs. Sevoy might actually believe that I'm not there to vandalize if you're there."
Lily had nothing better to do, and it certainly beat the prospect of supreme awkwardness with Donna and Marlene. Plus, it offered her an opportunity to discover if Sirius knew the truth about his uncle yet. She agreed, and the two set off.
"So the hols went well?" asked Sirius. "You had a good Christmas?"
"Yeah, I did," said Lily. "A little weird around the edges, but... altogether not... terrible."
"That's enthusiasm," remarked Sirius wryly.
"Well... it's my sister," the redhead attempted to explain. "She's a muggle. She doesn't approve of me being... the way that I am."
"Oh. Yeah, I get that."
"I guess you do, don't you? And then some."
"And then some," agreed Sirius.
"What about you?" Lily asked. "A good holiday?"
"Mm, yeah, it went well. It certainly beat Christmas-with-the-Blacks back home."
"Not a fan of family gatherings, I trust?"
"Look at it this way: Christmas supper is kind of like one imagines the wake of serial killer might look like."
"Dark."
"With excellent cooking."
Lily smiled. "So did you... uh... get to spend any time with your uncle, then?"
"Yeah, a bit." He didn't seem bothered in the least by the question.
"And—and he's doing well?"
"Yeah. He even helped me out in the Hospital Wing..."
Lily coughed and asked in what she hoped was a subtle manner: "Oh? You were in the Hospital Wing, then? The two of you?"
"He was getting something for a headache or something," Sirius replied with a shrug. "I was hiding from Filch. The blighter gets testy when you blow up his closet, apparently."
"I heard about that," said Lily. "Why am I not surprised that you're responsible?"
Sirius simply grinned as they reached the library. He returned the book to Mrs. Sevoy, the librarian, and Lily decided that he couldn't know. She was very uncomfortable when he returned.
"Headed back to the Common Room?" he inquired, as they came to the staircase.
"No," said Lily. "No—there's half an hour until curfew. I think I'll just take a turn about the fourth floor."
Sirius frowned. "I'll come with you—it's not safe to be wandering around here at this time of night."
"No," responded Lily quickly. "Don't worry about me. I have my wand and... you probably have to get back to your tossing parchment in the rubbish bin competition."
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Be careful."
"You concern is touching but unnecessary."
"Believe me, Lily," said the Marauder, crossing his arms, "Safety in these castle walls isn't all it's cracked up to be. It's not a lot of fun to run into a group of punchy Slytherins at this hour."
"I'm a big girl," Lily told him. "But thank you."
Sirius nodded and started back towards the Common Room. Lily sighed. She sat down on the top stair and leaned against the banister. It had been a long day, and she officially hated keeping secrets. Why couldn't people just be honest with each other? And if they were going to lie, why did she have to be the one who always seemed to know? With another long, weary sigh, Lily closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, the torches in the corridor and along the stair had gone out.
"Snaps?"
James realized that she had been sleeping after the nickname escaped his lips. Her green eyes, barely visible in the dim lighting from a single torch at the other end of the corridor, flew open, and she looked scared.
"Agrippa's sake... where am I?" the redhead asked, frightened at her unexpected surroundings; James wasn't sure if she'd even seen him or recognized his voice.
"The fourth floor," he told her.
"Oh." Lily gave him a quick once-over. "Potter. What are you doing here?"
"Kitchens," James half lied, surreptitiously slipping the Marauders' Map into his pocket. "What are you doing here?"
"I must have... I must have dozed off." Lily rubbed her eyes, still disoriented. "What time is it?"
"Almost midnight."
"Almost midnight?" She got to her feet, unsteadily at first so that James took a step forward, just in case. It was unnecessary; she steadied herself with the banister and didn't notice his movement. "I have to go. It's past curfew. You have to go, too..." She seemed to realize something. "Hey, you're way past curfew. I'm a prefect; I should..."
"Be in bed," James finished for her. Lily frowned.
"Fair enough. Plus, I don't much care for filing an official report and what-not. I guess you get off this one time." Her expression was a mixture of attempted disapproval and genuine amusement. "Anyway, I'm going to the dorm."
James, who stood beside her on the landing, moved, half to block her progression upstairs. "You can't just go wandering around there right now... it's the middle of the night."
"Yes, I've heard the suits of armor can be quite vicious at this hour," she said dryly; her voice, he noticed, was a little scratchy from sleep. "Thank-you for the concern; I have my wand; I'll be fine."
She moved up the staircase. James weighed his options, and decided he wasn't nearly hungry enough to warrant not following Lily Evans.
"I thought you were going to the kitchens."
"Call me Prince Charming," he said coolly.
"More like Count Dracula," replied Lily, not missing a beat. James grinned and was glad that his companion's eyes were not on him.
They were quiet for a few seconds, while James wondered how much damage it would do to say what was on his mind. "So Lathe's gone," he began cautiously.
Lily nodded. "Yeah... Luke wrote me about that. Weird, yeah?"
"Yeah. Weird. Listen, Snaps..." Why was it that everyone always said he had such a way with words? That's what James wanted to know. Of course, he did, and he knew it too, but right now, articulation seemed to utterly fail him... "You should be careful."
"Careful? With big strong you here to protect me?" She sent him a slightly sarcastic smile.
"I'm not talking about right now." They reached the next floor, and the stairway was all the way at the other end of the corridor. "I mean... it's just... did you read yesterday's paper?"
Lily's expression grew stony in the dim light (now provided by what little light seeped through the windows; it cast her in a blue tint). "I know what you're talking about," she said quietly. "And I wish you wouldn't."
"Luke Harper's brother is a death eater," pressed James. "And a lot of that family has a history of..."
"That has nothing to do with me."
"Really?" he asked sardonically. "So Luke Harper isn't your boyfriend?"
"There's nothing wrong with Luke."
"Oh, c'mon, Snaps, you can't just assume that he's..."
"I'm not assuming anything." She stopped walking and so did he. "I know Luke. I know what he's like. You're the one assuming that because his family has some history, he's a death eater."
"I'm not saying he's a death eater."
"Then what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that..." Well, alright, that had more or less been what he was saying. "I'm saying that you should be careful."
Lily sighed. "Your best friend comes from a family that's much worse than the Harpers," she said. "You more than anyone should understand his situation."
She'd gone soft in the eyes, like she didn't want to fight with him just now. Something about that made him honest. "I don't trust him," he admitted.
Lily raised her eyebrows. "I guess it's a good thing you're not dating him, then." She thought about it. "For other reasons, too." With that, Lily turned and continued down the corridor. James followed. They rounded a corner in the corridor, only to find that they were not alone.
A group of students were seated along the floor about fifty feet away, laughing and joking loudly. Their wands were drawn as they performed various showy but unexceptional bits of magic—sparks, silent fireworks... James recognized one voice as it chortled: "Did Avery tell you what happened with him and that Hufflepuff tart?"
Mulciber.
The rest of the cast was pretty easy to fill in from there: Avery sat beside him, and the fair-haired boy James could only just make out must have been that Zabini chap. The girl was Colista Black—James could see her chewing gum and twisting a lock of dark hair around her wand, like she was completely bored with this scene—and the boy who currently entertained himself with green sparks was a bloke called Hester. Snape was noticeably absent.
James's eyes narrowed, and he unconsciously moved forward. Lily's cold hand gripped his wrist, reminding him of her presence. "No," she whispered. "You're not fighting." And James realized that though he had not specifically planned on fighting, he'd had every intention of doing so.
"Why not?"
"We're outnumbered."
"I could take them."
"They haven't done anything wrong."
"They're out of bed after hours."
"So are we."
James sighed. "Fine." He allowed her to steer him back, but as they started to turn, Mulciber could be heard hushing his companions.
"Is that Filch?" Colista Black's voice whispered ineffectually.
Lily tugged at James's wrist once again, and he consented to be guided. Then, suddenly, a white light filled the corridor.
"It's not Filch," said Mulciber. "It's Evans and Potter."
Half blinded by the light from Mulciber's wand, James's hand subtly moved towards his pocket where his own wand was stored. Then, the white light vanished, and the torches in the corridor were lit.
"Evans and Potter," repeated Mulciber, stepping towards them. The other Slytherins followed. "Beauty and the beast, if you will."
"Now, now," said James; "I wouldn't call Evans a beast."
Lily glared at her companion. "I'm only the ally you've got here, Potter," she reminded him dryly, and she had a point.
"C'mon, boys," said Colista Black irritably. "This is stupid. Let's go, before Filch comes and has us all in a month of detention."
"She's right," agreed Lily. Then, quietly to James, the redhead added: "the number seventy-five is coming to mind, Potter."
"It'll take two seconds," he pleaded. "C'mon."
"James."
Mulciber drew closer, his wand flirting with preparation. "You're outnumbered, Gryffindor," he said.
"I don't see that," said James lightly.
"Nick, let's get out of here," Colista tried once again, but she was, again, ignored.
"C'mon, Black," snapped Hester. "This is why we don't bring girls along. They're only good for one thing..."
"Oh, sod off," snapped Colista. "Nick."
But Mulciber was enjoying the situation. Avery and Hester stood to his left and right, and even Zabini looked ready for a fight. James's fingers drummed against his wand.
"You know," began Hester, a pale, thin-faced sixth year, "I'm inclined to agree with comrade James, here. About the mudblood I mean..."
BANG!
Now, James Potter knew for a fact that he was a significantly quicker draw then Nicolai Mulciber. He knew that he was two or three times quicker than thick-headed Avery, and he knew that when it came down to it, Hester's skill was in cunning and trickery more than spell work. Colista Black would not attack, he was certain, and neither would Zabini—at least, not at first. Therefore, the Gryffindor was thoroughly surprised when he was only three quarters of the way through drawing his wand when an almighty bang shook the corridor.
A blinding yellow light temporarily threw him off too, and when it faded, a heavy smoke remained. Then, it lifted. His heart beating very quickly, James looked about for Lily; he hadn't been hurt, which meant that she must have been.
But she wasn't. The smoke cleared, and the relatively petite prefect stood a few steps in front of him, wand drawn and an expression of fixed determination on her face. The five Slytherins all lay on the floor of the corridor, unconscious. James stared, aware that his face must have honestly expressed unmitigated awe.
"Lily?" he managed to say.
Lily sighed, putting her wand away. "They'll be awake in a minute," she said, businesslike. "I still haven't mastered the spell..." and she sounded a bit disappointed in herself. "We should go before Filch gets here."
As she stepped over Mulciber, James pursued her. "Wait, Snaps. Here." And from the inner pocket of his robes, James withdrew his most treasured possession.
"What's that?" asked the redhead, as he unfolded a silvery cut of material.
"An invisibility cloak," he told her.
"You have an invisibility cloak?"
"Yes."
Lily's green eyes grew wide. "I don't think I'm going to sleep well at night knowing that," she said.
"C'mon."
He threw it over the both of them, and they did not speak again until they gave the Fat Lady the password and entered the Common Room. James couldn't help but feel relieved.
"Thank-you for the cloak," said Lily, starting up the stair towards her dormitory.
James looked at her, bewildered. "Listen, Snaps, how did you...?"
"The problem with Slytherins," she interrupted, "Is that they spend too much time taunting people and spelling out what they're about to do when they think they have the upper hand. All you have to do is interrupt that."
"But that magic..."
"I'm nice," she said calmly. "I'm nice, and I'm optimistic. I'm not weak, James."
Like vapor his name hung on the air as she ascended the staircase.
"Lily." She paused on the landing, and he thought, mixed in with her expectant expression, she looked a little surprised—probably at the use of her first name. Somewhat desperately—with the dim light of the fireplace casting a funny shadow against her, and her hair in such a wreck—he wanted to just say it.
But he didn't.
"I know you're not weak."
Caught of guard, Lily almost smiled at him.
But she didn't.
"Good night, Potter."
"'Night, Snaps."
(So Sorry)
Donna was distressed, and she was not often distressed.
She sat in Arithmancy, mulling over this fact with no very great progress towards a solution. For once, she was glad that Lily had opted not to take this class: right now, alone time was just what Donna Shacklebolt needed.
She'd had a one night stand. A one night stand. It sounded so... trashy. Common.
Sure, she talked big, and she was no innocent lamb prior to this incident, but there was something inherently different about getting together with a boy, buzzed on a single glass of firewhiskey combined with the adrenaline from a victorious Quidditch match, and getting together with your—ahem—roommate's boyfriend when you're so trashed you can't remember your own middle name. The former could be rationalized: she was a healthy, normal adolescent girl; it was only natural that she use some kind of release. For the latter, there was no excuse that quelled her conscience.
Fuck.
Donna was torn between disbelief with herself and sick, masochistic satisfaction that she had at last fucked up so badly that even Lily could put a forgiving spin on it. And that was depressing.
Professor Kelley dismissed the class ten minutes early, and Donna gratefully darted from the classroom. She headed downstairs alone, determined to clear her head before supper—supper meant potentially facing Marlene and Miles, a situation she had been avoiding for the last two days.
Sunday night was slowly coming into focus. There were bits of it—not important bits, but bits nonetheless—that she almost completely remembered. Chatting with a girl named Lynda, agreeing to another glass of firewhiskey-thank-you-very-much, Rowan Lewis telling her she was much less scary drunk, and her hugging him, informing him that she didn't want to be scary. That Canadian bloke...
Donna cringed. This sucked.
Miles Stimpson and the act itself remained very dim: they were in a room talking, just like she told Lily. They chatted—he mentioned Marlene. She talked of Ancient Runes... babbled really. And this she remembered very clearly:
"Don't tell Marlene, alright?"
Fuck.
She'd slept with Miles Stimpson.
And as a new wave of self-loathing overcame her, Donna stepped into a girls' lavatory. Most of the other students were still in class, so she was mercifully alone. At least, she was at first.
"What are you doing?" came a voice—irritating, high-pitched, and unfortunately familiar.
"Go away, Myrtle," ordered Donna coldly. A moment later, Moaning Myrtle—a dark haired, bespectacled girl of about fourteen, who also happened to be quite dead—emerged from—or rather, through—a stall.
"Why should I?" snapped the ghost; she had never gotten along with Donna very well. "It's my toilet. I only have one room in the entire school, and you would have me out of it."
Donna scowled at the reflection of Myrtle in the mirror. "If you had any sense, you'd haunt a boys' lavatory."
"I'll have you know I do," retorted the other. She rethought this statement a second later and frowned. Donna gained some grim satisfaction from this.
"Freak."
"I am not a freak!" shrieked Myrtle. "What were you doing here, anyway? Just staring in the mirror like that. It's odd, you know."
"Says the ghost haunting a toilet."
Myrtle's lip trembled, but more out of anger than grief. "You're mean," she accused hatefully.
Donna crossed her arms, knowing it was true but wishing to deny it. "You're the one who started it."
"I did not. I asked what you were doing, and then you called me a 'freak.' For no reason—f-f-for no reason whatsoever!" Now she seemed on the verge of tears, and Donna did not think she could handle that.
"Please don't," she pleaded. "I'm sorry. I take it back. You're not a freak. I'm sorry. Just... don't cry. Please."
"You're only taking it back so I won't cry," sobbed Moaning Myrtle. "You're mean."
Donna groaned. "I'm sorry. God. I just... I'm having a bad day, alright? I... I messed up."
Myrtle stopped crying. "You messed up what?"
"Well," began the other, facing her ghostly companion with a serious expression, "I sort of... slept with someone I wasn't supposed to."
Myrtle's eyes grew very, very wide. "You what?"
"Your 1940s sensibilities are endearing," said Donna, not sounding endeared in the slightest. "But it's 1976. Things have changed." Myrtle sputtered something indistinct, and Donna went on. "Anyway, that's the gist of it."
"That's—that's... that's... tart."
"I am not a tart," snapped Donna. "God, I should have known better than to confide in a sodding ghost."
Myrtle began to wail. She dove back into her favorite stall, causing an almighty splash that made Donna roll her eyes. She hastily exited the bathroom, no more relaxed or less self hating than she had entered.
"Donna!"
And there he was—the very last person Donna wanted to see at that moment. She turned and hurried in the opposite direction.
"Donna! Hey, Shacklebolt!" (As though he thought she simply had not seen him). Miles Stimpson caught up with her. "I've been looking for you."
"Don't you have class?" snapped the witch, determined not to meet his eye.
"We got out early," replied the Ravenclaw. "Hey, I've been meaning to talk to you. About Charlie Plex's party..."
"I don't want to talk about it."
"Fine. Fine, but... listen, I don't know if I told you that night... I mean, I was pretty drunk and I can't really remember large parts of it, but..."
"Shut up, Miles." (She couldn't bear to hear it).
"Please, just don't tell Marlene that I was there."
Donna stopped dead in her tracks. "Don't tell Marlene that you were there? Are you out of your bloody mind?"
"I... well... listen," began Miles, "I know you and she aren't really mates..."
"What makes you say that?" interrupted Donna, pulling herself to her full—quite tall—height.
"You... you... Shack, that's what you were telling me."
"What?"
"...And you're always kind of a bitch to her, so..."
"Excuse me?"
"I just mean—listen, that's not the point. The point is," Miles pressed forward uncomfortably, "please just don't tell her about me and Carlotta."
Donna blinked.
"You and Carlotta?"
"That—that we snogged."
Donna blinked again—several times in succession. "You and Carlotta? You and Carlotta snogged?"
"Right... y'know... after the thing."
"The thing?"
"The thing."
"Which thing?"
"You know. The thing."
"Stimpson..." warned Donna.
"You know," he continued in an undertone. "I'm not proud of it—I was wasted and I—y'know... felt up your leg a bit. And then you threatened to hex me and said 'not even if you were dead,' and then there was... don't you remember?"
Donna chewed her lip. "You snogged Carlotta."
"Yes."
"And I didn't let you feel me up?"
"You don't remember. Fuck."
"I do too remember," said the Gryffindor coldly, regaining herself. "I also remember that you were at the party and have been telling Marlene that you weren't, so if you don't march up to Marlene and tell her what you did, I will."
Donna had never been so proud of herself, but she didn't know why.
"You are a bitch," muttered Miles, slouching away.
For a moment—only a short moment—Donna allowed herself to feel relieved. But then she realized something else—she wasn't wrong. She'd had sex. Sex had definitely been had. And now she had no clue who the bloke was... it could be anyone. She might never know, and while that might be a good thing, it was slightly... disgusting, too. She might never know...
"Shacklebolt."
Donna turned around at the sound of her surname. A tall Ravenclaw wizard with reddish brown hair, brown eyes, and a light dusting of freckles stood there, wearing a knowing smile.
"Charlie Plex," she said.
"You remember me." He sounded pleased.
"We got to the same school," Donna reminded him coldly. Chit-chat did not interest her right now.
"Is that what they're calling it these days?" he asked. Donna shifted her book bag higher up on her shoulder, confusion on her face. "What?" Charlie Plex leaned in close and whispered: "Don't you remember me, Shacklebolt?"
And then she did.
(Seventy-Four Hours Earlier)
"Don't tell Marlene," said Miles, leaning closer.
"Don't tell Marlene what?"
And then Donna noticed the hand on her leg. "Not even if I were dead, you prick!"
"Calm down, Shack..."
"I will not... sodding git... unendurable idiocy... prat... that he would... bloody sod!"
She reached the door.
"You're leaving already?"
"Yes..."
"I'll apparate."
"You'll get splinched," Charlie told her. "C'mon—you can floo through the library."
"Fine."
"Alright, here it is..." The pair reached what was, apparently, the library. "Will you need help?" asked the irritatingly sober Charlie.
"No." Pause. "Possibly."
"C'mon." They moved in the general direction of the fireplace. "You are so pissed," Charlie observed, evidently amused by this detail. Donna, meanwhile, was surveying the floo powder as though she had never seen anything like it.
"Fuck off," she snapped. She looked up at him. "Do you know what I hate?"
"Hufflepuffs?" offered Charlie.
"No. Yes. But also other things."
"Like what?"
"Like..." But they were standing very close, and everything grew fuzzier and fuzzier as the seconds heatedly, loudly slipped passed. "Like..." Donna tried once more, but with no more success.
"Like what?"
"Like..." She grabbed the front of his robes and kissed him, hard on the mouth. It was...
Hazy.
When they broke apart, there was a tingling just below Donna's shoulderblades, which might have been pain if she weren't entirely numb. Her back was pressed roughly against the mantle; they both breathed heavily.
"I have a girlfriend," Charlie muttered, and in future months, Donna would never be quite clear as to whether or not those words meant anything to her intoxicated mind.
She rolled her amber eyes: "Fuck that." And she grabbed his shirt.
(Present Day)
"It was you," Donna marveled. "You were the bloke!"
"Don't... don't you remember?" And Charlie Plex's confidence faltered for just a moment. Donna began to laugh.
"Yes, I remember," she said. "Oh my God, you have no idea how happy I am that it was you, Plex."
"...O—kay?"
"I mean you," Donna went on. "If it's you, it was just a one-night-stand. It was... it was nothing. I can literally forget this ever happened. Thank God."
Charlie's face twisted into a sardonic sort of scowl. "That's classy, Shacklebolt."
Donna glared: "Says the bloke who has a girlfriend and still slept with a completely piss drunk bird."
The Ravenclaw took a step closer, and for the shortest of seconds, Donna felt as though she were back in that heated, spinning, blurry, ringing silent library. A shot or two in her and she might have kissed him again. "You aren't exactly innocent in this," Charlie whispered. He winked, stepped back, and retreated. Donna caught her breath.
(Want)
Buried beneath a pile of books roughly comparable to the Great Wall of China and the knowledge that there was no end to this homework pandemic in sight, Frank Longbottom heaved a heavy, world-weary sigh. The woes of a seventh year were great indeed. Topping off that list at the moment, Frank realized as he tried and failed once again to concentrate on the blank scroll before him, was the fact that even the library did not seem free from distraction for an unfortunate, homework laden student.
It was that stupid first year.
She wasn't trying to be a bother, Frank knew, but the pitiful eleven-year-old had spent the last half hour stumbling through the aisles of books, knocking over other students' belongings, and just making noise in general. Mrs. Sevoy had already given her two warnings, but while the librarian had slipped away to the back, the first year witch had loudly spilled the contents of her book bag in the main area, before clueless-ly inquiring to everyone studying therein about the location of the Potions section.
"Would it make me a bad person if I hexed her?" mumbled Adam McKinnon, who shared a table with Frank.
"Not if I do it first," replied Frank, as the first year—having received directions from an irritable Hufflepuff—scampered off to the Potions section. "You are so lucky that you aren't a seventh year, McKinnon."
"Not really," lamented Adam. "I mean, I've got all of this work, plus the work I'll have to do next year ahead of me."
"Good point." The first year was now making a noisy business of fetching a book on a high shelf. "Good Merlin, you have got to be kidding me."
"Just—just try to ignore it," Adam advised unhelpfully. The sixth year opened his own textbook and began, with great effort, to read the assigned pages. Frank picked up his quill once more and started out writing the opening to his essay. As the ink dripped down upon the blank, taunting parchment, he had never felt so uninspired.
An almighty crash that caused everyone in the library to jump did not aid his muse.
"For the love of Merlin!" someone shrieked, as the troublesome first year in question emerged, noisily apologetic.
"I'm sorry!" the young witch insisted, and a splash of books across the floor told them that she had apparently pulled down an entire shelf. "Really—I just reached, and..."
"No one cares!" cried a seventh year Ravenclaw girl, Marissa, who happened to be the Head Girl. Marissa had risen from her own table and was red with fury. "For Agrippa's sake, you've done nothing but make noise and annoy everyone in here since you came in! This is the one place anyone can actually study at this school, and you have sodding ruined it, you stupid, useless, noisy brat!"
Gathering her things, Marissa stormed out of the library, followed by several of her friends, and then by several, embarrassed looking others. Adam looked at Frank. "To be fair," said the latter, "Marissa's had a really bad week."
"She's right," someone at a table nearby muttered. "Sodding firstie."
"Can you just get the books and leave?" a fourth year girl asked of the first year, who was still pale from the Head Girl's shouts. "People are trying to work here."
"But I didn't find..."
"Do you have any idea how much Transfiguration McGonagall assigned this week?" another boy demanded. "And my common room is so loud, I can't get any work done there..."
"Yeah, me too."
"Me, too!"
Suddenly, everyone seemed to be watching the first year expectantly. She blushed and chewed her lip, averting her eyes to the books which lay strewn across the floor. "I—I guess," she began to mumble, "I'll c-c-c-come back later, and..."
"Everyone, get back to work," said a new voice. "I'll deal with this, alright? I'm serious." Alice Griffiths emerged from a stack of books in the corner—she had as much homework as Frank did; he knew that for a fact, as they took nearly all the same classes. "What's your name, anyway?" Alice continued in an undertone to the first year.
But the young witch was on the verge of hysterics. "I-I-I'm s-so sorry... I didn't—didn't... I don't usually c-c-come to the l-library, and..."
A few people groaned.
"Get back to work!" Alice repeated. Her hands were shaking (they always did when she was furious), but her tone was steady as she whispered (Frank was straining and could only just hear): "Dear, what's your name?"
"Caydence."
"Caydence, what books do you need?"
"I—I have a list," murmured Caydence, with tears in her eyes. She handed a slip of parchment to Alice, who read it, chewed her lip, and then—raising her wand, murmured a few words. At once, four or five books flew from various shelves throughout the library, landing in a neat, levitating stack before Alice. The seventh year took hold of them and handed them to Caydence, before once more flicking her wand. The books on the floor flew up to their proper shelf.
Alice replaced her wand in the pocket of her robes, pushing a strand of blond hair behind her ears. "Thank you," whispered Caydence. "I'll just... go."
"Wait," said Alice. She hesitated, then said: "You don't know how to use those books, do you?"
"Well, I'll f-f-figure..."
"There's room at my table," Alice interrupted, sighing. "C'mon—I'll help you. But you have to whisper, and... maybe you shouldn't walk around too much, yeah?"
The first year smiled a watery smile. "Yeah, alright," she croaked, following Alice to her table.
"Frank?" asked Adam, nearly a minute later, as the sixth year looked up from his reading to see that his friend looked as though he had seen a werewolf.
"W-what?" Frank seemed to snap out of something. "I—um—what did you say?"
"I didn't say anything," said Adam, bewildered. "You alright, mate?"
No, Frank was not alright. He had never been so confused in his life—so torn between the calmness and horror that self knowledge can bring. Damn it.
"No," said Frank, looking at Adam, wide-eyed. He shook his head. "I'm not alright."
"W-w-what happened?" asked Adam. "Is it the homework?"
It wasn't the homework. It wasn't a week of stressful Head Boy duties, or the fact that his mother wrote that her brother was in St. Mungo's again. It wasn't the twist in his gut he felt every time someone said Carlotta Meloni's name, or that she had so coyly informed him that she had "met up with" someone at Charlie Plex's Christmas party. It wasn't the homework.
It was that Alice Geraldine Griffiths was completely perfect.
It was that Alice Geraldine Griffiths was completely perfect, and for the first time in months, he had clarity. If Carlotta were there just now, Frank would've been able to answer all of her questions—he would have been able to tell her everything she had wanted to know since this whole business started. For the first time in a very, very long time, Frank Longbottom knew exactly what he wanted.
Alice Geraldine Griffiths was completely perfect.
And he didn't stand a chance.
(Lessons)
"Lily!" Donna practically shrieked, bursting into the dormitory with nothing short of glee on her face. Lily, who had only just arrived herself to deposit her books before heading down to supper, turned about in confusion.
"Donna! Is everything okay?" asked the redhead, worried at the manic nature of her friend's greeting.
"I didn't sleep with him," said Donna, very quickly.
"What?"
"I didn't sleep with Miles—I only thought I did. He felt me up—I'm fairly certain I told him no. He made out with..." Donna suddenly realized the irony; "He made out with Carlotta Meloni, apparently, but... I don't know anything about that. Don't tell Marlene. The point is, I was wrong. I didn't shag Miles. It was Charlie Plex. I..."
Donna's story of post-Christmas affairs contained many lessons. In years to come, she could very knowledgably have warned against drinking to excess. She could have warned about the dangers of attending disreputable parties, especially alone, and she could have warned about the many potential disasters arriving from promiscuity with a nameless, faceless someone. She might have warned about stereotypes such behavior encourages, or the risk it puts to one's very life. There were a great many lessons to be learned from Donna's disasters, and at that moment—two days after her reasonably trashy encounter with one Charlie Plex, Donna Shacklebolt learned one more lesson.
Always check the bathroom.
"Don't tell Marlene?" quoted a quiet, somewhat raspy and utterly disbelieving voice, coming from that very room. Marlene appeared on the threshold between the lavatory and the dorm, and the look on her face—like she had just been punched in the stomach—told both Lily and Donna that she had heard every word uttered.
"Marlene..." began the latter, with no idea what she was supposed to say. Without looking at her, Marlene pushed past, exiting the dormitory and slamming the door behind her. Donna looked helplessly to Lily.
Fuck.
(Happy New Year)
In 1976, Marlene would forgive and forget. Almost.
In 1976, Adam would give up. Almost.
In 1976, Alice would do something impulsive, Carlotta would lose her best friend, Sirius would learn to fly all over again, and Severus would lose the one thing he ever wanted to win. In 1976, Donna would make a bad decision. Repeatedly.
In 1976, Remus Lupin would wake up alone, Frank Longbottom would buy a book, Mary Macdonald would make an impression, and Peter Pettigrew would lose faith.
In 1976, Lily Evans would kiss James Potter. Or was it the other way around?
But more on that (much, much) later.
A/N: I hope you liked the random teases at the beginning and the end—I thought they might help you get through, because there simply isn't enough Lily-and-James action! This is a gynormous chapter, I realize, and I hope you were able to sift through all the drama and realize that some majorly important plot transpired... el gasp! More Donna drama on the horizon... I hope you don't like Charlie... not because he meets with any unfortunate fate or anything; I just think he's a tool. But it's up to you. Tell me what you think, won't ya? And don't throw things at me for all the suds (soap opera, get it? I'm so humorous), because that just makes me cry.
Reviews are Frank realizing he wants Alice.
Love and cookies,
Jewels